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 
 <osts little labour seldom deserves praise ; if 
 •we acquire the habit of thinking that these 
 •performances are already well enough while we 
 5iave the power of making them still better, 
 -we shall gradually bestow less and less pains 
 and still content ourselves with their execution. 
 The sheet of paper is still extant on which 
 Ariosto wrote an octave describing a tempest 
 in sixteen different ways, and it was the last 
 which was preferred. Tasso found rhymes 
 
 with great difficulty. Yet these were men of 
 genius. Who, with such examples before them, 
 ought to be contented with first efforts? It 
 will generally be found that what is called 
 genius may be resolved into the union of a 
 strong taste for some particular study or art 
 with great industry in mastering it. The pos- 
 sessor rarely says of an indifferent performance 
 " It will do." I have seen an easel inscribed 
 with the salutary motto "Try again," which 
 perhaps often shamed its owner out of laziness 
 and despondency ; and the same motto is car- 
 ried by most geniuses in their hearts. We all 
 know how thankless are the services of those 
 who carry the principle "It will do" into their 
 familiar intercourse with others ; how nig- 
 gardly is the kindness which it promotes — ^how 
 scant the good offices which it sanctions. 
 
 AUGUST, Month of. 
 
 Now came fulfilment of the year's desire, 
 The tall wheat, coloured by the August fire 
 Grew heavy-headed, dreading its decay. 
 And blacker grew the elm-trees day by day. 
 About the edges of the yellow corn. 
 And o'er the gardens, grown somewhat out- 
 worn. 
 The bees went hurrying to fill up their store ; 
 The apple-boughs bent over more and more ; 
 With peach and apricot the garden wall 
 Was odorous, and the pears began to fall 
 From off the high tree with each freshening 
 breeze. Wm. Morris. 
 
 AUGUST, the Golden. 
 
 The eighth was August, being rich array'd 
 In garment all of gold downe to the ground ; 
 Yet rode he not, but led a lovely mayd 
 Forth by the lily hand, the which was crown'd 
 W^ith eai-es of corne, and full her hand was 
 
 found. 
 That was the righteous Virgin, which of old 
 Liv'd here on earth and plenty made abound ; 
 But after wrong was lov'd and justice solde, 
 She left the unrighteous world and was to 
 
 heaven extol' d. Spenser. 
 
 AURORA BOREALIS. 
 
 Silent from the north 
 A blaze of meteors shoots : ensweeping first 
 The lower skies, then all at once converge 
 High to the crown of Heaven, and all at once 
 
54 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Relapsing quick, as quickly re-ascend, 
 And mix and thwart, extinguish and renew, 
 All ether coursing in a maze of light. 
 
 Thomson, 
 
 AUTHORITY, Mistaken Views of. 
 One very common error misleads the opinion 
 of mankind, that, universally, authority is 
 pleasant, submission painful. In the general 
 course of human affairs, the very reverse of 
 this is nearer to the truth. Command is anx- 
 iety : obedience ease. — Paley. 
 
 AUTHOR, Predilection for. 
 
 A PREDILECTION for some great author, among 
 the vast number which must transiently occupy 
 our attention, seems to be the happiest preser- 
 vative for our taste. Accustomed to that ex- 
 cellent author whom we have chosen for our 
 favourite, we may possibly resemble him in 
 this intimacy. It is to be feared, that if we 
 do not form such a permanent attachment, we 
 may be acquiring knowledge, while our ener- 
 vated taste becomes less and less lively. Taste 
 embalms the knowledge, which otherwise cannot 
 preserve itself. He who has long been intimate 
 with one great author will always be found to 
 be a formidable antagonist ; he has saturated 
 his mind with the excellences of genius ; he 
 has shaped his faculties insensibly to himself 
 by his model ; and he is like a man who ever 
 sleeps in armour, ready at a moment ! The old 
 Latin proverb reminds us of this fact — Cave ab 
 homim unius libri : be cautious of the man of 
 one book. — Disraeli. 
 
 AUTHORSHIP, No Degeneration in. 
 
 The opinion of Horace as to the gradual de- 
 generacy of the human race has long been 
 proved to be a mere chimera, scouted, among 
 other antediluvian notions, by the more en- 
 lightened public of the present day ; and it is 
 now perfectly understood, that if our fore- 
 fathers were good or wise in their generation, 
 we of the present day are infinitely wiser and 
 better that they could ever pretend to be. In no 
 instance has this fact been more clearly eluci- 
 dated, than in the article of authors and their 
 writings ; so that the art of modern bookmaking 
 may indeed be considered as one of the finest 
 triumphs of modern over ancient genius. That 
 
 same antiquated blunderer, Horace, whose 
 opinions, as we have observed, are now 
 despised by all people of spirit, and among them 
 by nearly all the writers of the present day, it 
 will be remembered, actually went so far as to 
 recommend that a book should be kept for 
 nine years before it was published ; whereas, 
 now-a-days, everybody knows that nine months, 
 or nine weeks, we had almost said nine days, 
 are more than a sufficient period of literary gesta- 
 tion. The booksellers, also, of modern London, 
 obviously surpass the bibliopolists of the Via 
 Sacra of Rome, in as eminent a degree as the 
 excellent publications and clever periodicals 
 which they put forth excel the antiquated 
 writings of the Horaces, the Virgils, and other 
 almost forgotten authors in the time of the 
 Roman publishers. Books now seem to be 
 written, as they are printed, by steam ; and 
 writers of three, six, nine, twelve, twenty, nay, 
 of forty and sixty volume-power, are kept in 
 constant operation by the great manufacturers 
 of the raw material of literature. Authorship, 
 in short, has become fashionable ; writers, 
 from the mere slaves, have become the patri- 
 cians, of the state ; and most of our current, 
 and many of our most popular, productions 
 come forth with the irresistible recommenda- 
 tion of being written by "a person of 
 quality." 
 
 Amid this general prevalence of literary 
 taste, it may not be superfluous to offer a few 
 remarks on authorship, and to sketch the rise 
 and progress of a writer. The life is at least 
 a modish one, and we trust our readers will 
 not object to be " o' the fashion." 
 
 A youth, we will suppose, on arriving at the 
 proper age, is infected, after escaping the other 
 ailments of childhood, with the caco'ethes scri- 
 bendi. He wants to write. To this effect, he 
 first procures from a circulating library the 
 poems of Scott, of Campbell, of Moore, or no 
 matter which of our living poets : his boyish 
 soul is inflamed by the perusal ; he concludes 
 that his author is the first of writers, living or 
 dead, and determines, at the same time, to 
 rival if not to surpass him. By dint of borrow- 
 ing his sentiments, and stealing down to his 
 very rhymes, he succeeds in producing what 
 proves to be a bad imitation of the faults of his 
 model, without catching a spark of his spirit ; 
 and exhibits all the "contortions" of the 
 original, without any of his "inspiration." 
 He is at once struck with his own success, 
 thinks how easy it is to be a great poet, and 
 sets himself down immediately as a self-elected 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 55 
 
 honorary member of that very select fraternity. 
 He has by this time, if not before, fallen in 
 love with Miss White, or Black, or Green, or 
 any other colour, who lives at the end of the 
 next street, and tags all his rhymes in her 
 praise. He, moreover, grows sentimental, 
 sports **a suit of sables," and tries to look 
 melancholy ** with all his might." The news 
 of his genius and attainments are forthwith 
 universally diffused, and all the young ladies 
 vie with each other in patronizing and praising 
 him. He is the oracle of their coteries — the 
 critic of their fire-side conversaziones — "the 
 observed of all observers " in their small but 
 polished circle. He is, moreover, the laureate 
 of their albums, wherein, among Dutch Cupids, 
 flowers out of taste, and sketches out of draw- 
 ing, he scribbles, ex officio, verses in which 
 "heart" and "dart," "hour" and "bower," 
 &c. , constitute rhymes which are as striking in 
 sentiment as they are novel in mechanical con- 
 struction. And should some venturous critic, 
 endued with the somewhat uncommon quality 
 of common sense, dare to "hint a fault or 
 hesitate dislike," he will not fail to receive 
 such a castigation in return from the lady 
 patroness of the author as will effectually deter 
 him fr-om repeating the experiment ; while the 
 poet will be sure of being more petted and 
 spoiled than before. Cheered by such auspices, 
 the youthful son of song aspires to nobler 
 flights. He copies from Miss White's album 
 the piece which that young lady especially ad- 
 mires, and sends it off post-haste to some 
 tenth-rate periodical, whose editor, after 
 leaving it in his lumber- drawer for some weeks, 
 being bored by the printer for "more copy," 
 pushes in this unlucky effusion in order "to 
 make up a page." No sooner has it appeared, 
 than the little circle of our would-be poet rings 
 with the intelligence, and the rhymester him- 
 self writes an egregious letter to the editor, 
 wherein the phrases "obliging insertion," 
 "highly flattered," "great satisfaction," "lite- 
 rary friends, " "humble services," "entirely at 
 command," mingle in delightful variety. He 
 forthwith concludes himself a genius of the first 
 water, and his editor a critic of corresponding 
 excellence. 
 
 So far, no essential mischief has been com- 
 mitted ; the vanity and affectation of which we 
 have supposed him culpable may pass away 
 like other harmless follies of youth ; and, like 
 the superfluous leaves of a plant, may fall off, 
 and leave the root to flourish in renewed 
 vigour and in sounder health. It is possible 
 
 (though the chances are sadly against it) that 
 he may hear, and hearing may obey, the voice 
 of severe but judicious criticism — of unpleasing 
 but kind advice ; and that, forsaking the in- 
 discretions of which we have supposed him cul- 
 pable, he may betake himself to that severe study 
 and self-denying discipline which are the only 
 conditions by which excellence is to be attained. 
 For the sake of the illustrations it will afford, 
 we will suppose the latter alternative, and will 
 presume that the youthful aspirant is tasking 
 his powers to the utmost in the pursuit of 
 knowledge and in the attainment of excellence. 
 He continues to write poetry, but it is 
 poetry of a different kind ; such, indeed, as is 
 in some measure, at least, deserving of the 
 name. Having collected a quant, stiff, of 
 verses to occupy a hundred or a hundred and 
 fifty pages, he puts them forth in all the 
 luxury of hotpressed foolscap octavo. A re- 
 spectable bookseller is induced to affix his 
 name as the publisher to the volume, and the 
 literary bantling is then sent into the wide 
 world to seek its fortune. The usual forma- 
 lities are duly observed ; copies are sent as 
 regularly to the principal reviews as they are to 
 Stationers' Hall, and with pretty much the 
 same intention — the protection of the pro- 
 perty ; and, in short, nothing is omitted which 
 the author or his friends deem essential to the 
 welfare of his offspring. The work is pretty 
 sure to be treated with fairness by the critical 
 press. For, in spite of the tirades of angry or 
 disappointed authors, the reviewers on the 
 whole are, or at least endeavour to be, impar- 
 tial and correct. They never, or at least very 
 rarely, say a thing is black which is obviously 
 white, or vice versd ; but then, it is true, they 
 make sad mistakes in the intervening colours, 
 and confound the various shades of merit with 
 singular incorrectness of vision. Authors of 
 small poems in small octavo may therefore 
 rest satisfied that their works will be fairly 
 treated by the reviewers ; barring (as they say 
 in Ireland) that these gentlemen never read 
 them. Startling as the fact may appear, it 
 is yet not less natural than true. To suppose 
 that any sensible man, such as a reviewer is 
 supposed to be, would undertake, or under- 
 taking would fulfil, the task of reading through 
 all the publications which occupy his monthly 
 pamphlet, or still more his weekly sheet, were 
 to suppose what is morally as well as physically 
 impossible, and to attribute to a gentleman the 
 slavery only fit for a porter. A few leading 
 publications by distinguished names are perhaps 
 
56 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 read through, though this is by no means a 
 general rule ; but a glance at the title-page and 
 name of the publisher, with here and there a 
 glimpse at the uncut pages, is commonly suffi- 
 cient for the "small deer" who fill up the 
 minor department of a critical journal, and the 
 reviewer pronounces his irrefragable dictum, 
 his Mede and Persian decree, on productions 
 which, nine times out of ten, he has never 
 perused. 
 
 Under such a system, it is obvious that some- 
 thing more than the ordinary notice bestowed 
 by the reviews must be required, to bring a 
 "mere poet," as the Edinburgh has it, into 
 anything like notoriety or fame. We will 
 therefore suppose that some singular contin- 
 gency, some remarkable accident, or extraor- 
 dinary occurrence, has tended to bring the 
 author and his works into the notice of the 
 public. He is now forthwith summoned to 
 town, again to be courted, again spoiled by 
 female admiration ; is received into drawing- 
 rooms, invited to conversaziones, 'n feted, and 
 feasted, and gazed at, and admired — till some 
 new idol presents itself ; when he is speedily 
 neglected, despised, and forgotten, and left, 
 with disorganized habits and vitiated powers of 
 mind, to sink again into the low station — the 
 dunghill — whence he sprung. 
 
 But if he possess indeed the vivida vis anima, 
 the essential spirit, genius — call it what you 
 will — of a truly poetic mind, though he may 
 inhale for a moment the incense of flattery and 
 fashion, he will remain uncontaminated by its 
 influence ; he may allow it to flutter awhile 
 around his nostrils, but he will not suffer it to 
 pollute his soul, to intoxicate his head, or to 
 deprave his heart. Satisfied with public ap- 
 probation, he will retire, even ere it is yet con- 
 cluded, to his native insignificance and his 
 humble home, to invigorate and refresh his 
 powers ; and like the giant antagonist of Her- 
 cules, though oppressed and bowed to the 
 earth, will rise with renewed energy for the 
 conflict. His intermediate situation and cir- 
 cumstances may be painful and discouraging ; 
 he may have to struggle with obscurity, and 
 it may also be with poverty, compelled to bear 
 in silence and in solitude 
 
 The spurns 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 
 
 But his very difficulties will serve only to 
 strengthen his powers and to fortify his soul. 
 He will persevere in the exercise of patient 
 study, of unrelaxed discipline, and of deter- 
 mined self-denial ; consoling himself for the 
 
 trials which he undergoes by the resources 
 which the well-regulated mind never fails to 
 find in itself; until, sufficiently experienced 
 and fully cultivated, he will come forth in the 
 plenitude of his character and of his attain- 
 ments, and will call on the public, and they 
 will readily hear and obey the summons, to 
 grant him the meed of well-earned reputation. 
 But, if he be somewhat more than the mere 
 author, the selfish aspirant after literary honour, 
 the greedy craver of fame or fortune, he will 
 do more, far more, than this. Alive to the 
 charms of literary reputation, he will be also 
 sensible of its disadvantages and defects, and 
 will estimate at once " the glory and the 
 nothing of a name ;" and, acquainted with in- 
 tellectual pursuits, he will perceive that they 
 more than commonly partake of the unsatisfac- 
 tory nature of all human objects ; and that 
 while the advantages they offer are uncertain 
 and vain, their disappointments and discourage- 
 ments are numerous and certain. In particu- 
 lar, he will be struck with their singular ten- 
 dency to pervert the mind and deprave the 
 heart, unless associated with objects higher in 
 their nature, and chastening in their influence ; 
 and will find that the stimulants which they 
 minister to human vanity and pride are too 
 powerful for human nature to support without 
 the aid of counteracting and self-denying prin- 
 ciples. Admitted to the society of literary 
 men, he will feel disgusted at their fierce party- 
 spirit and their furious cabals, and at the 
 strange perversion with which they frequently 
 abuse some of the noblest gifts of the Creator 
 to the most unhallowed and unworthy pur- 
 poses ; and, to borrow the beautiful simile of 
 Dr. Johnson, he will compare them to a city, 
 which charms us by its beauty at a distance, 
 but disgusts us on a near approach, by its ex- 
 hibitions of unworthy meanness, its avenues of 
 contemptible littleness, and its scenes of misery 
 and vice. He will rise from the contempla- 
 tion of the most exalted mere human pursuit 
 dissatisfied and disappointed ; and will turn to 
 those objects which alone can attract an en- 
 larged mind and satisfy an immortal soul. In 
 these he will find the most exalted themes for 
 study — the most expanded scope for benevo- 
 lence ; and be his intellect ever so powerful, 
 and his affection ever so ardent, he will find 
 the one too weak, and the other too cold, fully 
 to comprehend the wisdom of the Christian 
 philosophy or worthily to appreciate the fer- 
 vour of Divine love ! 
 
 Spirit of the Age. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 57 
 
 AUTHORS, Responsibility of. 
 The poet Cowper, wTiting to his friend, the 
 Rev. John Newton, of Olney, says: — "An 
 author by profession had need narrowly to 
 watch his pen, lest a line should escape it 
 which by possibility may do mischief when 
 he has been long dead and buried. What we 
 have done, when we have written a book, 
 will never be known till the day of judgment ; 
 then the account will be liquidated, and all the 
 good it has occasioned, and all the evil, will 
 witness either for or against us." His bio- 
 grapher, the Rev, T. Grimshawe, makes the 
 following comment upon this passage : — 
 "Cowper's remarks on the subject of authors 
 are truly impressive, and demand attention. 
 If it indeed be true that authors are responsi- 
 ble for their writings, as well as for their 
 personal conduct (of which, we presume, there 
 can be no reasonable doubt), how would the 
 tone of literature be raised, and the pen often 
 be arrested in its course, if this conviction 
 were fully realised to the conscience ! Their 
 writings are, in fact, the record of the opera- 
 tions of their minds, and are destined to survive 
 as far as metallic types and literary talent can 
 insure durability and success. Nor is it less 
 true that the character of a nation will gener- 
 ally be moulded by the spirit of its authors. 
 Allowing, therefore, the extent of this power- 
 ful influence, we can conceive the possibility 
 of authors at the last great day undergoing 
 the ordeal of a solemn judicial inquiry, when 
 the subject for investigation will be how far 
 their writings have enlarged the bounds of 
 useful knowledge, or subserved the cause of 
 piety and truth. If, instead of those great 
 ends being answered, it shall appear that the 
 foundations of religion have been undermined, 
 the cause of virtue weakened, and the heart 
 made more accessible to error ; if, too, a dread 
 array of witnesses shall stand forth, tracing 
 the guilt of their lives and the niin of their 
 hopes to the fatal influence of the books which 
 they had read, what image of horror can 
 equal the sensation of such a moment, save 
 the despair in hearing the irrevocable sentence, 
 *' Depart from me, ye workers of iniquity ; I 
 never knew you ! " 
 
 AUTUMNAL EVE. 
 
 The shower hath drifted o'er ; the blue 
 Of cloudless heaven shines softly through ; 
 
 Still is the air, the sea is calm, 
 
 The bright-bloomed flowers outbreathing 
 
 balm; 
 And from the west, with orange ray, 
 Serenely clear, and calmly gay, 
 The sun looks forth o'er ocean's isles. 
 O'er earth and heaven, and setting smiles. 
 
 What though the day in clouds hath passed. 
 Though dripped the rain and roared the blast, 
 Though Morning's orient flag unfurled 
 Scarce awed the shades that dimmed the 
 
 world. 
 And fire-eyed Noon's resplendent car 
 Ploughed vainly through deep mists afar, — 
 This scene of beauty and delights. 
 And evening radiance well requites 
 For dreary doubts, for boding gloom, 
 And dreams, whose dwelling was the tomb. 
 
 The murmuring bee, from flower to flower. 
 Is roaming round the blos'my bower, — 
 The clustering bower, where jasmine wTcath 
 Is mixed with odorous flowers ; beneath 
 The creeping honeysuckle weaves 
 Its yellow horns with ivy leaves : 
 And round about, in many a row. 
 The lilies of the valley blow, 
 Upshooting snowy stems between 
 Luxuriant stems of darkest green. 
 
 How bright, how beautiful, tlae day 
 In its calm lustre dies away, 
 As if the clouds that wept the while 
 Now dried their tears and turned to smile 
 Down on the verdant vales of earth. 
 Whose looks have changed from gloom to 
 
 mirth : 
 On every blade, and leaf, and stem, 
 Of diamond drops a diadem 
 Around is sprinkled, bright and clear 
 As Beauty's sympathising tear 
 When sinless sorrows cause its flow ; — 
 The fruits depend from every bough. 
 Mellow and ripe ; the downy peach. 
 The purpled plum, and nectarine, each 
 Half shaded by its leaves, in hue 
 Diversified and varying too. 
 
 We marvel at the thoughts which climb 
 Above our nature, bright, sublime. 
 As, of the immortal, Milton sings, 
 His muse, on angel-pinioned wings. 
 Aspiring high, till Heaven above 
 Seems linked to earth with chains of love. 
 
 Delta. 
 
58 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 AUTUMNAL Tints. 
 
 The fading, many-coloured woods, 
 Shade deep'ning over shade, the countrj' round 
 Imbrown ; a crowded umbrage, dark and dun, 
 Of every hue, from wan declining green 
 To sooty dark. La^nb, 
 
 AWEA.EY, Utterly so. 
 
 With blackest moss the flower-plots 
 Were thickly crusted, one and all : 
 The rusted nails fell from the knots 
 
 That held the pear to the garden-wall. 
 The broken sheds look'd sad and strange : 
 Unlifted was the clinking latch ; 
 Weeded and worn the ancient thatch 
 Upon the lonely moated grange. 
 
 She only said, *' My life is dreary. 
 
 He Cometh not," she said ; 
 She said, "I am aweary, aweary, 
 I would that I were dead ! " 
 
 Her tears fell with the dews at even ; 
 
 Her tears fell ere the dews were dried ; 
 She could not look on the sweet heaven. 
 
 Either at mom or eventide. 
 After the flitting of the bats, 
 
 When thickest dark did trance the sky, 
 She drew her casement- curtain by, 
 And glanced athwart the glooming flats. 
 She only said, *'The night is dreary. 
 
 He Cometh not," she said ; 
 She said, * ' I am aweary, aweary, 
 I would that I were dead ! " 
 
 Upon the middle of the night. 
 
 Waking she heard the night-fowl crow : 
 Tlie cock sung out an hour ere light : 
 
 From the dark fen the oxen's low 
 Came to her : without hope of change. 
 In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn. 
 Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed mom 
 About the lonely moated grange. 
 
 She only said, ** The day is dreary, 
 
 He Cometh not," she said ; 
 She said, *' I am aweary, aweary, 
 I would that I were dead ! " 
 
 About a stone-cast from the wall 
 
 A sluice with blacken'd waters slept, • 
 
 And o'er it many, round and small, 
 The cluster'd marish-mosses crept. 
 
 Hard by a poplar shook alway. 
 All silver-green with gnarled bark : 
 For leagues no other tree did mark 
 
 The level waste, the rounding gray. 
 
 She only said, *' My life is dreary, 
 
 He cometh not," she said ; 
 She said, *' I am aweary, aweary, 
 
 I would thq,t I were dead ! " 
 
 And ever when the moon was low. 
 
 And the shrill winds were up and away. 
 In the white curtain, to and fro. 
 
 She saw the gusty shadow sway. 
 But when the moon was very low, 
 
 And wild winds bound within their cell. 
 The shadow of the poplar fell 
 Upon her bed, across her brow. 
 
 She only said, *' The night is dreary. 
 
 He cometh not," she said ; 
 
 She said, "I am aweary, aweary, 
 
 I would that I were dead ! " 
 
 All day within the dreamy house. 
 
 The doors upon their hinges creak'd ; 
 The blue fly sung in the pane ; the mouse 
 
 Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd. 
 Or from the crevice peer'd about. 
 Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors. 
 Old footsteps trod the upper floors. 
 Old voices called her from without. 
 She only said, * ' My life is dreary. 
 
 He cometh not," she said ; 
 She said, " I am aweary, aweary, 
 I would that I were dead ! " 
 
 The sparrow's chirnip on the roof. 
 
 The slow clock ticking, and the sound 
 Which to the wooing wind aloof 
 
 The poplar made, did all confound 
 
 Her sense ; but most she loathed the hour 
 
 When the thick-moted sunbeam lay 
 
 Athwart the chambers, and the day 
 
 Was sloping toward his western bower. 
 
 Then, said she, ' ' I am very dreary, 
 
 He will not come," she said ; 
 
 She wept, ** I am aweary, aweary, 
 
 Oh God, that I were dead ! " 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 BAOZSLIDINa Disposes the Soul to a 
 yet greater degree of Alienation. 
 
 It is not one of the least miseries of a back- 
 sliding state, that every step of departure from 
 God disposes the soul to a yet greater degree 
 of alienation. As it is asserted in the natural 
 history of the sheep (though with what correct- 
 ness I will not decide) that having once wan- 
 dered from the fold it never thinks of return- 
 ing, but "wanders on still more and more 
 astray;" so it may with truth be affirmed of 
 the wandering, that in most cases, his back- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 59 
 
 slidings are multiplied, till the strong hand of 
 the Divine Shepherd brings him back. He 
 who once forsakes the fountain of living 
 waters, and hews out to himself broken cisterns, 
 which can hold no water, generally continues, 
 notwithstanding frequent disappointments, the 
 same unprofitable course, until the direst ex- 
 tremity forces him to retrace his steps, and 
 return to the God of Jacob, who, when the 
 poor and needy seek water and find none, and 
 their tongue faileth them for thirst, and life is 
 almost extinct, will not forsake them. This 
 seems to be the order of divine discipline 
 in the church. '* The backslider in heart 
 shall be filled with his own ways." His own 
 backslidings shall reprove him. God will hide 
 his face from his apostatizing servant, who will 
 go on frowardly in the way of his heart, till, 
 reduced to extremity, he returns, like the 
 wretched prodigal, ruined, and ready to perish, 
 to his Father's house. 
 
 BACKSLIDING to be Avoided. 
 
 Be wise then, O ye people, be warned every 
 one of you ; if God's justice spared not his 
 own son, surely He will not spare you, if you 
 hate to be reformed and cast his words behind 
 you. O do not lie down in your beds to-night 
 till you have anxiously prayed for pardon for 
 your sin, and begun to flee in earnest from 
 the just wrath of this holy Lord God. He is 
 just to forgive you through Christ, for Christ 
 died for sinners ; but oh ! He will be just to 
 punish you, if you neglect and refuse " so great 
 salvation." — W. W. Champneys. 
 
 BARGAINS. 
 
 This place, which happens to be a great 
 resort of smugglers, affords us daily oppor- 
 tunities of making bargains. We drink 
 spoiled teas, under the idea of their being 
 cheap ; and the little room we have is made 
 less by the reception of cargoes of Indian 
 taffetas, shawls, muslins, and real chintzes. 
 All my authority here would be exerted in 
 vain ; for (I do not know whether you know 
 it or no) the buying of a bargain is a tempta- 
 tion which is not in the nature of any woman 
 to resist. I am in hopes, however, the busi- 
 ness may receive some little check from an 
 incident which happened a little time since. 
 An acquaintance of ours, returning from Mar- 
 gate, had his carriage seized by Custom-house 
 
 officers, on account of a piece of silk which 
 one of his female cousins without his know- 
 ledge had stowed in it ; and it was only released 
 on its being proved that what she had bought 
 with so much satisfaction as contraband was 
 in reality the homebred manufacture of Spital- 
 fields. — Mrs. Barbauld. 
 
 My Aunt Rebekah is embalmed in my 
 memory. How much excellence did they over- 
 look who made no effort to rescue her from 
 celibacy ! Perhaps the radiance of her virtues 
 rendered the defects of those persons more 
 obvious, and they shrunk from perpetuating a 
 comparison that was intolerable. At her ' ' single 
 blessedness" she never repined ; she knew that 
 in the lottery of matrimony there are many 
 blanks to a prize ; and there are few of my 
 sex that deserve such a treasure. 
 
 I have only to look at the chair on the 
 right hand of the fire-place in the old parlour, 
 and imagination fills it with her venerable form ; 
 — I see her bland and happy countenance as 
 plainly at this moment as I did five-and-twenty 
 years ago ; aye, and she has her spectacles on, 
 which I used often to mount ; and her knitting 
 needles in her hand, which she moved about 
 with amazing celerity ; and her feet are resting 
 on the little stool which was my seat when I 
 listened to her with reverence due to an oracle. 
 She was never garrulous. Other sounds were 
 far more musical to her than those of her own 
 tongue, which is not always the case in her cir- 
 cumstances, if report may be credited ; but 
 when she did speak, her words were like gold ; 
 remarkable at once for their worth and their 
 weight. Although convinced that many of the 
 "short, pithy, sententious phrases called pro- 
 verbs," were false, there were a few, besides 
 those of Solomon, which she was satisfied 
 were worthy of remembrance ; and her appli- 
 cation of them was always appropriate. I 
 remember running to her one morning with a 
 purchase I had made, as I thought, with much 
 tact, when, after pronouncing it worth less than 
 half of what it cost, she told me the story of 
 Franklin's "Whistle;" and added the sage 
 exhortation of Poor Richard — "At a great 
 pennyworth pause a little ; many are ruined by 
 buying bargains. " I owe many a five pound 
 note to that fragment of her instructions ; 
 often has it led me to abstain from touching 
 articles for sale, under the apprehension that, 
 brought within tangible proximity, I should be 
 caught like a bird in a snare. And as I have 
 surveyed the circle of my acquaintance, and 
 
6o 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 observed the errors into which they have fallen, 
 to their own serious inconvenience and that of 
 others, I have said, — " If they had possessed 
 an Aunt Rebekah, they had been the most per- 
 verse of mortals, or these calamities would have 
 been escaped." But why should she be silent 
 when I can give the echo to her voice ? If I 
 can gain the ear of the world, she shall not be ; 
 and thus, by a coiip-de-main, I shall seek its 
 interests, and offer a grateful tribute to her 
 memory. 
 
 There is certainly much of oracular wisdom 
 in that part of the charge just cited, ** pause a 
 little." It conveys to us the happy medium 
 which it becomes us to observe in all our pur- 
 chases. When a certain individual was trans- 
 acting some business rather carelessly, his 
 superior said, " Do, Sir, pay a little attention. " 
 ••I do. Sir," replied the wit, "as little as 
 ever was known." Now such a cessation of 
 effort could not have been intended by the 
 American philosopher ; nor is it likely that he 
 designed it to continue till a real advantage 
 that glittered in the eye disappeared in the 
 hand of a more prompt competitor ; it is more 
 probable that he meant to denote, by this 
 phrase, that precise duration of pondering 
 which is utterly unknown to folly, and which 
 invariably precedes the decisions of practical 
 wisdom. A class might be formed, much 
 larger than that in which I dog's-eared the 
 Eton Grammar, of those in my neighbourhood 
 who would rather you sit with your finger on 
 your lip, personating the god of silence, than 
 utter a word about some of their pecuniary 
 aberrations. At this instant, one of them is 
 passing the window, who has been made by a 
 recent circumstance to resemble Vulcan rather 
 than Mercury. A horse was to be sold much 
 cheaper than usual, and he fancied that his 
 equestrian skill would "bear a premium" by 
 the purchase ; but being no Alexander, and 
 the animal no Bucephalus, its vicious propen- 
 sities brought him with violence to the earth, 
 after ** putting him in great bodily fear." 
 
 A short distance from the spot where I now 
 sit lives an acquaintance, who, as long as I 
 have known him, has discovered a similar 
 failing. At the time when "everybody" went 
 to France, he, of course, could not stay at 
 home. Ignorant of the language, he deter- 
 mined on its acquisition, and, after much 
 inquiry, he congratulated himself on having 
 found a "Professor," who engaged to give 
 him the true Parisian accent in six weeks, at a 
 rate much lower than any of whom he had 
 
 heard. Fully prepared for his Continental tour 
 by the time appointed, he arrived at Calais, 
 convinced that if the Frenchmen on board the 
 packet had spoken but a little slower he could 
 have understood them ; but no sooner had he 
 proposed his first question, on entering a botique 
 with all the precision of his accomplishment, 
 than he received the appalling reply, — "I don't 
 understand English, Monsieur." 
 
 And within the circuit of a few miles, I 
 could point out houses containing a variety of 
 articles which, should they ever be likely to 
 "come to the hammer," might have some 
 such items as the following appended to the 
 catalogue: — 
 
 " Choice paintings," — Very likely to be 
 thought so by Esquimaux and New Zealanders. 
 
 " Collection of engravings, undoubted 
 proofs,"— query of what? Anything, except- 
 ing always the copper-plate and the taste of 
 the purchaser. 
 
 "Musical instruments," — only requiring to 
 be tuned. 
 
 " Books," — Some of them very scarce, from 
 the extensive demand for them in various 
 trades ; others are first editions, with all the 
 typographical emendations of the original MS. ; 
 and a few want leaves, and a print here and 
 there, but this is an advantage, the former be- 
 ing, of course, the dullest part of their respec 
 tive works, and the latter not worth having. 
 
 "Time-pieces" — Certain of gaining pre- 
 miums of the Board of Longitude, when they 
 shall change their present system, and offer 
 them for the greatest variations, 
 
 " Household furniture " — " Chairs " in- 
 tended to give a a graceful bend to the human 
 frame, from the peculiar form of the back ; 
 " looking-glasses " designed to correct undue 
 personal estimation, a small ridge being placed 
 in the centre of each plate; "sofas, well 
 stuffed," with materials which would make 
 excellent beds for horses ; " a variety of goods 
 which should be bought"— in the dark; and 
 " foreign wines, of exquisite flavour," from 
 the last vintage. 
 
 What temptations these articles may hold 
 out in such circumstances is very questionable, 
 but it is indubitable that they are irresistible to 
 their present proprietors. The fact was, they 
 were cheap, and this was a recommendation 
 paramount to every other. A wise economist, 
 however, acts on different principles in his 
 purchases ; he takes into view their necessity, 
 for he does not buy what he can do without, — 
 the outlay of ready cash, which ought to be 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 6i 
 
 productive of considerable advantage, — the 
 state of articles offered him, which may, 
 though cheap at first cost, be enormously dear 
 by repairs, and the deterioration which takes 
 place in what is valuable, by subsequent and 
 important improvements, as well as by the 
 want of use. For my own part, whatever is 
 accompanied by the assurance that it is "a 
 great bargain " invarably arouses my sus- 
 picions. I esteem, for he deserves it, the 
 plain, unaffected, upright man of business, who 
 says enough for every honest purpose, and 
 whom profit cannot bribe to utter a word more ; 
 and he shall have the feeble support of my 
 pen and of my purse. But I hate the obse- 
 quiousness, the volubility, the falsehood, so 
 common in so many of our modem shops. On 
 the best authority, I am acquainted with some 
 of the knaveries practised hourly under the 
 semblance of liberal dealing, and over their 
 threshold neither myself nor my wife, nor my 
 daughters pass, because we are unwilling to be 
 the dupes of artifice, or to contribute a fraction 
 to establishments which are perpetually impos- 
 ing on the unwary. The love of petty advan- 
 tage of which many are victims, and which 
 others nefariously excite to the accumulation 
 of fortunes and the destruction of their own 
 principles, is unquestionably a species of 
 avarice. The man who refuses to buy anything 
 unless it is "very cheap," notwithstanding 
 ample resources, is nearly related to Ostervald, 
 Elwes, and Vandille. The latter contracted 
 a fever by pilfering some logs of a woodman ; 
 and, after refusing to be bled by a surgeon, 
 and by an apothecary, because they demanded 
 half a livre for the operation, he sent for a 
 poor barber, who undertook to open a vein 
 for threepence a time ; but, understanding that 
 he should be bled three times, he asked what 
 quantity was to be taken, — "About eight 
 ounces each time," replied the operator. 
 
 "That will be ninepence ; too, much, too 
 
 much," said Vandille ; " take the whole quantity 
 at once, and that will save me sixpence ; " 
 which being insisted on, he expired a few days 
 after, leaving immense wealth to the king. 
 
 O, cursed lust of gold ! when for thy sake 
 The fool throws up his interests in both worlds, 
 First starved in this, then damn'd in that to come. 
 
 The contrary extreme, into which, unhappily, 
 many plunge, should be avoided as a great 
 evil. To them, cheapness is a detraction from 
 worth, value being determined at the ratio of 
 expense. They resemble the crowd that passed 
 
 the man a few weeks since on one of the me- 
 tropolitan bridges, crying, for a wager, " Real 
 sovereigns a penny a-piece," under the convic- 
 tion that the easiness of the cost proved the 
 worthlessness of the article offered; though there 
 undoubtedly are cases analagous to this, in 
 which what is valuable may be secured at a 
 trifling charge. The adventurer lost his wager, 
 because he could not find a single purchaser ; 
 and it is probable he never would have made 
 it, had he not overlooked what the other party 
 clearly perceived, that this class immensely 
 outnumbers that of the bargain-hunters. Not 
 a few of our modern traders, fully acquainted 
 with this fact, make it conducive to their ad- 
 vantage. They hold in contempt the sellers of 
 " cheap goods ;" they are eloquent in their dis- 
 praise, and they profess to pride themselves on 
 the sale of articles of the first order, at a price 
 which, though it may seem large, yields them 
 but a small profit. But even here, "latet 
 anguis in herba," — much of this is but covert 
 deception. In proof of it, I could tell of one 
 of this race who, a few weeks ago, sold a 
 fashionable countess an article of dress for 
 twenty guineas which cost him the enormous 
 sum of eight-and-ninepence, and of others — 
 but this is sufficient as a specimen. The sculp- 
 tor, it is well known, first makes a figure of 
 clay, then takes a cast, and from this forms the 
 model from which he carves his statue ; and to 
 this process a resemblance may be found in 
 modes of business, as well as in the manners 
 of society. The prodigal are frequently satis- 
 fied only with what is exorbitant : this is the 
 temptation to many to make such charges ; and 
 the profitable issue of the effort displaces prin- 
 ciples that are honourable for others that are 
 the reverse, until the violation of integrity, at 
 first occasional, becomes habitual. Indeed, 
 the very schemes by which the parsimonious 
 and the profuse are now so egregiously deluded, 
 are to be traced, in a great measure, to them- 
 selves and to their predecessors, who have sus- 
 tained the same character. Strange as it may 
 appear, between those thus discriminated a 
 near connexion may be perceived ; and often 
 does it happen that qualities regarded as anti- 
 podes exist in union. " Nothing is more com- 
 mon," says an eminent female writer, "than 
 to see the same person, whose want of economy 
 is ruining his family, consumed with regret and 
 vexation at the effect of his profusion ; and, by 
 endeavouring to save, in such trifles as will not 
 amount to twenty pounds in a year, that which 
 he wastes by hundreds, incur the character and 
 
62 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 suffer the anxieties of a miser, together with 
 the misfortunes of a prodigal." And Addison 
 has told us, in a beautiful allegory, that Luxury 
 and Avarice were formerly at war ; that, after 
 various vicissitudes of fortune, they agreed at 
 length to a permanent peace, on condition that 
 Luxury should dismiss Plenty from his service, 
 and Avarice Poverty, their respective ministers 
 of state, and that Avarice should become the 
 minister of Luxury, and Luxury of Avarice, 
 by turns. Since that time, he declares that 
 Luxury ministers to Avarice, and Avarice to 
 Luxury. Every prodigal is, in intention at 
 least, a luxurious man ; and almost every pro- 
 digal is avaricious. He grasps at money 
 eagerly that he may find the means of continu- 
 ing his darling profusion ; and covets with as 
 craving an appetite that he may spend, as the 
 miser that he may hoard ; like Elwes, who 
 would take a crow's nest to save fuel, and 
 gamble for four-and-twenty hours at a sitting. 
 
 A judicious arrangement of expenditure may 
 well be enjoined by the moralist. Owen Fel- 
 tham says wisely, — "In expenses, I would 
 neither be pinching nor prodigal ; yet, if my 
 means allow it not, I would rather be thought 
 too sparing than a little profuse. Saving in- 
 clines to judgment, but lavish expenditure to 
 levity and inconsiderateness. With the wise, 
 it is no disgrace to make a man's ability his 
 compass of sail and line, to walk by ; and to 
 exceed it, for those who are not wise, is, to be 
 sure, to exceed them, as well in folly as expense. 
 Both are equally absurd ; he that will burn out 
 his taper when the sun shines, and he that will 
 go to bed in the dark to save the expense of 
 light. It is my part to know what I am able 
 to do ; others only look at the stream, but do 
 not trouble themselves about the fountain that 
 is to supply it. He who spends his proportion 
 is as brave as a prince ; and a prince exceeding 
 that is a prodigal. " 
 
 It would be well for many if they did not 
 esteem such sentiments, like their style, as 
 belonging to a past age. I make no apology 
 for their quotation, because I am satisfied they 
 ought to be reiterated. Were they observed, 
 individual happiness would be greatly promo- 
 ted, many family feuds would be prevented, 
 while ingots, instead of sovereigns, might be 
 cast into the treasury of benevolence. 
 
 Aunt Rebekah ! I have attempted to incul- 
 cate one of the sentiments for which I am 
 indebted to you. Had you been by my side, 
 it would have been done more effectively. 
 If it answers any valuable purpose, the honour 
 
 shall be yours ; if not, the blush shall mantle 
 my own cheek. — Anon. 
 
 BATH. 
 
 So to the place where she had heard them 
 
 sing 
 She came again, and thro' a little door 
 Entered a chamber with a marble floor. 
 Open a-top unto the outer air. 
 Beneath which lay a bath of water fair, 
 Paved with strange stones and figures of bright 
 
 gold. 
 And from the steps thereof could she behold 
 The thin-leaved trees against the evening sky 
 Golden and calm, still moving languidly. 
 
 Win. Morris. 
 
 BATHING. 
 
 The pool transparent to its pebbly bed. 
 With here and there a slowly gliding trout. 
 Invites the throbbing, half-reluctant breast 
 
 To plunge : 
 
 — Smooth, in sinuous course, the swimmer 
 
 winds. 
 Now, with extended arms, rowing his way ; 
 And now, with sunward face, he floating lies. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 If noon be fervid, and no zephyr breathe. 
 What time the new-shorn flock stands here and 
 
 there 
 With huddled head, impatient of the fly — 
 What time the snuffling spaniel, as he runs. 
 Pants freely, and laps often at the brook. 
 To slake the fervour of his feverous tongue — 
 What time the cow stands knee-deep in the 
 
 pool. 
 Lashing her sides for anguish, scaring oft, 
 With sudden head reversed, the insect swarm 
 That basks and preys upon her sunny hide — 
 Or when she flies with tufled tail erect 
 The breeze-fly's keen invasion, to the shade 
 Scampering madly — let me wind my way 
 Tow'rd the still lip of ocean. Seated there. 
 Soon let me cast habiliment aside. 
 And to the cool wave give me. Transport 
 
 sweet ! 
 Pleasure thrice-delicate ! Oh, let me plunge 
 Deep in the lucid element my head. 
 And, rising, sportful on his surface play. 
 Oh joy, to quit the fervid gleam of earth. 
 Leave a faint atmosphere, and soon recruit 
 Exhau^ed energy, suspended thus 
 Upon the bosom of a cooler world ! 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 63 
 
 Oh recreation exquisite, to feel 
 
 The wholesome waters trickle from the head, 
 
 Oft as its saturated locks emerge ! 
 
 To feel them lick the hand, and lave the foot ! 
 
 And when the playful and luxurious limb 
 
 Is satiated with pastime, and the man 
 
 Rises refreshed from the voluptuous flood, 
 
 How rich the pleasure to let Zephyr chill 
 
 And steal the dew-drops from his panting sides ! 
 
 Let e'en the saucy and loud Auster blow. 
 
 Be but his sea not fierce, nor, save at shore. 
 
 The frothy breaker of displeasure show. 
 
 Yet will I court the turbulent embrace 
 
 Of thee, thou roaring deep : yes, and will 
 
 share 
 The bather's richest pleasure, when the foot 
 Of fear might hesitate, nor dare invade 
 The thund'ring downfall of the billowy surge. 
 How joys the bold intruder, then, at large 
 To flounder porpoise-like, wave after wave 
 Mounting triumphant, hoisted by the swell — 
 How climbs with ease, descends, and climbs 
 
 again 
 Th' uplifted summit, high as it may seem, 
 Of the sublimest wave ! What if lost earth 
 Each moment disappear, as the sunk head 
 Swims through the yawning hollow of the flood ; 
 As often shall it greet the watchful eye, 
 Seen from the wave-top eminent. 
 
 Hurdis. 
 
 BATTLE, Field of, After the Conflict. 
 'TwAS sick'ning to the soul to look upon 
 The wreck of valour when that charge was 
 
 done ; 
 To hear the brutal shouts that fill'd the wind ; 
 The cries of dying thousands left behind, 
 With helpless forjns by rushing chariots torn, 
 O'er the red field with whirlwind havoc borne ; 
 And shapeless trunks of beings, render'd mute 
 Beneath the fiery charger's iron foot ; 
 That crush'd and bleeding lay, the heavy groan 
 Of that proud charger in his might o'erthrown. 
 
 ***** 
 And the half-mutter'd curse that rose in air. 
 Of sinners perishing in their despair. 
 
 S. R. Jackson, 
 
 BATTLE-FIELD, Contemplation of. 
 
 A DESPERATE stillness now reigns around. 
 The serf and his chieftain together sleep sound, 
 In mixture rude on the battle ground. 
 Death ! what a leveller art thou ! 
 
 When thou puttest thy stamp on the an giy brow, 
 Marked are thy subjects, for there are seen 
 The helmless head with the scornful mien ! 
 This morn so riff, now what a thing, — 
 
 Still in death, as in life, a slave ! 
 Yes, Vilaine ! — another feudal king 
 
 Thou servest now ; — the despotic grave ! 
 But freed thou art from Slavery's sting. 
 
 More fell by far than death to the brave ! 
 The chief he now lies cold in his pride. 
 Lies cold as thou by his vassal's side ; 
 Silent now is the tongue which loud 
 Was heard at dawn 'mid the squadrons proud ! 
 What ! and is this of thought the seat ? 
 Where ! where is now thy pulse's beat ? — 
 All, all is still, save only where 
 The stirring breeze lifts the clogged hair, — 
 Where the yellow leaf with eddying whirl 
 Passes o'er the unconscious curl. 
 
 Rev. W. Liddiard. 
 
 BATTLE, Morning of the. 
 Morn broke ! a sultry stillness in the sky, 
 And gathering gloom, foretold the tempest nigh; 
 Low murmurs on the flitting breezes past. 
 And hush'd in seeming slumber lay the blast ; 
 All seem'd the calm impression to receive, 
 E'en the wild billow had forgot to heave ; 
 You scarce might hear the gurgle of the rill. 
 The earth, the waters, all around was still, 
 Save rumbling clouds by hot winds slowly 
 
 driven, 
 Black with the dire artillery of heaven. 
 
 S. R. yackson. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL, Influence of the. 
 
 Every true specimen of perfection, or even 
 excellence, of whatever kind it may be, 
 from the moral down to the physical, elevates 
 every instance of an inferior degree of excel- 
 lence that we meet with, and sheds over it a 
 portion of its own perfection. — Francis Lieber. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL Woman. 
 
 Compare her eyes, 
 Not to the sun, for they do shine by night : 
 Not to the moon, for they are changing never: 
 Not to the stars, for they have purer light : 
 Not to the fire, for they consume not ever : 
 But to the Maker's self, they likedst be, 
 Whose light doth lighten all things here we 
 see. Spettser, 
 
64 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 BEAUTY. 
 
 On this, as on other parts of intellectual phi- 
 losophy, theories have been numerous. To 
 account for the pleasurable feelings produced 
 by the sight of certain objects was unquestion- 
 ably desirable, and various ineffectual efforts 
 were made to accomplish this purpose. The 
 want of success appears to have been chiefly 
 attributable to the idea entertained by philo- 
 sophers that these feelings might be traced to 
 some peculiar and definite quality as their in- 
 variable cause. Arguments have, however, 
 been adduced to prove that this is not the case ; 
 and while we admire the ingenuity displayed in 
 different theories, and the zeal which was 
 brought to their support, we regret that men of 
 genius and research should so frequently satisfy 
 themselves with merely theorizing. In many 
 instances they seem to form their systems 
 either without at all appealing to facts or only 
 to those that will answer their purpose, and 
 have therefore been disposed, when error was 
 detected, to shape the phenomena of nature to 
 their systems, rather than their systems to the 
 results of diligent observation, and of accurate 
 experiment. Applying these remarks to the 
 subject before us, it may be observed that had 
 philosophers appealed to facts for the proof 
 that beauty was a certain quality in different 
 objects, producing, when presented to the 
 mind, the same delightful emotion, they would 
 have inevitably proved the opinion false and 
 unfounded. For instance, we commonly pro- 
 nounce those of the fair sex beautiful to whom 
 nature has been singularly propitious ; and we 
 employ the same term when speaking of a lily 
 springing up amidst the luxuriance of the valley, 
 a stream pursuing its cheerful and tranquil 
 course, the bow formed in the skies by the re- 
 fraction of the solar rays in the descending 
 shower, and other objects which it is unneces- 
 sary to enumerate ; but will it be contended 
 that in all of these some definite property may 
 be perceived, which renders the application of 
 the same term in each case equally appropriate ? 
 Or if, as some have remarked, smoothness 
 deserves this distinctive appellation, it might 
 be replied that there are many things acknow- 
 ledged to be really beautiful which are not 
 smooth. No one could deny the beauty of the 
 moss-rose, or assert that the Corinthian column 
 was not indebted for a considerable portion of 
 its beauty to its richly-sculptured entablature. 
 Or if regularity be described as this fascinating 
 • quality, let the individual who maintains the 
 
 point direct his house to be built in illustration 
 of his principle ; yew trees to be placed before 
 his windows cut into the forms of sphinxes or 
 of peacocks, his garden to be laid out as a 
 beautiful assemblage of spheres, or squares, or 
 triangles, and then denominate him — if it be 
 possible — a man of taste. The absurdity of 
 such opinions will appear when it is remem- 
 bered that some objects are beautiful which 
 are smooth and regular, while others are 
 equally so which are just the reverse. And 
 to this remark we may add that as there is 
 beauty in the flower when expanded to 
 the sun, as well as in the plant which 
 shrinks and collapses at the touch — in the 
 mountain ash, as well as the drooping 
 willow, — in the mansion just erected, exhibit- 
 ing most distinctly all the ability and taste of 
 the architect, as well as the venerable ruin 
 over which the ivy mantles undisturbed, — in 
 the human frame strongly excited by contending 
 passions, as well as when lulled into tran- 
 quillity and repose, — in the silent pensivene?s 
 of sorrow as well as in the animated and 
 enthusiastic expressions of delight ; beauty 
 must vary with forms, and colours, and circum- 
 stances. 
 
 If, then, it be asked, to what is the motion 
 of beauty to be ascribed, the result of Mr. 
 Alison's examination may perhaps be satis- 
 factory ; he asserts that "it is to the expres- 
 sion of mind in certain appearances of matter, 
 or to their being, either directly or indirectly, 
 the signs of those qualities of mind which are 
 fitted, by the constitution of our nature, to 
 affect us with pleasing or interesting emotion. " 
 The principle thus happily laid down, it is 
 apprehended, will sufficiently account for our 
 general impressions, while particular emotions 
 may be easily resolved into certain considera- 
 tions, some of which will now claim a transient 
 review. Every one who examines this subject 
 must be perfectly aware that the same things 
 when viewed under the influence of different 
 feelings, passions, and affections, will seem to 
 wear different aspects, and will therefore pro- 
 duce on the mind very different effects. 
 Ignorance may be mentioned as frequently 
 placing before the eye a medium by which the 
 object is darkened or deformed. A portfolio 
 of the coarsest prints, for instance, would be 
 far more interesting to some of those individuals 
 who have no taste for the arts than a gallery 
 filled with the choicest productions of British 
 institutions or of foreign schools. Nor is 
 this all ; ignorance will not only, in some cases, 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 pronounce the beautiful deformed, but it will 
 often consider deformity beautiful. In a volume 
 of the " British Essayist " a stoiy is given of a 
 European who visited some distant island, the 
 inhabitants of which were humpbacked ; and 
 it is said that on seeing him they offered their 
 thanksgiving to the gods that, while he was not 
 thus distinguished, they possessed so beautiful 
 an addition to the frame ; and it would be easy 
 to find instances more true, equally illustrative. 
 The various feelings and dispositions of the 
 mind will have also a similar influence. 
 
 The lover, for example, instead of admiring 
 a transcript of the beauty of Venus, and paying 
 homage to waving locks, an accurate adjust- 
 ment of straight and curved lines, and a due 
 proportion of the choicest hues, has, in fact, 
 the affections of his heart excited by the intelli- 
 gence, the sensibility, the tenderness, the love, 
 which are reflected on the countenance, as cor- 
 rectly from the emotions of the mind, as the 
 features of the beloved object would be, in a 
 glassy lake, agitated by no breeze, and rippled 
 by no passing zephyr. 
 
 Milton seems to have arrived at the same 
 conclusion : Adam, when describing Eve to 
 his heavenly visitant, exclaims : 
 
 *' Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, 
 In every gesture dignity and love 
 
 and to consummate all, 
 
 Greatness of mind, and nobleness their seat 
 Build in her loveliest, and create an awe 
 About her, as a guard angelic placed." 
 
 Thomson, under the influence of corres- 
 ponding feelings, has given us a similar thought : 
 Palemon says, as he sighs over ** the lovely 
 young Lavinia," that, 
 
 "her form was delicate, 
 
 By beauty kindled, where enlivening sense 
 And more than vulgar goodness seems to 
 dwell." 
 
 To the influence of association we may also 
 allude, as well as to that of ignorance and love. 
 Some associations are personal, and hence our 
 first friends and companions excite similar 
 emotions in our breasts, notwithstanding the 
 changes that pass on the countenance and form ; 
 and even the humble tenement in which we 
 passed our early days is more beautiful to us 
 than the noble and splendid edifice of a peer or 
 a prince, with whom we can claim neither 
 kindred nor acquaintance. 
 
 Others may arise from education, and to this 
 class may be referred the beautiful scenes and 
 
 images called up in the mind by the name of a 
 country, city, or an individual, with which 
 those that have drank into the spirit of classical 
 literature are invariably familiar. Other asso- 
 ciations may be national or provincial. The 
 Highlanders associate with the notes of the 
 bagpipe whatever is soothing in solitude or 
 animating in conflict ; the native of Switzerland 
 cannot resist the charms of the ** cow-herd's 
 song," while the Englishman is insensible to 
 their power, and could only offer in exchange 
 what would be as unattractive to them. If 
 these remarks be admitted, we shall be satis- 
 fied for the future with tracing the phenomena 
 of beauty to one simple principle, instead of 
 pursuing it as some chameleon-like quality, 
 which is ever var}ang, and yet essentially the 
 same. They may also dispose us to judge with 
 more liberality concerning the opinions of 
 others. The native of some distant clime, who 
 is delighted by the tawny countenance which 
 no graceful ringlets adorn, the large and pro- 
 minent forehead, and the protuberant lips of 
 the females of his own tribe, it is probable 
 would not be charmed by the matchless figures 
 of Chantrey or the animated portraits of Shee 
 or of Lawrence. Nor let us sneer -with con- 
 tempt at such a decision. The object that 
 produces in his mind the emotion of beauty, 
 and that only, is beautiful to him, though it 
 might excite in us distaste or disgust ; and the 
 difference may be ascribed to the causes we 
 have noticed, or to others, an allusion to which 
 would carry us beyond our limits. 
 
 One observation more must be made, and 
 that is, that objects may be considered beau- 
 tiful, not only from affording mental pleasure, 
 but also from the gratification of moral feeling. 
 The lover of nature esteems the early flower 
 beautiful, not merely from the delicacy of its 
 tints or the elegance of its form, but from its 
 being the emblem and pledge of the opening 
 spring — the spring unfolding its various stores 
 is additionally beautiful to the philosopher 
 because it reminds him of the development of 
 intellect ; while to the Christian the gi-adual ex- 
 pansion of the mental energies possesses a 
 beauty of a still more exalted character, because 
 it furnishes to his mind a faint though cheering 
 conception of their complete and ultimate dila- 
 tion in the celestial state. Indeed — 
 
 *' His are the mountains, and the valleys his, 
 And the resplendent rivers, — His t' enjoy 
 With a propriety that none can feel, 
 But who with filial confidence inspired, 
 
66 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye, 
 And smiling say — my Father made them all ! 
 Are they not his by a peculiar right, 
 And by an emphasis of interest his, 
 Whose eye they filled with tears of holy joy, 
 Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted 
 
 mind 
 W^ith worthy thoughts of that unwearied love 
 That plann'd, and built, and still upholds a 
 
 world 
 So clothed with beauty^ for rebellious man." 
 Spirit of the Age. 
 
 BEAUTY, Adorned. 
 
 The neck that made that white robe wan, 
 Her stately neck and arms were bare ; 
 Her blue-veined feet unsandalled were j 
 And wildly glittered here and there 
 The gems entangled in her hair. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 BEAUTY of Nature. 
 
 It is almost awful to look at the overwhelming 
 beauty around me, and then think of moral 
 evil ; it seems as if heaven and hell, instead of 
 being separated by a great gulf from one an- 
 other, were absolutely on each other's confines, 
 and indeed not far from every one of us. 
 Might the sense of moral evil be as strong in 
 me as my delight in external beauty, for 
 in a deep sense of moral evil, more per- 
 haps than in anything else, abides a saving 
 knowledge of God ! It is not so much to 
 admire moral good, that we may do and yet 
 not be ourselves conformed to it ; but if we 
 really do abhor that which is evil, not the per- 
 sons in whom evil resides, but the evil which 
 dwelleth in them, and much more manifestly 
 and certainly to our own knowledge, in our 
 own hearts ; this is to have the feeling of God 
 and of Christ, and to have our spirit in sym- 
 pathy with the Spirit of God. Alas ! how 
 easy to see this and say it — how hard to do 
 it, and feel it ! Who is sufficient for these 
 things ? No one but he who feels and really 
 laments his own insufficiency. — Dr. Arnold. 
 
 BEAUTY, Perfect. 
 Ah, fair Zenocrate ! divine Zenocrate ! 
 Fair is too foul an epithet for thee; 
 That in thy passion for thy country's love, 
 And fear to see thy kingly father's harm. 
 
 With hair dishevell'd wip'st thy wat'ry cheek j 
 And, like to Flora in her morning pride, 
 Shaking her silver tresses in the air, 
 Rain'st on the earth resolved pearl in showers, 
 And sprinklest sapphires on thy shining face, 
 Where Beauty, mother to the Muses, sits 
 And comments volumes with her iv'ry pen, 
 Taking instructions from thy flowing eyes j 
 Eyes, when that Ebena steps to heaven. 
 In silence of thy solemn evening's walk, 
 Making the mantle of the richest night, 
 The moon, the planets, and the meteors, light. 
 
 Marlozve. 
 
 BEAUTY, Seductive. 
 
 The painter plays the spider, and hath woven 
 A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men 
 Faster than gnats in cobwebs. But her eyes, 
 How could he see to do them ? having made 
 
 one, 
 Methinks it should have power to steal both 
 
 his, 
 And leave itself unfinish'd. Shakespeare. 
 
 BEAUTY, Spirit of. 
 
 The Spirit of Beauty unfurls her light, 
 And wheels her course in a joyous flight ; 
 I know her track through the balmy air. 
 By the blossoms that cluster and whiten there ;, 
 She leaves the tops of the mountains green, 
 And gems the valley with crystal sheen. 
 
 At morn I know where she rested at night. 
 For the roses are gushing with dewy delight ; 
 Then she mounts again, and around her flings- 
 A shower of light from her purple wings, 
 Till the spirit is drunk with the music on high, 
 That silently fills it with ecstasy ! 
 
 At noon she hies to a cool retreat 
 Where bowering elms over waters meet ; 
 She dimples the wave where the green leaves 
 
 dip. 
 That smiles, as it curls, like a maiden's lip. 
 When her tremulous bosom would hide in 
 
 vain. 
 From her lover, the hope that she loves again. 
 
 At eve she hangs o'er the western sky 
 Dark clouds for a glorious canopy ; 
 And round the skirts of each sweeping fold 
 She paints a border of crimson and gold. 
 Where the lingering sunbeams love to stay 
 When their god in his glory has pass'd away. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 67 
 
 She hovers around us at twilight hour, 
 
 When her presence is felt with the deepest 
 
 power ; 
 She mellows the landscape, and crowds the 
 
 stream 
 With shadows that flit like a fairy dream ; 
 Still wheeling her flight through the gladsome 
 
 air. 
 The spirit of beauty is everywhere. 
 
 Rufiis Dawes. 
 
 BEAUTY, Wondrous. 
 Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman ? 
 Such war of white and red within her cheeks ! 
 What stars do spangle heaven with such 
 
 beauty, 
 As those two eyes become that heavenly face ? 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 BECOMING-, only so when Good. 
 That only which is becoming is good ; there- 
 fore virtue is to be pursued for its own sake ; 
 and, because it is a divine attainment, it cannot 
 be taught, but is the gift of God. He alone 
 who has attained the knowledge of the first 
 good is happy. The end of this knowledge is 
 to render man as like to God as the condition 
 of human nature will permit. This likeness 
 consists in prudence, justice, sanctity, temper- 
 ance. In order to attain this state, it is 
 necessary to be convinced that the body is a 
 prison, from which the soul must be released 
 before it can arrive at the knowledge of those 
 things which are real and immutable. — Plato. 
 
 BED. 
 
 Form'd long ago, yet made to-day, 
 'Tis most employ'd while others sleep ; 
 
 What few are known to give away. 
 Yet none can e'er desire to keep. 
 
 Countess Melbourne. 
 
 BED-CHAMBER. 
 
 From the bath she gat her quietly. 
 
 And clad herself in whatso haste might be ; 
 
 And when at last she was apparelled 
 
 Unto a chamber came, where was a bed 
 
 Of gold and ivory, and precious wood 
 
 Some island bears where never man has stood ; 
 
 And round about hung curtains of delight. 
 Wherein were interwoven day and night. 
 Joined by the hands of love ; and round their 
 
 wings. 
 Knots of fair flowers no earthly May-time 
 
 brings. 
 Strange : for its beauty was the coverlet, 
 With birds and beasts and flowers wrought 
 
 over it ; 
 And every cloth was made in daintier wise 
 Than any man on earth could well devise : 
 Yea, there such beauty was in everything, 
 That she, the daughter of a mighty king. 
 Felt strange therein, and trembled lest that she, 
 Deceived by dreams, had wandered heedlessly 
 Into a bower for some fair goddess made. 
 
 Wvi. Morris. 
 
 Silken, chaste, and hushed. — Keats. 
 
 BED, the Dying. 
 Spirit ! linger yet awhile ! 
 Cast not yet thy mortal coil ! 
 Stay one bright moment ere thy wing 
 From earth to heaven in light shall spring. 
 And tell, oh tell, the sights that lie 
 
 Before thine opening eye ! 
 
 — The visions, feelings, thoughts, that roll 
 In whelming grandeur o'er thy soul. 
 And kindle in thy speaking eye 
 The light of heavenly ecstacy. 
 Reveal, reveal, ere yet the ray 
 That gilds thy sunset, fade away ! 
 And we will list, as those who hear 
 The mysteries of another sphere, 
 Disclosed by one whose bosom feels 
 The wonders that his tongue reveals. 
 Say, is there still no thought that clings 
 With clasping love to earthly things ? 
 Are there no scenes of other years, 
 
 Bright with the dew of love and truth. 
 No tones that listening memory hears 
 
 Of cherish'd joy in early youth. 
 Awaking pulses in thy breast. 
 
 That win thee back from heavenly joy ; 
 And make thee willing still to rest. 
 
 Far from thine own bright home on high ? 
 
 Spirit ! thine eye hath lost its light ! 
 Can these fond thoughts no more delight ? 
 Have joys like these no longer power. 
 To cheer thee in thy parting hour ? 
 Then change the theme ; and tell us now. 
 With rapture beaming on thy brow, 
 
68 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Of glories yet to be leveal'd, 
 With heaven's eternal signet seal'd. 
 Tell of the fears, temptations, woes, 
 That pained thy journey to its close ; 
 And of the love of Him who knew, 
 Thy path of thorns, and led thee through. 
 Tell of the calm and twilight peace, 
 That bids tumultuous feelings cease ; 
 And sheds across thy parting way 
 The dawnings of immortal day. 
 Tell of the land that spreads before thee, 
 And the bright skies that open o'er thee. 
 Say, dost thou hear the angel-song — 
 And see th' innumerable throng ? 
 What means that sparkling of thine eye ? 
 That eager, panting bosom — why ? 
 Oh ! thou hast caught the sight of Him 
 Before whose glance the heavens grow dim ; 
 And thy rapt spirit is before 
 The throne of God for evermore ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 BEE, Her Example to be Followed. 
 
 Go to the bee ! and thence bring home, 
 (Worth all the treasures of her comb, ) 
 
 An antidote against rash strife : 
 She, when her angry flight she wings, 
 But once, and at her peril stings ; 
 
 But gathers honey all her life. 
 
 Bishop. 
 
 BEE, 
 
 The Golden Daughter of the Spring. 
 
 From mead to mead, in wanton labour roves, 
 And loads its little thigh, or gilds its wing 
 With all the essence of the flushing groves : 
 Extracts the aromatic soul of flowers, 
 And, humming in delight, its waxen bowers 
 Fills with the luscious spoils, and lives ambro- 
 sial hours. Anon. 
 
 BEES, Afloat. 
 
 In some parts of France, and also of Piedmont, 
 there are floating apiaries of a hundred beehives : — 
 
 So through the vales of Loire the bee -hives 
 
 glide. 
 The light raft dropping with the silent tide ; 
 
 So, till the laughing scenes are lost in sight, 
 The busy people wing their various flight, 
 Culling unnumbered sweets from nameless 
 
 flowers. 
 That scent the vineyard in its purple hours. 
 
 Rozers. 
 
 BEES, Colonial Settlers in the Air. 
 
 As bees, that when the skies are calm and fair. 
 
 In June, or the beginning of July, 
 Launch forth colonial settlers in the air, 
 Round, round, and round about, they whiz, 
 they fly. 
 With eager worry whirling here and there. 
 They know not whence, nor wither, where, 
 nor why, 
 In utter hurry-scurry, going, coming. 
 Maddening the summer air with ceaseless 
 
 humming ; 
 Till the strong frying-pan's energic jangle, 
 With thrilling thrum their feebler hum doth 
 drown, 
 Then, passive and appeased, they droop and 
 dangle, 
 Clinging together close, and clust'ring down, 
 Linked in a multitudinous living tangle 
 Like an old tassel of a dingy brown ; 
 The joyful farmer sees and spreads his hay. 
 And reckons on a settled sultry day. 
 
 Whistlecraft. 
 
 BEES, Invocation to. 
 
 Go, while summer suns are bright, 
 Take at large thy wandering flight ; 
 Go and load thy tiny feet 
 With every rich and various sweet ; 
 Cling around the flowering thorn, 
 Dive in the woodbine's honied horn ; 
 Seek the wild rose that shades the dell, 
 Explore the foxglove's freckled bell ; 
 Or in the heath-flower's fairy cup 
 Drink the fragrant spirit up. 
 
 But when the meadows shall be mown, 
 And summer's garlands overblown j 
 Then come, thou little busy bee, 
 And let thy homestead be with me ; 
 There, sheltered by thy straw-built hive, 
 In my garden thou shalt live. 
 And that garden shall supply 
 Thy delicious alchemy. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 69 
 
 There, for thee, in autumn, blows 
 The Indian pink and latest rose ; 
 The mignionette perfumes the air. 
 And stocks, unfading flowers, are there. 
 
 Yet fear not when the tempests come, 
 And drive thee to thy waxen home, 
 That I shall then most treacherously 
 For thy honey murder thee. 
 
 Ah, no I — throughout the winter drear 
 I'll feed thee, that another year 
 Thou may'st renew thy industry 
 Among the flowers, thou little busy bee. 
 
 Aiion. 
 
 BEES, Memory of. 
 
 It is interesting to remark that, how far soever 
 bees may wander from their hives (and a mile 
 or two is not uncommon), they always find 
 their way home. According to the poetical 
 creed, this is done memoriter by the insect re- 
 tracing all its wanderings — a doctrine which 
 Rogers, in his ** Pleasures of Memory," has 
 prettily illustrated. 
 
 BEES, their Larder. 
 
 Roused by the gleamy warmth from long re- 
 pose, 
 Th' awakened hive with cheerful murmur 
 
 glows ; 
 To hail returning spring the myriads run. 
 Poise the light wing, and sparkle in the sun. 
 Yet, half afraid to trust th' uncertain sky. 
 At first in short and eddying rings they fly, 
 Till, bolder grown, through fields of air they 
 
 roam, 
 And bear, with fearless hum, their burthens 
 home. 
 
 First the gray willow's glossy pearls they steal, 
 Or rob the hazel of its golden meal. 
 While the gay crocus and the violet blue 
 Yield to the flexile trunk ambrosial dew. 
 For them, in gaudiest robes, the daffodil, 
 Hangs self-enamoured o'er the lucid rill ; 
 And the pale primrose, as she slowly bends 
 O'er the deep dell, her light farina lends. 
 Two wood-nymphs near, with blush of faintest 
 
 glow. 
 Light the wan cheek, and tinge the breast of 
 
 snow. 
 
 Anemone, that shuns the impending shower. 
 And trim oxalis, with her pencilled flower : 
 Close to the shelt'ring copse the maiden cleaves. 
 And coyly plaits her purple-tinted leaves. 
 While sweet adoxa on her withered bed 
 Shakes musky odours from her pale green head. 
 With bolder air, and brightly varnished bloom, 
 Peeps forth young pilewort from the thicket's 
 
 gloom ; 
 And bolder still, leontodons unfold 
 On the smooth turf their ray-encircled gold : 
 With Sol's expanding beam the flowers unclose. 
 And rising Hesper lights them to repose. 
 Nor yet alone to full-robed spring confined. 
 Around her brow the crown of flame they bind. 
 But, scattered still o'er summer's tawny vest. 
 Their lingering sweets regale the insect guest. 
 Soon to a brighter nymph these beauties yield, 
 When gorgeous caltha gilds the marshy field. 
 And maids, and frolic youths, in order gay. 
 Twine her rich wreaths, to hail the new-bom 
 
 May ; 
 In shadowy pomp, there stately coltsfoot 
 
 spreads 
 His giant leaves, and waves his purple heads. 
 While pink-eyed cuckoo-flow'rs, all silver 
 
 white. 
 Fling o'er the dazzling glare a softer light. 
 Timers Telescope. 
 
 BEGGAR MAID, The. 
 
 Her arms across her breast she laid ; 
 
 She was more fair than words can say : 
 Bare-footed came the beggar maid 
 
 Before the king Cophetua. 
 In robe and crown the king stept down, 
 
 To meet and greet her on her way ; 
 *' It is no wonder," said the lords, 
 
 '* She is more beautiful than day." 
 
 As shines the moon in clouded skies. 
 
 She in her poor attire was seen : 
 One praised her ankles, one her eyes, 
 
 One her dark hair and lovesome mien. 
 So sweet a face, such angel grace. 
 
 In all that land had never been : 
 Cophetua sware a royal oath : 
 
 " This beggar maid shall be my queen !" 
 Tennyson. 
 
 BELIEF in God Above all Things. 
 I ENVY no quality of the mind or intellect in 
 others ; not genius, power, wit, or fancy ; but 
 if I could choose what would be most delight- 
 
70 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 ful, and I believe most useful to me, I should 
 prefer a firm religious belief to every other 
 blessing ; for it makes life a discipline of good- 
 ness, — creates new hopes, when all earthly 
 hopes vanish ; and throws over the decay, the 
 destruction of existence, the most gorgeous of 
 all lights ; awakens life even in death, and 
 from corruption and decay calls up beauty and 
 divinity ; makes an instrument of torture and 
 of shame the ladder of ascent to paradise ; and, 
 far above all combinations of earthly hopes, 
 calls up the most delightful visions of plains 
 and amaranths, the gardens of the blest, the 
 security of everlasting joys, where the sen- 
 sualist and the sceptic view only gloom, de- 
 cay, annihilation, and despair. — Sir Humphry 
 Davy. 
 
 BELIEF, its Accountability. 
 
 In every Christian land, the youth and the 
 manhood are accountable for their belief, be- 
 cause accountable for their use or their neglect 
 of that inquiry by which the belief ought to 
 have been determined. They have all, from 
 their infancy, heard of God. Many have been 
 trained to think of him, amidst a thousand 
 associations of reverence. Some under a roof 
 of piety, have often lisped the prayers of early 
 childhood to this unseen being ; and in the often- 
 repeated sound of morning and evening ori- 
 sons they have become familiar with His name. 
 Even they who have grown up at random, 
 through the years of a neglected boyhood, are 
 greatly within the limits of that responsibility 
 for which we plead. They are fully possessed 
 if not with the certainty, at least with the idea 
 of a great eternal Sovereign. The very im- 
 precations of profaneness may have taught it 
 to them. The very sabbath they spend in riot 
 and blasphemy at least reminds them of a God. 
 The worship-bell of the church they never enter 
 conveys to them if not the truth, at least an imagi- 
 nation of the truth, which, if it do not arrest 
 them by a sense of obligation, will leave guilt 
 upon their souls, though it be guilt against a 
 God who is unknown.— Chalmers, 
 
 BELIEF, the True. 
 
 The true God is He that was *• in Christ re- 
 conciling the world unto Himself;" there is 
 none other but He ; and if this great charac- 
 teristic be denied, or any other assumed in its 
 stead, a man is left ** without God;" after 
 
 which he may call himself a Deist if he will ; 
 but his God is a mere idol of the imagination, 
 and has no corresponding reality in the whole 
 universe of beings. — W. Jones. 
 
 As there is no true religion but the religion 
 of Christians, so there is no true God but the 
 God of Christians. — W. Jones. 
 
 O GUIDE our doubtful feet aright, 
 
 And keep us in Thy ways ; 
 And while we turn our vows to prayers, 
 
 Turn Thou our prayers to praise ! 
 
 Beddome. 
 
 BELIEVE in God. 
 
 Believe, O man, in Him who is man and 
 God ; believe, O man, in Him who suffered 
 and is worshipped, the living God ; believe, ye 
 that are enslaved, in Him that was dead ; all 
 ye men, believe in Him, who only of all men 
 is God. — St. Clement. 
 
 BELIEVER, Growth of. 
 
 The growth of a believer is not like a mush 
 room, but like an oak, which increases slowly 
 indeed, but surely. Many suns, showers, and 
 frosts pass upon it before it comes to per- 
 fection ; and though in winter it seems dead, 
 it is gathering strength at the root. — Cowper. 
 
 BELIEVER, The True. 
 
 If, by the spirit of Christ, we would attain a 
 victory over sin, we must endeavour to fight a 
 good fight, and run a good race, and to "enter 
 in at the strait gate ; " that, so overcoming, 
 we may receive the crown of life. — Cudworth. 
 
 BELIEVER, the True, Sinneth Not. 
 
 He that is truly regenerate by the Spirit, is 
 made a hater and forsaker of sin, and therefore 
 doth not live in the ruling love or practice of 
 it ; nor indeed, commit any sin, in that he is 
 sanctified ; much less live in wilful, gross sin ; 
 for God's Word and Spirit, by which He was 
 regenerate, still abide in Him. And it is a 
 contradiction to say that, at once, he is a holy 
 person, ** born of God," and yet liveth in 
 reigning sin. — Baxter. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 71 
 
 Let us "root upi all the relics of sin ; " let 
 us " work out our own salvation with fear and 
 trembling;" that it may appear that the Spirit 
 of sanctification is in us, and that Christ him- 
 self dwelleth in our hearts by faith. — Bishop 
 Jewell. 
 
 BELIEVER, Trials of. 
 
 The trials of David and Jacob were sharp, 
 but they were short ; and they proved to their 
 advantage, put them upon acts of humiliation 
 and prayer, and ended in a double blessing. 
 Nothing can harm us that quickens our earnest- 
 ness and frequency in applying to a throne 
 of grace ; only trust the Lord, and keep close 
 to Him, and all that befalls you shall be for 
 good. Temptations end in victory; troubles 
 prove an increase of consolation ; yea, our 
 very falls and failings tend to increase our 
 spiritual wisdom, to give us a greater know- 
 ledge of Satan's devices, and make us more 
 habitually upon our guard against them. 
 Happy case of the believer in Jesus ! when 
 bitten by the fiery serpent he needs not go far 
 for a remedy ; he has only to look to a bleed- 
 ing Saviour and be healed. — John Newton. 
 
 BELIEVING, Three Means of. 
 
 There are three means of believing ; by in- 
 spiration, by reason, and by custom. Christi- 
 anity, which is the only rational institution, 
 does yet admit none for its sons who do not 
 believe by inspiration. Nor does it injure rea- 
 son or custom, or debar them of their proper 
 force ; on the contrary, it directs us to open 
 our mind by the proofs of the former, and to 
 confirm our minds by the authority of the lat- 
 ter. But then it chiefly engages us to offer 
 ourselves, with all humility, to the succours of 
 inspired grace, which alone can produce the 
 true and salutary effect. — Pascal. 
 
 BELOVED, How to be. 
 
 The surest and the shortest way to make your- 
 self beloved and honoured is indeed to be the 
 very man you wish to appear. Set yourself, 
 therefore, diligently to the attaining of every 
 ▼irtue, and you will find on experience that no 
 one whatsoever but will flourish and gain 
 strength when properly exercised. — Socrates, 
 
 BENEFICENCE, Christian. 
 
 That it is a duty to supply the wants of the 
 needy and alleviate the sorrows of the afflicted 
 will doubtless be generally admitted. Few 
 choose to incur the imputation of covetousness 
 and inhumanity ; but it is not all those who 
 give out their abundance that can justly be 
 called benefactors. We must mark the prin- 
 ciple from whence the action flows ; we must 
 look to the circumstances which accompany it, 
 in all their relative bearings. Christian bene- 
 ficence is distinguished by self-denial, discrimi- 
 nation, humility, and cheerfulness. 
 
 A man gives a pittance of his ample stores, 
 a mere fraction of his annual revenue, to the 
 poor, and plumes himself upon his supposed 
 liberality. Some urgent case is, perhaps, pre- 
 sented to him, and a warm appeal is made to 
 his feelings ; but he pleads inability, and 
 declines lending any help. We inquire, what 
 can it be which cripples and confines him? 
 The correct answer will be. His vast establish- 
 ment, his various and increasing expenses. 
 Debts must be met and discharged, before 
 charitable contributions can be given. But 
 Christian principle would dictate the propriety 
 of cutting off many superfluities, for the express 
 purpose of having at command a greater power 
 of doing good. Self-denial enters into the 
 very essence of genuine personal religion. He 
 who receives the doctrine and imbibes the 
 spirit of the Gospel, will often ask himself, 
 What indulgence can I abridge, what gratifica- 
 tions resign, to increase my means of useful- 
 ness ? The grosser luxuries of sense and show 
 will thus be given up for the refined luxuries 
 of beneficence. If we look into the world, 
 and listen to the language and weigh the con- 
 duct of mankind, we shall be soon convinced 
 that the most excellent institutions, which 
 depend for their support on spontaneous 
 generosity, are chiefly sustained by those who 
 habitually practise self-denial. They are the 
 latent springs, the main pillars, the prime 
 agents. Those mere men of the world who 
 are desirous of gaining the credit of a liberal 
 character are not a little chagrined and mor- 
 tified, when the career of Christian benevo- 
 lence drags them into measures which they 
 secretly dislike, and yet scarcely dare openly 
 condemn. Sometimes, indeed, this disposition 
 vents itself in language, and the enthusiasts are 
 blamed for their "meddling and officious 
 charity ; their restless attempts at doing good ; 
 their fashionable novelties ; their vague and 
 
72 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 sickly philanthropy. " The grounds and reasons 
 of these complaints are sufficiently obvious. 
 If the bestowment of a few fragments would 
 earn the praise of liberality, it were worth 
 seeking ; but the price is now set too high. 
 Religious zealots, fertile in new plans, and 
 fearless of new labours and toils, have thrown 
 down all the limits and ancient landmarks of 
 moderation. These are, in substance, at least, 
 the common pleas of such as will not learn to 
 spare that they may have to spend. 
 
 Christian beneficence is marked by a power 
 of discrimination. Good-nature, as it is called, 
 or warm feeling, may render a man lavish of 
 his property, who can in no admissible 
 or legitimate sense of the word be termed 
 charitable. The difference between one who 
 gives from the impulse of the moment, and 
 one who gives from principle, is too great to 
 be overlooked by any who have their senses 
 exercised to discern both good and evil, and 
 observe the lights and shades which impart a 
 specific cast and colour to the character. A 
 Christian feels the obligations of duty ; feels 
 the force of claims, estimated in their remote 
 as well as immediate consequences. He opens 
 his hand to communicate to the needy, with a 
 deliberate view both of their circumstances 
 and their character. Without the exercise of 
 a discriminative judgment, mischief and injury 
 may be done where good is intended. It is 
 impossible to look into the world and not be 
 convinced that this in many instances actually 
 is the case. Bounty is bestowed in a manner 
 which tends to relax the sinews of industry 
 and increase the temptations of sensuality. It 
 will, therefore, fairly follow as an inference 
 that knowledge and reflection are necessary to 
 conduct the movements of charity. We are 
 commanded, * * as we have opportunity, to do 
 good to all ; but especially to them who are of 
 the household of faith. " Here discrimination is 
 expressly enjoined ; and however difficult in the 
 exercise, it is highly important, and in many 
 cases indispensable. 
 
 Christian beneficence is to be always accom- 
 panied with humility. "Let not thy left 
 hand know what thy right hand doeth " is the 
 striking maxim of our Lord on this subject. 
 Such is human nature, that we are solemnly 
 cautioned to beware that even when our actions 
 be right our motives be not wrong. A vain, 
 self-righteous spirit makes a traffic of charity ; it 
 requires a receipt in full of applause for every- 
 thing it bestows. Thus the ancient Pharisees 
 gave their alms to be seen and praised of men. 
 
 and took care to signalize their donations by 
 the sound of a trumpet, that plenty of wit- 
 nesses might be present as well as receivers. 
 A boastful ostentation is, even in our own 
 time, the bane of thousands and myriads. 
 Their frauds and extortions only are done in 
 secret ; their generous deeds are all on record. 
 A Christian will not withhold his aid from in- 
 stitutions, because their claims and operations 
 are made public, but he confines not his atten- 
 tions to them ; he visits the fatherless and 
 widows in their affliction, and gives succour 
 and relief where neither worldly profit nor 
 human praise can be expected. Such a man 
 has too deep a sense of his own unworthiness 
 and incessant dependence on divine bounty to. 
 glory in his virtues and exertions. " Who am 
 I, and what is my people, that we should be 
 able to offer so willingly after this sort? for all 
 things come of thee, and of thine own have 
 we given thee," This is the language of a 
 sovereign who felt himself but a steward of 
 the treasures placed in his hand by the great 
 Lord of all. The most munificent gifts, we 
 assuredly know, are unacceptable to Heaven 
 without humility. The vain seek and receive 
 a present reward, but there is none laid up for 
 them in reversion. 
 
 Christian beneficence is distinguished by 
 cheerfulness. Many people give of their sub- 
 stance only when they are urged with pressing 
 solicitations and wearied by troublesome im- 
 portunity. We behold reluctance in their 
 looks, hear it in their language, and gather it 
 from their slow, hesitating movements. There 
 is in the ungracious, revolting manner of such, 
 persons an intelligible exposition of the sordid 
 motives by which they are actuated. How far 
 their spirit is from the generous temper which 
 true religion produces and promotes is easily 
 demonstrated by an appeal to the testimonies, 
 of Scripture. *' Thou shalt not harden thine 
 heart, nor shut thine hand from thy poor 
 brother ; thou shalt surely give him, and thine, 
 heart shall not be grieved when thou givest 
 unto him. Every man, according as he pur- 
 poseth in his heart, so let him give — not 
 grudgingly, or of necessity, for God loveth a 
 cheerful giver." The beneficence which flows 
 from love to God will be prompt, cheerful,, 
 discriminative, attended with self-denial, hu- 
 mility, and devotion. In this duty we must 
 remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he 
 said, "It is more blessed to give than ta 
 receive." There is an exquisite enjoyment and' 
 delight in acts of kindness. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 73 
 
 A Christian will rather lessen his personal 
 conveniences and accommodations than lower 
 the scale and narrow the sphere of his chari- 
 ties ; yet, should any heavy loss or calamity 
 materially diminish his means, he will yet do 
 all he can, recollecting, "that if there be at 
 first a willing mind, it is accepted according to 
 what a man hath, and not according to what 
 he hath not." Let those who would honour 
 God, and benefit their fellow men, carefully 
 examine and compare the objects of charity ; 
 lay down the rules and measures which should 
 regulate their bounties and gifts, and habitually 
 reflect on their responsibility and obligation. 
 Thus furnished and prepared, they will not 
 give or withhold as the feeling of the moment 
 dictates ; their exercises of benevolence will 
 be a well-connected and efficient system. 
 Devising liberal things, by liberal things they 
 shall stand ; following his steps who went 
 about doing good, they will be recognised as 
 his true disciples in this world, and received 
 into the everlasting habitations of his kingdom 
 in the world to come. — Rustic us. 
 
 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 Every virtue carries with it its own reward, 
 but none in so distinguished and pre-eminent 
 a degree as benevolence. The exercise of this 
 feeling possesses so powerful a control over 
 every spring of human action that, by a com- 
 mutation strikingly expressive of its energetic 
 influence, we now employ the very term liter- 
 ally applicable to the feeling of philanthropy, 
 to express its actual and powerful operation ; 
 and the wish to do good is synonymous with 
 the performance of it. Man is a social being 
 — his faculties, his perceptions, his feelings, 
 are all relative ; and every man, be his situa- 
 tion what it may, contributes, by his individual 
 character and influence, either to the bane or 
 benefit of mankind at large. The narrowness 
 of the circle in which he may move does not 
 annihilate the moral relation in which he 
 stands to the wide family of the world ; and 
 he is in that circle, if not to the same extent, 
 at least in the same proportion, as an emperor, 
 the source of happiness or of misery to his 
 kind. If the latter, his perverted talents, his 
 pestilential influence, his demoralizing example, 
 combine to render him the agent of actual evil, 
 and of consequent distress. If the former, 
 principles formed and matured under the in- 
 fluence of unerring truth, conduct regulated 
 
 by a constant and impartial appeal * * to the 
 law and to the testimony," abilities directed 
 and hallowed by the presiding spirit of Christi- 
 anity, and influence, acquired and sustained by 
 the exhibition of whatsoever things are lovely 
 and of goodreport, will throwa charm of charac- 
 ter around their possessor which will secure the 
 admiration and promote the welfare of all 
 with whom he is connected. The constant 
 operation of such a character is in itself benevo- 
 lence, unconscious, indeed, but powerful, inas- 
 much as it contributes to the well-being of 
 society at large, although it is necessarily in- 
 ferior in kind and degree to the benevolence 
 which seeks out objects of compassion, and 
 brings all these good qualities to bear upon 
 the intention of affording them actual and 
 specific relief. It is then that energy is brought 
 to the aid of benevolent feeling ; and the good 
 wishes and intentions of the bosom, like un- 
 sealed waters, open to themselves courses of 
 definite usefulness, and flow forth for the com- 
 munication of ascertained benefits. Had 
 Wilberforce chosen, as a field for the exercise 
 of his benevolence, the quietude and retire- 
 ment of private life — in the operation of his 
 general character and sentiments, and in- 
 fluence, among the few by whom he might 
 have been surrounded, he would still have 
 been a philanthropist. But when he came 
 forth from the stillness of privacy to throw 
 down the gauntlet of Christian defiance against 
 oppression under every form — to shake the 
 thunders of his manly eloquence against usur- 
 pation, and cruelty, and blood — to burst open, 
 with the mighty arm of justice, the dungeon 
 of slavery, and to strike off" the collar of bond- 
 age from the neck of the injured African — 
 then his sentiments gained the energy of ex- 
 pression, his influence the development of 
 Christian feeling, his character the crown of 
 holy and enterprising benevolence. 
 
 It is a trite remark, that the man who waits 
 for signal opportunities of exerting the energies, 
 or of displaying the amiabilities, of his charac- 
 ter, may spend his life in anticipating what 
 perhaps may never transpire ; while the num- 
 berless ordinary opportunities of good which 
 the history of every day presents are suffered 
 to elapse without being deemed worthy to be 
 employed or improved. It is the part of true 
 wisdom, however, to follow the contrary ex- 
 ample of Him in whose character benevolence 
 and wisdom shone forth with the lustre of ac- 
 knowledged and unrivalled excellency — of Him 
 who was the brightness of His Father's glory^ 
 
74 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 and the express image of His person — of Him, 
 of whom Moses and the prophets gave witness 
 — of Him whose mighty working was able to 
 subdue all things unto Himself^of Him, the 
 stainless and unspotted victim, self-offered from 
 all eternity — of Him whose single sacrifice was 
 to ransom for ever a multitude whom no man 
 can number, out of every nation, and kindred, 
 and tribe, and people, and tongue — of Him 
 whose death was to bind the garland of ever- 
 lasting life around the brows of myriads' about 
 the throne, and to cause the song of salvation 
 to burst like the voice of mighty waters, from 
 the harps of angels, and the tongues of the just 
 made perfect, and to purchase for Himself the 
 sceptre of unlimited dominion and the throne 
 of everlasting power : — of Him it was testified, 
 while on earth, that, without a friend to en- 
 courage or a sympathising bosom to cheer, 
 *' he went about" from day to day, in the ex- 
 ercise of unwearied benevolence, "doing good." 
 Oh, what a lustre does it shed around the 
 character of the Redeemer, that while his 
 bosom burned with a love that was to consume 
 its earthly tenement to the dust, and to display 
 its powers amidst the agonies of martyrdom, 
 and the groans of a sympathising creation. He 
 spent not days and years in fortifying his soul 
 against ** the hour" of his unearthly and inex- 
 pressible struggle, but was found as the meanest 
 pilgrim in the world He capie to redeem, heal- 
 ing the sick, cheering the disconsolate, en- 
 lightening the blind, raising the dead ; and 
 the charge and criterion which He bequeathed 
 to his followers breathed the same spirit — "by 
 this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, 
 if ye love one another," 
 
 In no instance is the wisdom of Divine Pro- 
 vidence more manifestly displayed than in the 
 opportunity which is afforded by the diversified 
 condition of mankind for the exercise of this 
 benign disposition. Sin has constituted our 
 world a wilderness ; it has infused the bitter- 
 ness of poverty and disease into the cup of 
 human happiness, and has poisoned every 
 spring of earthly felicity ; while, from the 
 difference in rank, in circumstance, and in 
 feeling, every one has ' ' mourned apart. " Over 
 this scene of misery and wretchedness, the 
 Gospel, like an angel of mercy, has descended, 
 fraught with the errand and breathing the 
 spirit of love. It was then that the influence 
 of piety displayed itself in the active ofiices of 
 benevolence ; and he who had hitherto shut 
 up his bowels of compassion, deeming either 
 that, as he had never received consolation, he 
 
 had it not in his power to bestow, or that his 
 own case required too great an expense of 
 feeling to allow him to think of others, found 
 it to be his enjoyment, as well^s his duty, " to 
 do good, and to communicate." Then the 
 very difference in rank and circumstance, 
 hitherto so great a barrier, proved a powerful 
 means of facilitating the designs of benevolence, 
 since every man has some inferior to whom he 
 may render assistance ; and the sympathy of 
 no bosom is so worthless as not to find a corres- 
 ponding chord in the heart of another. It is 
 the distinguishing glory of Christianity, that, 
 while it reveals ' ' an exceeding and eternal 
 weight of glory " in the world beyond the 
 grave, it does not march to this heavenly para 
 disc through scenes of desolation and of blood ; 
 but that, under its mild and merciful influence, 
 the wilderness is made to rejoice, and blossom 
 as the rose. Religion softens the obduracy of 
 the human heart, supplies the never-failing 
 motive of the love of Christ, as an incitement 
 to the cultivation of the same spirit, and holds 
 out, as the final reward of a holy and habitual 
 devotion to his service, manifesting itself in the 
 exercise of peaceful and benevolent principles, 
 the approving testimony of Him who accepts 
 the slightest offering presented in humility, 
 and gratitude, and love, and who will own it 
 before assembled v/orlds, as having been done 
 to the least of his brethren, and therefore to 
 himself. — Spirit of the Age. 
 
 Animated by Christian motives and directed 
 to Christian ends, it shall in no wise go unre- 
 warded ; here, by the testimony of an ap- 
 proving conscience ; hereafter, by the benedic- 
 tion of our blessed Redeemer, and a brighter 
 inheritance in His Father's house. — Bishop 
 Mant. 
 
 Benevolence is not in word and in tongue, 
 but in deed and in truth. It is a business with 
 men as they are, and with human life as drawn 
 by the rough hand of experience. It is a duty 
 which you must perform at the call of principle ; 
 though there be no voice of eloquence to give 
 splendour to your exertions, and no music of 
 poetry to lead your willing footsteps through 
 the bowers of enchantment. It is not the im- 
 pulse of high and ecstatic emotion. It is an exer- 
 tion of principle. You must go to the poor man's 
 cottage, though no verdure flourish around it, 
 and no rivulet be nigh to delight you by the 
 gentleness of its murmurs. If you look for the 
 romantic simplicity of fiction, you will be 
 disappointed ; but it is your duly to persevere, 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 75 
 
 in spite of every discoviragement Benevolence 
 is not merely a feeling, but a principle ; not a 
 dream of rapture for the fancy to indulge in, 
 but a business for the hand to execute. — 
 Chalmas. 
 
 BENEVOLENCE, Always the Same. 
 
 The same benevolence which, in the days of 
 health and prosperity, would have exerted itself 
 in going about doing good to all within its 
 reach, will in the time of sickness and afflic- 
 tion be expressed by a constant endeavour to 
 suppress, as much as possible, every word or 
 look that may give pain, by receiving with 
 thankfulness every attempt to give ease and 
 comfort, even though, by being ill-judged or 
 ill-timed, it be in reality distressing ; and by a 
 thousand little attentions, which will make a 
 deeper impression on a feeling heart for being 
 paid at such a time, and which at least will 
 serve to show that no sufferings of our own 
 can make us indifferent to the happiness of 
 others. — Bawdier. 
 
 BENEVOLENCE, 
 
 Characteristic of the Kingdom of Heaven. 
 
 When the kingdom of heaven is established 
 by Divine grace in the heart, the means of a 
 holy liberality are invariably extended ; be- 
 cause every temporal possession is then re- 
 garded as a talent lent by the Most High, for 
 the promotion of His own glory, and for the 
 good of His creatures. *'A new command- 
 ment," saith the Redeemer, " I give unto you, 
 that ye love one another ; as I have loved 
 you, that ye also love one another." Now the 
 affection of the Son of God towards lost trans- 
 gressoi-s was universal. He did not refuse to 
 cleanse the leper, because He had raised the 
 dead ; — nor did he turn away from the impor- 
 tunate cry of the blind, because He had un- 
 stopped the ears of the deaf, or had made the 
 lame to walk . . . "Beloved, if God so 
 loved us, we ought also to love one another." — 
 Buddicom. 
 
 BENEVOLENCE, Lifiuence of. 
 
 The only way to be loved, is to be, and to 
 appear lovely ; to possess and display kindness, 
 benevolence, tenderness ; to be free from 
 selfishness, and to be alive to the welfare of 
 others. When Dr. Doddridge asked his little 
 
 daughter, who died so early, why everybody 
 seemed to love her she answered, ** I cannot 
 tell, unless it be because I love everybody." 
 This was not only a striking, but very judicious 
 reply. It accords with the sentiment of 
 Seneca, who gives us a love-charm. And what 
 do you suppose the secret is? *'Love," says 
 he, "in order to be loved." No being ever 
 yet drew another by the use of terror and 
 authority. — Jay. 
 
 BENEVOLENCE, 
 
 Life without, a Poor Thing. 
 
 S urely, if it were put out of our power to 
 perform acts of benevolence, our life itself 
 would become poor enough. If it were pos- 
 sible that the impulse of pity could die in us, 
 there would be a melancholy prospect for our 
 joy and our pleasure. The man who is fortu- 
 nate enough to be able to give receives more 
 than the poor taker. Alas ! it is the only 
 thing that can at all mitigate the harshness of 
 property, the cruelty of possession, that a part 
 of what is disproportionately accumulated is 
 dropped upon the wretched creatures who are 
 pining below us, that it may not be utterly for- 
 gotten that we are all brethren, and are there- 
 fore bound by the strongest ties to afford help 
 to each other in our misfortunes. — Tieck. 
 
 BENEVOLENCE Must be an Attribute. 
 
 I CHARGE you, and not I only, but the eternal 
 God himself, He wills and requires all those 
 whom He hath blessed with riches in this 
 world, that they be not high-minded, nor trust 
 in uncertain riches, but that they put theii 
 whole trust and confidence only in the living 
 God, whose all things are, and who gives us 
 whatsoever we have ; that they do good with 
 what He hath put into their hands, laying it 
 out in acts of piety towards Him, and of 
 charity to the poor, that His worship may be 
 decently performed, and the poor liberally re- 
 lieved ; that they be rich in good works, 
 striving to excel each other in "doing good in 
 their generation," that they be ready every 
 moment to distribute, and always ready to 
 communicate to every good work, wherein they 
 can pay their homage, and express their thank- 
 fulness to Him for what they have. — Bishop 
 Beveridoe. 
 
76 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 BIBLE and the Book of Nature. 
 
 There are two books laid before us to study, 
 to prevent our falling into error : first, the 
 volume of the Scriptures, which reveal the 
 will of God ; then the volume of the Crea- 
 tures, which express His power : the latter of 
 which is a key to the former, opening not 
 only our intellect, to conceive the genuine 
 sense of the Scriptures, which is to be drawn 
 out by the general rules of reason and laws of 
 speech, but, besides that, unlocking our faith 
 also, to enter into a serious meditation of the 
 Omnipotence of God, the characters whereof 
 are chiefly signed and engraven on his works. 
 — Bacon. 
 
 BIBLE, a Restraint upon Evil Passions. 
 
 When young persons who have been religi- 
 ously educated become depraved in their 
 moral feelings and licentious in their conduct, 
 the vitiation of the imagination and of the 
 social affections tends to obscure that internal 
 evidence of the truth of Christianity which, 
 to a mind not depraved or perverted, is alone 
 sufficient to command belief. And as the 
 injunctions of the Bible, and its awful sanctions, 
 are the principal restraints upon the passions, 
 there is a strong motive for wishing to invali- 
 date its authority ; this motive may so far 
 divert the attention from the direct evidence 
 of revelation, and so fix it upon objections 
 and difficulties, that, at length, a very sincere 
 kind of infidelity may be produced, which may 
 continue to infatuate the understanding to the 
 last moment of life. — Elements of Thought. 
 
 BIBLE, a True Guide. 
 
 It is this belief (in the Bible), the fruits of 
 deep meditation, which has served me as the 
 guide of my moral and literary life. I have 
 found it a capital safely invested and richly 
 productive of interest, although I have some- 
 times made but a bad use of it. — Goethe. 
 
 BIBLE, Inspired. 
 
 A SINGLE book has saved me ; but that book 
 is not of human origin. Long had I despised 
 it ; long had I deemed it a class-book for the 
 
 credulous and ignorant ; until, having investi- 
 gated the Gospel of Christ, with an ardent 
 desire to ascertain its truth or falsity, its pages 
 proffered to my inquiries the simplest know- 
 ledge of man and nature, and the simplest, 
 and at the same time the most exalted system 
 of moral ethics. Faith, hope, and charity 
 were enkindled in my bosom ; and every 
 advancing step strengthened me in the con- 
 viction that the morals of this book are as 
 infinitely superior to human morals as its 
 oracles are superior to human opinions. — 
 M. L. Baiitin. 
 
 BIBLE, its Evident Inspiration. 
 It is highly worthy of observation that the 
 inspired writings received by Christians are 
 distinguishable from all other books pretend- 
 ing to inspiration, from the scriptures of the 
 Brahmins, and even from the Koran, in their 
 strong and frequent recommendations of truth. 
 I do not here mean veracity, which cannot but 
 be enforced in every code which appeals to the 
 religious principle of man ; but knowledge. 
 This is not only as the crown and honour of a 
 man, but to seek after it is again and again 
 commanded us as one of our most sacred 
 duties. Yea, the very perfection and final bliss 
 of the glorified spirit is represented by the 
 Apostle as a plain aspect, or intuitive behold- 
 ing of truth in its eternal and immutable 
 source. Not that knowledge can of itself do 
 all ! The light of religion is not that of the 
 moon, light without heat ; but neither is its 
 warmth that of the stove, warmth without 
 light. Religion is the sun whose warmth 
 swells, and stirs and actuates the life of nature, 
 but who at the same time beholds all the growth 
 of life with a master eye, makes all objects 
 glorious on which he looks, and by that glory 
 visible to all others. — Coleridge. 
 
 BIBLE, its Intense Poetry. 
 O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true ! 
 Scenes of accomplished bliss ! which who can 
 
 see. 
 Though but in distant prospect, and not feel 
 His soul refreshed with foretaste of the joy? 
 Rivers of gladness water all the earth, 
 And clothe all climes with beauty. * * 
 The various seasons woven into one. 
 And that one season an eternal spring. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 77 
 
 BIBLE, its Life and Power. 
 Oh ! what a book is this : which men, if they 
 shut not their eyes, might see the living God 
 only could frame, where two impressions are 
 oft made discernible at once : the one, of words 
 and syllables by the printer's types upon paper, 
 but the other of life and power by the Holy 
 Ghost, by whom these are made living words ; 
 so that the truth of grace, the breathings of 
 God on his people, his felt presence, and that 
 near fellowship they are admitted to by him, 
 may be seen to be nothing else but some part 
 of this second impression of the Bible. — 
 Fleming. 
 
 BIBLE, its Literary Power. 
 
 Truly, as to my own particular taste, no 
 book of devotion doth constantly affect me so 
 powerfully as the Bible. And whereas I am 
 of so nice a palate, that in my esteem com- 
 posures of that kind still lose at the second 
 reading, in the inspired volume, familiarity 
 breeds not contempt but reverence, and I like 
 a book acquaintance that still endears. When 
 I first began attentively to read the Scripture, 
 and (according to my custom when I read 
 books, whereof I have a promising expecta- 
 tion, to mark in the margin the passages which 
 seemed to deserve a peculiar notice or reflec- 
 tion), I marked but here and there some verses 
 in a chapter, but when upon a greater familiarity 
 with the sense and the applicableness of Scrip- 
 ture, I came to re-survey it, I then in some 
 places marked the whole chapter, and in most 
 others left much fewer texts than before fur- 
 nished with some mark of reference. And 
 whereas at my entrance, I took even the 
 choicest parts of the Bible to be at best but 
 like some Indian province, wherein, though 
 mines and gems are more abundant than in 
 other countries, yet they were but sparingly to 
 be met here and there, after a competent stay, 
 my ensuing perusals presented it me, if not as 
 a royal jewel made up of gold and precious 
 stones, yet (which is more glorious) like 
 Aaron's breastplate, a sacred jewel, the par- 
 ticular instructions for which were given by 
 God himself; and which beside the various 
 number of flaming gems set in fine gold, and 
 placed in a mysterious order, was ennobled by 
 that Urim and Thummim, wherein God vouch- 
 safed to reveal himself to mortals, and was 
 adorned with so much cunning work in gold, 
 blue, purple, scarlet, and fine twined linen, 
 that the contrivance and workmanship lent a 
 
 lustre to the glittering materials, without being 
 obscured by them. And I must confess that 
 when sometimes, with the apostles on the 
 mount, I contemplate Moses and Elias talking 
 with Christ, I mean the law and the prophets 
 symphonizing with the gospel, I cannot but 
 exclaim with Peter — " It is good for me to be 
 here." — Hon. Robert Boyle. 
 
 BIBLE, Mighty in Operation. 
 
 Hath this glorious Gospel, which hath so 
 long shined bright in our eyes, and sounded 
 loud in our ears, been mighty in operation 
 upon our souls, in planting in them the power 
 of true godliness ? Do we daily grow more 
 sound by it in the knowledge of the Truth ; 
 and see more particularly into the whole oper- 
 ation of Christianity? Doth it continually 
 build us up more strongly in faith, repentance, 
 and an holy obedience to all His command- 
 ments? Why, then, blessed is our case. — 
 R. Bolton. 
 
 BIBLE, 
 
 Supplies the Place of Open Eevelation. 
 
 Now, what is the compensation for God's sus- 
 tained and systematic invisibility? Revelation. 
 God has made the Bible supply the place of 
 " open vision," and constituted it its sole repre- 
 sentative in a world where He thinks it improper 
 to show Himself. What then must be the ex- 
 cellency and the authority of a book which 
 compensates for the invisibility of a God ! 
 How august and sublime must be the oracles 
 to which the Governor of all worlds has com- 
 mitted the manifestation of His character, and 
 the promulgation of His will in this world ! 
 The Bible is appointed to do, and does, what 
 archangels could not perform better, were 
 they to take their stand nightly upon the nearest 
 stars, and speak down to the listening earth. 
 Amazing consideration ! God had an infinite 
 variety of ways in which to reveal himself ; 
 and yet he fixed upon the single and simple 
 form of a written message as the best : thus 
 rendering the Bible his accredited substitute. 
 
 Taking this view of revelation, we are war- 
 ranted to expect that a book which thus sup- 
 plies the place of a present Deity will, like all 
 His other works, bear convincing marks of its 
 divine origin, and be so obviously Godlike 
 and so absolutely perfect, that it cannot be 
 
78 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 confounded with any human writings. We 
 have a right to expect that its truth should 
 be as visible as God is invisible. Parts of 
 its meaning may be doubtful, without affect- 
 ing its authority ; because, whatever is essen- 
 tially mysterious in the nature of God must 
 ever remain so, in defiance of all human 
 language. Indeed, if there were no mystery 
 about what is said of God, it is self-evident 
 that the sober fact has been concealed : for un- 
 definable mystery is involved in any and every 
 view of Deity. But while the precise mean- 
 ing of some parts of revelation may thus be 
 doubtful, without in the least lessening its 
 authority, its truth, as a whole, must be 
 demonstrable, as the ground of that autho- 
 rity. 
 
 Now, amongst the evidences of its truth, 
 the perfect openness and publicity of the lead- 
 ing revelations deserves attention. God has 
 "not spoken in secret, nor in dark places of 
 the earth." "These things were not done 
 in a corner," but on *' the high places of 
 the earth." Agreeably to this assurance, the 
 Mosaic revelations were given with the utmost 
 publicity on Mount Sinai. Two millions and 
 a half of people were encamped before the 
 mountain ; two days were spent in solemn pre- 
 paration to meet God ; and measures, equally 
 effulgent and effectual, taken to rouse general 
 interest and expectation. "The Lord said 
 unto Moses, Lo, I come unto thee in a thick 
 cloud, that the people may hear when I speak 
 with thee, and believe thee for ever." What 
 could be more public ? All the people saw 
 the cloud descend, and its lightnings blazing, 
 and heard the voice of the trumpet outspeak 
 the thunder of the heavens. 
 
 An openness equally satisfactory, though less 
 striking, marked the introduction of Christian- 
 ity. Twice, a voice from heaven proclaimed 
 before many witnesses, " This is my beloved 
 Son, in whom I am well pleased ; hear ye 
 Him." And, on the day of Pentecost, " the 
 rushing of a mighty wind," and the radiance 
 of the tongues of fire, were as sensible, if not 
 such splendid demonstrations of inspiration as 
 the wonders at Sinai. On both occasions God 
 did not speak in secret ; all was open, obvious, 
 and notorious. 
 
 The places, also, where the chief revelations 
 began or were completed deserve attention. 
 The principal oracles were uttered in the prin- 
 cipal countries and cities of the world. Egypt 
 was the chief seat of science and civilization, 
 when Moses began his divine ministry. " The 
 
 learning of Egypt " is acknowledged by sacred 
 and profane history ; and, froni the ingenuity 
 of its magicians, we may judge of the height 
 to which the occult sciences were carried. Such, 
 then, was the first spot selected by God as the 
 scene of a systematic revelation. He courted 
 publicity, and invited scrutiny upon the grand 
 arena of Eastern philosophy and power. And 
 when we remember what the Egyptians suf- 
 fered for disobeying the voice of God, and con- 
 sider the terms on which they parted with the 
 Jews, it is self-evident that neither the Jews 
 nor the Egyptians could doubt the divinity of 
 the revelation. Jerusalem, also, was a place 
 of equal notoriety in the earth ; and although 
 not a centre of general attraction until the 
 Roman conquest, it was an object of universal 
 attention, owing to the peculiarities of its his- 
 tory. Now, there God spoke chiefly by the 
 lips of the most public and exalted characters. 
 David and Solomon were kings ; Isaiah was 
 of the royal family ; Ezekiel and Jeremiah were 
 of the house of Aaron ; and thus, by employ- 
 ing persons who, from their rank, were sure to 
 command general notice, and, from their in- 
 tegrity, public confidence, God proved indis- 
 putably the fact of revelation. 
 
 Babylon was the next scene of prophecy : 
 and when Daniel and his inspired brethren were 
 at the court of that empire, Babylon was both 
 the dominant power and university of the 
 world ; so that if there had been any fallacy to 
 detect in the pretensions of the prophets it 
 must have been exposed. If either power or 
 prejudice could have disproved or suppressed 
 the fact that " the mighty God, the Lord had 
 spoken," the evidence would have been 
 trampled out, because the predicted events 
 involved the ruin of the empire. But the very 
 kings who were the victims of God's judicial 
 threatenings gave them publicity by their im- 
 perial edicts. 
 
 In like manner, the mission of the apostles 
 of the Lamb was to the chief cities of the 
 world ; Rome, Athens, Corinth, and Ephesus, 
 were chosen for the publication of the gospel. 
 To them "the word of this salvation came," 
 rolling on the wheels of miracles, into their 
 palaces, temples, and courts of judicature : 
 God thus proving that he would have all men 
 know that he had spoken from heaven, and 
 thus daring the chief of men to deny it, " These 
 things were not done in a corner." 
 
 Now, although imposture might thus select 
 "the high places" of the earth, because they 
 are the "best mountains of prey," it would 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 79 
 
 not have thus grappled with the popular vices 
 of mankind, nor risked its credit by unpopular 
 predictions. The prophets proclaimed the 
 threatenings of Jehovah in the presence of the 
 kings and courts that were to fall by them. 
 The apostles proclaimed the gospel in the face 
 of a world in array against truth and holiness. 
 These facts place the fact of their inspiration 
 beyond all rational doubt. 
 
 This evidence of the truth of revelation is 
 not selected as the best, but as one which, 
 from its simplicity, recalls the others to mind : 
 and thus warrants an application drawn from 
 the whole. Now, whatever proves the truth 
 of scripture as a whole, authenticates all its 
 parts. We may therefore set around any pro- 
 mise we are desirous to realize the entire 
 "cloud of witnesses" which attest the veracity 
 of the sacred volume, and may move into any 
 page of it the whole host of miracles, martyrs, 
 and providences, and may concentrate upon 
 any doctrine of it the full weight of its general 
 credibility, for whatever substantiates the truth 
 of the whole certifies each part. This is, in- 
 deed, almost a truism, and yet it is wanted. 
 For how often are we afraid to rely on the 
 very promises we have most need to believe? 
 How often we are slow of heart to appropriate 
 the very consolation which a wounded spirit 
 absolutely requires. By a strange tendency in 
 our nature, we hesitate chiefly to believe the 
 things which belong most to our peace. In 
 certain moods of feeling, the threatenings of 
 scripture seem alone to be true, and in general 
 the promises are not calculated upon with the 
 assurance of faith. But, however we may 
 doubt, or mistake, we have as much reason and 
 warrant to rely on the promises which suit us 
 as to credit the historical facts of the Bible. It 
 is just as true that prayer will be answered, as 
 that the Red Sea was divided ; just as true, 
 that he who believeth shall be saved, as that 
 Noah was saved from the general flood, and 
 Lot from the flames of Sodom ; just as true, 
 * ' in these last days, that God will never leave 
 nor forsake them that fear Him," as that **in 
 the beginning He created the heavens and the 
 earth." 
 
 There is the very same reason for assurance 
 in both cases : the express word of God, who 
 cannot lie, and would not flatter. It is there- 
 fore as much the duty as the interest of all the 
 disciples of Christ, to calculate upon the fulfil- 
 ment of all his promises ; — the tempted, on 
 the promise of victory ; the timid, on a cordial 
 welcome ; the weak, upon sufficient grace ; the 
 
 perplexed, on safe guidance ; and all believers, 
 upon final glory. 
 
 But this argument may be warrantably 
 carried farther ; whatever proves that the word 
 of God was intended for the benefit of one 
 person proves also that it is intended for the 
 benefit of all who possess it. Revelation is 
 not the gospel of a sect or a city, of a county 
 or a continent, but the gospel of the kingdom 
 which ruleth over all ; and hence it is, as ex- 
 pressly as emphatically, denominated "glad 
 tidings of great joy to all people." And it is 
 as absurd as it is dangerous to regard the 
 Gospel in any other light than as "the Gospel 
 of the kingdom," for whatever would prove 
 that we are not included in its invitations 
 would prove also that no one is so. All have 
 sinned, and come short of the glory of God, 
 and therefore, if guilt were a valid reason for 
 excluding ourselves, it would involve the ex- 
 clusion of all, and thus render the Gospel glad 
 tidings to no one : for, except upon the prin- 
 ciple, that " whosoever " is the name of every 
 one to whom the Gospel comes, no one has 
 any personal right to include himself in its 
 invitations. Accordingly it was thus under- 
 stood by the first believers : they " received it 
 as the Gospel of their own salvation," and 
 from that day brought forth the fruits of it. 
 They believed on Christ, that they might be 
 justified ; and being justified by faith, they had 
 peace with God, and heart for duty. 
 
 If these reasonings be correct, they involve 
 the sublime necessity of listening to the oracles 
 of God, as if God himself were visibly and 
 audibly beseeching men to be reconciled unto 
 him ; for, as the Bible is his Representative 
 on earth, any inferior degree of attention to it 
 is criminal and unwise. It is not, indeed, easy 
 to realise the Bible in this capacity habitually ; 
 but the habit of doing so might be gradually 
 formed — for there is much to assist in the for- 
 mation of it. The leading features of revela- 
 tion are bright resemblances of the character of 
 God. It searches the heart, like his Omni- 
 science ; it sways the soul, like his Omnipotence ; 
 and opens to the imagination prospects vast as 
 his Infinity and Eternity. Like his Essence, 
 it contains mysteries ; like his Immutability, it 
 changes not its character ; and, like his 
 Immortality, it endureth for ever. It is thus 
 an Incarnation of the Divine perfections. 
 
 And it is impossible to conceive of God as 
 speaking more explicitly, tenderly, or authori- 
 tatively than the Bible, were he actually to 
 "bow the heavens, and tabernacle with men." 
 
8o 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 The audible appeals of the visible Jehovah 
 would, of course, be more impressive than 
 **the small still voice" of the lively oracles ; 
 but not more instructive, and certainly not so 
 useful, because we could not expect them to be 
 so frequent or familiar, nor bear them if they 
 were. If, therefore, we believe that the Bible 
 is this representative of God, we ought to 
 realise and revere it as such, by listening to it 
 with profound awe and meekness, by submitting 
 to the sacred injunctions with unquestioning 
 and cavilling humility, and by relying upon its 
 great and precious promises with holy confi- 
 dence of faith and firm assurance of hope unto 
 the end. — Evangelist. 
 
 tries ; and been admired and venerated for its 
 piety, its sublimity, its veracity, by all who 
 were able to read and understand it. — Bishop 
 Watson. 
 
 BIBLE, The. 
 
 What is the world ? A 'wildering maze, 
 Where sin has track'd ten thousand ways, 
 
 Her victims to ensnare : 
 All broad, and winding, and aslope ; 
 All tempting v/ith perfidious hope ; 
 
 All ending in despair. 
 
 Millions of pilgrims throng those roads, 
 Bearing their baubles or their loads, 
 
 Down to eternal night. 
 One humble path that never bends, 
 Narrow, and rough, and steep, ascends 
 
 From darkness into light 
 
 Is there no guide to show that path ? 
 The Bible— He alone who hath 
 
 The Bible, need not stray : 
 Yet he who hath, and will not give 
 That light of life to all who live, 
 
 Himself shall lose the way. 
 
 y. Montgomery. 
 
 BIBLE, 
 
 The Most Authentic of all Histories. 
 
 A BOOK which Sir Isaac Newton esteemed the 
 most authentic of all histories ; which, by its 
 coelestial light, illumines the darkest ages of anti- 
 quity ; which is the touchstone whereby we are 
 enabled to distinguish between true and fabu- 
 lous theology ; between the God of Israel, holy, 
 just, and good, and the impure rabble of hea- 
 then Balaam; which has been thought by 
 competent judges to have afforded matter for 
 the laws of Solon, and a foundation for the 
 philosophy of Plato ; which has been illustrated 
 by the labour of learning in all ages and coun- 
 
 BIBLE, the Sword of the Spirit. 
 At the coronation of King Edward IV., 
 when the three swords for the three kingdoms 
 were brought to be carried before him, he ob- 
 served that there was one thing yet wanting, 
 and called for the Bible. (See ' ' Southey's Book 
 of the Church," vol. ii. p. 103.) This anec- 
 dote has suggested the following lines, and 
 explains the circumstance of the Bible being 
 always borne before the Kings of England at 
 their coronation : — 
 
 'TwAS on that day, so glad, so blest, 
 That saw young Edward crown'd ; 
 
 When England's bravest and her best 
 Had thronged his throne around. 
 
 When splendour deck'd that hall of power. 
 
 And nobles filled its aisles, 
 While Beauty from her galleried bower 
 
 Beam'd all her sweetest smiles ! 
 
 And who that gazed that crowd among, 
 
 And heard its plaudits ring. 
 But hail'd as noblest in the throng 
 
 Their loved and youthful king ? 
 
 The guests are ranged, the train is set, 
 
 Of all the brightest there. 
 And round the noble King are met 
 
 The brave, the wise, the fair. 
 
 They bring the sacred symbols now 
 
 Of empire o'er the land ; 
 The crown for that young monarch's brow, 
 
 The sceptre for his hand. 
 
 They bring him, too, the swords that be 
 
 The symbols of that right 
 By which he rules our kingdoms three. 
 
 But when they met his sight : 
 
 ** O where," the royal Edward cried, 
 
 '* Is that diviner sword — 
 The arm by Heaven itself supplied — 
 
 The Scriptures of the Lord? 
 
 ** The blade of steel, the arm of flesh, 
 
 Shall weak and powerless be, 
 When this shall flourish strong and fresh : 
 
 O bring that sword for me." 
 
 They quick their King's command obey, 
 
 And bring the Sacred Word, 
 And bear before him on his way 
 
 That weapon of the Lord. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 8i 
 
 And since, when towards yon regal fane 
 
 Hath English monarch trod, 
 They've ever borne before his train 
 
 The sacred book of God ! 
 
 G. F. R. 
 
 BIBLE, the True Bread of Life. 
 
 Esau, the carnal man, is ready to die, if all 
 his sensual cravings are not satiated. Jacob, 
 the spiritual man, can deny himself anything, 
 give up every outward thing, for purchasing 
 the Divine blessing, and gaining the chief 
 place in the favour of God. Oh, let us learn 
 of him to see that "man doth not live by 
 bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth 
 out of the mouth of God ; " and so to subdue 
 the flesh to the Spirit that we may ever obey 
 the motions of righteousness and tnie holiness. 
 
 Say, then, how poor and little worth 
 Are all those glittering toys of earth. 
 
 That lure us here ; 
 Dreams of a sleep that Death must break, 
 Alas ! before it bids us wake, 
 
 Ye disappear. Manrique. 
 
 BIBLE, to be Read Daily. 
 
 Read your Bible daily; and make its doctrines 
 the constant rule of your faith, and its precepts 
 the constant rule of your practice. * * Pray 
 to God every morning and evening. Never do 
 anything which you cannot ask Him to bless. 
 Avoid as much as possible bad thoughts, bad 
 words, bad actions, bad company, and bad 
 books : Never tell a lie, nor make light of the 
 smallest sin. Be humble, be modest in your 
 general behaviour, respectful to your superiors, 
 kind to your equals, and condescending to your 
 inferiors. Always do to others what you would 
 have others do to you. Learn to rest con- 
 tented with the station in which Providence 
 has placed you. By a life formed on these 
 principles, you will obtain the affection of the 
 good, the esteem even of the bad, and the 
 blessing of Almighty God. — J. G. M. Collec- 
 tanea. 
 
 If the believer's heart would stand fast, let 
 him trust in the Lord — let him know that he 
 cannot keep himself — let him feel that God 
 will keep him ; and that God may do so, let 
 him diligently employ the means which have 
 been put into his hands ; for though the 
 armour has been provided by God, it is we who 
 must put it en. — Dale. 
 
 BIBLE, Usefulness of the. 
 ** To whom are the heavens above me, the 
 world which I inhabit, and the various objects 
 with which it is filled, indebted for their exist- 
 ence ? " 
 
 A mild, but majestic voice replies from the 
 oracle, "In the beginning, God created the 
 heavens, and the earth, and all that is therein." 
 
 Startled by the scarcely expected answer, 
 but soon recovering his self-possession, the 
 inquirer eagerly exclaims, "Who is God? what 
 is his nature, his character, his attributes?" 
 
 " God," rephes the voice, " is a Spirit : he 
 is from everlasting to everlasting, without be- 
 ginning of days and end of years ; and with 
 him is no variableness, nor shadow of turning : 
 he fills heaven and earth : he searches the 
 hearts and tries the reins of the children of 
 men ; he is the only Wise, the Almighty, the 
 High, and Holy, and Just One : he is Jeho- 
 vah, Jehovah God, merciful and gracious, long 
 suffering, and abundant in goodness and truth, 
 keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquity, 
 transgression, and sin ; but one who will by 
 no means clear the guilty." 
 
 A solemn pause ensues. The inquirer's 
 mind is overwhelmed. It labours, it sinks, it 
 faints, while vainly attempting to grasp the 
 illimitable, incomprehensible Being, now, for 
 the first time, disclosed to its view. But a new 
 and more powerful motive now stimulates his 
 inquiries, and with augmented interest he asks, 
 " Does any relation or connection subsist be- 
 tween this God and myself?" 
 
 " He is thy Maker," returns the oracle, "the 
 Father of thy spirit, and thy preserver : He it 
 is who giveth thee richly all things to enjoy : 
 He is thy Sovereign, thy Lawgiver, and thy 
 Judge : in him thou dost live, and move, and 
 exist, nor can anyone deliver thee out of his 
 hands ; and when, at death, thy dust shall re- 
 turn to earth as it was, thy spirit will return to 
 God who gave it." 
 
 "How," resumes the inquirer, "will he 
 then receive me ? " 
 
 " He will reward thee according to thy 
 works." 
 
 " What are the works," the inquirer asks, 
 "which this Sovereign requires of me ? " 
 
 "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all 
 thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all 
 thy mind, and with all thy strength. Every 
 transgression of this law is a sin ; and the soul 
 that sinneth shall die." 
 
 " Have I sinned?" the inquirer tremblingly 
 asks. 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 "All," replies the oracle, "have sinned, 
 and come short of the glory of God. The God 
 in whose hand thy breath is, and whose are all 
 thy ways, thou hast not glorified." 
 
 A new sensation, the sensation of conscious 
 guilt, now oppresses the inquirer, and with in- 
 creased anxiety he asks, " Is there any way 
 in which the pardon of sin may be obtained ? " 
 
 "The blood of Jesus Christ," replies the 
 oracle, "cleanseth from all sin. He that 
 confesseth and forsaketh his sins shall find 
 mercy. " 
 
 " But to whom shall I confess them?" the 
 inquirer resumes ; " where shall I find the 
 God whom I have offended, that I may ac- 
 knowledge my transgressions, and implore his 
 mercy ? " 
 
 " He is a God at hand," returns the voice : 
 " he is not far from thee : I, who speak to thee, 
 am he." 
 
 " God be merciful to me a sinner ! " exclaims 
 the inquirer, smiting upon his breast, and not 
 daring to lift his eyes towards the oracle. 
 " What, Lord, wilt thou have me to do? " 
 
 " Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ," answers 
 the voice, "and thou shalt be saved." 
 
 " Lord, who is Jesus Christ, that I may 
 believe on him ? " 
 
 " He is my beloved Son, whom I have set 
 forth to be a propitiation through faith in his 
 blood : hear thou him, for there is salvation in 
 no other. " 
 
 Such are probably some of the questions 
 which would be asked by the supposed in- 
 quirer ; and such are, in substance, the answers 
 which he would receive from the oracles of 
 God. 
 
 That these answers contain but a very small 
 part of the information which may be drawn 
 from them, it is needless to remind you. Yet 
 of this small part only, who can compute the 
 value? Who could say what it would be worth to 
 one who should rightly improve it ? To beings 
 situated as we are ; to immortal, account- 
 able, sinful creatures, hastening to eternity, to 
 the tribunal of a justly offended God : what is 
 wealth, what is liberty, what is life itself, com- 
 pared with such information as this ; compared 
 with instructions, which make men wise unto 
 salvation ; compared with that knowledge of 
 God, and of Jesus Christ, which is eternal 
 life? — Dr. Pay son. 
 
 BIOGRAPHY, Faithful, 
 
 I PRAY you in your letters, 
 When you shall these unlucky deeds relate 
 Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, 
 Nor set down aught in malice : then must you 
 
 speak 
 Of one that loved not wisely, but too well ; 
 Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought, 
 Perplex'd in the extreme ; of one whose hand, 
 Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away 
 Richer than all his tribe. Shakespeare. 
 
 BIOGRAPHY, Monkish, always Untrue. 
 
 It is observable in all those who have written 
 the life of Bede, that whereas such Saxon 
 saints as had not the tenth of his sanctity, 
 nor hundredth part of his learning, are said to 
 have wrought miracles enough to sicken the 
 reader, not one single miracle is reported to 
 have been done by Bede : whereof, under fa- 
 vour, I conceive this is the reason. Monks, who 
 wrote the lives of many of their saints, knew 
 little more of many of them than their bare 
 names, and times wherein they lived, which 
 made them plump up the hollowness of their 
 history with improbable miracles, swelling the 
 bowels of their books with empty wind, in 
 default of sufficient solid food to fill them. 
 Whereas Bede's life, affording plenty and 
 variety of real and effectual matter, the writer 
 thereof (why should a rich man be a thief or a 
 liar ?) had no temptation (I am sure no need) 
 to stuff his book with fond miracles. — Fuller. 
 
 BIRDS. 
 
 Who the various nations can declare 
 
 That plough with busy wing the peopled air ? 
 
 These cleave the crumbling bark for insect 
 
 food ; 
 Those dip the crooked beak in kindred blood ; 
 Some haunt the rushy moor, the lonely woods ; 
 Some bathe their silver plumage in the floods ; 
 Some fly te man, his household gods implore, 
 And gather round his hospitable door. 
 Wait the known call, and find protection there 
 From all the lesser tyrants of the air. 
 
 Barbauld. 
 
 BIRDS, Aquatic. 
 
 The aquatic tribes seem not even bounded in 
 their residence by the limits of the land itself. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 83 
 
 The floating mountains of ice towards the 
 poles afford them a retreat during tempestuous 
 weather, and a cradle for their young. They 
 require no grain or vegetable food, which na- 
 ture in these frozen regions cannot produce. 
 Hence they have been seen fixing their resi- 
 dence upon these islands of ice in the same 
 manner as upon land. There they sleep ; there 
 too they sometimes hatch their young. 
 
 Others on silver lakes and rivers bathe 
 Their downy breast : — yet oft they quit 
 The dank, and rising on stiff pennons, tower 
 The mid aerial sky. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 BIRDS, Cared for of God. 
 
 " Behold the fowls of the air : for they sow not, 
 neither do they reap, nor gather into barns ; yet your 
 heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much 
 better than they?" 
 
 Behold, and look away your low despair ! 
 See the light tenants of the barren air : 
 To them nor stores nor granaries belong ; 
 Nought but the woodland and the pleasing 
 
 song; 
 Yet your kind heavenly Father bends his eye 
 On the last wing that flits along the sky. 
 To Him they sing when Spring renews the 
 
 plain, 
 To Him they cry in Winter's pinching reign ; 
 Nor is their music or their plaint in vain : 
 He hears the gay and the distressful call, 
 And with unsparing bounty fills them all. 
 If, ceaseless, then the fowls of heaven he feeds, 
 If o'er the fields such lucid robes he spreads ; 
 Will he not care for you, ye faithless, say ? 
 Is he unwise ? or are ye less than they ? 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 BIRD, his Pleasant Life. 
 
 How pleasant the life of a bird must be, 
 Flitting about in each leafy tree, 
 In the leafy trees so broad and tall, 
 Like a green and beautiful palace hall ! 
 
 Howilf. 
 
 BIRDS, Love of. 
 
 The glossy kind 
 Try every winning way inventive love 
 Can dictate, and in courtship to their mates 
 Pour forth their little souls. 
 Connubial leagues agreed to the deep woods 
 
 They haste away, all as their fancy leads, 
 Pleasure, or food, or secret safety prompts : 
 That Nature's great command may be obeyed, 
 Nor all the sweet sensations they perceive 
 Indulged in vain. Rowe, 
 
 BIRDS, Mating. 
 What is this Mighty Breath, ye sages say, 
 That, in a powerful language, felt, not heard, 
 Instructs the fowls of heaven, and thro' their 
 
 breast 
 These arts of love diffuse ? What but God ! 
 Inspiring God ! who, boundless Spirit all, 
 And unremitting Energy, pervades, 
 Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 BIRDS, Melody of their Song. 
 
 Brown birds in the sedge 
 Twittered their sweet and formless tune 
 In the fair autumn afternoon. 
 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 BIRDS, Music of. 
 " The music of birds," as one hath well 
 observed, "was the first song of thanksgiving 
 which was offered on earth before man was 
 formed. All their sounds are different, but all 
 harmonious, and all together compose a choir 
 that we cannot imitate." If these little 
 choristers of the air, when refreshed by the 
 streams near which they dwell, express their 
 gratitude by chanting, in their way, the praises 
 of their Maker and Preserver, how ought 
 Christians to blush, who besides the comforts 
 and conveniences of this world, are indulged 
 with copioas draughts of the water of eternal 
 life, if, for so many great blessings, they pay 
 not their tribute of thanksgiving, and sing not 
 unto the Lord the songs of Sion ! *' He that 
 at midnight, when the very labourer sleeps 
 securely, should hear, as I have often done, the 
 clear airs, the sweet descants, the natural rising 
 and falling, the doubling and redoubling of the 
 nightingale's voice, might well be lifted above 
 earth, and say, Lord, what music hast thou 
 provided for the saints in heaven, when thou 
 affordest bad men such music upon earth ! " — 
 Bishop Home. 
 
 BIRDS' Nests. 
 T HE admirable wisdom of Providence is nowhere 
 more conspicuous than in the nests of birds. 
 
84 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 It is impossible to contemplate without emotion 
 the Divine goodness which thus gives industry 
 to the weak and foresight to the thoughtless. 
 No sooner have the trees put forth their 
 leaves than myriads, or rather millions, of little 
 workmen commence their labours. Some 
 bring long pieces of straw into the hole of an 
 old wall ; others affix their edifice to the 
 windows of a church ; these steal a hair from 
 the mane of a horse, those bear away, with 
 wings trembling beneath its weight, the frag- 
 ment of wool which a lamb has left entangled 
 in the briars. Thousands of palaces at once 
 arise, and every palace is a nest, within every 
 nest is soon to be seen a charming metamor- 
 phosis ; first a beautiful egg, then a little one 
 covered with dowoi. The little nestling soon 
 feels his wings begin to grow ; his mother 
 teaches him to raise himself to his bed of 
 repose. Soon he takes courage enough to 
 approach the edge of the nest, and casts a first 
 look on the works of nature. Terrified and 
 enchanted at the sight, he precipitates himself 
 amidst his brothers and sisters, who have never 
 as yet seen that spectacle ; but recalled a 
 second time from his couch, the young king of 
 the air, who still has the crowns of infancy on 
 his head, ventures to contemplate the vast 
 heavens, the waving summit of the pine-trees, 
 and the vast labyrinth of foliage which lies 
 beneath his feet. — Chateaubriand. 
 
 BIRDS, Songs of. 
 
 Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one 
 The live-long night ; not these alone, whose 
 
 notes 
 Nice-fingered art must emulate in vain, 
 But cawing rooks and kites that swim sublime, 
 In still repeated circles screaming loud. 
 
 CowJ)er. 
 
 BIRDS, their Habitations. 
 
 Some to the holly-hedge 
 Nestling repair, and to the thicket some ; 
 Some to the rude protection of the thorn 
 Commit their feeble offspring : the cleft tree 
 Offers its kind concealment to a few, 
 Their food its insects, and its moss their nests. 
 Others apart, far in the grassy dale, 
 Or roughening waste, their humble texture 
 weave, 
 
 But most in woodland solitudes delight, 
 In unfrequented glooms, or shaggy banks, 
 Steep, and divided by a babbling brook. 
 Whose murmurs soothe them all the live-long 
 
 day, 
 When by kind duty fixed. Among the roots 
 Of hazel, pendent o'er the plaintive stream. 
 They frame the first foundation of their domes; 
 Dry sprigs of trees, in artful fabric laid. 
 And bound with clay together. Now 'tis 
 
 nought 
 But restless hurry through the busy air, 
 Beat by unnumbered wings. The swallow 
 
 sweeps 
 The slimy pool, to build his hanging house 
 Intent. And often, from the careless back 
 Of herds and flocks, a thousand tugging bills 
 Pluck hair and wool ; and oft, when unob- 
 served, 
 Steal from the barn a straw : till soft and warm. 
 Clean and complete their habitation grows. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 BIRDS, their Instinct of Preservation. 
 
 With stealthy wing. 
 Should some rude foot their woody haunts mo- 
 lest. 
 Amid a neighbouring bush they silent drop. 
 And whirring thence, as if alarmed, deceive 
 Th' unfeeling schoolboy. Hence around the 
 
 head 
 Of wandering swain, the white-winged plover 
 
 wheels 
 Her sounding flight, and then directly on 
 In long excursions skims the level lawn. 
 To tempt him from her nest. The wild-duck, 
 
 hence, 
 O'er the rough moss, and o'er the trackless 
 
 waste 
 The heath-hen flutters, pious fraud ! to lead 
 The hot pursuing spaniel far astray. 
 Nor toil alone they scorn : exalting love. 
 By the great Father of the Spring inspired. 
 Gives instant courage to the fearful race. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 BIRDS, their Sweet Song. 
 
 Of all the endowments of birds, none is more 
 striking, and ministers more to the plea- 
 sure and delight of man, than their varied 
 song. When the time of the singing birds is 
 come and the voice of the turtle is heard in 
 our land, who can be dead to the goodness 
 which has provided for all such an unbought 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 orchestra, tuning the soul not only to joy, but 
 to mutual goodwill ; reviving all the best and 
 kindliest feelings of our nature ; and calming, 
 at least for a time, those that harmonize less 
 with the scene before us ? — Kirby. 
 
 BIRDS, the Quiristers of tlie Wood. 
 
 When Phoebus lifts his head out of the winter's 
 wave. 
 
 No sooner doth the earth her flowery bosom 
 brave, 
 
 At such time as the year brings on the pleasant 
 spring, 
 
 But hunts-up to the mom the feathered sylvans 
 sing; 
 
 And in the lower grove, as on the rising knoll, 
 
 Upon the highest spray of every mounting 
 pole. 
 
 Those quiristers are percht with many a speck- 
 led breast. 
 
 Then from her bumisht gate the goodly glit- 
 tering east 
 
 Gilds every lofty top, which late the humorous 
 night 
 
 Bespangled had with pearl, to please the morn- 
 ing's sight : 
 
 On which the mirthful quires, with their clear 
 open throats, 
 
 Unto the joyful mom so strain their warbling 
 notes, 
 
 That hills and valleys ring, and even the echo- 
 ing air 
 
 "Seems all composed of sounds, about them 
 everywhere. 
 
 The throstle, with shrill sharps ; as purposely 
 he sung 
 
 T' awake the lustless sun ; or chiding, that so 
 long 
 
 He was in coming forth, that should the 
 thickets thrill ; 
 
 The woosel near at hand, that hath a golden 
 bill; 
 
 As nature him had mark't of purpose, t' let us 
 see 
 
 That from all other birds his tunes should dif- 
 ferent be : 
 
 For, with their vocal sounds, they sing to plea- 
 sant May ; 
 
 Upon his dulcet pipe the merle doth only play. 
 
 When in the lower brake, the nightingale hard 
 
 by, 
 
 In such lamenting strains the joyful hours doth 
 
 piy» 
 
 As though the other birds she to her tunes 
 
 would draw 
 And, but that Nature (by her all-constraining 
 
 law) 
 Each bird to her own kind this season doth 
 
 invite. 
 They else, alone to hear that charmer of the 
 
 night, 
 (The more to use their ears) their voices sure 
 
 would spare. 
 That moduleth her tunes so admirably rare. 
 As man to set in parts at first had learned of 
 
 her. 
 To Philomel the next, the linnet we prefer ; 
 And by that warbling bird, the wood-lark 
 
 place we then. 
 The reed-sparrow, the nope, the redbreast, and 
 
 the wnren ; 
 The yellow-pate ; which though she hurt the 
 
 blooming tree. 
 Yet scarce hath any bird a finer pipe than she. 
 And of these chaunting fowls, the goldfinch 
 
 not behind, 
 That hath so many sorts descending from her 
 
 kind. 
 The tydy for her notes as delicate as they. 
 The laughing hecco, then the counterfeiting 
 
 jay, 
 
 The softer with the shriU (some hid among the 
 
 leaves. 
 Some in the taller trees, some in the lower 
 
 greaves) 
 Thus sing away the mom, until the mounting 
 
 sim 
 Through thick exhaled fc^ his golden head 
 
 hath nm. 
 And through the twisted tops of our close 
 
 covert creeps 
 To kiss the gende shade, this while that sweetly 
 
 sleeps. Drayton, 
 
 BIRTHDAYS of the Dead- 
 
 Are all the memories of life 
 
 Buried when life has fled ? 
 Are we forbid to keep again 
 
 The birthdays of the dead ? 
 
 Time was, when each successive year 
 Brought one bright day of mirth, 
 
 The looked-for anniversary 
 Of some belov'd one's birth. 
 
 The birthday feasts of childhood's ag^ 
 
 The feasts of riper years. 
 Remind us of like youthful joys. 
 
 Remembered now with tears. 
 
86 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 For they with whom those days were spent 
 
 Have done with all on earth ; 
 The fond home circle's broken up 
 
 That hailed each day of birth. 
 
 Yet as the days come round again, 
 
 Marked with affection's seal, 
 Once more we think of those we've lost, 
 
 Once more their presence feel. 
 
 The blessed spirits now in heaven 
 
 May not such cycles keep, 
 Time metes not out their happiness. 
 
 They know not night or sleep. 
 
 Yet may they still retain the thoughts 
 
 Commemorating birth ; 
 And haply still they keep in heaven 
 
 The calendar of earth. 
 
 Far off are they, but still towards them 
 
 Our loving arms we spread, 
 And ever in our hearts we'll keep 
 
 The birthdays of the dead. Anon. 
 
 BIRTH, Noble. 
 
 My lord, before it pleas'd his majesty 
 To raise my state to title of a queen. 
 Do me but right, and you must all confess 
 That I was not ignoble of descent ; 
 And meaner than myself have had like fortune. 
 Shakespeare, 
 
 BIRTH-PLACE, the. 
 
 There is a mingled feeling of rapture and 
 awe in revisiting the spot of one's birth, 
 particularly if Time should have swept his 
 scythe with unrelenting fleetness over the scenes 
 of our youthful and innocent festivity. When 
 it is bereft of countless early associations, and 
 the mind is obliged to create those scenes and 
 recal the images that were connected each 
 hour with helpless infancy or buoyant hilarity. 
 Never but once, in my almost closing pilgrim- 
 ge through this "Vale of Tears," did I visit 
 the cottage in which I drew my earliest breath ; 
 I was then in what was termed a "good middle 
 age." Those prospects which at the com- 
 mencement of my career had displayed them- 
 selves with tempting brilliancy, had subsided 
 altogether, or were now enrobed with a calm 
 and tranquil tint, and I had long since ceased 
 to think that the autumn leaves (which all 
 declared possessed a yellowish faded hue) 
 were green, blooming, and splendid. The 
 
 hours for foreseeing that circumstances would 
 and must occur precisely as I wished them 
 were for ever past, and it was not in the power 
 of any cabalistic lore to restore them ; no 
 sophistry could conjure back again the warm 
 and fervid imaginations that I so sedulously 
 nursed ; nor could any magic once more pre- 
 sent me with a day-dream similar to one of 
 those excursive flights my heated fancy so long 
 indulged in. I had, indeed, arrived at that 
 age, when thought does, and ought to predo- 
 minate over speculative conjecture and half- 
 veiled probabilities. 
 
 The tenant of the cottage was changed ; the 
 owners of it when I was its inmate had sunk 
 to the grave ; and all that was remembered of 
 them was, that they slept together in the 
 neighbouring churchyard. I asked leave to 
 walk over the dwelling, and backing my 
 request with a compliment in silver, they con- 
 sented, and I entered the room in which I first 
 hailed the light. " Here, then," thought I, 
 '* was the commencement of my earthly career 
 and it will terminate where the former tenants 
 of this dwelling now slumber — in the tomb.'* 
 I gazed on the cherry-tree that I had often 
 climbed — the brook I had often crossed, and 
 the oak beneath whose foliage I had listened 
 to the summer birds. I beheld a tree in full 
 verdure, and remembering by some school- 
 boy gambol the spot on which it stood, fancied 
 it sprang from a sapling of my own planting. 
 The thought spoke volumes to my heart — 
 memory retraced my life's path ; boyhood — 
 manhood — passed rapidly before me — an in- 
 voluntary sigh escaped me ; since I had passed 
 this spot I had not lived unhappily, yet I felt 
 a pang altogether indescribable ; I endeavoured 
 to account for the poignancy of the minute, 
 but could not. Had I aught to reproach my- 
 self with ? No. Did I by my conduct blast 
 hopes that a fond and partial parent perchance 
 cherished here ? No. I strove to be my 
 accuser, but could not. At length I solaced 
 myself with the suggestion that many had 
 felt this feeling in similar situations. I looked 
 above and around me, and almost wished I had 
 my life's path to tread again. *' I would not," 
 thought I, "have left verdant fields for 
 crowded cities, or preferred the tumult of a 
 metropolis for the holy stillness of this seques- 
 tered vale — I would not have embarked my 
 hopes and wealth in one delusive scheme, or 
 wasted sleepless nights in creating others — I 
 would not have married." Thus far had I 
 proceeded in my reverie, when a shrill voice 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 87 
 
 cried, " Father ! " I recognized the tone — it 
 was my infant daughter's — I caught her in my 
 arms as she came bounding towards me 
 with a newly -gathered rose ; her eyes met 
 mine, and as I parted the tresses that clustered 
 on her forehead, and pressed her to my bosom, 
 my day-dreams vanished for ever. — Anon. 
 
 BLINDNESS, Mental. 
 Talk to a blind man — ^he knows he wants the 
 sense of sight, and willingly makes the proper 
 allowances. But there are certain internal 
 senses which a man may want, and yet be 
 wholly ignorant that he wants them. It is 
 most unpleasant to converse with such persons 
 on subjects of taste, philosophy, or religion, 
 Of course there is no reasoning with them, for 
 they do not possess the facts on which the rea- 
 soning must be grounded. Nothing is possible 
 but a naked assent, which implies a sort of 
 unsocial contempt; or what a man of kind 
 disposition is very likely to fall into, a heart- 
 less, tacit acquiescence, which borders too 
 nearly on duplicity. — Coleridge. 
 
 BLIND, their Extreme Sensitiveness. 
 
 John Stanley, the musician, lost his sight 
 when only two years of age. He had so cor- 
 rect an ear that he never forgot the voice of a 
 person he had once heard speak. An instance 
 is given in which he recollected the voice of a 
 person he had not heard for twenty years, who 
 then accosted him in an assumed voice. If 
 twenty people were seated at table together, he 
 would address them all in regular order, with- 
 out their situations being previously known to 
 him. Riding on horseback was one of his 
 favourite exercises, though it would seem a 
 very dangerous one for the blind, and towards 
 the close of his life, when he lived in Epping 
 Forest, and wished to give his friends an airing, 
 he would take them the pleasantest road, and 
 point out the most agreeable prospects. He 
 played at whist with great readiness and judg- 
 ment. Each card was marked at the corner 
 with the point of a needle, but these marks 
 were so delicately fine as scarcely to be dis- 
 cerned by any person not previously apprised 
 of them. His hand was generally the first 
 arranged, and it was not uncommon for him 
 to complain of the party that they were tedious 
 in sorting the cards. He could tell the precise 
 
 time by a watch. He knew the number of 
 persons in a room when he entered it ; would 
 direct his voice to each person in particular — 
 even to strangers after they had once spoken ; 
 and would miss any one who was absent, and 
 could tell who that one was. — Knight. 
 
 BLESSING, A. 
 
 Farewell !— and all things thou mayest wish 
 I pray God grant thee. Wm. Morris. 
 
 BLESSED, the Denizens of Heaven. 
 
 How many denizens of Heaven I know ! 
 Who once with me walk'd through this 
 nether world. 
 But now beside celestial rivers go. 
 
 And golden streets enclos'd by gates em- 
 pearl'd : 
 !Many whom I have loved, and love, are there ; 
 And ah ! how few the scenes of vanish'd 
 
 years. 
 Save where in memory's retrospect appears 
 One or another, now a seraph fair ! 
 It doubts me, whether those who yet remain 
 
 To glad life's circle, be in number great. 
 As those I cannot hope to see again. 
 
 Till I may meet them in a deathless state : 
 That land, whenever I its shores may see, 
 Can hardly seem a stranger's land to me. 
 
 James Edmeston. 
 
 BLESSED, their Employments. 
 
 I CANNOT think he detracts from the state of 
 the blessed who conceives them to be per- 
 petually employed in fresh searches into Nature, 
 and to eternity advancing into the fathomless 
 depths of the diviiie perfections. After an ac- 
 quaintance of many thousand years with the 
 works of God, the beauty and the magnificence 
 of the Creation must, doubtless, fill them with 
 the same pleasing wonder and profound awe 
 which Adam felt himself seized with, as he 
 first opened his eyes upon this glorious scene. 
 — Addison. 
 
 BLIGHTED. 
 
 That peach -bud — a worm has gnawed it away; 
 Those violets — they were culled yesterday : 
 Bind them with leaves from the dark yew tree, 
 Then come and offer the wreath to me. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Let every flower be a flower of Spring, 
 But on each be a sign of withering ; 
 Suited to me is the drooping wreath, 
 With colourless hues and scentless breath ; 
 Seek ye not buds of brighter bloom ; 
 Why should their beauty waste on the tomb ? 
 I am too young for death, you say : 
 Fall not and fade not the green leaves in May ? 
 Does not the rose in its light depart ? 
 Needs there long life to break the heart ? 
 I have felt the breath of their deadly power, — 
 My summons is come, and I know mine hour ! 
 L. E. Landon. 
 
 BLINDNESS, Spiritual. 
 
 The Gospel is the day, — Christ is the Light 
 of Salvation: faith is the eye which appre- 
 hends this Light ; he then that sleeps on and 
 openeth not the eye of faith to behold this great 
 Light sent into the world, receives it not at 
 all ; he that awaketh and openeth his eye, but 
 ariseth not from the works of darkness and bed 
 of sin, receivethit in vain. — Boys. 
 
 To the profane and the formal, what an 
 awful transition, to pass from the Saviour to the 
 Judge ! without love to Him ; without even 
 an acquaintance with Him ? unwilling — unre- 
 conciled — unrenewed ! And to Him who has 
 so often invited you, warned you ! What a 
 subject for eternal reflection, — " you would not 
 come to Him that you might have life ! " — 
 R. Cecil. 
 
 BLISS, How Attainable, 
 
 We have the promise of th' eternal truth. 
 Those who live well, and pious paths pursue, 
 To man and to their Maker true ; 
 Let them expire in age or youth. 
 Can never miss 
 Their way to everlasting bliss ; 
 But from a world of misery and care, 
 To mansions of eternal ease repair ; 
 Where joy in full perfection flows, 
 And in an endless circle moves 
 
 Through the vast round of beatific love, 
 Which no cessation knows. 
 
 Jane Pomfret, 
 
 BLOCKHEAD, 
 
 On the Misery of being Thought a. 
 
 I AM not one of those unhappy beings who 
 
 are always disposed to complain of the mise- 
 
 ries of this mortal life, and who are for ever 
 depicting everything in the sombre hue of their 
 own melancholy feelings. I believe that man- 
 kind might be much more cheerful and happy 
 than they are, especially were they more in- 
 fluenced by the principles of that genuine piety 
 which is "cheerful as the day." But still it 
 must be acknowledged that there are calamities 
 in the world — there are trials incident to every 
 station in life— troubles peculiar to every indi- 
 vidual from the most elevated to the humblest ; 
 and if it must be confessed, there are miseries 
 too. There is a misery in being poor, so as 
 not to know where to obtain your next meal, 
 although you may be willing to earn it by the 
 sweat of your brow or the exercise of your 
 brains. There is the misery of being too rich, 
 so that all your poor relations and old ac- 
 quaintance think you afair object for attack, and 
 are very anxious to constitute you their banker. 
 There is the misery of being too learned, by 
 which you find you are an isolated being in 
 most of the society into which you are thrown, 
 every one being afraid to speak in your pre- 
 sence, and thus the circumstance of your 
 knowing another language deprives you of 
 the pleasure of conversing in your own. But 
 of all the miseries I know, commend me to 
 that of being thought a blockhead. 
 
 Not having sufficiently studied the phreno- 
 logical system of the worthy Dr. Spurzheim, 
 I am unable to state whether I have any pecu- 
 culiar conformation of cranium, which indi- 
 cates more obtuseness of perception than other 
 persons, but it has often fallen to my lot to be 
 compelled to endure the misery of which I am 
 treating. This infliction is usually administered 
 by one of those self-important personages who 
 live upon their means, as it is emphatically 
 called, and retail the knowledge which they 
 pick up from the indexes of books, at coffee- 
 houses and public meetings, on the exchange 
 and at lectures; occasionally gleaning a few 
 scraps by spending an evening at the House of 
 Commons, or a morning in the Court of King's 
 Bench. When you next happen to be so un- 
 fortunate as to meet this man of leisure and 
 information you are sure to be taken by the 
 button-hole and dosed quantum sufficit with 
 the whole contents of the budget he has been 
 accumulating since you last suffered a similar 
 persecution. He at once presumes you are a 
 confounded ignorant fellow, that you are im- 
 mersed in business, and never read the papers ; 
 or that you know nothing beyond your own 
 profession or trade, and in the plenitude of 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 89 
 
 his compassion he is anxioiis to enlighten your 
 understanding with his own superabundant 
 illumination. He recapitulates with incredible 
 accuracy all the ominous prophecies of the 
 Times, and the waggeries of the Morning 
 Chronicle — doses you with the police reports 
 of the Morning Herald, and the errors of the 
 unfortunate Courier — he argues on political 
 economy, as he thinks, like M 'Culloch, and 
 intersperses his arguments with, *' Do you un- 
 derstand?" — •* You see the force of the argu- 
 ment?" — " Is not that conclusive?" If he 
 repeat ajeii d' esprit, he is unwilling to give you 
 any credit for tact sufficient to relish the wit- 
 ticism, and therefore spoils it by interlarding it 
 with his own vile annotations. If it be an 
 epigram, he first tells you it is a capital good 
 one, and particularly points out the sting, lest 
 you should omit to discern it. Should it be 
 your misfortune to hear an individual of this 
 class reading a volume, he thinks it necessary 
 to give you his own version of any passage of 
 peculiar beauty, and to explain any words or 
 phrases which are new to him. Woe be to you 
 if you meet him on his return from a morning 
 lecture on chemistry at the London Institution ; 
 he will inevitably spoil your dinner, by detain- 
 ing you till he has informed you that an acid 
 is not an alkali, that a solution is essentially 
 different to a mixture, and that sulphuric acid 
 is nothing more than oil of vitriol. — Anon. 
 
 BLOSSOM, an Early One. 
 
 Sweet flower ! that peeping from thy russet 
 stem 
 
 Unfoldest timidly (for in strange sort 
 
 This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chatter- 
 ing month 
 
 Hath borrowed Zephyr's voice, and gazed upon 
 thee 
 
 With blue voluptuous eye), alas, poor flower ! 
 
 These are but flatteries of the faithless year. 
 
 Perchance, escaped its unknown polar cave, 
 
 Ev'n now the keen north-east is on its way. 
 
 Coleridsre. 
 
 BLOSSOM, its FraUty. 
 
 Little thinkest thou, poor flower. 
 Whom I have watched six or seven days. 
 And seen thy birth, and seen what every hour 
 Gave to thy growth, thee to this height to 
 raise, 
 
 And now dost laugh and triumph on this 
 bough, 
 
 Little thinkest thou 
 That it will freeze anon, and that I shall 
 To-morrow find thee fallen, or not at all. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 BLOSSOMS, Reflections upon. 
 
 Here is a tree overlaid with blossoms ; it is 
 not possible that all these should prosper ; one 
 of them must needs rob the other of moisture 
 and growth. I do not love to see an infancy 
 over-hopeful ; in these pregnant beginnings 
 one faculty starves another, and at last leaves 
 the mind sapless and barren. As, therefore, 
 we are wont to pull off" some of the too fre- 
 quent blossoms, that the rest may thrive, so it 
 is good wisdom to moderate the excess of the 
 parts or progress of overforward childhood. 
 Neither is it otherwise in our Christian profes- 
 sion : a sudden and lavish ostentation of grace 
 may fill the eye with wonder, and the mouth 
 with talk, but will not at the last fill the lap 
 with fruit. Let me not promise too much, nor 
 raise too high expectations of my undertak- 
 ings ; I had rather men should complain of 
 my small hopes than of my short perfor- 
 mances. — Bishop Hall. 
 
 BLUSH, Transient. 
 
 O'er her sweet face, marvellously fair. 
 Oft would the colour full spread suddenly. 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 BLUSH, Transitory. 
 
 Truly his penetrating eye 
 Hath caught the blush's passing dye, 
 Like the last beam of evening thrown 
 On a white cloud — just seen and gone. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 Playful blushes, that seemed nought 
 But luminous escapes of thought. 
 
 Moore. 
 
 BOASTING. 
 
 Let it be booked with the rest of this day's 
 deeds : or, by the Lord, I will have it in a par- 
 ticular ballad else, with mine own picture on 
 the top of it, Coleville kissing my foot : to the 
 which course if I be enforced, if you do not 
 
90 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 all show like gilt twopences to me ; and I, in 
 the clear sky of fame, o'ershine you as much 
 as the full moon doth the cinders of the ele- 
 ment, which show like pins' heads to her, be- 
 lieve not the word of the noble. Therefore 
 let me have right, and let desert mount. — 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Here's a large mouth indeed. 
 That spits forth death and mountains, rocks 
 
 and seas ; 
 Talks as familiarly of roaring lions. 
 As maids of thirteen do of pujDpy-dogs, 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Have not I an arm as big as thine ? a heart 
 as big? 
 Thy words, I grant, are bigger ; for I wear not 
 My dagger in my mouth. Shakespeare. 
 
 BOATMEN. 
 We have a pier — a queer old wooden pier, 
 fortunately without any pretensions to archi- 
 tecture, and very picturesque in consequence. 
 Boats are hauled yp upon it, ropes are coiled 
 all over it; lobster-pots, nets, masts, oars, 
 spars, sails, ballast, and ricketty capstans, 
 make a perfect labyrinth of it. For ever hover- 
 ing about this pier, with their hands in their 
 pockets, or leaning over the rough bulwark it 
 opposes to the sea, gazing through telescopes 
 which they carry about in the same profound 
 receptacles, are the boatmen of our watering- 
 place. Looking at them, you would say that 
 surely these must be the laziest boatmen in the 
 world. They lounge about, in obstinate and 
 inflexible pantaloons that are apparently made 
 of wood, the whole season through. Whether 
 talking together about the shipping in the 
 channel, or gruffly unbending over mugs of 
 beer at the public-house, you would consider 
 them the slowest of men. The chances are a 
 thousand to one that you might stay here ten 
 seasons and never see a boatman in a hurry. 
 A certain expression about his loose hands, 
 when they are not in his pockets, as if he were 
 carrying a considerable lump of iron in each, 
 without any inconvenience, suggests strength, 
 but he never seems to use it. He has the 
 appearance of perpetually strolling— running 
 is too inappropriate a word to be thought of— 
 to seed. The only subject on which he appears 
 to feel any approach to enthusiasm is pitch. 
 He pitches everything he can lay hold of— 
 the pier, the palings, his boat, his house. 
 
 When there is nothing else left he turns to and 
 even pitches his hat, or his rough -weather 
 clothing. Do not judge him by deceitful 
 appearances. These are among the bravest 
 and most skilful mariners that exist. Let a 
 gale arise and swell into a storm, let a sea run 
 that might appal the stoutest heart that ever 
 beat, let the light-boat on these dangerous 
 sands throw up a rocket in the night, or let 
 them hear through the angry roar the signal 
 guns of a ship in distress, and these men spring 
 into activity so dauntless, so valiant and heroic, 
 that the world cannot surpass it. 
 
 Cavillers may object that they chiefly live 
 upon the salvage of valuable cargoes. So 
 they do ; and God knows it is no great living 
 that they get out of the deadly risks they run. 
 But put that hope of gain aside. Let these 
 rough fellows be asked, in any storm, who 
 volunteers for the life-boat to save some perish- 
 ing souls as poor and empty-handed as them- 
 selves, whose lives the perfection of human 
 reason does not rate at the value of a farthing 
 each^ and that boat will be manned as surely 
 and cheerfully as if a thousand pounds were 
 told down on the weather-beaten pier. For 
 this, and for the recollection of their comrades 
 whom we have known, whom the raging sea 
 has engulphed before their children's eyes in 
 such brave efforts ; whom the secret sand has 
 buried, we hold the boatmen of our watering- 
 place in our love and honour, and are tender of 
 the fame they well deserve. — Dickens. 
 
 BOLDNESS ever Blind. 
 This is well to be weighed ; that boldness is 
 ever blind, for it seeth not dangers and incon- 
 veniences ; therefore it is ill in counsel, but 
 good in execution ; for in counsel it is good to 
 see dangers, and in execution not to see them, 
 except they be very great. Some in their dis- 
 course desire rather commendation of wit, in 
 being able to hold all arguments, than of judg- 
 ment in discerning what is right ; as if it were 
 a praise to know what must be said, and not 
 what should be thought. It is a strange thing 
 to behold what gross errors and extreme 
 absurdities men do commit for want of a friend 
 to tell them of them. The help of good counsel 
 is that which setteth business straight. — Bacon, 
 
 BOOK-LEARNED, not Sufficient. 
 Let it not sufiice us to be book-learned, to 
 read what others have written, but let us our- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 91 
 
 selves examine things as we have opportunity, 
 and converse with nature as well as with books. 
 Let us endeavour to promote and increase this 
 knowledge, and make new discoveries, not so 
 much distrusting our own parts, or despairing 
 of our own abilities, as to think that our in- 
 dustry can add anything to the invention of 
 our ancestors or correct any of their mistakes. 
 Let us not think that the bounds of science are 
 fixed like Hercules' pillars, and inscribed with 
 a lie plus -ultra. Let us not think we have 
 done, when we have learnt to comprehend 
 what they have delivered to us. The trea- 
 sures of nature are inexhaustible. Here is 
 employment enough for the vastest parts, the 
 most indefatigable industries, the happiest 
 opportunities, the most prolix and undisturbed 
 vacancies. Seneca hath said, " The people of 
 the next age shall know many things unknown 
 to us ; many are reserved for ages then to come, 
 when we shall be quite forgotten, — no memory 
 of us remaining. The world would be a 
 pitiful small thing indeed, if it did not con- 
 tain enough for the inquiries of the whole 
 world." And, again, " Much work still re- 
 mains, and much will remain ; neither to him 
 that shall be born after a thousand ages will 
 matter be wanting for new additions to what 
 hath already been invented." Much might be 
 done would we but endeavour, and nothing is 
 insuperable to pains and patience. A new 
 study, at first, seems very vast, intricate, and 
 difficult ; but, after a little resolution and pro- 
 gress, after a man becomes a little acquainted 
 with it, his understanding is wonderfully 
 cleared up and enlarged, the difficulties vanish, 
 and the thing grows easy and familiar. And, 
 for our encouragement in this study, observe 
 what the Psalmist saith, ' ' The works of the 
 Lord are great, sought out of all them that 
 have pleasure therein," which though it be 
 principally spoken of the works of Providence, 
 yet may as well be verified of the works of 
 creation, — Ray. 
 
 BOOK Lending. 
 
 Those who have collected books, and whose 
 good nature has prompted them to accommo- 
 date their friends with them, will feel the sting 
 of the answer which a man of wit made to one 
 who lamented the difficulty which he found in 
 persuading his friends to return the volumes 
 which he had lent them. "Sir," said he, 
 ** your acquaintances find, I suppose, that it 
 
 is much more easy to retain the books them- 
 selves than what is contained in them." — 
 Andrew^ Anecdotes. 
 
 BOOK, the Advantages of a. 
 
 Of all the amusements which can possibly be 
 imagined for a hard-working man, after his 
 daily toil, or in its intervals, there is nothing 
 like reading an entertaining book, supposing 
 him to have a taste for it, and supposing him 
 to have the book to read. It calls for no bodily 
 exertion, of which he has had enough or too 
 much. It relieves his home of its dulness and 
 sameness, which, in nine cases out of ten, is 
 what drives him out to the alehouse, to his 
 own ruin and his family's. It transports him 
 into a livelier, and gayer, and more diversified 
 and interesting scene, and while he enjoys him- 
 self there he may forget the evils of the pre- 
 sent moment, fully as much as if he were ever 
 so drunk, with the great advantage of finding 
 himself the next day with his money in his 
 pocket, or at least laid out in real necessaries 
 and comforts for himself and his family, — and 
 without a headache. Nay, it accompanies him 
 to his next day's work, and if the book he has 
 been reading be anything above the very idlest 
 and lightest, gives him something to think of 
 besides the mere mechanical drudgery of his 
 every-day occupation, — something he can enjoy 
 while absent, and look forward with pleasure 
 to return to. 
 
 But supposing him to have been fortunate in 
 the choice of his book, and to have alighted 
 upon one really good and of a good class. 
 What a source of domestic enjoyment is laid 
 open ! What a bond of family union ! He 
 may read it aloud, or make his wife read it, or 
 his eldest boy or girl, or pass it round from 
 hand to hand. All have the benefit of it — all 
 contribute to the gratification of the rest, 
 and a feeling of common interest and pleasure 
 is excited. Nothing unites people like com- 
 panionship in intellectual enjoyment. It does 
 more, it gives them mutual respect, and to each 
 among them self-respect, that corner-stone ol 
 all virtue. It furnishes to each the master-key 
 by which he may avail himself of his privilege 
 as an intellectual being, to 
 
 Enter the sacred temple of his breast. 
 And gaze and wander there a ravished guest. 
 Wander through all the glories of his mind. 
 Gaze upon all the treasures he shall find. 
 And while thus leading him to look within his 
 own bosom for the ultimate sources of his hap- 
 
92 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 piness, warns him at the same time to be cau- 
 tious how he defiles and desecrates that inward 
 and most glorious of temples. — Sir John 
 Herschel. 
 
 BOOK, the Value of a Good. 
 
 As good almost kill a man as kill a good 
 book : who kills a man kills a reasonable 
 creature — God's image ; but he who destroys a 
 good book kills reason itself, — kills the image 
 of God, as it were, in the eye. Many a man 
 lives a burden to the earth ; but a good book 
 is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, 
 embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a 
 life beyond life. 'Tis true no age can restore 
 a life whereof, perhaps, there is no great loss ; 
 the revolutions of ages do not often recover the 
 loss of a rejected truth, for the want of which 
 whole nations fare the worse. — Milton. 
 
 BOOKS. 
 
 On all sides are we not driven to the conclu- 
 sion that, of the things which man can do or 
 make here below, by far the most momentous, 
 wonderful, and worthy are the things that we 
 call Books ? Those poor bits of rag-paper, 
 with black ink on them, from the daily news- 
 paper to the sacred Hebrew book, what have 
 they not done ? what are they not doing ? 
 For, indeed, whatever be the outward form of 
 the thing (bits of paper, as we say, and black 
 ink), is it not verily, at bottom, the highest 
 act of man's faculty that produces a book? 
 It is the thought of man — the true thauma- 
 turgic virtue by which man works all things 
 whatsoever. All that he does and brings to 
 pass is the vesture of a thought. This London 
 city, with all its houses, palaces, steam engines, 
 cathedrals, and huge immeasurable traffic and 
 tumult, what is it but a thought — but millions 
 of thoughts made into one— a huge, im- 
 measurable spirit of a thought embodied in 
 brick, in iron, smoke, dust, palaces, parlia- 
 ments, hackney coaches, Katherine docks, 
 and the rest of it ? Not a brick was made but 
 some man had to think of the making of that 
 brick. The thing we called "bits of paper 
 with traces of black ink " is the purest em- 
 bodiment of thought a man can have. No 
 wonder ; it is in all ways the most active and 
 noblest. — Carlyle. 
 
 BOOKS, Characteristics of. 
 
 Some books are to be tasted, others to be 
 swallowed, and some few to be chewed and 
 digested . — Bacon. 
 
 The books of nature and of revelation 
 elevate our conceptions, and incite our piety ; 
 they mutually illustrate each other ; they have 
 an equal claim to our regard, for they are both 
 written by the finger of the one Eternal In- 
 comprehensible God, to whom be Glory for 
 ever. Amen, — Bp. Watson. 
 
 BOOKS oui- Best Instructors. 
 
 Let us consider how great a commodity of 
 doctrine exists in books ; how easily, how 
 secretly, how safely they expose the nakedness 
 of human ignorance without putting it to 
 shame. These are the masters who instruct 
 us without rods and ferules, without hard 
 words and anger, without clothes or money. 
 If you approach them they are not asleep ; 
 if investigating you interrogate them, they 
 conceal nothing ; if you mistake them they never 
 grumble ; if you are ignorant, they cannot 
 laugh at you, — Richard de Bury. 
 
 BOOKS, Thoughts on. 
 
 Who has not a hobby ? — All our family have, 
 from my great aunt Deborah, whose cabinet of 
 shells and fossils has been increasing for two- 
 thirds of a century, down to my youngest 
 brother Fred., who wrote a month ago, asking 
 an eminent literary character a question, only 
 to obtain his autograph. Mine is books. I 
 love them in all their varieties, from the dimi- 
 nutive 64mo to imperial folio ; and in all states 
 of existence, from that of dilapidation attendant 
 on age, to one of splendour. What delightful 
 reveries a man of sensibility and intelligence 
 might indulge, who would take them for his 
 theme ! How might he dwell on the origin of 
 writing, and trace it, from the idea presented 
 by painting, to the substituted hieroglyphic, 
 and from this to the arbitrary character — thus 
 passing with the rapidity of light through 
 thousands of years, and calling up, as by the 
 wand of Prospero, Adam and Cadmus, to 
 associate with the brilliant penmen of our age. 
 Then might follow a transition from the leaves 
 which formed the first tablets to the magnifi- 
 cent tomes which array the libraries of man- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 93 
 
 sions and of palaces. To this might succeed 
 the advance of painting and engraving, from 
 the rude figures of antiquity to the ** illustra- 
 tions " of modern times, where nature, beauty, 
 and taste are happily combined. Printing, 
 too, would prove an interesting topic : it 
 would be remembered that the seal-engravers 
 were the first printers ; that this art was but 
 an advance from impressions on wax to im- 
 pressions on paper or vellum ; that some of 
 the earliest printed works were passed off as 
 manuscripts ; and that innumerable advantages 
 as well as pleasures are to be ascribed to the 
 introduction and improvements of typography. 
 Nor could the musing be properly terminated, 
 until the skill, the energy, the perseverance of 
 myriads, whose powers have been concentrated 
 for such results, had received a merited eulo- 
 gium — until the heart had been thrilled with 
 ecstatic gratitude for the liberty of the press — 
 until the fervid aspiration had arisen for the 
 universal extension of the inestimable blessing. 
 Whatever be the key of our feelings, and how- 
 ever little harmony may be yielded by those of 
 others, it is only to repair to our libraries, to 
 obtain for the chords of the mind a tender and 
 grateful vibration. If disposed to philosophize, 
 Aristotle, and Locke, and Stewart will gratify 
 the disposition — if stimulated by discovery, 
 ancient and modern travellers lead us, at their 
 bidding, to cross seas, to ford rivers, to climb 
 mountains, to wither beneath the burning 
 beams of tropical climes, and to shiver amidst 
 the austerities of polar regions — if inclined to 
 make men of all nations, and qualities, and 
 circumstances, our contemporaries, biography 
 can call them into life, and speech, and action — 
 if concerned to enrich the mind, the genius of 
 science will accompany us through the king- 
 doms of nature — if fancy asks a banquet, it 
 may revel at pleasure amongst scenes which 
 bards have rendered immortal, and which 
 conferred on some of them the boon they gave. 
 I love, too, a niche in my study, which is 
 appropriated to peculiarities. There may be 
 found a few black-letter pamphlets and volumes 
 to cast a light over many parts of our history, 
 which, but for them, would be in darkness ; a 
 book of gems, for drawings, wood-cuts, and 
 engravings, felicitously executed, but too small 
 for the portfolio ; and another, truly **a thing 
 of shreds and patches," to which all the "in- 
 tellectuals " of my circle have contributed. A 
 book, like the chameleon, is one of the few 
 things which adapt themselves to their circum- 
 stances. Are you alone? — it makes your hours 
 
 of solitude delightful. Have you a friend at 
 your side ? how agreeable is it to point out to 
 him the beauties of your favourite author, and 
 to have the passages referred to that have 
 fascinated him ! Is separation to take place 
 between you and an object of affectionate 
 esteem ? — you may inscribe on some volume, 
 as an early and valued associate did on one 
 which I have long possessed : — 
 
 There is a superstition of the mind. 
 When we are far away from those we love, 
 The smallest thing that once was theirs we find 
 The finest feelings of our souls will move ; 
 A brooch, a lock of hair, perchance a glove. 
 Will call to mind the face we long to see ; 
 And when through scenes of after life we rove. 
 It takes remembrance with it — then from me 
 Accept this token of the love I bear to thee. 
 
 What an achievement is it to produce a 
 volume — a volume that will live and be read, 
 and be perused again and again ! Before this 
 can be done, metamorphoses must take place, 
 numerous and various as those that pass on the 
 insect tribes — perhaps more. The choice of a 
 subject is a matter of difficulty ; it must be 
 much more arduous to arrange the materials 
 deemed suitable for its exhibition; but who 
 can tell the Herculean toils of traversing and 
 retraversing them with accuracy, of changing 
 thoughts, and transposing expressions, of pro- 
 ceeding from the title-page through in trod uc- 
 ductions, or prefaces, or advertisements, with 
 their attendant pages, to "the end" — "the 
 consummation devoutly to be wished " ? We 
 may well imagine the pleasure of the author at 
 such a time to rival that of Columbus, when 
 he discovered the New World, or that of the 
 philosopher of Syracuse, who having solved the 
 problem of Hiero, exclaimed "Eureka! I 
 have found it ! I have fovmd it ! " The rapture 
 of such a moment must, however, be subdued 
 by the solicitude connected with publication — 
 by the delays of publishers, printers, and en- 
 gravers — by the errors of proof-sheets — by a 
 list of errata, notwithstanding every care, and 
 by the agitations, apprehensions, and fore- 
 bodings which none but authors know. 
 
 And then to encounter the reviewers, the 
 redoubtable race who, within a few years, 
 assailed Cowper with scurrilous abuse, scared 
 by their violence the genius of Henry Kirke 
 White, treated Montgomery with contempt, 
 reprehended some Greek verses as Payne 
 Knight's which proved to be Pindar's, declared 
 that now-a-days ninety-nine persons out of a 
 hundred can write better verses than Lord 
 Byron, and sneering against an excellent clergy- 
 
94 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 man for inconclusive reasoning and wretclied- 
 ness of style, actually brought these charges 
 against St. Paul, — this must be a terrific 
 ordeal. In comparison with it, to swim across 
 the Hellespont must be a grateful ablution ; to 
 be the companion of the enterprising Franklin 
 or Denham must be a sinecure, if it were not 
 known that these Argus-eyed beings were often 
 afflicted with an intellectual ophthalmia, that 
 men utter their sentiments with confidence pro- 
 portioned to their ignorance, that political 
 character and personal pique are frequently 
 put, with the work to be reviewed, into the 
 critic's scale, and that his motto is rarely 
 **Fiat Justitia!" 
 
 A calculation has been made, which, if it 
 does not prove a panacea for the cacoethes 
 scribendi^ might, it is presumed, control the 
 expectations cherished under its influence. It 
 is said : *' There are one thousand books pub- 
 lished per annum in Great Britain, on six 
 hundred of which there is a commercial loss, 
 on two hundred no gain, on one hundred a 
 trifling gain, and only on one hundred any 
 considerable profit ; seven hundred and fifty 
 are forgotten in the year, other one hundred in 
 two years, other one hundred and fifty in three 
 years, not more than fifty survive seven years, 
 and scarcely ten are thought of after twenty 
 years. Of the fifty thousand books published 
 in the seventeenth century, not fifty are now 
 in circulation ; and of the eighty thousand 
 published in the eighteenth century not more 
 than three hundred are considered worth re- 
 printing, and not more than five hundred are 
 sought after now (1822). Since the first 
 writings, fourteen hundred years before Christ, 
 i.e.^ in thirty-two centuries, only about five 
 hundred works of writers of all nations have 
 sustained themselves against the devouring 
 influence of time." 
 
 There is much to envy in the facility which 
 some people have for availing themselves of 
 the advantages furnished by literary labour. 
 While others " plod their weary way" through 
 the pages of a volume, and then add but little 
 to their previous stores, they can "run 
 through" a work of a profound character with 
 amazing rapidity, and hold, as the result, the 
 whole train of its argument and a large part 
 of its illustration. Not a few are there whose 
 taste is so delicate and correct, that they can 
 distinguish between various authors, by their 
 styles, as promptly and accurately as epicures 
 can discriminate the flavours of wines, though 
 there are cases, unquestionably, in which they 
 
 both err. The brother of a celebrated female 
 writer, who died about two years since, went 
 to her one day and said, **Jane, everybody 
 can tell Shakspeare — he is so peculiar, that 
 you recognise him instantly ; listen to a frag- 
 ment I have just found." His sister having 
 heard it, replied, *' Very true, any one might 
 know it." *'Ah!" replied he, laughing, 
 "just so, Jane, for I wrote it this moment." 
 Far greater is the number of those who have 
 no perception of literary beauties ; they pass 
 through volume after volume, as insensible to 
 the charms which captivate others as the birds 
 are which flit over the ruins of Athens, or the 
 valleys of Italy ; or else they point out with 
 approbation the passages which the intellec- 
 tual world condemns, and take writers as their 
 models who require nothing to accelerate their 
 progress to oblivion. 
 
 It ought not to be forgotten that there is 
 a class of persons who have "read every- 
 thing." A few years since I had the singular 
 felicity of an introduction to one of them, and 
 of listening to ample proof of the pretensions 
 advanced. Would that it had been one of the 
 other sex for the honour of " the fair ;" but I 
 know that they disdain to be complimented at 
 the expense of truth, and so the fact shall be 
 stated. A young lady was visiting in the town 
 to which I had repaired for a little relaxation, 
 and one evening she was admitted to our 
 social circle. Every work referred to she had 
 perused — reading was her great delight — she 
 could do nothing without books. A gentle- 
 man very politely said, "During your stay, 
 ma'am, my libraiy is quite at your service ; it 
 is tolerably extensive, but I should fear it 
 contains nothing with which you are not per- 
 fectly acquainted. You have read Milton, I 
 presume?" "Milton, Milton," replied the 
 lady, " I have no doubt I have, but I forget 
 at this moment whom it is by." — Literati. 
 
 BRAIN, A Busy. 
 
 My brain, methinks, is like an hour-glass, 
 Wherein m' imaginations run like sands. 
 Filling up time ; but then are turned and 
 
 turned : 
 So that I know not what to stay upon, 
 And less to put in art. 
 
 Joitson. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 95 
 
 BREAKWATER. 
 
 The billows sleep 
 Within the shelter of a wond'rous pile 
 Of man's vast workmanship — that new-made 
 
 isle, 
 That marble isle — brought piecemeal from the 
 
 shore, 
 To break the weltering waves, and check their 
 
 savage roar. Anon. 
 
 BREEZE, to the Evening. 
 
 Spirit that breathest through my lattice! thou 
 That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day ! 
 
 Gratefully flows thy freshness roimd my brow ; 
 Thou hast been out upon the deep at play. 
 
 Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, — 
 Roughening their crests, and scattering high 
 their spray. 
 
 And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee 
 
 To the scorch'd land, thou wanderer of the 
 sea! 
 
 Not I alone : — a thousand bosoms round 
 Inhale thee in the fulness of delight ; 
 
 And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound 
 Livelier, at coming of the wind of night ; 
 
 And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound. 
 Lies the vast inland, stretched beyond the 
 sight. 
 
 Go forth into the gathering shade, go forth, 
 
 God's blessing breathed upon the fainting 
 earth ! 
 
 Go rock the little wood-bird in his nest ; 
 Curl the still waters, bright with the stars, 
 and rouse 
 The wide old wood from his majestic rest, — 
 Summoning from the innumerable boughs 
 The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his 
 breast ; 
 Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly 
 bows 
 The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass. 
 And 'twixt the o'ershadowing branches and the 
 grass. 
 
 The faint old man shall lean his silver head 
 To feel thee ; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, 
 
 And dry the moisten'd curls that overspread 
 His temples, while his breathing grows more 
 deep; 
 
 And they who stand about the sick man's bed, 
 Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, 
 
 And softly part his curtains to allow 
 
 Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. 
 
 Go ! but the circle of eternal change. 
 
 That is the life of nature, shall restore. 
 With sounds and scents from all thy mighty 
 range. 
 Thee to thy birth-place of the deep once 
 more ; 
 Sweet odours in the sea-air sweet and strange. 
 Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore; 
 And, listening to thy murmur, ke shall deem 
 He hears the rustling leaf and running stream. 
 
 Bryant. 
 
 BREVITY, its Wisdom. 
 
 With vivid words your just conceptions grace, 
 Much truth compressing in a narrow space ; 
 Then many shall peruse, but few complain. 
 And Envy frown, and critics snarl in vain. 
 
 Pindar. 
 
 BRIGHT Side, Turn to the. 
 
 It is a most pernicious practice, in meditations 
 on afflictions, to sit ruminating on the aggra- 
 vation of the affliction, and reckoning up the 
 evil, dark circumstances thereof, and dwelling 
 long on the dark side ; it doubles and trebles 
 the affliction. And so when speaking of them 
 to others, to make them as bad as we can, and 
 use our eloquence to set forth our own troubles, 
 is to be all the while making new trouble, and 
 feeding and pampering the old ; whereas the 
 contrary practice would starve our affliction. 
 If we dwelt on the bright side of things in our 
 thoughts, and extenuated them all that we pos- 
 sibly could, when speaking of them, we should 
 think little of them ourselves, and the afflic- 
 tions would really, in a great measure, vanish 
 away. — Presidejtt Edwards. 
 
 BRITAIN, Christian. 
 
 As star that shines dependent upon star 
 Is to the sky while we look up in love ; 
 As to the deep fair ships which, though they 
 
 move. 
 Seem fixed to eyes that watch them from afar ; 
 As to the sandy desert fountains are. 
 With palm-groves shaded at wide intervals. 
 Whose fruit around the sun-burnt native falls 
 Of roving tired or desultory war ; — 
 Such to this British Isle her Christian fanes. 
 Each linked to each for kindred services ; 
 Her spires, her steeple- towers with glittering 
 
 vanes 
 
96 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOB LB LANGUAGE. 
 
 Far-kenned, her chapels lurking among trees, 
 Where a few villagers on bended knees 
 Find solace which a busy world disdains 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 BROKEN Heart. 
 Alas ! the heart that inly bleeds 
 Has nought to fear from outward blows ; 
 Who falls from all he knows of bliss, 
 Cares little into what abyss. — Byron. 
 
 BROOK, The Silvery. 
 
 Yon silvery slipper'd brook 
 That with a ceaseless prattle from the hills 
 Comes nimbly tripping o'er the mossy stones, 
 Cannot contain its joy : ** Come thou with me — 
 Into my being let thy spirit slip. 
 Gliding as in a dream, and I will take 
 Thee to the green banks of thy spirit home." 
 
 Aiion. 
 
 BROTHERLY Love. 
 
 "Be merry with them that be merry, weep 
 with them that weep. " He that hath not this 
 fellow-feeling may suspect worthily that he is 
 not a lively member of Christ ; for His body 
 is coupled and knit together throughout every 
 ioint, wherewith one ministereth to another. 
 If, therefore, we do not bear one another's 
 burthen, and feel one another's misery, we are 
 not knit together by the sinews of love ; and 
 if not knit to the body, no part of the body. 
 Dealt Boys. 
 
 Our love to our brethren is, as respects 
 ourselves and our posterity, not only the evi- 
 dence, but the measure of our love to Christ. 
 He that hath not love enough in him for a man 
 like himself, how can he love God, whose 
 goodness, being above our knowledge, re- 
 quireth a transcendency in our love ? This is 
 a sure rule, he that loveth not a member of 
 Christ loveth not Christ ; and he who groweth 
 in his love to his brethren groweth likewise in 
 his love to Christ.— Z?/. Reynolds. 
 
 BURLAIj, Devotion in. 
 
 There was a custom, which seems to come from un- 
 defiled Christianity, to bury the remains of saints, 
 especially martyrs, under those stones upon which the 
 Eucharist was celebrated.— Thomdike. 
 
 When I recal the hours of sacred peace 
 Enjoyed beside the altar of my Lord, 
 
 I think, whenever this short life may cease. 
 How dear a sepulchre would that afford ! 
 
 Then, where when living I desir'd to be, 
 Sleeping in Jesus, would I wish to lie. 
 Where pious feet would often wander by, 
 
 And holy spirits often bend the knee. 
 
 My body wrapp'd in earth, my soul above ; 
 This, near the emblem of my Saviour's 
 
 cross — 
 That, purified from all terrestrial dross, 
 
 Viewing the monarch of the world of love ! 
 
 So would the mortal and immortal be. 
 
 In earth, or heaven, my Saviour, near to 
 Thee ! James Edmeston. 
 
 "BUT," its Offensiveness. 
 
 "But" is to me a more detestable combina- 
 tion of letters than *' No " itself. No is a surly, 
 honest fellow, speaks his mind rough and 
 round at once. But is a sneaking, evasive, 
 half-bred, exceptious sort of a conjunction, 
 which comes to pull away the cup just when 
 it is at your lips : — 
 
 . . . . It does allay 
 The good precedent ; — fie upon but yet! 
 But yet is a jailor to bring forth 
 Some monstrous malefactor. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 BUTTERFLY at a Child's Grave. 
 
 A BUTTERFLY basked on an infant's grave, 
 
 Where a lily had chanced to grow ; 
 ** Why art thou here with thy gaudy dye. 
 When she of the bright and sparkling eye 
 Must sleep in the churchyard low ? " 
 
 Then it lightly soared through the sunny air, 
 
 And spoke from its shining track : 
 *' I was a worm till I won my wings, 
 And she whom thou moum'st like a seraph 
 sings — 
 Would thou call the blest one back ?" 
 
 Sigourney. 
 
 BUTTERFLY, Emblem of Life. 
 
 Emblem of life beyond the mouldering 
 
 grave ! 
 I love to see thy golden pinions wave 
 In the bright beams the glorious summer sheds ; 
 I love to see thee kiss the bending heads 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 97 
 
 Of every flower that springs from out the 
 
 earth, 
 Like spirit hailing those of kindred birth, 
 Retaining in its glorified estate 
 The earth-bom feelings of its former fate. 
 Though the blue fields of air and sky invite 
 The upward winging of thy daring flight, 
 Though on thy new and fresh awakened 
 
 glance 
 Ope the bright prospects of the heaven's 
 
 expanse, 
 Still by affection thy soft wings are curled, 
 And Love still clingeth to this nether world. 
 Bright art thou now, and yet but yesterday 
 Child of the worm, companion of the clay, 
 A crawling reptile fettered to the soil, 
 A loathsome grub condemned to ceaseless toil, 
 By earthy chains held fast, unfit to rise, 
 And reckless of thy future home, the skies. 
 And thou didst die, a chrysalis thy tomb, 
 And erring mortals hopeless called thy doom. 
 And spurn'd thee as a useless thing of nought, 
 Senseless, unworthy even a passing thought. 
 But the bright sun a genial influence shed 
 And woke new life within thy earthy bed. 
 Thy prison burst, thy fetters sunk away. 
 And thy bright form sprung forth to gladden 
 
 day. 
 Behold the grave where youth and beauty sleep. 
 Or tombs where widows wail and orphans 
 
 weep. 
 The urn that holds what wisdom erst adorned. 
 The mouldering forms that once with feeling 
 
 burned : — 
 Behold, — but grieve not, — they shall also wake 
 And like this emblem forms more glorious take. 
 The sun of righteousness shall yet illume 
 The midnight darkness of the silent tomb. 
 The icy fetters of the grave be riven. 
 And the free spirit wake to light and heaven. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 BUTTERFLY, its Evanescent Beauty. 
 As rising on its purple wing 
 The insect queen of Eastern spring, 
 O'er emerald meadows of Kashmeer 
 Invites the young pursuer near. 
 And leads him on from flow'r to flow'r 
 A weary chase and wasted hour. 
 Then leaves him, as it soars on high. 
 With panting heart and tearful eye : 
 So beauty lures the full-grown child 
 With hue as bright, and wing as wild ; 
 A chase of idle hopes and fears, 
 Begun in folly, closed in tears. 
 
 If won, to equal ills betrayed, 
 
 Woe waits the insect and the maid, 
 
 A life of pain, the loss of peace. 
 
 From infant's play and man's caprice : 
 
 The lovely toy, so fiercely sought. 
 
 Has lost its charm by being caught ; 
 
 For every touch that wooed its stay 
 
 Has brushed its brightest hues away. 
 
 Till, charm, and hue, and beauty gone, 
 
 'Tis left to fly or fall alone. 
 
 With wounded wing or bleeding breast, 
 
 Ah ! where shall either victim rest ? 
 
 Can this with faded pinion soar 
 
 From rose to tulip as before ? 
 
 Or beauty, blighted in an hour. 
 
 Find joy within her broken bow'r ? 
 
 No ! gayer insects flutt'ring by 
 
 Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die, 
 
 And lovelier things have mercy shown 
 
 To ev'ry failing but their own ; 
 
 And ev'ry woe a tear can claim. 
 
 Except an erring sister's shame. Byron, 
 
 BYEGONES. 
 
 Byegones, let them be byegones. 
 
 Then since ye reach this day 
 How are ye worse for what has passed away ? 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 CANDOUR of the Ingenuous Mind. 
 
 It is an argument of a candid, ingenuous 
 mind, to delight in the good name and the 
 commendation of others, to pass by their 
 defects and take notice of their virtues, and to 
 speak and hear of those willingly, and not to 
 endure either to speak or hear of the other ; 
 for in this indeed you may be little less guilty 
 than the evil speaker, in taking pleasure in it, 
 though you speak it not. He that willingly 
 drinks in tales and calumnies will, from the 
 delight he hath in evil hearing, slide insen- 
 sibly into the humour of evil speaking. It is 
 strange how most persons dispense with them- 
 selves in this point, and that in scarcely any 
 society shall we find a hatred of this ill, but 
 rather some tokens of taking pleasure in it ; 
 and until a Christian sets himself to an inward 
 watchfulness over his heart, not suffering in it 
 any thought that is uncharitable, or vain 
 self-esteem, upon the others' frailties, he will 
 still be subject to somewhat of this, in the 
 tongue or ear at least. — Leighton. 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 CANDOUR, the Germ of Virtue. 
 
 A FRANK, ingenuous, amiable, and benevo- 
 lent disposition is the germ out of which 
 many estimable and important virtues grow. 
 Among the rest, candour is one which is 
 everywhere commended, though not quite so 
 prevalent in the world as might be expected. 
 Numbers have candour and charity often on 
 their tongues, while prejudice and intolerance 
 are rife in their spirit and conduct. Their 
 estimate of actions, motives, and characters is 
 the result of passion and precipitance, rather 
 than that of calm, deliberate, enlightened 
 judgment. They never calculate the force of 
 wind and tide ; they make no fair allowance 
 for unfavourable and peculiar circumstances. 
 "Man," saith Lord Chesterfield, "viewed in 
 different positions, may be compared to silks 
 viewed in different lights, the colours of which 
 assume a different appearance." Prejudice 
 looks through a crevice, and of course catches 
 only a partial view, and bigotry, with a jaun- 
 diced eye, sees the object discoloured, by the 
 taint which has injured the organ of vision. 
 We shall notice the exercise and benign in- 
 fluence of candour in three spheres — viz., 
 religion, civil government, and private life. 
 
 Candour should guide and govern our 
 minds in judging the actions and principles of 
 men, with reference to religion. Those who 
 profess Christianity in our free country are 
 divided and subdivided into many denomina- 
 tions and sects, and each collective body has 
 its own creed, forms of worship, and rules of 
 discipline. Now, because all have an un- 
 doubted right to judge for themselves, and 
 follow the dictates of conscience, shall we 
 affirm that all doctrines are equally safe, and 
 all kinds and varieties of public worship are 
 equally reasonable, edifying, and profitable ? 
 This would be a counterfeit candour, and 
 ought rather to be called a cold and careless 
 indifference to the truth. Christianity has 
 certainly its fundamental principles, and he 
 who has discernment enough to see, and 
 honesty enough to acknowledge them, cannot 
 say, because he cannot think, there is any true 
 religion where they are wanting. Candour 
 itself does not require us to mix things in- 
 congruous, to merge essential distinctions, 
 and confound truth and error. In sacred as 
 in scientific matters ■ there are landmarks and 
 limits, which must neither be levelled nor 
 involved in studied obscurity. The Ptole- 
 maic and Copemican systems of astronomy 
 
 cannot both be true : the man who adores 
 our Lord Jesus Christ, and the man who de- 
 nounces such work as idolatry, cannot both 
 embrace a sound, safe, and scriptural theology. 
 A candid Christian will, however, distinguish 
 between primary and essential principles, and 
 points of minor consequence ; and while he 
 contends earnestly, yet fairly, for the former, 
 he inculcates and displays a mild forbearance 
 in regard to the latter. He feels the need of 
 guarding the tendency which passion has to 
 bias and pervert the judgment, and to alienate 
 the heart. He finds more to commend and 
 less to blame, in many religious people, upon 
 a closer acquaintance with them, than he 
 could have anticipated from books and vague 
 rumours. "Prejudice," said Dr. Price, 
 " may be compared to a misty morning in 
 October. A man goes forth to an eminence, 
 and he sees on the summit of a neighbouring 
 hill a figure of gigantic stature, for such the 
 imperfect medium through which he is seen 
 would make him appear ; he goes forward a 
 few steps, and the figure advances towards 
 him ; his size lessens as they approach ; the> 
 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<nv7t. 
 
 GRIEF, Excessive. 
 Home they brought her warrior dead : 
 
 She nor svvoon'd nor utter'd cry : 
 All her maidens, watching, said, 
 
 ** She must weep or she will die." 
 
 Then they praised him, soft and low, 
 Call'd him worthy to be loved. 
 
 Truest friend and noblest foe ; 
 Yet she neither spoke nor moved. 
 
 Stole a maiden from her place, 
 
 Lightly to the warrior stept. 
 Took the face-cloth from the face ; 
 
 Yet she neither moved nor wept. 
 Rose a nurse of ninety years, 
 
 And set his child upon her knee — 
 Like summer tempest came her tears — 
 
 " O my child, I live for thee." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 GRIEF, NaturaL 
 Grief at the loss of friends is natural. To 
 say, therefore, that tears for the deceased are 
 unseasonable, because they are unprofitable, is 
 to speak without regard to the state and con- 
 dition of human nature. A pious tear is a 
 sign of humanity and generosity ; but still 
 exceeding care must be taken that men do not 
 run into excesses in this kind. To grieve may 
 be laudable : to be loud and querulous is 
 childish, and to carry matters so far as to 
 refuse comfort is inexcusable. It is impious 
 towards God, without whose permission 
 nothing happens in the world : it expresses too 
 great a disregard to other men, as though no 
 one remained worthy of esteem or love ; and 
 it is highly prejudicial to ourselves, as it im- 
 pairs our health, weakens our minds, unfits us 
 for our several offices, and sometimes ends in 
 death itself. — Bishop Conybeare. 
 
 GRIEF, without Murmuring. 
 
 It is true we can bear the occasions of grief 
 without being sunk or drowned in those pas- 
 sions ; but to bear them without a murmuring 
 heart — then is the task ; and in failing there 
 lies the sin. — Lady RussdVs Letters, 
 
 GUARDIANSHIP, Sacred. 
 
 There is a solitary child among the passengers 
 — a little boy of seven years old who has no 
 relation there ; and when the first party is 
 moving away he cries after some member of it 
 who has been kind to him. The crying of a 
 child might be supposed to be a little thing to 
 men in such great extremity ; but it touches 
 them, and he is immediately taken care of. 
 
 From which time forth, this child is sub- 
 limely made a sacred charge. He is pushed, 
 as a little raft, across broad rivers by the 
 swimming sailors ; they carry him by turns 
 through deep sand and long grass (he patiently 
 walking at all other times) ; they share with 
 him such putrid fish as they find to eat ; they 
 lie down and wait for him when the rough 
 carpenter, who becomes his especial friend, 
 lags behind. Beset by lions and tigers, by 
 savages, by thirst, by hunger, by death in a 
 crowd of ghastly shapes, they never — O Father 
 of all mankind, thy name be blessed for it ! — 
 forget this child. The captain stops exhausted, 
 and his faithful coxswain goes back and is seen 
 to sit down by his side, and neither of the two 
 shall be any more beheld until the great last 
 day ; but as the rest go on for their lives, they 
 take the child with them. The carpenter dies of 
 poisonous berries eaten in starvation ; and the 
 steward, succeeding to the command of the 
 party, succeeds to the sacred guardianship of 
 the child. God knows all he does for the poor 
 baby ; how he cheerfully carries him in his 
 arms when he is himself weak and ill ; how he 
 feeds him when he himself is griped with want ; 
 how he folds his ragged jacket round him, lays 
 his little worn face with a woman's tenderness 
 upon his sunburnt breast, soothes him in his 
 sufferings, sings to him as he limps along, un- 
 mindful of his own parched and bleeding feet 
 Divided for a few days from the rest, they dig 
 a grave in the sand and bury their good friend 
 the cooper — these two companions alone in the 
 wilderness — and then the time comes when 
 they both are ill, and beg their wretched 
 partners in despair, reduced and few in number 
 now, to wait by them one day. 
 
566 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 They wait by them one day, they wait by 
 them two days. On the morning of the third, 
 they move very softly about, in making their 
 preparations for the resumption of their jour- 
 ney ; for the child is sleeping by the fire, and 
 it is agreed with one consent that he shall not 
 be disturbed until the last moment. The 
 moment comes, the fire is dying, and the child 
 is dead. His faithful friend, the steward, 
 lingers but a little while behind him. His 
 grief is great, he staggers on for a few days, 
 lies down in the desert, and dies. But he 
 shall be re-united in his immortal spirit — who 
 can doubt it ! — with the child, where he and 
 the poor carpenter shall be raised up with the 
 words, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one 
 of the least of these, ye have done it unto Me." 
 Dickens. 
 
 GUILT, Associations of. 
 
 No local associations are so impressive as 
 those of guilt. It may be observed that as 
 each one has his own separate remembrances, 
 giving to some places an aspect and a signifi- 
 cance which he alone can perceive, there must 
 be an unknown number of pleasing, or mourn- 
 ful, or dreadful associations spread over the 
 scenes inhabited or visited by man. We pass 
 without any awakened consciousness by the 
 bridge, or the wood, or the house, where 
 there is something to excite the most painful 
 or frightful ideas in another man if he were to 
 go that way, or, it may be, in the companion 
 who walks along with us. How much there is in 
 a thousand spots of the earth that is invisible 
 and silent to all but the conscious individual ! — 
 Foster. 
 
 OUILT, Successful, not Happiness. 
 Guilt, though it may attain temporal splen- 
 dour, can never confer real happiness; the 
 evil consequences of our crimes long survive 
 their commission, and, like the ghosts of the 
 murdered, for ever haunt the steps of the male- 
 factor; while the paths of virtue, though 
 seldom those of worldly greatness, are always 
 those of pleasantness and peace. — Sir Walter 
 Scott. I 
 
 GUILT, Systematic. 
 Who yet lived, gathering wage for hell. 
 JVm. Morris. 
 
 HABITS, Man a Bundle of. 
 
 There are habits, not only of drinking, swear- 
 ing, and lying, and of some other things which 
 are commonly acknowledged to be habits, and 
 called so, but of every modification of action, 
 speech, and thought. Man is a bundle of 
 habits. There are habits of industry, attention, 
 vigilance, advertency ; of a prompt obedience 
 to the judgment occurring, or of yielding to the 
 first impulse of passion ; of extending our views 
 to the future, or of resting upon the present ; 
 of apprehending, methodizing, reasoning ; of 
 indolence, dilatoriness, of vanity, self-conceit, 
 melancholy, partiality ; of fretfulness, sus- 
 picion, captiousness, censoriousness ; of pride, 
 ambition, covetousness ; of overreaching, in- 
 triguing, projecting ; in a word, there is not a 
 quality of function either of body or mind 
 which does not feel the influence of this great 
 law of animated nature. — Paley. 
 
 HABITS, Prudential, 
 The Source of Comfort and Contentment. 
 It is of the utmost importance always to bear 
 in mind that a great command over the neces- 
 saries and conveniences of life may be effected 
 in two ways, — either by a rapid increase in the 
 quantity and value of the funds destined for 
 the maintenance of labour, or by the prudential 
 habits of the labouring classes ; and that as the 
 former mode of improving their condition is 
 neither in the power of the poor to carry into 
 effect themselves, nor can in the nature of 
 things be permanent, the great resource of the 
 labouring classes for their happiness must be 
 in those prudential habits, which, if properly 
 exercised, are capable of securing to them a 
 fair proportion of the necessaries and conve- 
 niences of life from the earliest state of society 
 to the latest.— yJ/a/Z/^Mj-. 
 
 HAPPINESS, Equally Balanced. 
 
 Among the different conditions and ranks of 
 men the balance of happiness is preserved in 
 a great measure equal ; and the high and the 
 low, the rich and the poor, approach, in point 
 of real enjoyment, much nearer to each other 
 than is commonly imagined. In the lot of 
 man, mutual compensations both of pleasure 
 and of pain universally take place. Provi- 
 dence never intended that any state here should 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 267 
 
 be either completely happy or entirely mise- 
 rable. If the feelings of pleasure are more 
 numerous and more lively in the higher de- 
 partments of life, such also are those of pain. 
 If greatness flatters our vanity, it multiplies 
 our dangers. If opulence increases our grati- 
 fications, it increases in the same proportion 
 our desires and demands. If the poor are con- 
 fined to a more narrow circle, yet within that 
 circle lie most of those natural satisfactions 
 which, after all the refinements of art, are 
 found to be the most genuine and true. In a 
 state, therefore, where there is neither so much 
 to be coveted on the one hand, nor to be 
 dreaded on the other, as at first appears, how 
 submissive ought we to be to the disposal of 
 Providence ! How temperate in our desires 
 and pursuits ! How much more attentive to 
 preserve our virtue and to improve our minds, 
 than to gain the doubtful and equivocal advan- 
 tages of worldly prosperity. — Blair. 
 
 HAPPINESS, 
 Inquiry into the Nature of. 
 I HAVE known when I have promised myself 
 best satisfaction, and my imagination has pre- 
 sented me at a distance with a fair landscape 
 of delight ; yet when I drew nigh enough to 
 grasp the alluring happiness, like the sensitive 
 plant, it contracted itself at the touch, and 
 shrinked almost to nothing in the fruition. I 
 found it was ever with me as with the tra- 
 veller, to whom the ground which is before 
 him and that which he has left behind him 
 seems always more curiously embroidered and 
 delightsome than that which he stands upon. 
 So that my happiness, like the time when I 
 thought to enjoy it, was always either past or 
 to come, never present. And this single con- 
 sideration has often made me, in the very 
 pursuit after happiness and in the full career 
 of my passions, to stop short on this side of 
 fruition, and to choose rather, with Moses on 
 Mount Nebo, to entertain my fancy with a 
 remote prospect of the happy land, than to go 
 in and possess it, and then repine. 
 
 And this melancholy reflection bred in me a 
 kind of suspicion that, for all that I knew, it 
 might be so in heaven too. That although at 
 this distance I might frame to myself bright 
 ideas of that region of bliss, yet when I came 
 to the possession of it, I should not find that 
 perfect happiness there that I expected, but 
 that it would be always to come, as it now is, 
 
 and that I should seek for heaven, even in 
 heaven itself. That I should not fully acquiesce 
 in my condition there, but at length desire a 
 change. Before, therefore, I proceed to 
 define wherein perfect happiness does consist, 
 I think it necessary to endeavour the removal 
 of this scruple, which, like the flaming sword, 
 forbids entrance into paradise. In order to 
 which I shall inquire into the true reason why 
 these sublunary good things, when enjoyed, do 
 neither answer our expectations nor satisfy 
 our appetites. Now this must proceed either 
 from the nature of fruition itself, or from the 
 imperfection of it, or from the object of it, or 
 from ourselves. I confess, did this defect 
 proceed from the very nature of fruition (as is 
 supposed in the objection) it is impossible 
 there should be any such thing as perfect 
 happiness, since it would faint away while 
 enjoyed, and expire in our embraces. But 
 that it cannot proceed thence I have this to 
 offer : because fruition being nothing else but 
 an application or union of the soul to some 
 good or agreeable object, it is impossible that 
 should lessen the good enjoyed. Indeed, it 
 may lessen our estimation of it, but that is 
 because we do not rightly consider the nature 
 of things, but promise ourselves infinite satis- 
 faction in the enjoyment of finite objects. We 
 look upon things through a false glass, which 
 magnifies the object at a distance much beyond 
 its just dimensions. But then it must be con- 
 sidered that the fruition does not cause this defi- 
 ciency in the object, but only discovers it. We 
 have a better insight into the nature of things 
 near at hand than when we stood afar off. 
 But this can never happen but when the object 
 is finite. An infinite object can never be over- 
 valued, and consequently cannot frustrate our 
 expectations. — Norris. 
 
 HAPPINESS, its Gains. 
 
 What ! we have many goodly days to see ; 
 The liquid drops of tears that you have shed 
 Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl, 
 Advantaging their loan with interest 
 Of ten-times-double gain of happiness. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 HAPPINESS, of the Material World. 
 
 It is a happy world after all. The air, the 
 earth, the water, teem with delighted existence. 
 In a spring noon, or a summer evening, on 
 
268 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 •whichever side I turn my eyes myriads of 
 happy beings crowd upon my view. "The 
 insect youth are on the wing." Swarms of 
 new-bom flies are trying their pinions in the 
 air. Their sportive motions, their wanton 
 mazes, their gratuitous activity, their continual 
 change of place without use or purpose, testify 
 their joy and the exultation which they feel in 
 their lately-discovered faculties. A bee amongst 
 the flowers in spring is one of the most cheer- 
 ful objects that can be looked upon. Its life 
 appears to be all enjoyment : so busy and so 
 pleased ; yet it is only a specimen of insect 
 life, with which, by reason of the animal being 
 half domesticated, we happen to be better ac- 
 quainted than we are with the habits of 
 others. 
 
 Other species are running about with an 
 alacrity in their motions which carries with it 
 every mark of pleasure. Large patches of 
 ground are sometimes half covered with these 
 brisk and sprightly natures. If we look to 
 what the waters produce, shoals of the fry of 
 fish frequent the margins of rivers, of lakes, 
 and of the sea itself These are so happy 
 that they know not what to do with themselves. 
 Their attitudes, their vivacity, their leaps out 
 of the water, their frolics in it (which I have 
 noticed a thousand times with equal attention 
 and amusement), all conduce to show their ex- 
 cess of spirits, and are simply the effects of that 
 excess. Walking by the sea-side, in a calm 
 evening, upon a sandy shore, and with an ebb- 
 ing tide, I have frequently remarked the ap- 
 pearance of a dark cloud, or rather, very thick 
 mist, hanging over the edge of the water to 
 the height, perhaps, of half a yard, and of the 
 breadth of two or three yards, stretching along 
 the coast as far as the eye could reach and 
 always returning with the water. When this 
 cloud came to be examined, it proved to be no- 
 thing else than so much space filled with young 
 shrimps, in the act of bounding into the air 
 from the shallow margin of the water or from 
 the wet sand. If any motion of a mute animal 
 could express delight it was this : if they had 
 meant to make signs of their happiness they 
 could not have done it more intelligibly. Sup- 
 pose then, what I have no doubt of, each in- 
 dividual of this number to be in a state of 
 positive enjoyment ; what a sum, collectively, 
 of gratification and pleasure have wc here be- 
 fore our View. — Paley. 
 
 HAPPINESS, 
 Overlooked in Searching for it. 
 
 Happiness like liberty is often overlooked 
 in the search after it. Young people, through 
 inexperience, and sometimes those who are 
 older, from sanguineness of temperament, 
 expect more from life than it has to bestow. 
 They consider happiness as a precious jewel 
 never hitherto possessed, yet certainly to be 
 found, though in what shape, place, or circum- 
 stances, it never occurs to them to define ; it 
 is with them a sort of vague ideal charm, 
 always to be pursued, and as constantly eluding 
 the grasp. Liberty, in like manner, with the 
 same description of persons, does not consist 
 in the absence of restraint, in the rational en- 
 joyment of property, or preservation of rights. 
 It is a loose, ungovernable spirit of infringe- 
 ment on the privileges of others. The mere 
 security derived under a just and equal ad- 
 ministration of the laws is no better than 
 bondage in the eyes of what are technically 
 known by the name of "radical reformers." 
 All this is flat and tame ; they must kick and 
 fling to be assured that they are not confined ; 
 they must be permitted to do that which has 
 neither reference to pleasure nor utility, merely 
 to exercise the power which absolute freedom 
 bestows, just as a child in a garden lays about 
 him and batters down the flowers on each side 
 with the stick in his hand, without any need 
 of, or desire for, the things thus destroyed. 
 We deceive ourselves much in supposing that 
 happiness of mind, any more than health of 
 body, depends upon place. Change of scene 
 is often both agreeable and convenient ; but 
 if the heart be oppressed or there be " a thorn 
 in the flesh," the Mordecai travels with us. 
 We cannot run away from ourselves. To be 
 happy in the limited sense which Providence 
 permits, let us make home the centre of our 
 enjoyments. The fulfilment of those little 
 duties which are at every moment presenting 
 their claims, may be thought by many a strange 
 receipt for contentment ; yet it is a very sure 
 one, and if there ever was an axiom on the 
 truth of which we may rely, it is that "the 
 mind is its own place." Instead of looking 
 to new faces, and seeking in new situations for 
 that undiscovered something, we know not 
 what, which, upon approaching, will, like the 
 sailors' " Cape Flyaway," always vanish or 
 recede from our view, let us be assured that 
 in every condition of life and in every spot of 
 earth, much may be done with the materials 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 i(i<) 
 
 that lie immediately around us ; and if we evince 
 no skill in the manufacture of these, we should 
 not turn a wider range to profit — Mrs. Bruce. 
 
 HAPPINESS, Reminiscence of. 
 To remember happiness which cannot be 
 restored is pain, but of a softened kind. Our 
 recollections are unfortunately mingled with 
 much that we deplore, and with many actions 
 which we bitterly repent; still, in the most 
 chequered life I firmly think there are so 
 many little rays of sunshine to look back upon 
 that I do not believe any mortal (unless he 
 had put himself out of the pale of hope) would 
 deliberately drain a goblet of the waters of 
 Lethe if he had it in his power. — Dickens. 
 
 HAPPINESS, 
 The Proportion of, to Virtue. 
 Now this I readily submit to as a great truth, 
 that the degrees of happiness vary according 
 to the degrees of virtue, and consequently, that 
 that life which is most virtuous is most happy, 
 with reference to those that are vicious or 
 less virtuous ; every degree of virtue having a 
 proportionate degree of happiness accompany- 
 ing it. But I do not think the most virtuous 
 life so the most happy, but that it may become 
 happier, unless something more be compre- 
 hended in the word virtue than the Stoics, 
 Peripatetics, and the generality of other moral- 
 ists understand by it. For with them it signi- 
 fies no more but only such a habitude of the 
 will to good whereby we are constantly dis- 
 posed, notwithstanding the contrary tendency 
 of our passions, to reform the necessary offices 
 of life. This they call moral or civil virtue ; 
 and although this brings with it enough of 
 happiness to make amends for the difficulties 
 which attend the practice of it, yet I am not of 
 opinion that the greatest happiness attainable 
 by man in this life consists in it. 
 
 But there is another and a higher sense of 
 the word, namely, contemplation, and the 
 unitive way of religion. This is called divine 
 virtue. I allow of the distinction, but I would 
 not be thought to derive it from the principle 
 as if moral virtue were acquired, and this in- 
 fused (for, to speak ingenuously, infused virtue 
 seemed ever to me as great a paradox in 
 divinity as occult qualities in philosophy), but 
 from the nobleness of the object ; the object 
 of the former being moral good, and the object 
 of the latter God himself. The former is a 
 
 state of proficiency, the latter of perfection. 
 The former is a state of difficulty and conten- 
 tion, the latter of ease and sincerity. The for- 
 mer is employed in mastering the passions and 
 regulating the actions of common life, the 
 latter in divine mediation and the ecstacies of 
 seraphic love. He that has only the former 
 is like Moses, with much difficulty climbing up 
 the holy mount ; but he that has the latter is 
 like the same person conversing with God on 
 the serene top of it. So that this latter sup- 
 poses the acquisition of the former, and conse- 
 quently has all the happiness pertaining to the 
 other, besides what it adds of its own. This 
 is the last stage of human perfection, the utmost 
 round of the ladder whereby we ascend to 
 heaven ; one step higher is glory. Here then 
 will I build my tabernacle, for it is good to be 
 here. — Norris. 
 
 HAPPINESS, True. 
 
 Without strong affection, and humanity of 
 heart, and gratitude to that Being whose code 
 is Mercy, and whose great attribute is Bene- 
 volence to all things that breathe, true happi- 
 ness can never be attained. — Dickens, 
 
 HAPPINESS, what it Consists in. 
 
 " Love God, love truth, love virtue, and be 
 
 happy. " 
 These were the words first uttered in the ear 
 Of every being rational made, and made 
 For thought, or word, or deed accovmtable. 
 Most men the first forgot, the latter none. 
 Whatever path they took, by hill or vale, 
 By night or day, the universal wish. 
 The aim, and sole intent, was happiness. 
 But, erring from the heaven -appointed path, 
 Strange tracks indeed they took through barren 
 
 wastes, 
 And up the sandy mountain climbing toiled. 
 Which pining lay beneath the cmrse of God 
 And nought produced. Yet did the traveller 
 
 look, 
 And point his eye before him greedily. 
 As if he saw some verdant spot, where grew 
 The heavenly flower, where sprung the well of 
 
 life. 
 Where undisturbed felicity reposed ; 
 Though Wisdom's eye no vestige could discern. 
 That Happiness had ever passed that way. 
 Wisdom was right : for still the terms remained. 
 Unchanged, unchangeable — the terms on which 
 True peace was given to man. Pollok. 
 
^^o 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 HARMONY, 
 
 Partly Consists in Proportion. 
 
 There is music wherever there is harmony, 
 order, or proportion ; and thus far we may 
 maintain the music of the spheres ; for those 
 well-ordered motions and regular paces, 
 though they give no sound unto the ear, yet to 
 the understanding they strike a note most full 
 of harmony. "Whosoever is harmonically 
 composed delights in the harmony of sounds ; 
 which makes me much distrust the symmetry 
 of those heads which declaim against all 
 church music. For myself, not only from my 
 obedience, but my particular genius, I do em- 
 brace it ; for even that vulgar and tavern 
 music, which makes one merry, another mad, 
 strikes in me a deep fit of devotion and pro- 
 found contemplation of the first composer ; 
 there is something in it of divinity more than 
 the ear discovers. I will not say with Plato, 
 the soul is an harmony, but harmonical, and 
 hath its nearest sympathy unto music ; thus 
 some whose temper of body agrees and hu- 
 mours the constitution of their souls, are born 
 poets, though, indeed, all are naturally in- 
 clined unto rhyme. — Sir Thomas Brown. 
 
 TTAZABD, the Mother of Loss. 
 
 Hazard is very mother of lesings, 
 And of deceit, and cursed forswearings ; 
 Blaspheming of Christ, manslaughter, and 
 
 waste also 
 Of chattels and of time, and furthermo 
 It is reproof and contrary of honour 
 For to be held a common hazardour : 
 And ever the higher he is of estate, 
 The more he is holden desolate ; 
 If that a prince useth hazarderie, 
 In alle governance and policie, 
 He is as by common opinion 
 Yheld the lesse in reputation. Chaucer. 
 
 HEALTH and Disease. 
 
 So far from the rational care of health being 
 justly chargeable with the imputation of selfish- 
 ness so often ignorantly thrown out against it, 
 there is nothing which tends so much to relieve 
 society from the burden of miseries not its 
 own, as each individual taking such care of 
 his constitution as shall enable him to cope 
 successfully with the duties and difficulties of 
 
 the situation in which he is placed. No man 
 is so thoroughly selfish as he who, in the 
 ardent pursuit of pleasure or of profit, heed- 
 lessly exposes his life to the hazard of a die, 
 regardless of the suffering which he may entail 
 upon those who depend on him for support. 
 In the abstract we all admit that the enjoy- 
 ment of health is the first of earthly blessings, 
 and that without it all others may be lavished 
 in vain ; and yet it has been quaintly asked, 
 " Who is he that values health at the rate it is 
 worth? Not he that hath it ; he reckons it 
 among the common ordinary enjoyments, and 
 takes as little notice of it, or less regards it, 
 than his long-worn clothes ; perhaps more 
 careful of his garments, remembering their 
 price : but thinks his health costs him nothing, 
 and coming to him at so easy a rate, values it 
 accordingly, and hath little regard to keep it : 
 is nevei truly sensible of what he enjoyed until 
 he finds the want of it by sickness ; then health, 
 above all things, is earnestly desired and 
 wished for. " 
 
 In proportion, however, as we consider the 
 matter with that attention which its importance 
 really deserves, we shall become anxious rather 
 to take care of health when we have it, than 
 first to lose and then exert ourselves to recover 
 it. Such was evidently the feeling which elicited 
 the following remarks from a very clear-sighted 
 author, Dr. Maynwaringe, in his work on the 
 "Method and Means of Health" — 
 
 "You that have health," says he, "and 
 know not how to prize it, I'll tell you what it 
 is, that you may love it better, put a higher 
 value upon it, and endeavour to preserve it 
 with a more serious, stricter observance and 
 tuition. Health is that which makes your 
 meat and drink both savoury and pleasant, 
 else Nature's injunction of eating and drinking 
 were a hard task and a slavish custom. Health 
 is that which makes your bed easy and your 
 sleep refreshing ; that revives your strength 
 with the rising sun, and makes you cheerful at 
 the light of another day ; 'tis that which fills up 
 the hollow and uneven places of your carcase, and 
 makes your body plump and comely ; 'tis that 
 which dresseth you up in Nature's richest 
 attire and adorns your face with her choicest 
 colours. 'Tis that which makes exercise a 
 sport, and walking abroad the enjoyment of 
 your liberty. 'Tis that which makes fertile 
 and increaseth the natural endowments of your 
 mind, and preserves them long from decay, 
 makes your wit acute, and your memory reten- 
 tive. 'Tis that which supports the fragility of 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 271 
 
 a corruptible body, and preserves the verdure, 
 vigour, and beauty of youth. 'Tis that which 
 makes the soul take delight in her mansion, 
 sporting herself at the casements of your eyes. 
 'Tis that which makes pleasure to be pleasure, 
 and delights delightful, without which you can 
 solace yourself in nothing of terrene felicities 
 or enjoyments. 
 
 "But now take a view of yourself when 
 health has turned its back upon you, and deserts 
 your company ; see then how the scene is 
 changed, how you are robbed and spoiled of 
 all your comforts and enjoyments. Sleep that 
 was stretcht out from evening to the fair bright 
 day, is now broken into pieces, and sub-divided, 
 not worth the accounting ; the night that 
 before seemed short is now too long, and the 
 downy bed presseth hard against the bones. 
 Exercise is now toiling, and walking abroad 
 the carrying of a burden. The eye that flasht 
 as lightning is now like the opacous body of a 
 thick cloud, that rolled from east to w'est 
 swifter than a celestial orb, is now tired and 
 weary with standing still — that penetrated the 
 centre of another microcosm, hath lost its 
 planetary influence and is become obtuse and 
 dull." 
 
 If such, then, be a true picture of the oppo- 
 site conditions of health and disease, what 
 stronger inducements can any one require to 
 give him an interest in the " study and obser- 
 vance of Nature's institutions," seeing that 
 they are the means by which the "beloved ends 
 and wished-for enjoyments " can be attained, 
 and that we "may as likely keep, or acquire 
 riches by prodigality, as preserve health and 
 obtain long life by intemperance, inordinate 
 passions, a noxious air, and such like injurious 
 customs, ways, and manner of living." — 
 Combe. 
 
 HEALTH, Influence of the Seasons on. 
 
 The seasons, which exercise such a striking 
 influence upon the vegetable kingdom, influence 
 the diseases of the human race. The reduction 
 of temperature alone, when the atmosphere 
 reaches the freezing-point, is fatal to a certain 
 number of persons ; at the same time many 
 artisans are thrown out of employment, the 
 small earnings of the poorer classes are 
 diminished, and as fuel is dear, the air, to ex- 
 clude the cold, is shut out of their dwellings 
 until it becomes highly insalubrious. Warm 
 weather creates a demand for labour out of 
 doors, and excites all the functions when it is 
 
 not carried to excess. As the temperature 
 advances, and autumn comes on, dead vege- 
 table and animal matter undergoes rapid de- 
 composition : the living are infected ; and, 
 where the miasmata are concentrated in cities 
 or in undrained lands, remittent fevers, dysen- 
 teries, plagues, and malignant maladies, are 
 generated. — Farr. 
 
 HEAET, Absence Makes Fonder. 
 
 The heart is, perhaps, never so sensible of 
 happiness as after a short separation from the 
 object of its affections. If that separation has 
 been attended with peculiar circumstances of 
 distress or danger, every misery that has been 
 experienced tends, by the force of contrast, to 
 increase the emotions of delight, and gives to 
 the pleasure of reunion an inexpressible degree 
 of tenderness. — Miss Hamilion. 
 
 HEART, a Jewish. 
 
 You may as well go stand upon a beach, 
 And bid the main flood bate his usual height ; 
 You may as well use question with the wolf. 
 Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 
 You may as well go bid the mountain pines 
 To wag their high tops, and to make no noise. 
 When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven ; 
 You may as well do anything most hard. 
 As seek to soften that (than which what's 
 
 harder ? ) 
 His Jewish heart. Shakespeare. 
 
 HEART, Obedience of. 
 Till God be glorified, till man be humbled, 
 the separation between the Creator and the 
 creature remains ; and the issue, on the one 
 part and the other, must be man's ruin for 
 ever. . . . When God is obeyed, and liis will 
 meets with no opposition or backwardness in 
 the soul, but the creature flies with joy to 
 execute the Almighty command, knowing no 
 other desire, nor wishing any other happiness, 
 than this service of the most high, then God 
 is known among men to be what He is ; then 
 the Creator is glorified and the creature is 
 blessed.— 6*. Walker. 
 
 HEART, Prayer for. 
 
 Look to your heart, and if at any moment the 
 cloud and the darkness come over you, pray for 
 
272 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 ligKt and for forgiveness from that God in whom 
 you live, and move, and have your being ! The 
 earthquake may crush, and the flood over- 
 whelm, and the pestilence sweep away the chil- 
 dren of men ; but are you to be told, that let 
 death, which must come, come when it may, 
 it comes and can only come, in the order of 
 Providence? How infinitely little, then, im- 
 ports it whether it comes soon or late, life 
 being but ** a place which God hath given us in 
 time, for the desiring of eternity" ! — Southey. 
 
 HEAET, Purification of. 
 If you come to the Scripture for its saving 
 truths and elevating graces, if you apply to the 
 word of God in the language of the Psalmist, 
 *'as a light to your feet and a lamp to your 
 paths," — not simply as a light to gratify your 
 eyes by the truths and consolations it contains, 
 but as a lamp to direct you in purity and holi- 
 ness of life, — then will it be meat and drink 
 to you ; and then may you hope to be led 
 through the paths of righteousness to the hap- 
 piness which is set before you . . . Let this 
 sacred volume be your constant and daily 
 study ; and let this study be ever mingled 
 with fervent prayer; for "who can hope to 
 read the Scriptures profitably, unaided by the 
 grace of Qo^.!''— Bishop Otter. 
 
 To whom will it be given to see God ? To 
 them who are pure in heart The kingdom of 
 God as the Scripture saith, is "within us." O 
 ye, in whom there abideth the least spark of de- 
 sire to see the Sovereign Good, when ye shall 
 be told, and in verity, that our feeble nature is 
 not capable of seizing or comprehending this 
 Divine majesty, supremely elevated above the 
 heavens, be not cast down, neither be ye dis- 
 couraged ; in part you may see Him ; you have 
 Him in your heart, since purity of heart is but 
 the impression of His Divine beauty. It is 
 the mirror wherein are reflected the rays of 
 that Sun of Righteousness, whose radiant 
 light is too dazzling for mortal eye to contem- 
 plate. — St. Gregory [_Nyssa). 
 
 /HEART, Revived. 
 
 How fresTi, O Lord, how sweet and clean 
 Are thy returns ! ev'n as the flow'rs in spring ; 
 
 To which, besides their own demean, 
 The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. 
 
 Grief melts away like snow in May ; 
 As if there were no such cold thing. 
 
 Who would have thought my shrivel'd heart 
 Could have recover'd greenness ? It was gone 
 
 Quite under ground, as flow'rs depart 
 To see their mother-root, when they have 
 blown ; 
 
 Where they, together, all the hard weather, 
 Dead to the world, keep house unknown. 
 
 These are thy wonders. Lord of power ! 
 Killing, and quick'ning, bringing down to hell, 
 
 And up to heaven, in an hour ; 
 Making a chiming of a passing-bell. 
 
 We say amiss, "This, or that, is ; " 
 Thy word is all ; if we could spelL 
 
 Oh, that I once past changing were ; 
 Fast in thy Paradise, where no flow'r can 
 wither ! 
 Many a spring I shoot up fair, 
 Off'ring at heav'n, growing and groaning 
 thither : 
 Nor doth my flower want a spring show'r ; 
 My sins and I joining together. 
 
 But, while I grow in a straight line 
 Still upwards bent, as if heav'n were mine own, 
 
 Thy anger comes, and I decline. 
 What frost to that ? What pole is not the zone 
 
 W^here all things burn, when thou dost turn, 
 And the least frown of thine is shown ? 
 
 And now in age I bud again : 
 After so many deaths I live and write : 
 
 I once more smell the dew and rain ; 
 And relish versing. O my only light, 
 
 It cannot be that I am he, 
 On whom thy tempests fell at night ! 
 
 These are thy wonders. Lord of love ! 
 To make us see that we are but flow'rs that 
 glide 
 Which when we once can find and prove. 
 Thou hast a garden for us where to bide ; 
 
 Who would be more, swelling through store, 
 Forfeit their Paradise by their pride." 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 HEARTS, Character of. 
 Judge yourselves, brethren, that ye be not 
 judged of the Lord. If you would know the 
 character of your hearts, I would have you 
 chart out the channel in which the river of 
 your thoughts best loves to flow . . . Know 
 how you are minded ; and if it be so that the 
 creature hath those hopes, and those longings, 
 and that love, which of every right belong to 
 the Creator, why then decide of yourselves, 
 that, as ye think in your heart, so are ye — yc 
 think most of earth, and are carnally-minded. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 273 
 
 And this is death ; and this death hath a worm, 
 and a charnel-house, and a funeral fire. The 
 worm, it is one that cannot die ; the fire is 
 that which is in no manner quenchable. — 
 W. H. Flowers. 
 
 HEAVEN, Description of. 
 There will be no more tears 
 Within the pearl gates of the heavenly home ; 
 
 No conflicts, griefs, or cares ; 
 No wandering heart to roam. 
 
 There will be no more tears. 
 
 There will be no more pain ! 
 No aching head, nor throbbing, care-worn 
 breast ; 
 The sad ones no more mourn, 
 And sweet will be their rest. 
 
 There will be no more pain. 
 
 There will be no more death ! 
 No frail disease, no dying farewell spoken. 
 
 No parting hour, nor agony of pain, 
 Amidst that band unbroken. 
 
 There will be no more death. 
 
 There will be ceaseless praise ! 
 There songs undying joyfully ascend 
 
 In one triumphant hymn ; 
 And friend meets long-lost friend. 
 
 There will be ceaseless praise. 
 
 There will be endless joy ! 
 There golden harps are tuned for evermore ; 
 
 There Jesus is the sun 
 And light of that glad shore. 
 
 There will be endless joy. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 HEAVENLY Home, The. 
 
 Is it a dream, to be dispelled at last. 
 
 That, when the toils of human life are past. 
 
 And all the arrows of the foe are spent, 
 
 A glorious world receives the raptured saint ? 
 
 O dream delicious ! O illusion grand. 
 
 That pictures visions of the flowery land. 
 
 That wafts the fragrance of its fields of bliss 
 
 Across the deserts of a world like this ! 
 
 Ecstatic dream, that gives to mortal eyes 
 
 A passing glimpse of its refulgent skies ! 
 
 Transporting dream, that lifts the soul above 
 
 To wondrous regions of eternal love ! 
 
 O dream divine — thou art the voice of God ! 
 
 By thee allured, I seek his grand abode. 
 
 But where, O dream — thou hast not told me 
 
 where — 
 Lies this bright land of rest from sin and care ? 
 
 Where is the sphere celestial, on whose shores 
 No thunder peals, no surging tempest roars ? 
 Where the resplendent firmament, that hears 
 No sigh of woe, no sound of falling tears ? 
 Where may the pilgrim's drooping eye behold 
 The crystal river with its sands of gold ? 
 The living waters, on whose banks of green 
 The tree of life with mellow fruit is seen ? 
 The gates of pearl, the throne of dazzling light. 
 And the immortal priesthood clothed in white ? 
 Where the abode of angels, and the place 
 Where ransomed men behold their Saviour's 
 
 face? 
 Where in the vast immensity, untrod 
 By mortal thought, resides the incarnate God ? 
 To questions such as these the answer given 
 Is clearly this — to be with Christ in Heaven. 
 W.Leask, D.D. 
 
 There is a land of love. 
 Where every wind breathes soft, and glad, and 
 
 free ; 
 And every silvery, rippling stream exhales 
 Heart-joyous melody. 
 
 There sweetest, fairest flowers 
 Ope their love-tinted petals to the sun, 
 And gently breathe their ravishing perfume 
 The wayworn heart upon. 
 
 No burning sorrows there ; 
 No broken, bleeding hearts can there abide, 
 No silent, yearning, unrequited love \ 
 All, all are satisfied. 
 
 O happy land of love ! 
 By mortal feet untrod, or eye unseen ; 
 Whene'er I think of thee, this changing life 
 Seems like a weary dream. 
 
 West7tess. 
 
 HEAVENLY-MINDEDNESS. 
 
 Let us search our own hearts, each for him- 
 self, that we may discover what is the idol in 
 our own case — be it a lust of the flesh, be it a 
 lust of the eye, be it a pride of life, be it too 
 much carefulness, be it too much selfishness. 
 Let us put the accursed thing away, and with 
 the faithful Abraham for our pattern, set the 
 Lord our God first in all our doings, and yield 
 up to Him our hearts and lives, keeping 
 nothing back ; so that we may be, with 
 Abraham, the " friends" of God, not the 
 servants only, but the friends ; and find God 
 ready to overlook, to pity, to forgive, and to 
 say to each of us, notwithstanding our back- 
 slidings, ** Thy faith hath saved thee, go in 
 peace.— y. J. Blunt. 
 
 T 
 
274 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 HEAVEN, Not to be Described. 
 It is not for any mortal creature to make a 
 map of that Canaan which lies above ; it is, to 
 all of us who live here on the hither side of 
 death, an unknown country and an undis- 
 covered land. It may be that some heavenly 
 pilgrim, who, with his holy thoughts and holy 
 desires, is continually travelling thitherward, 
 arrives sometimes near the borders of the 
 promised land and the suburbs of the new- 
 Jerusalem, and gets upon the top of Pisgah, 
 and there has the perfect prospect of a fair 
 country, which lies a far way off ; but he can- 
 not tell how to describe it. — Bishop Rust. 
 
 HEAVEN, One Way to. 
 I KNOW but one way to heaven, I have but 
 one mediator in heaven, even one Christ : and 
 yet I hear of more ways, more mediators. 
 Are there, then, more Christs ? Are the Lord's 
 ways as your ways, that we must go to the 
 King of heaven as unto a king on earth ? Or 
 if we must, yet if my King bid me come, shall 
 I send another ? If he bid me come unto him, 
 shall I go unto another ? If he bid me ask for 
 peace only in the name of the Prince of Peace, 
 why should I mention the Lady Mary ? If I 
 shall be heard only in the name of his Son, 
 why should I use the name of his servants ? 
 Were it a want of manners, or a want of 
 obedience, to come when I am bid ? Is an- 
 other better, or am I too good to go on mine 
 own errands to the Almighty ? Because the 
 Son was worse used than the servants on earth, 
 shall the servants therefore be sooner heard 
 than the Son in heaven ? There are still un- 
 just husbandmen in the Lord's vineyard, who 
 not only abuse the servants, but kill again 
 the Son, and rob him of his due inheritance. 
 When the Lord therefore of the vineyard 
 cometh, what will he do to these husbandmen ? 
 I do not envy your glory, ye saints of God, 
 yet I will not attribute the glory of my God to 
 his saints. How shall my God glorify me if I 
 should give his glory to another? — Arthur 
 Warwick, 
 
 HEAVENS, The, 
 Bbundless and Beautiful. 
 O Heavens !— O beautiful and boundless sky ! 
 Upon whose breast stars and pale planets lie, 
 Unnumbered and innumerable, ever 
 Mocking with bright'ning eyes man's vain 
 endeavour I — 
 
 Thou radiant wilderness, through which the 
 
 moon 
 Moves like a spirit, without voice or tune 
 Accompanied, or song or choral shout, 
 Save what the universal spheres send out 
 For ages, — inaudible, though vast and deep, — 
 Thou world of worlds ; within whose arms the 
 
 sun 
 Awakens ; and, when his bright task is done, 
 Like a reposing child, lies down to sleep, 
 
 Amongst thy golden bowers ! 
 
 O gentle Heaven ! 
 
 Art thou indeed the home, — the happy shore. 
 Where creatures wearied of the earth are 
 
 driven, — 
 Where Hate is not, — where Envy cannot soar, 
 And nought save unimaginable Love, 
 And tenderest peace (a white and winged dove), 
 And beauty and perennial bloom are seen, 
 And angels breathing in Elysian air 
 Divinest music, and young shapes more fair 
 Than Houris pacing soft through pathways 
 
 ever green ! Barry Cornwall. 
 
 I INVARIABLY experience a variety of sensa- 
 tions when I "survey the heavens " on a calm 
 clear night, about the end of the month of 
 May. I can then inhale the sweets of the 
 woodbine and other flowers, whose fragrance 
 is drawn out by the gentle dews of evening. 
 The nightingale breaks the silence by his sweet 
 and varied notes ; and the full moon "walking 
 in brightness," and rendered still more beau- 
 tiful by the lustre of so many shining stars, 
 which appear in the wide-extended firmament, 
 completes the loveliness of this nocturnal scene. 
 Then I begin to reflect upon my own insigni- 
 ficance, and to ask myself what I am, that the 
 great Author of the universe should be mind- 
 ful of me. His mercy, however, then presents 
 itself to me, as well as his Majesty, and the 
 former affects me more than the latter. I listen 
 to the bird which appears to be pouring forth 
 its little tribute of gratitude and praise, and 
 my heart prompts me to do the same. The 
 very perfume of the flowers seems to be an in- 
 cense ascending up to heaven ; and with these 
 feelings I am able to enjoy the calm tranquillity 
 of the evening. — Jesse. 
 
 HEAVEN, the Pilgrim's Native Land. 
 
 Blessed is the pilgrim, who in every place, 
 and at all times of this his banishment in the 
 body, calling upon the holy name of Jesus, 
 calleth to mind his native heavenly land, where 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 275 
 
 his blessed Master, the King of saints and 
 angels, waiteth to receive him. Blessed is the 
 pilgrim who seeketh not an abiding place unto 
 himself in this world ; but longeth to be dis- 
 solved, and be with Christ in heaven. — Thos. 
 h Kempis. 
 
 HEEDLESSNESS, its Temptation. 
 
 I HAVE sat upon the shore and waited for the 
 gradual approach of the sea, and have seen its 
 dancing waves and white surf, and admired 
 that he who measured it with his hand had 
 given to it such life and motion ; and I have 
 lingered till its gentle waters grew into mighty 
 billows and had well nigh swept me from my 
 firmest footing. So have I seen a heedless 
 youth gazing with a too curious spirit upon the 
 sweet motions and gentle approaches of an in- 
 viting pleasure, till it has detained his eye, and 
 imprisoned his feet, and swelled upon his soul, 
 and swept him along to a swift destruction. 
 — Montas:u. 
 
 HELL, a Vision of. 
 
 They said they saw a dark dim form 
 
 Float o'er the deep blue sea. 
 Where -/Etna oft has thrown its storm 
 
 Of sudden misery. 
 They said they saw it passing by 
 Troubling that peaceful evening sky, 
 
 Which there is wont to be ; 
 They marked, they said, its sullen flight, 
 And gazed in horror at the sight. 
 
 They gazed in horror at the scene, 
 Each heart beat faint and cold. 
 For in the phantom's grasp was seen 
 
 A form of mortal mould. 
 It passed — that messenger of woe — 
 Close o'er the burning mountain's brow. 
 
 Nor yet relaxed its hold ; 
 It made no pause — it made no stay. 
 But downward bent its fearful way. 
 
 Then burst the line of pitchy smoke. 
 Which toward the sunset sky. 
 
 From ^Etna's fiery caverns broke, 
 And roll'd its volumes high — 
 
 And passed adown the crater wide ; 
 
 No more they saw — deep horrors hide 
 That tale of mystery ; 
 
 No more the gloomy spectre past — 
 
 That single gaze — the first — the last. 
 
 There are who say that this is true — 
 
 It might be fancy's guile ; 
 When told in day's bright garish hue 
 
 It might but raise a smile. 
 But thought upon at night's still hour, 
 And when alone, each owns what power 
 
 That tale exerts the while. 
 But if thus potent fancy be. 
 What is the sad reality ? 
 
 There is a dark abyss more drear 
 
 Than Etna's gulf of flame ; 
 Yet, strange to say ! few think with fear 
 
 Upon its awful name, 
 Though thousands of their race must be 
 Chain'd there in endless misery, 
 
 And yet still deeper shame. 
 They seldom think that that abyss 
 May witness their own wretchedness. 
 
 The worm — the worm, that dieth not — 
 
 The ever-gasping breath. 
 And dark despair, that flieth not 
 
 Those prison vaults beneath ; 
 Those fires that never drop their rage — 
 Those pangs that time can ne'er assuage — 
 
 The ever-living death — 
 O man ! ere thou art exiled there. 
 Think o'er those scenes of dark despair. 
 
 Rogers. 
 
 HEROISM. 
 Ye gently wise, 
 Ye noble few, who here unbending stand 
 Beneath's life's pressure, yet bear up awhile ; 
 And what your bounded view, which only saw 
 A little part deem'd evil, is no more ; 
 The shade of false applause will quickly pass. 
 And one response to truth expressive all. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 HISTORY, its Development. 
 
 In writing history you are as it were upon a 
 lofty eminence, and the landscape beneath you 
 most unequally illuminated ; one point, per- 
 haps the most distant, seen clearly through a 
 thin, lovely mist ; other portions, nearer to you, 
 quite concealed ; so that you can form no clear 
 idea of the country. By-and-by, as the sun 
 rises, the light increases — you are able to map 
 the whole. — Quarterly Review. 
 
 HISTORY, its Reality. 
 
 History has to do with real occurrences, as 
 distinct from the fictions of imagination and 
 
276 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 from abstract conceptions : the former we de- 
 nominate fable, the latter science. History, 
 indeed, requires the presence of imagination 
 that the pictures of the past may possess some- 
 thing of the force of the present ; and the aid 
 of strong mental perception is no less needed, 
 that its facts may be made subservient to utility. 
 But the imagination has more to do with making 
 history attractive than in giving it existence ; 
 and we look to enlarged views for its philo- 
 sophy more than for its substance. Still, 
 in our day, the appellation of historian would 
 be regarded as greatly misapplied (and very 
 properly so), if bestowed on the author of a 
 mere chronicle of occurrences, produced on no 
 intelligent principle of selection and without 
 reference to any wise or dignified result. His- 
 tory, accordingly, in our view of it, partakes of 
 what is much more interesting and important 
 than a bare recording of facts. It embraces an 
 account of whatever has happened that may be 
 so presented as to minister to the gratification 
 and improvement of the human mind. It is 
 conversant with the past, partly for the sake of 
 amusement, principally for the sake of instruc- 
 tion. It is busied with what has been, that it 
 may live again, and that it may serve to correct 
 and elevate what is and what shall be. Within 
 its province ample space is found for the plea- 
 sing and the useful ; for whatever is powerful 
 in genius, whatever is expansive in benevolence. 
 Man, in all the diversities and all the complex- 
 ities of human character, and the circumstances 
 of man, embracing the ever-changing combi- 
 nations of the many elements of his social 
 being, all belong to the substance of history. — 
 Professor Vaughan. 
 
 HOLIDAY, Interminable, Tedious. 
 
 If all the year were playing holidays, 
 To sport would be as tedious as to work ; 
 But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for 
 
 come, 
 And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 HOLINESS, Comfort of. 
 Ask the Christian, when most afflicted and 
 cast down, whether his religion has left him 
 wretched and comfortless ; and what is his 
 answer ? He will tell you that he would not 
 exchange his most sorrowful hour for your 
 happiest day ; that he has habitually, within 
 his afflicted soul, consolations which are more 
 
 than earthly, that he has sometimes a joy 
 which is indeed divine ; a joy, rational and 
 sober, and yet so elevated and sweet that it 
 brings into his heart a foretaste of heaven 
 ... It is an everlasting joy, imperishable as 
 his soul. The same song which he is singing 
 now, his enraptured lips will soon pour forth 
 in the courts of Zion before his God ; and it 
 shall be sweet as the song of angels, and 
 lasting as eternity. — C. Bradley. 
 
 HOLY Ghost. 
 If the grounds of our best duties, that which 
 moves us in our holiest actions, be found upon 
 search to be but carnal ; if a careful religious 
 education, custom of the place which we live 
 in, fear of humane laws, nay, perhaps, a good, 
 soft, tender disposition, and the like, be the 
 things that make thee love God, and perform 
 holy duties, and not any inward principle of 
 sanctity within thee, I counsel thee to think 
 better of thy estate. And then, if thou v/ilt 
 not walk heartless for ever, if ever thou 
 meanest to move or walk, or do anything, 
 thou must to that Creator of spirits, and 
 Lover of souls ; and never leave soliciting till 
 He hath breathed another breath into thy nos- 
 trils, another soul into thy soul. — Hammond. 
 
 HOLY Ghost, the Comforter. 
 There is only one Holy Ghost, the Com- 
 forter ; in power most mighty, of a Divine and 
 unsearchable nature ; for He is a living and 
 intelligent Being, and is the sanctifying prin- 
 ciple of all things made by God through 
 Christ. He it is who illuminates the souls of 
 the just ; He was in the prophets, and He was 
 also in the apostles of the New Testament . . . 
 Our hope is in the Father, the Son, and the 
 Holy Ghost. We preach not three Gods, but 
 we preach one God, by one Son, with the 
 Holy Ghost . . . Abhor and flee from them 
 who blaspheme the Holy Ghost, and have no 
 forgiveness : withdraw from them from whom 
 God withdraws ; let us say, with all boldness, 
 "Do not I hate them, O Lord, that hate 
 Thee ? " For there is an enmity which is 
 right : for friendship with the serpent works 
 enmity with God, and death. . . . Great 
 indeed, and all-powerful in gifts, and wonder- 
 ful, is the Holy Ghost ; awful, in truth, is that 
 Spirit, holy and good ; and fittingly are we 
 baptized into Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. — 
 St. Cyril. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 277 
 
 HOME, Holds so Much. 
 
 And has the earth lost its so spacious round, 
 The sky its blue circumference above, 
 That in this little chamber there are found 
 Both earth and heaven, my universe of love ? 
 All that my God can give me or remove, 
 Here sleeping save myself in mimic death ? 
 Sweet, that in this small compass I behove 
 To live their living, and to breathe their breath ! 
 Almost I wish that, with one common sigh, 
 We might resign all mundane care and strife, 
 And seek together that transcendant sky. 
 Where father, mother, children, husband, wife, 
 Together pant in everlasting life ! Hood. 
 
 HOME is Home 
 To All wlio Possess One. 
 The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone 
 Boldly proclaims the happiest spot his own, 
 Extols the treasures of his stormy seas. 
 And his long night of revelry and ease. 
 The naked savage panting at the line. 
 Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, 
 Basks in the glare or stems the tepid wave. 
 And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. 
 Tior less the patriot's boast where'er we roam. 
 His first, best country, ever is at home. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 HOME, its Pleasures. 
 
 I HOLD it indeed to be a sure sign of a mind 
 Jiot poised as it ought to be, if it be insensible 
 to the pleasures of home, to the little joys and 
 -endearments of a family, to the affection of 
 relations, to the fidelity of domestics. Next 
 to being well with his own conscience, the 
 friendship and attachment of a man's family 
 and dependents seems to me one of the most 
 comfortable circumstances of his lot. His 
 situation with regard to either forms that sort 
 of bosom comfort or disquiet that sticks close 
 to him at all times and seasons, and which, 
 though he may now and then forget it amidst 
 the bustle of public or the hurry of active life, 
 will resume its place in his thoughts, and its 
 permanent effects on his happiness, at every 
 pause of ambition or of business. — Lex. 
 
 Home is the resort 
 Of love, and joy, and peace, and plenty, where. 
 Supporting and supported, polish'd friends. 
 And dear relations mingle into bliss. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 HONESTY, Immovable as a Rock. 
 
 An honest man is still an unmoved rock, 
 Wash'd whiter, but not shaken with the shock : 
 Whose heart conceives no sinister device ; 
 Fearless he plays with flames, and treads on 
 ice. Davenport. 
 
 HONOUR. 
 
 By Jove, I am not covetous of gold, 
 Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; 
 It yearns me not if men my garments wear ; 
 Such outward things dwell not in my desires : 
 But if it be a sin to covet honour, 
 I am the most offending soul alive. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Snowmen dutiful? 
 Why, so didst thou : or seem they grave and 
 
 learned ? 
 Why, so didst thou : come they of noble family? 
 Why, so didst thou : seem they religious ? 
 Why, so didst thou ; or are they spare in diet. 
 Free from gross passion, or of mirth or anger ; 
 Constant in spirit, nor swerving with the blood ; 
 Garnish'd and decked in modest compliment ; 
 Not working with the eye without the ear, 
 And but in purged judgment trusting neither ? 
 Such, and so finely bolted didst thou seem. 
 Shakespeare, 
 
 HONOURABLE Employments. 
 
 Oh, my lord, lie not idle : 
 
 The chiefest action for a man of great spirit 
 
 Is never to be out of action. We should think ; 
 
 The soul was never put into the body, 
 
 Which has so many rare and curious pieces 
 
 Of mathematical motion, to stand still. 
 
 Virtue is ever sowing of her seeds ; 
 
 In the trenches for the soldier ; in the wakeful 
 
 study 
 For the scholar ; in the furrows of the sea 
 For men of our profession : of all which 
 Arise and spring up honour. Webster. 
 
 HONOUR, Questionable. 
 
 From lowest place when virtuous things pro- 
 ceed. 
 The place is dignified by the doer's deed : 
 Where great additions swell, and virtue none, 
 It is a dropsied honour. Shakespeare. 
 
278 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 HONOUE, 
 
 The Comer- Stone of Morality. 
 
 What is honour but the height, and flower, 
 and top of morality, and the utmost refinement 
 of conversation ? Virtue and honour are such 
 inseparable companions that the heathens 
 would admit no man into the temple of Honour 
 who did not pass into it through the temple of 
 Virtue. Princes, indeed, may confer honours, 
 or rather titles and names of honour ; but they 
 are a man's or a woman's own actions which 
 must make him or her truly honourable. And 
 every man's life is the herald's office from 
 which he must derive and fetch that which 
 must blazon him to the world ; honour being 
 but the reflection of a man's own actions, 
 shining bright in the face of all about him, 
 and from thence rebounding on himself. It 
 teaches a man not to revenge a contumelious 
 or a reproachful word, but to be above it ; and 
 therefore it was greatly spoken by Caius Mar- 
 cus ; he said he valued not what men could 
 say of him, for if they spoke true, they must 
 needs speak honourably of him ; if otherwise, 
 his life and his manners should be their con- 
 futation. And doubtless it is a truer and 
 nobler vindication of a man's honour to clear 
 off and confute a slander by his own life than 
 by another's death ; to make his innocence 
 and his virtue his compurgators, and not to 
 fight but to live down the calumniator. — South. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 A CAUSE on foot 
 Lives so in hope, as in an early spring 
 We see the appearing buds j which, to prove 
 
 fruit, 
 Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair 
 That frosts will bite them. Shakespeare. 
 
 HOPE, Disappointed. 
 
 So with the failing of our hoped delight 
 We grew to be like devils— then I knew 
 At my own cost, what each man cometh to 
 When every pleasure from his life is gone, 
 And htinger and desire of life alone, 
 That still beget dull rage and bestial fears. 
 Like guarding serpents thro' the world he 
 bears. Win. Morris. 
 
 HOPE, Faileth. 
 
 The ample proposition that hope makes 
 In all designs begun on earth below 
 Fails in the promis'd largeness. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 HOPE, its Close Affinity. 
 
 Immortal Hope, .... 
 
 Takes comfort from the foaming billow's rage. 
 
 And makes a welcome harbour of the tomb. 
 
 Yoting. 
 
 There is, perhaps, no feeling which the 
 human breast cherishes so nearly connected 
 with its happiness as that of hope. And it 
 was mercifully appointed that, in a world 
 whose brightest visions of felicity prove but 
 the shadow of a shade, whose past pleasures, 
 while they feast the memory, leave the heart 
 aching with a sense of their desertion, and 
 whose present enjoyments vanish ere they are 
 grasped, and wither ere they bloom, some 
 more enduring realities should be held out to 
 the anticipation of the spirit, fainting under 
 weariness and disappointment. When sin 
 had entered within the bowers of Eden, and 
 the primal curse had been pronounced on the 
 parents of the human race, Hope, the young 
 and beautiful offspring of untainted joys, so- 
 journed with the exiles, and attended on their 
 wanderings. She cheered them with the song 
 of future and happier days, pointed them to 
 the horizon of eternal life, and showed the 
 first glimmerings of that bright and morning 
 star, which should rise on Bethlehem and set 
 on Calvary, but whose brightness should re- 
 main, and whose memory should live, till 
 eternity had lost itself in its own vastness. 
 Since then she has trod a thorny path, and 
 partaken deeply of the wretchedness of the 
 world, which she came to solace and to cheer. 
 Time was when she could have flown over the 
 obstructions of her path, but the cruelty of 
 men has bound her wings, and her feet have 
 bled among the briars of the wilderness. 
 
 It has been the Christian bosom which has 
 cherished best this worn and wandering pil- 
 grim, while the pilgrim in her turn has warmed 
 and cheered the bosom that gave her shelter. 
 And while Hope has listened to the tale of 
 sorrows which the suffering children of hu- 
 manity have poured into her ear, her eye has 
 kindled with the brightness of immortality, 
 her voice has trembled with the inspiration of 
 prophecy, and she has infused into their '* song, 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 279 
 
 in the house of their pilgrimage," the joy and 
 peace of believing, and the assurance of eternal 
 salvation.— /-^ S. M. 
 
 HOPE, of the Believer. 
 
 The riches of heaven, the honour which 
 Cometh from God only, and the pleasures at 
 His right hand, the absence of all evil, the 
 presence and enjoyment of all good, and this 
 good enduring to eternity, never more to be 
 taken from us, never more to be in any, the 
 least degree, diminished, but for ever increasing, 
 these are the wreaths which foim the con- 
 texture of that crown held forth to our hopes. 
 Faith, like the dying martyr, "sees heaven 
 opened, and Jesus standing at the right hand 
 of God ;" sees those who are already crowned, 
 and have received palms from the Son of God, 
 whom they confessed in the world. They 
 compose a splendid and awful circle, behold- 
 ing, from the height to which the Redeemer's 
 favour has exalted them, the conflict in which 
 we are still engaged below, interesting them- 
 selves in our success, encouraging us to strive, 
 and to persevere, as they did in the days of 
 their flesh. — Bishop Home. 
 
 HOPE, Our Life. 
 
 Hope is our life when first our life grows 
 
 clear, 
 Hope and delight, scarce crossed by lines of 
 
 fear : 
 Yet the day comes when fain we would not 
 
 hope — 
 But forasmuch as we with life must cope, 
 Struggling with this and that — and who knows 
 
 why? 
 Hope will not give us up to certainty, 
 But still must bide with us. Wm. Morris, 
 
 HOPE, Revives at Daybreak. 
 
 But hope would come back to me with the 
 
 day : 
 The talk of men, the viol's quivering strings, 
 Would bring my heart to think of better things. 
 Nor were our folk downhearted thro' all this ; 
 For partly with the hope of that vague bliss 
 "Were they made happy, partly the soft air 
 And idle days where through we then did fare, 
 Were joy enow to rude seafaring folk. 
 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 HOPE, Tells a Flattering Tale. 
 
 Therefore, O friends, if ye are of my mind. 
 When we are passed the French and English 
 
 strait, 
 Let us seek news of that desired gate 
 To immortality and blessed rest 
 Within the landless waters of the west ; 
 But still a little to the southward steer — 
 Certes, no Greenland winter waits us there ! 
 No year-long nights ; but rather we shall find 
 Spice-trees set waving by the western wind, 
 And gentlefolk who know no guile at least, 
 And many a bright -winged bird and soft- 
 skinned beast : 
 For gently must the year upon them fall. 
 
 Win. Morris. 
 
 HOPE, that Maketh not Ashamed. 
 Among the fruits and effects of the admirable 
 love of Christ is a lively hope, a hope that 
 maketh not ashamed, even of that glory which 
 my Saviour came down from heaven to pur- 
 chase by His blood, and the assurance whereof 
 He has sealed with His blood. "I go to 
 prepare a place for you ; I will come again 
 and receive you unto myself, that where I am, 
 ye may be also. " A hope of a blessed resur- 
 rection after death, a hope of that blessed ap- 
 pearance of our Lord and Saviour Jesus 
 Christ, a hope of that glorious sentence in the 
 presence of men and angels, "Come, ye 
 blessed," and a hope of an everlasting state of 
 blessedness and glory in the presence of the 
 great God, and glorified saints and angels, 
 unto all eternity. And the efficacy of this 
 hope in the blood of Christ brings us the 
 victory — victory over sin, victory over the 
 world, victory over death. — Chief Justice Hale. 
 
 HOPE, the Miserable Man's God. 
 Human life has not a surer friend, nor many 
 times a greater enemy, than Hope. Hope is 
 the miserable man's God, which in the hardest 
 gripe of calamity never fails to yield him 
 beams of comfort. It is to the presumptuous 
 man a devil, which leads him awhile in a 
 smooth way, and then on a sudden makes him 
 break his neck. Hope is to man as a bladder 
 to one learning to swim ; it keeps him from 
 sinking in the bosom of the waves, and by 
 that help he may attain the exercise ; but yet 
 it many times makes him venture beyond his 
 height ; and then if that breaks, or a storm 
 
2«0 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 rises, he drowns without recovery. How many 
 would die did not Hope sustain them ! How 
 many have died by hoping too much ! This 
 wonder we may find in Hope ; that she is both 
 a flatterer and a true friend. Like a valiant 
 captain in a losing battle, it is ever encourag- 
 ing man, and never leaves him till they both 
 expire together. While breath pants in the 
 dying body, there is Hope fleeting in the 
 wavering soul. It is almost as the air on which 
 the mind doth live. 
 
 There is one thing which may add to our 
 value of it ; that it is appropriate unto man 
 alone. For surely beasts have not Hope at 
 all ; they are only capable of the present ; 
 whereas man, apprehending future things, hath 
 this given him for the sustentation of his 
 drooping soul. Who could live surrounded by 
 calamities, did not smiling Hope cheer him 
 with expectation of deliverance? There is 
 no estate so miserable as to exclude her com- 
 fort. Imprison, vex, fright, torture, show 
 Death with his horridest brow, yet Hope will 
 dash in her reviving rays that shall illumine 
 and exhilarate in the swell of these. 
 
 Nor does Hope more friend us with her 
 gentle shine than she often fools us with her 
 sweet delusions. She cozens the thief of the 
 coin he steals ; and cheats the gamester more 
 than even the falsest die. It abuseth universal 
 man, from him that stoops to the loam wall (a 
 cot of clay) upon the naked common to the 
 monarch on his purple throne. Whatsoever 
 good we see, it tells us we may obtain it, and 
 in a little time tumble ourselves in the down 
 bed of our wishes, but it often performs like 
 Domitian, promising all with nothing. It is 
 indeed the rattle which Nature did provide to 
 still the fro ward crying of the fond child, 
 man. Certainly it requires a great deal of 
 judgment to balance our hopes even. He 
 that hopes for nothing will never attain to 
 anything. This good comes of over-hoping, 
 that it sweetens our passage through the world, 
 and sometimes so sets us to work as to produce 
 great actions. But then, again, he that hopes 
 too much shall deceive himself at the last, 
 (specially if his industry goes not along to fer- 
 tilize it. For Hope without action is a barren 
 undoer. The best is to hope for things pos- 
 sible and probable. If we can take her com- 
 forts without transferring to her our confidence, 
 we shall surely find her a sweet companion. I 
 will be content my Hope shall travail beyond 
 reason ; but I would not have her build there. 
 So I shall thus reap the benefit of her present 
 
 service, yet prevent the treason she might 
 beguile me with. — Owen Feltham. 
 
 HOPE, Wlieii Brightest. 
 
 The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new, 
 And hope is brightest when it dawns from 
 fears ; 
 The rose is sweetest washed with morning 
 dew, 
 And love is loveliest when embalmed in 
 tears. 
 O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, 
 I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave. 
 Emblems of hope and love through future 
 years. Sir W. Scott. 
 
 HOSPITABLE Welcome. 
 
 A NOBLE troop of strangers 
 Have left their barge, and hither make 
 As great ambassadors from foreign princes. 
 
 Good lord chamberlain. 
 Go, give them welcome ; you can speak the 
 
 French tongue ; 
 And pray receive them nobly, and conduct 
 
 them 
 Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty 
 Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend 
 
 him. 
 You have now a broken banquet ; but we'll 
 
 mend it. 
 A good digestion to you all ; and once more 
 I shower a welcome on you — welcome all ! 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 HOSPITALITY, Cold, 
 My royal lord. 
 You do not give the cheer ; the feast is sold 
 That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making, 
 'Tis given with welcome. To feed were best 
 
 at home : 
 From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony ; 
 Meeting were bare without it. 
 
 Sweet remembrance ! — 
 Now good digestion wait on appetite. 
 And health on both ! Shakespeare. 
 
 HOST, His Welcome. 
 Sit, friends, and tell your tale, which seems 
 
 to us. 
 Shall be a strange tale, and a piteous, 
 Nor shall it lack our pity for its woe. 
 Nor ye due thanks for all the things ye show, 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 281 
 
 Of kingdoms nigh forgot that once were great, 
 And small lands come to glorious estate. 
 But sirs, ye faint, behold these maidens stand, 
 Bearing the blood of this our sunburnt land. 
 In well- wrought cups, drink now of this, that 
 
 while 
 Ye poor folk wandered, hid from fortune's 
 
 smile. 
 Abode your coming, hidden none the less 
 Below the earth from summer's happiness. 
 Win. Morris. 
 
 HOUSEWIFE, Contrasted. 
 
 Ill huswifery lieth 
 Till nine of the clock : 
 
 Good huswifery trieth 
 To rise with the cock. 
 
 Ill huswifery trusteth 
 To him and to her : 
 
 Good huswifery lusteth 
 Herself for to stir. 
 
 Ill huswifery careth 
 For this nor for that : 
 
 Good huswifery spareth 
 For fear ye wot what. 
 
 Ill huswifery pricketh 
 Herself up in pride : 
 
 Good huswifery tricketli 
 Her house as a bride. 
 
 Ill huswifery one thing 
 Or other must crave : 
 
 Good huswifery nothing 
 But needful will have. 
 
 Ill huswifery moveth 
 With gossip to spend : 
 
 Good huswifery lovetli 
 Her household to tend. 
 
 Ill huswifery brooketh 
 Mad toys in her head : 
 
 Good huswifery looketh 
 That all things be fed. 
 
 Ill huswifery bringeth 
 A shilling to naught : 
 
 Good huswifery singeth — 
 Her coffers full fraught. 
 
 Ill huswifery rendeth, 
 And casteth aside : 
 
 Good huswifery mcndeth, 
 Else would it go wide. 
 
 Ill huswifery craveth 
 In secret to borrow : 
 
 Good huswifery savetli 
 To-day, for to-morrow. 
 
 Ill huswifery pineth, 
 (Not having to eat) : 
 
 Good huswifery dineth 
 With plenty of meat. 
 
 Ill huswifery letteth 
 The devil take all : 
 
 Good huswifeiy setteth 
 Good brag of a small. 
 
 Thos. Ttisser, 
 
 HUMANITY, True Aim of. 
 
 In aspiring to the throne of power, the angels 
 transgressed and fell : in presuming to come 
 within the oracle of knowledge, man trans- 
 gressed and fell ; but in the pursuit towards 
 the similitude of God's goodness and love 
 neither man nor spirit ever have transgressed 
 or shall transgress. — Baco7t, 
 
 HUMAN Nature. 
 
 Let the infidel abandon his irksome superi- 
 ority over the brute, if such is his will ; but 
 otu* lesson has been taught in a loftier insti- 
 tute. At the foot of the Cross, in all humility 
 and in all adoration, we have learned at once 
 the depth and the height of human nature ; 
 we have learned to think all wisdom but 
 foolishness for the knowledge of Christ ; all 
 purity but sin, unwashed by his atonement ; 
 all hope in earth, of all hopes the most 
 miserable, but in the faith of his blessed 
 Resurrection ; content to bear the struggles of 
 life, as his command ; and submitting to the 
 grave, with a consciousness that it can sting 
 no more; "sown in corruption, to be raised 
 in incorruption ; sown in dishonour, to be raised 
 in glory j sown in weakness, to be raised in 
 power."— a Croly. 
 
 HUMBLE, the Way to Treat. 
 We never yet knew a man disposed to scorn 
 the humble who was not himself a fair object 
 of scorn to the humblest. A man of a liberal 
 mind has a reverence for the little pride that 
 seasons every condition, and would deem it 
 sacrilege to affront, or abate, the respect 
 
282 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 which is maintained with none of the adven- 
 titious aids, and solely by the observance of 
 the honesties. — Examiner. 
 
 HUMILITY in Approaching God. 
 
 In no other spirit than a teachable, tractable, 
 submissive one can ye become inheritors of 
 the promises, partakers of the blessing. . . . 
 Is the wide face of human knowledge to be 
 traversed by an infant's foot, its ample range 
 to be included within an infant's glance ? You 
 have already replied. Just so, then, must the 
 most aspiring and ambitious intellect humble 
 itself in regard to the things of God. He 
 whose brow a royal diadem encircled — whose 
 sway an empire owned,— who possessed also 
 what crowns and sceptres cannot give — the 
 royalty of mind, — whose " thoughts that 
 breathe and words that bum" were echoed 
 from a thousand voices, and enshrined in ten 
 times ten thousand hearts, — even he declared 
 that in presence and contemplation of the God 
 of Israel, "his soul was even as a weaned 
 child."— T: Dale. 
 
 What art thou, O man, that liftest up thyself 
 in pride? Know that pride cannot sit so 
 high, but vengeance can sit above it to pull it 
 down. *' God and pride," saith St. Bernard, 
 "cannot dwell in the same mind, which could 
 not dwell in the same heaven ; and pride fallen 
 from heaven ascends no more from whence 
 it is fallen." . . . The more direct the sun 
 is over us, the lesser is our shadow ; the more 
 God's grace is over us, the lesser is our shadow 
 of pride and self-love. . . . "If you ask, 
 what is the first step in the way of truth ? I 
 answer humility," saith St. Austin. " If you 
 ask, what is the second ? I say humility. If 
 you ask, what is the third? I answer the 
 same — humility." Is it not as the steps of 
 degree in the Temple, whereby we descend to 
 the knowledge of ourselves, and ascend to the 
 knowledge of God ? Would we attain mercy ? 
 humility will help us. — C. Sutton, 
 
 HUMILITY of Christ, Our Pattern in. 
 
 The Gospel doth not only represent the doc- 
 trine of G^hrist to be believed, but also the life 
 of Christ to be followed : nor shall any have 
 him for their advocate and propitiation, but 
 such as are willing to have him for their pat- 
 tern and example ; to copy out and imitate His 
 
 humility, patience, purity, benignity, and self- 
 resignation. None shall be benefited by His 
 death, that are unwilling to live His life . . . 
 A soul that is poor in its own eyes, void of 
 self- glorifying, and acknowledgeth its own in- 
 digence, and withal its utter unworthiness to 
 receive the least favour from the Divine bounty, 
 is such a one as God looks for, to communi- 
 cate more and more of His gi-ace and spirit. 
 The high mountains are barren, but the low 
 valleys are covered over with corn ; and ac- 
 cordingly the showers of God's grace fall int5 
 lowly hearts and humble souls. — Worthmgton. 
 
 HUMILITY, of the Honest Heart. 
 
 The honest and good heart is the only soil in 
 which the Christian graces can expand and 
 flourish. It is humble — because it feels how 
 far its goodness is from extending unto God, 
 and how much there is that belongs to the 
 "unprofitable servant," even in its best ser- 
 vices. It is submissive — because he that is of 
 God heareth God's words, and receives them 
 with implicit faith and thankful acquiescence. 
 It glories not in its attainments, or in its spiri- 
 tual progress,— because it is written that it is 
 God that "maketh it to differ from another ;" 
 and that He resisteth the proud, but giveth 
 grace unto the humble. — Bp. C. R. Sumner. 
 
 HUMILITY, the Badge of Truth. 
 
 There is a small chance of truth at the goal 
 where there is not a child-like humility at the 
 starting-post . . . Belief is the seed received 
 into the will, of which the understanding or 
 knowledge is the flower, and the thing be- 
 lieved is the fruit. " Unless ye believe,'* 
 saith the prophet, "ye cannot understand ;" 
 unless ye be humble as children, ye not only 
 will not, but ye cannot believe. Of such, 
 therefore, is the kingdom of heaven ; yea, 
 blessed is the calamity that makes us humble. 
 —S. T. Coleridge. 
 
 HYMN of the City. 
 
 Not in the solitude 
 Alone, may man commune with Heaven, or see 
 
 Only in savage wood 
 And sunny vale the present Deity ; 
 
 Or only hear his voice 
 Where the winds whisper and the waves 
 rejoice. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 283 
 
 Even here do I behold 
 Thy steps, Almighty ! — here, amidst the 
 crowd 
 Through the great city rolled. 
 With everlasting murmur deep and loud — 
 
 Choking the v^ays that wind 
 'MoHgst the proud piles, the work of human 
 kind. 
 
 Thy golden sunshine comes 
 From the round heavens, and on their dwell- 
 ings lies, 
 And lights their inner homes — 
 For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded 
 skies. 
 And givest them the stores 
 Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores. 
 
 Thy spirit is around 
 Quickening the restless mass that sweeps 
 along ; 
 
 And this eternal sound — 
 Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng — 
 
 Like the resounding sea. 
 Or, like the rainy tempest, speaks of Thee. 
 
 And when the hours of rest 
 Come like a calm upon the mid sea-brine. 
 
 Hushing its billowy breast — 
 The quiet of that moment, too, is thine ; 
 
 It breathes of him who keeps 
 The vast and helpless city while it slept. 
 
 W. C. Bryant 
 
 HYPOCRISY. 
 
 So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of 
 
 virtue 
 Tliat his apparent open guilt omitted, 
 He lived from all attainder of suspect. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 To beguile the time, 
 Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye. 
 Your hand, your tongue : look like the inno- 
 cent flower ; 
 But be the serpent under 't. Shakespeare. 
 
 How shall a creature glorify his Maker when 
 he is at enmity with his Maker ? How shall 
 he exclaim, " O Lord, open thou our lips, and 
 our mouth shall show forth thy praise," when 
 his heart remains fast locked to the approaches 
 of all good, and his mouth prepared to speak 
 only all evil ? How shall he ascribe eternal 
 " Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to 
 
 the Holy Ghost," three Persons and one God ; 
 when he only knows the Father as the God he 
 has denied, the Son as the Judge he has 
 offended, and the Holy Ghost, as the Coun- 
 sellor he has resisted and the Witness he has 
 provoked ? . . How can he stand upright in 
 the presence of Him, who "knoweth the 
 secrets of the heart," and publicly avow with- 
 out fear and trembling, — "Day by day, we 
 magnify Thee, and we worship Thy name, 
 world without end T—P. Hall. 
 
 IDEAS Fade Out. 
 
 The ideas, as well as children of our youth, 
 often die before us ; and our minds represent 
 to us those tombs to which we are approaching, 
 where, though the brass and marble remain, 
 yet the inscriptions are effaced by time and 
 the imagery moulders away. The pictures 
 drawn in our minds are laid on in fading 
 colours, and if not sometimes refreshed, vanish 
 and disappear. — Locke. 
 
 IDEAS, Irreverent, to be Avoided. 
 
 It is of the greatest importance that we should 
 resist the temptation, frequently so strong, of 
 annexing a familiar, facetious, or irreverent 
 idea to a scriptural usage, a scriptural expres- 
 sion, a scripture text, or a scripture name. 
 Nor should we hold ourselves guiltless, though 
 we have been misled by mere negligence, or 
 want of reflection. Every person of good 
 taste will avoid reading a parody or a travestie 
 of a beautiful poem, because the recollection 
 of the degraded likeness will always obtrude 
 itself upon our memories, when we wish to 
 derive pleasure from the contemplation of the 
 elegance of the original. But how much more 
 urgent is the duty by which we are bound to 
 keep the pages of the Bible clear of any im- 
 pression tending to diminish the blessing of 
 habitual respect and reverence towards our 
 Maker's law ? — Fa/grave. 
 
 IDLENESS, Burdensome. 
 
 None so little enjoy life, and are such burdens 
 to themselves, as those who have nothing to 
 do. The active only have the true relish of 
 life. He who knows not what it is to labour 
 knows not what it is to enjoy. Recreation is 
 
284 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 only valuable as it unbends us ; the idle know 
 nothing of it. It is exertion that renders rest 
 delightful, and sleep sweet and undisturbed. 
 That the happiness of life depends on the 
 regular prosecution of some laudable purpose, 
 or lawful calling, which engages, helps, and 
 enlivens all our powers, let those bear witness 
 who, after spending years in active usefulness, 
 retire to enjoy themselves, — they are a burden 
 to themselves. — Joy. 
 
 IDLENESS, the Cause of Melancholy. 
 
 There is no greater cause of melancholy 
 than idleness ; no better cure than business, 
 as Rhasis holds ; and howbeit to be busied in 
 toys is to small purpose, yet hear that divine 
 Seneca, — ** Better do to no end than do 
 nothing." — Burton . 
 
 IDLENESS, the Corrupter of Youth. 
 
 Idleness is the great corrupter of youth and 
 the bane and dishonour of middle age. He 
 who, in the prime of life, finds time to hang 
 heavy on his hands, may, with much reason, 
 suspect that he has not consulted the duties 
 which the consideration of his age imposed on 
 him ; assuredly he has not consulted his 
 happiness. — Blair. 
 
 IDLENESS, the Portal of Sin. 
 Idleness is that which sets all the capacities 
 of the soul wide open, to let in the evil spirit ; 
 and to give both him, and all the villanies he 
 can bring along with him, a free reception and 
 a full possession : whereas, on the contrary, 
 laboriousness shuts the doors and stops all the 
 avenues of the mind, whereby a temptation 
 would enter, and (which is yet more) leaves 
 no void room for it to dwell there, if by any 
 accident it should chance to creep in ; so that 
 let but the course a man takes be just and 
 lawful, and then the more active, still the more 
 innocent ; for action both perfects nature and 
 ministers to grace ; whereas idleness, like the 
 rust of the soul, by its long lying still, first 
 soils the beauty and then eats out the strength 
 of \t.—Dedn South. 
 
 We Wow of no more fertile source of crime 
 — of no corrupt fountain, which wells out a 
 more copious stream of vice and moral pollu- 
 tion, in all its forms and modifications, than 
 
 idleness. We are persuaded that it is the 
 parent of a more numerous progeny of depraved 
 habits and delinquencies than any other single 
 circumstance whatever. It is the want of a 
 due impression of the importance and legiti- 
 mate employment of time which is one of the 
 main occasions of the luxury and profligacy of 
 one order of society ; and it is the same cause 
 which vitiates and defiles the manners of an- 
 other, and a subordinate rank in the scale. It 
 is inquired by an ancient poet, who was a keen 
 and accurate observer of human character, why 
 yEgisthus so grievously and wantonly deviated 
 from the path of virtue. And he immediately 
 rejoins the reply, — *' The cause is obvious — he 
 was idle ! " And it is a circumstance worthy 
 of remark, that when Hogarth, who is so cele- 
 brated for his striking delineations of human 
 life and manners, wished to give a portraiture 
 of a veteran criminal, he made him commence 
 his career as a boy lolling on the tombstones 
 of the churchyard on the vSunday. — Davies. 
 
 IDOLATRY, Apostaoy from Christ. 
 
 The invocation of saints glorified implies an 
 apostacy from Christ, and a denial of his glory 
 and majesty, whereunto he is installed by his 
 assumption into heaven, to sit at the right hand 
 of God. . . To sit at the right hand of God 
 is to be installed in God's throne, or to have a 
 god-like royalty, defined in Scripture, the 
 majesty of Christ in Heaven. . . By the same 
 right He becomes the only and eternal Priest 
 which hath to do in the most " holy place," 
 the heavens ... In the tabernacle of this 
 world, as was in the first tabernacle, we may 
 haply find many priests whom to employ as 
 agents for us with God ; but in the "second 
 tabernacle," which is in heaven, there is but 
 one agent to be employed, but One who hath 
 royal commission to deal between God and 
 man, that Angel of the presence, as Isaiah 
 calls Him, and one only mediator, Jesus Christ, 
 the Lord of Glory, who in this prerogative is 
 above saints and angels ; "to which of the 
 saints or angels said God at any time. Sit on 
 my right hand till I make thine enemies thy 
 footstool " ?— 7. Mede. 
 
 IDOLATRY 
 
 Is Robbing Christ of Honour. 
 
 There is not one point that is proved by 
 
 more evident testimonies of Scripture than 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 285 
 
 this, that God alone is to be prayed unto, and 
 by one mediator, namely, Jesus Christ. How 
 shall they call on him in whom they have not 
 believed ? We must believe in God only ; 
 therefore he only is to be prayed unto ... As 
 those men rob Christ of his honour who seek 
 another mediator, so these are no less in- 
 jurious to Christ who seek another advocate, 
 because we have Christ an advocate with the 
 Father ... It is the safest way to go to the 
 fountain of mercy itself, and leave the streams 
 alone ; nor suffer those men to persuade you 
 who say that they detract nothing from God 
 by directing their prayers to the saints ; for no 
 man can detract from God more than he who 
 transferreth the] worship due to God alone unto 
 the creature. For invocation is a part of 
 divine worship ; and this worship he com- 
 municateth to no creature who will not give 
 his glory to another. — B. Gilpin. 
 
 IDOLATRY, its Debasing Tendency. 
 
 City of idol-temples, and of shrines 
 
 Where folly kneels to falsehood — how the pride 
 
 Of our humanity is here rebuked I 
 
 Man, that aspires to rule the very wind. 
 
 And make the sea confess his majesty ; 
 
 Whose intellect can fill a little scroll 
 
 With words that are immortal ; who can build 
 
 Cities, the mighty and the beautiful : 
 
 Yet man, — this glorious creature, — can debase 
 
 His spirit down to worship wood and stone. 
 
 And hold the very beasts which bear his yoke. 
 
 And tremble at his eye, for sacred things. 
 
 With what unutterable humility 
 
 We should bow down, thou blessed cross, to 
 
 thee, 
 Seeing our vanity and foolishness, 
 When, to our own devices left, we frame 
 A shameful creed of craft and cruelty. 
 
 Landon. 
 
 IDOLATRY 
 
 Originates Not with the Saints. 
 
 That rule of Epiphanius shall ever be a safe 
 course to us, "Let Mary be honoured, but the 
 Father, Son, and Holy Ghost worshipped." 
 Here is no fear of danger, but that we may go 
 safely to that God which calls us to him, and 
 prostrate ourselves to his Christ, our gracious 
 Saviour. None of the saints can envy God 
 
 this honour : none of them ever did either 
 arrogate it to himself or suffer it to be given 
 him. Neither is there any of them whom God 
 ever allowed either to take it to himself or to 
 impart it to others, or to accept it quietly, 
 being imparted to him by others. — Bp. Hall. 
 
 IDOLATRY, Soul Destroying. 
 
 All the princes of the earth have not had so 
 many subjects betrayed and made traitors by 
 their enemies as God hath lost souls by the 
 means of images. I make all the world judge 
 that know the truth . . . Christ saith not, "Go, 
 preach unto the people by images ; " but he 
 said, **Go into all the world and preach the 
 Gospel." If we loved God we should be con- 
 tent with Scripture . . . What intolerable 
 blasphemy of God and heathen idolatry is this, 
 to admit and teach the invocation of saints 
 departed out of this world ? It takes from 
 God his true honour ; it makes him as nothing 
 who hath ordained Christ alone to be mediator 
 between man and him ; it diminishes the merits 
 of Christ and takes from the law of God its 
 perfection and majesty ... It accuses the 
 Scripture of God to be false, which saith, 
 " Thou shalt neither add, neither diminish 
 anything ; " it makes Christ a liar, who said, 
 " The Spirit, whom I will send from the 
 Father, he shall teach you all truth." ... It 
 is the office of Christ only to be the mediator 
 for sin, and likewise to offer the prayers of the 
 church to his Father. — Bp. Hooper. 
 
 " IP," Opposed to Action. 
 
 Purposes, like eggs, unless they be hatched 
 into action, will run into rottenness. It is 
 these thorny "ifs,"the mutterings of impa- 
 tience and despair, which so often hedge rounfl 
 the field of possibility, and prevent anything 
 being done, or even attempted. " A difficulty," 
 said Lord Lyndhurst, ** is a thing to be over- 
 come ;" grapple with it at once, facility will 
 come with practice, and strength and forttude 
 with repeated effort. Thus the mind and cha- 
 racter may be trained to an almost perfect dis- 
 cipline, enabling it to move with a grace, spirit, 
 and liberty almost incomprehensible to those 
 who have not passed through a similar expe- 
 rience. — Smiles. 
 
:86 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 IGNORANCE, no Plea. 
 
 If the ignorance of the Jews could be pleaded 
 in their behalf and alleged as a motive before 
 God for the pardon of such unparalleled im- 
 pieties ; how much more reason have we, poor 
 mortals, not to insist upon our resentments, 
 but to be reconciled to each other, and to in- 
 tercede with God for the forgiveness of those 
 rash and petty offences which we daily commit 
 one against another through ignorance, which 
 all, even the wisest of us, are liable to, through 
 passion, or prejudice, or inadvertency, or any 
 other frailty or infirmity of our nature. — 
 Sacheverel. 
 
 IGNORANCE, the Great Obstacle to 
 
 Social Improvement. 
 
 Of all obstacles to improvement ignorance is 
 the most formidable, because the only true 
 secret of assisting the poor is to make them 
 agents in bettering their own condition, and to 
 supply them not wdth a temporary stimulus, 
 but with a permanent energy. As fast as the 
 standard of intelligence is raised the poor be- 
 come more able to co-operate in any plan 
 proposed for their advantage, and more likely 
 to listen to any reasonable suggestion, and 
 more able to understand, and therefore more 
 willing to pursue it. Hence it follows that 
 when gross ignorance is once removed and 
 right principles are introduced a great advan- 
 tage has been already gained against squalid 
 poverty. Many avenues to an improved con- 
 dition are opened to one whose faculties are 
 enlarged and exercised ; he sees his own in- 
 terest more clearly, he pursues it more steadily, 
 and he does not study immediate gratification 
 at the expense of bitter and late repentance, 
 or mortgage the labour of his future life with- 
 out an adequate return. Indigence, therefore, 
 will rarely be found in company with good 
 education. — Bishop of Chester. 
 
 passions with their eyes open; and lose the 
 direction of truth, because they do not attend 
 to her voice, not because they do not under- 
 stand it. — Dr. Johnson. 
 
 IGNORANCE, the Mother of Disorder. 
 
 A VERY small part of the disorders of the 
 world proceed from ignorance of the laws by 
 which life ^(ught to be regulated; nor do 
 many, even of those whose hands are polluted 
 with the foulest crimes, deny the reasonable- 
 ness of virtue, or attempt to justify their own 
 actions. Men are not blindly betrayed into 
 corruption, but abandon themselves to their 
 
 INATTENTION. 
 
 In most cases our habits of inattention may be 
 traced to a want of curiosity ; and therefore 
 such habits are to be corrected, not by en- 
 deavouring to force the attention in particular 
 instances, but by gradually learning to place 
 the ideas which we wish to remember in an 
 interesting point of view. — Diigald Stewart. 
 
 INCONSOLABLE. 
 
 I AM waiting on the margin 
 
 Of the cold, dark, rushing tide ; 
 
 All I love have passed before me, 
 And have reach'd the other side ; 
 
 Only unto me a passage 
 Thro' the waters is denied. 
 
 Mist and gloom o'erhang the river, 
 Gloom and mist the landscape veil ; 
 
 Straining for the shores of promise, 
 Sight and hope and feeling fail ; 
 
 Not a sigh, a breath, a motion, 
 Answers to my feeble wail. 
 
 Surely they have all forgot me 
 Midst the wonders they have found 
 
 In the far enchanted mansions ; 
 Out of heart, and sight, and sound, 
 
 Here I sit, like Judah's daughters, 
 Desolate, upon the ground. 
 
 Strangers' feet the stream are stemming, 
 
 Stranger faces pass me by. 
 Willing some, and some reluctant. 
 
 All have leave to cross but I, — 
 I, the hopeless, all bereaved. 
 
 Loathing life — that long to die ! 
 
 Be the river ne'er so turbid. 
 
 Chill and angry, deep and drear. 
 
 All my loved ones are gone over, 
 Daunted not by doubt or fear ; 
 
 And my spirit reaches after, 
 While I sit lamenting here. 
 
 Happy waters that embraced them, 
 Happier regions hid from sight, 
 
 Where my keen, far-stretching vision. 
 Dazed and baffled, lost them quite. 
 
 Dread, immeasurable distance 
 
 'Twixt the darkness and the light ! 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 287 
 
 And I know that never, never, 
 Till this weak repining breast 
 
 Still its murmurs into patience. 
 Yonder from the region blest 
 
 Shall there break a streak of radiance. 
 And upon the river rest. 
 
 I shall hail the mystic token, 
 Bright'ning all the waters o'er, 
 
 Struggle thro' the threat'ning torrent 
 Till I reach the further shore. 
 
 Wonder then, my blind eyes open'd, 
 That I had not trusted more ! Anon. 
 
 INCONSISTENCY in Mankind. 
 
 There is inconsistency and something of the 
 child's propensities still in mankind. A piece 
 of mechanism, as a watch, a barometer, or a 
 dial, will fix his attention. A man will make 
 journeys to see an engine stamp a coin or turn 
 a block ; yet the organs through which he has 
 a thousand sources of enjoyment, and which 
 are in themselves more exquisite in design, and 
 more curious both in contrivance and in me- 
 chanism, do not enter his thoughts ; and if he 
 admire a living action, that admiration will 
 probably be more excited by what is uncom- 
 mon and monstrous than by what is natural 
 and perfectly adjusted to its office — by the 
 elephant's trunk than by the human hand. 
 This does not arise from any unwillingness to 
 contemplate the superiority or dignity of our 
 own nature, nor from an incapacity of admiring 
 the adaptation of parts. It is the effect of 
 habit. The human hand is so beautifully 
 formed, it has so fine a sensibility, that sensi- 
 bility governs its motions so correctly, every 
 effort of the will is answered so instantly, as if 
 the hand itself were the seat of that will. Its 
 actions are so powerful, so free, and yet so 
 delicate, that it seems to possess a quality of 
 instinct in itself, and there is no thought of 
 its complexity as an instrument, or of the 
 relations which make it subservient to the 
 mind : we use it as we draw our breath, un- 
 consciously, and have lost all recollection of 
 the feeble and ill -directed efforts of its first 
 exercise by which it has been perfected. 
 Is it not, then, the very perfection of the in- 
 strument which makes us insensible to its 
 use?— i?^//. 
 
 INCONSTANCY, Angmsli for. 
 
 Had it pleas'd Heaven 
 To try me with affliction ; had they rain'd 
 All kinds of sores and shames on my bare 
 
 head ; 
 Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips ; 
 Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes ; 
 I should have found in some place of my soul 
 A drop of patience : but, alas ! to make me 
 A fixed figure, for the hand of Scorn 
 To point his low unmoving finger at ! — 
 Yet could I bear that too ; well, very well : 
 But there, where I have gamer'd up my heart ; 
 Where either I must live or bear no life, — 
 The fountain from the which my current runs. 
 Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence ! 
 Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads 
 To knot and gender in ! — turn thy complexion 
 
 there. 
 Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubim. 
 Ay, there, look grim as hell ! — Shakespeare. 
 
 INCONSTANCY of Woman. 
 
 Hamlet, what a falling off was there ! 
 From me, whose love was of that dignity 
 That it went hand in hand even with the vow 
 
 1 made to her in marriage ; and to decline 
 Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor 
 To those of mine ! Shakespeare. 
 
 Such an act. 
 That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ; 
 Calls virtue, hypocrite ; takes off the rose 
 From the fair forehead of an innocent love. 
 And sets a blister there. Shakespeare. 
 
 INCREDULITY 
 
 Is not wisdom, but the worst kind of folly. 
 It is folly, because it causes ignorance and mis- 
 take, with all the consequents of these ; and it 
 is very bad, as being accompanied with disin- 
 genuity, obstinacy, rudeness, uncharitableness, 
 and the like bad dispositions ; from which 
 credulity itself, the other extreme sort of folly, 
 is exempt. — Barrcnu. 
 
 INDOLENCE, Bodily. 
 
 If a man indulges habits of bodily indolence, 
 the natural powers of the constitution are im- 
 paired ; and exertion becomes, every year he 
 lives, more and more irksome. This wretched 
 
288 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 condition is, however, so painful in itself, so 
 injurious to worldly interests, and so disgrace- 
 ful, that it is comparatively but a few indivi- 
 duals who suffer themselves to sink into it. But 
 the indolence of the mind is less apparent than 
 the indolence of the body ; and those who are 
 the most subject to it may scarcely themselves 
 be aware of their real condition. Persons may 
 converse as they hear others converse ; and do 
 what they see others do ; they may repeat 
 what has been fixed in the memory, and believe 
 what they have been taught, or what best 
 pleases their particular tempers ; while their 
 minds may be as completely inactive, and as 
 incapable of exertion, as the body is during 
 sleep. This is certainly a very degraded state 
 for a being whose mind is, by nature, capable 
 of much more activity than his body ; but yet 
 there is reason to believe that the minds of a 
 great part of mankind are in this inactive 
 state. 
 
 It is owing, in a great measure, to this pre- 
 vailing and habitual indolence, that millions of 
 men, from one generation to another, continue 
 to be deluded by childish and wicked super- 
 stitions. It is owing to this mental indolence 
 in the mass of mankind, that one man, whose 
 mind is active, often finds it easy to persuade 
 thousands to receive some fanciful opinions of 
 his own ; or to induce them to follow him in 
 absurd and mischievous enterprises, which 
 bring miseries upon themselves and their neigh- 
 bours. It is in part owing to this torpid in- 
 dolence of the mind that men, who have heard 
 that there is a future life, which will be happy 
 or wretched according to their conduct and the 
 state of their minds in this present life, yet 
 make themselves tranquil while they neglect 
 the means of acquiring happiness in the life to 
 come. — Elements of Thought. 
 
 INDUSTRY. 
 
 There is no art or science that is too difficult 
 for industry to attain to ; it is the gift of 
 tongues, and makes a man understood and 
 valued in all countries and by all nations ; it 
 is the philosopher's stone, that turns all metals, 
 and even stqnes, into gold, and suffers not 
 want to break into its dwelling ; it is the 
 north-west passage, that brings the merchant's 
 ship as soon to him as he can desire. In a word, 
 it conquers all enemies, and makes fortune 
 itself pay contribution. —Clarendon. 
 
 INDUSTRY, 
 To be Fervent, must be Religious. 
 
 The industry which is not fervent is not Chris- 
 tian, and, on the other hand, the love which 
 does not come forth in action, the fervour 
 which does not lead to diligence will soon die 
 down. 
 
 Or why, to take the case already supposed, 
 the opulent possessor of estates which the love 
 of another gave him — why is it that in the 
 midst of luxuries and accommodations as abun- 
 dant as wealth can purchase or ingenuity sug- 
 gest, why is it that fruit from trees of his own 
 planting, or from a garden of his own tending, 
 tastes so sweet ? Why is it that the rustic chair 
 of his ovm contriving, or the telescope of his 
 own constructing, so far surpasses any which 
 the craftsman can send him ? Why, the reason 
 is, those apples have an aroma of industry, a 
 smack of self-requiting diligence peculiar to 
 themselves. That rustic seat is lined with 
 self-complacent labour, and the pleasant con- 
 sciousness of having made that telescope him- 
 self has so sharpened the maker's eye as greatly 
 to augment its magnifying power. God has so 
 made the mind of man that a peculiar deli- 
 ciousness resides in the fruits of personal in- 
 dustry. — Wilberforce. 
 
 INDUSTRY, the Golden Mean. 
 
 Industry will make a man a purse, and fru- 
 gality will find him strings for it. Neither the 
 purse nor the strings will cost him anything. 
 He who has it should only draw the strings as 
 frugality directs, and he will be sure always to 
 find a useful penny at the bottom of it. The 
 servants of industry are known by their livery ; 
 it is always whole and wholesome. Idleness 
 travels very leisurely, and Poverty soon over- 
 takes him. Look at the ragged slaves of Idle- 
 ness, and judge which is the best master to 
 serve — Industry or Idleness. 
 
 INFALLIBILITY. 
 
 Infallibility is the attribute of Him who 
 is immutable, and this infallibility pervades his 
 word. To this word, then, as to a standard, 
 must be referred whatever is propounded for 
 our belief and acceptance. Nor are we under 
 any obligation to receive any doctrine which is 
 not derived from this source, and proved to be 
 in harmony with the mind of God, as thus 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 289 
 
 revealed. Nay, we are commanded to ** try 
 the spirits, whether they be of God ; " that is, 
 we are to bring the statements of those who 
 profess to teach in the name of God, to the one 
 standard of truth ; and to receive nothing which 
 that standard disallows, by whomsoever ad- 
 vanced, and whatever may be the antiquity 
 and the authority by which it is enforced. — 
 Rev. R. Fa-enison. 
 
 INFANT. 
 
 Harmless and loved, although so new to 
 life. Wm. Morris. 
 
 INFANT, to an. 
 
 On parent's knees, a naked new-bom child, 
 Weeping thou sat'st, while all around thee 
 
 smil'd. 
 So live, that sinking to thy last long sleep. 
 Calm thou may'st smile, while all around thee 
 
 — weep. Sir W. Jones. 
 
 INFIDELITY. 
 
 Infidelity and faith look both through the 
 perspective-glass, but at contrary ends. Infi- 
 delity looks through the wrong end of the 
 glass ; and, therefore, sees those objects near 
 which are afar off, and makes great things 
 little, — diminishing the greatest spiritual bless- 
 ings, and removing far from us threatened evils. 
 Faith looks at the right end, and brings the 
 blessings that are far off in time close to our 
 eye, and multiplies God's mercies, which, in a 
 distance, lost their greatness. — Bishop Hall. 
 
 INFLUENCE of Female Character. 
 
 If mankind had been perpetuated without 
 their milder companions, a strong and iron 
 race would have inhabited the earth. There 
 is something in the active spirits and powers 
 of the manly portion of our common species 
 which loves difficulties, enterprise, exer- 
 tion, dangers, and personal display. These 
 qualities and propensities would too often ani- 
 mate self-love and selfishness into continual 
 strife, civil discord, and battle, if no softer and 
 kinder companions were about such beings, to 
 occupy some portion of their thoughts and 
 attentions, to create and cherish milder and 
 
 sweeter feelings, and to provide for them the 
 more soothing happiness of a quiet home and 
 a domestic life. Tenderness, sympathy, good- 
 humour, smiles, gentleness, benignity, and 
 affection can diffuse pleasures more grateful 
 than those of irritation and contest, and awaken 
 the sensibilities that most favour intellectual 
 and moral cultivation. — Sharon Turner. 
 
 INFLUENCE of Fiction. 
 
 There has been considerable difference of 
 opinion in regard to the effects produced upon 
 the mind by fictitious narratives. Without 
 entering minutely upon the merits of this con- 
 troversy, I think it may be contended that two 
 evils are likely to arise from much indulgence 
 in works of fiction. The one is a tendency to 
 give way to the wild play of the imagination, 
 a practice most deleterious both to the intel- 
 lectual and moral habits. The other is a dis- 
 ruption of the harmony which ought to exist 
 between the moral emotions and the conduct 
 — a principle of extensive and important in- 
 fluence. In the healthy state of the moral 
 feelings, for example, the emotion of sympathy 
 excited by a tale of sorrow ought to be fol- 
 lowed by some efforts for the relief of the suf- 
 ferer. When such relations in real life are 
 listened to from time to time without any such 
 efforts, the emotion gradually becomes weak- 
 ened, and that moral condition is produced 
 which we call selfishness, or darkness of heart. 
 Fictitious tales of sorrow appear to have a 
 similar tendency, — the emotion is produced 
 without the corresponding conduct ; and, when 
 this habit has been much indulged, the result 
 seems to be that a cold and barren sentimen- 
 talism is produced, instead of the habit of 
 active benevolence. If fictitious narratives be 
 employed for depicting scenes of vice, another 
 evil of the greatest magnitude is likely to result 
 from them, even though the conduct exhibited 
 should be shown to end in remorse and miser)'. 
 For by the mere familiarity with vice an in- 
 jury is done to the youthful mind which is in 
 no degree compensated by the moral at the 
 close. Imagination, therefore, is a mental 
 power of extensive influence, and capable of 
 being turned to important purposes in the cul- 
 tivation of individual character. But to be so, 
 it must be kept under the strict control of 
 reason and of virtue. If it be allowed to 
 wander at discretion through scenes of ima- 
 gined wealth, ambition, frivolity, or pleasure, 
 
 u 
 
290 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 it tends to withdraw the mind from the im- 
 portant pursuits of life, to weaken the habits of 
 attention, and to impair the judgment. It 
 tends in a most material manner to prevent the 
 due exercise of those nobler powers which are 
 directed to the cultivation both of science and 
 virtue. 
 
 The state of a mind which has yielded itself 
 to the influence of this delusive habit cannot 
 be more forcibly represented than in the words 
 of an eloquent writer : — 
 
 •* The influence of this habit of dwelling on 
 the beautiful fallacious forms of imagination 
 will accompany the mind into the most serious 
 speculations, or, rather, musings on the real 
 world, and what is to be done in it, and ex- 
 pected ; as the image which the eye acquires 
 from looking at any dazzling object still appears 
 before it wherever it turns. The vulgar mate- 
 rials that constitute the actual economy of the 
 world will rise up to its sight in the fictitious 
 forms, which it cannot disenchant into plain 
 reality, nor will even suspect to be deceptive. 
 It cannot go about with sober, rational inspec- 
 tion and ascertain the nature and value of all 
 things around it. Indeed, such a mind is not 
 disposed to examine with any careful minute- 
 ness the real condition of things. It is con- 
 tent with ignorance, because environed with 
 something more delicious than such knowledge, 
 in the paradise which imagination creates. In 
 that paradise it walks delighted till some im- 
 perious circumstance of real life calls it thence, 
 and gladly escapes thither when the avocation 
 is past. There everything is beautiful and 
 noble, as could be desired to form the residence 
 of an angel. If a tenth part of the felicities 
 that have been enjoyed, the great actions that 
 have been performed, the beneficent institu- 
 tions that have been established, and the beau- 
 tiful objects that have been seen in this happy 
 region could have been imported into this ter- 
 restrial place, what a delightful thing it would 
 have been to awake each morning to see such 
 a world once more." 
 
 To the same purpose are the words of ano- 
 ther writer of the highest authority : — 
 
 "To indulge the power of fiction, and send 
 imagination out upon the wing, is often the 
 sport of those who delight too much in silent 
 speculation. He who has nothing external 
 that can divert him must find pleasure in his 
 own thoughts, and must conceive himself what 
 he is not, — for who is content with what he is? 
 He then 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 domi- ' 
 nion. The mind dances from scene to scene, 
 unites all pleasures in all combinations, and 
 riots in delight which nature and fortune with 
 all their bounty cannot bestow. In time, some 
 particular train of ideas fixes the attention ; 
 all other intellectual gratifications are rejected ; 
 the mind in weariness or leisure recurs con- 
 stantly to the favourite conception, and feeds 
 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 begin to fasten upon the mind, and 
 life passes in dreams of rapture or of anguish. " 
 — Abercrombie. 
 
 INFLUENCE of the Imagination. 
 
 The faculty of imagination is the great spring 
 of human activity and the principal source of 
 human improvement. As it delights in pre- 
 senting to the mind scenes and characters more 
 perfect than those which we are acquainted 
 with, it prevents us from ever being completely 
 satisfied with our present condition or with 
 our past attainments ; and engages us con- 
 tinually in the pursuit of some untried enjoy- 
 ment or of some ideal excellence. Hence the 
 ardour of the selfish to better their fortunes, 
 and to add to their personal accomplishments ; 
 and hence the zeal of the patriot and the philo- 
 sopher to advance the virtue and happiness of 
 the human race. Destroy this faculty, and 
 the condition of man will become as stationary 
 as that of the brutes. — Diigald Stewart. 
 
 INGRATITUDE, Twin Sister to Pride. 
 
 You may rest upon this as an unfailing truth, 
 that there neither is, nor never was, any per- 
 son remarkably ungrateful, who was not also 
 insufferably proud ; for as snakes breed on 
 dunghills, not singly, but in knots, so in such 
 base hearts you always find pride and ingra- 
 titude twisted together. Ingratitude overlooks 
 all kindness, but it is because pride makes it 
 carry its head so high. In a word, ingratitude 
 is too base to return a kindness, too proud to 
 regard it, much like the tops of mountains, 
 barren indeed, but yet lofty ; they produce 
 nothing ; they feed nobody ; they clothe no- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 291 
 
 body ; yet are high and stately, and look down 
 upon all the world. — South. 
 
 INHABITANTS of Heaven, 
 the Impure not Fit for. 
 As it is impossible for a beggar in his rags to 
 be admitted to the society of princes and 
 noblemen ; but put the case that he were, yet 
 his beggarly condition would never suffer him 
 to enjoy himself in that company in which he 
 could be nothing but a mock and derision ; in 
 like manner, Heaven bears no suitableness to 
 an impure, unsanctified person ; for a sinful 
 heart must have sinful delights and sinful com- 
 pany, and where it meets not with such, in the 
 very midst of comforts and company, it finds a 
 solitude and a dissatisfaction. — Deait South. 
 
 INJURIES, Forgiveness of. 
 
 The noblest worship of the Power above 
 
 Is to extol and imitate His love : 
 
 Not to forgive our enemies alone, 
 
 But use our bounty that they may be won. 
 
 Waller. 
 
 INJURY from a Friend. 
 Who should be trusted now, when one's right 
 
 hand 
 Is perjur'd to the bosom ? Proteus, 
 I am sorry I must never trust thee more, 
 But count the world a stranger for thy sake. 
 The private wound is deepest. Shakespeare. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Ere the last odorous sigh of May, 
 
 That boy laid down beneath the sod ! 
 Like dew his young soul pass'd away 
 To mingle with the brighter day. 
 That veils the throne of God ! 
 
 J. C. Prince. 
 
 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. 
 
 INNOCENCE, Utter, Impossible. 
 
 There is none so innocent as not to be evil 
 spoken of : none so wicked as to want all 
 commendation. There are too many who 
 condemn the just, and not a few who justify 
 the wicked. I often hear both envy and 
 flattery speaking falsehoods, of myself to my- 
 self : and may not the like tongues perform 
 the like tasks of others to others? I will know 
 others by what they do themselves ; but not 
 learn myself by what I hear of others. I will 
 be careful of mine own actions, not credulous 
 of other's x^z!C\o\i%.— Arthur Warwick. 
 
 INSENSIBILITY, Not Reqiiired of us. 
 
 Insensibility, in return for acts of seeming, 
 even of real, unkindness, is not required of us. 
 But whilst we feel for such acts, let our feehngs 
 be tempered with forbearance and kindness. 
 Let not the sense of our own sufferings render 
 us peevish and morose. Let not our sense of 
 neglect on the part of others induce us to 
 judge of them with harshness and severity. 
 Let us be indulgent and compassionate towards 
 them. Let us seek for apologies for their 
 conduct. Let us be forward in endeavouring 
 to excuse them. And if, in the end, we must 
 condemn them, let us look for the cause of 
 their delinquency less in a defect of kind in- 
 tention than in the weakness and errors of 
 human nature. He who knoweth of what we 
 are made, and hath learned, by what he him- 
 self suffered, the weakness and frailty of our 
 nature, hath thus taught us to make com- 
 passionate allowances for our brethren, in con- 
 sideration of its manifold infirmities. — Bishop 
 Mant. 
 
 INTELLECT, its Mighty Power. 
 
 Oh ! what a power is that of intellect ! From 
 this small spark how great a fire is kindled ! 
 How completely, by its operation, is the whole 
 earth subjugated to man, and subjected to his 
 control ! We see through the whole world 
 his towns and cities arising, filled with the 
 hum and bustle of his commerce — rivers turned 
 from their course — mountains levelled — artifi- 
 cial lakes — and the sea filled with his vessels of 
 traffic and armaments of war ; the sea, that 
 unruly element, the foam of which he rides 
 ujDon, and the fury of which he curbs as easily 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 as he manages his -war-horse ; nay, its very 
 billows he bids keep back, in order that he 
 may raise, on the ground which it yields 
 him, arsenals and bulwarks, as though the 
 mighty Creator had delegated to him his own 
 power over the same turbulent element. 
 ** Hither shalt thou come, but no further, and 
 here shall thy proud waves be staid ; " or we 
 see him descend, in perfect security, beneath 
 its profound depths and caves, and bidding it 
 open, from its dark abysses, its treasures of 
 pearl and coral. But where shall we stop? 
 He has measured the stars, their distances, 
 the periods of their revolutions ; he has realized 
 the fable of Prometheus, and extracted fire 
 from the clouds ; and he has travelled almost 
 as far into the regions of mind as into those of 
 the natural world ! How great then is man ! 
 But oh ! how far greater is He who has rested 
 in so frail, so perishing a form, such mighty 
 capabilities ! — H. S. 
 
 INTELLECT, 
 Part of the Immaterial Essence of God. 
 That very principle which has designed for 
 man all his splendid productions, which has 
 been the spring and impulse of all his efforts, 
 which has wrought out for him, slowly and 
 gradually indeed, the mighty circle of the arts 
 and sciences (and the power of which is seen 
 so fully in these his works), is that which 
 shows forth most efficiently the greatness of 
 the Creator's hand, because it is the noblest of 
 his creations, congenial, in some measure, with 
 his own immaterial essence, and partaking of 
 his own immortal and indestructible nature ! 
 
 INTELLECT, Vanity of. 
 
 Man's intellect has indeed great power over 
 all outward things. This we are not disposed 
 to question. In these days more especially we 
 all take far too much pride in it, and make 
 presumptuous boast of it — nay, are apt to 
 fall down and worship it, as the one great 
 miracle-worker, the true mover of mountains. 
 But powerful as it may be, omnipotent as we 
 may deem it to be over the world around us, 
 over the outward fields of nature, there is one 
 region where our hearts and consciences tell us, 
 sometimes in half-muttered whispers, some- 
 times in cries of anguish and agony, that it is 
 
 almost powerless : and that region is the dim, 
 visionary, passion-haunted one within our own 
 breasts. We all know but too well, — every 
 one whose life has not flowed away in listless 
 inanity, — every one who has ever struggled 
 against the evil within him, must have felt but 
 too deeply that our intellectual convictions, 
 clear and strong as they may have been, have 
 never of themselves been able to shake the 
 foundations of a single sin, to subdue a single 
 vice, to root out a single evil habit. 
 
 Ever since that severing of the heart from 
 the intellect which took place when man gave 
 himself up to the lust of godless knowledge, 
 the passions have made mock at the under- 
 standing whenever it has attempted to control 
 them, and have only flattered and pampered it 
 when it was content to wear their livery, and 
 to drudge in their service ; while the will has 
 lifted up its head against the understanding in 
 haughty defiance and scorn. Moreover, this 
 lesson, which we learn from our own grievous 
 experience, is confirmed by all the evidence of 
 history ; where, in example after example, we 
 see how vain and impotent the enlightening of 
 the understanding has been to elevate and 
 purify man's moral being ; and how, unless 
 that enlightenment has been working together 
 with other healthier powers, and been kept in 
 check by them, its operation on the character 
 of nations has rather been to weaken and dis- 
 sipate their energies, to crumble the primitive 
 rock to sand. — Hare. 
 
 INTELLECTUAL Pleasures, 
 
 Advantages of Cultivating. 
 
 Man, in his lowest state, has no pleasures but 
 those of sense, and no wants but those of 
 appetite ; afterwards, when society is divided 
 into different ranks, and some are appointed 
 to labour for the support of others, those whom 
 their superiority sets free from labour begin to 
 look for intellectual entertainments. Thus, 
 while the shepherds were tending their flocks 
 their masters made the first astronomical ob- 
 servations : so music is said to have had its 
 origin from a man at leisure listening to the 
 strokes of a hammer. As the senses in the 
 lowest state of nature are necessary to direct 
 us to our support, when that support is once 
 secure there is danger in following them further. 
 To him who has no rule of action but the grati- 
 fication of the senses, plenty is always danger- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 293 
 
 ous ; it is therefore necessary to the happiness 
 of individuals, and still more necessary to the 
 security of society, that the mind should be 
 elevated to the idea of general beauty, and the 
 contemplation of general truth. By this pursuit 
 the mind is always carried forward in search of 
 something more excellent than it finds, and 
 obtains its proper superiority over the common 
 senses of life by learning to feel itself capable 
 of higher aims and nobler enjoyments. 
 
 In this gradual exaltation of human nature 
 every art contributes its contingent towards the 
 general supply of mental pleasure. Whatever 
 abstracts the thoughts from sensual gratifica- 
 tions — whatever teaches us to look for happi- 
 ness within ourselves — must advance in some 
 measure the dignity of our nature. Perhaps 
 there is no higher proof of the excellency of 
 man than this, — that, to a mind properly cul- 
 tivated, whatever is bounded is little. The 
 mind is continually labouring to advance, step 
 by step, through successive gradations of ex- 
 cellence towards perfection, which is dimly 
 seen at a great though not hopeless distance, 
 and which we must always follow because we 
 never can attain ; but the pursuit rewards it- 
 self ; one truth teaches another, and our store 
 is always increasing, though nature can never 
 be exhausted. — Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 INTELLECTUAL Powers. 
 
 The intellectual powers of man are not given 
 merely for self ; they are not intended to aid 
 his own cunning, and craft, and intrigues, and 
 conspiracies, and enrichment. They will do 
 nothing for these base purposes. The instinct 
 of a tiger, a vulture, or a fox will do better. 
 Genius and abilities are given as lamps to the 
 world, not to self. — Sir Egerton Brydges. 
 
 INTELLECTUAL Researches. 
 
 It seems to be a necessary condition of human 
 science, that we should learn many (apparently) 
 useless things in order to become acquainted 
 with those which are of service ; and as it is 
 impossible, antecedently to experience, to know 
 the value of our acquisitions, the only way in 
 which mankind can secure all the advantages 
 of knowledge is to prosecute their inquiries in 
 every possible direction. There can be no 
 greater impediment to the progress of science 
 than a perpetual and anxious reference at every 
 
 step to palpable utility. Assured that the 
 general result will be beneficial, it is not wise to 
 be too solicitous as to the immediate value of 
 every individual effort. 
 
 Nor is it to be forgotten that trivial and 
 apparently useless acquisitions are often the 
 necessary preparatives to important discoveries. 
 The labours of the antiquary, the verbal critic, 
 the collator of mouldering manuscripts, the 
 describer of microscopic objects (labours which 
 may appear to many out of all proportion to 
 the value of the result), may be preparing the 
 way for the achievements of some splendid 
 genius, who may combine their minute details 
 into a magnificent system, or evolve from a 
 multitude of particulars, collected with painful 
 toil, some general principle destined to illu- 
 minate the career of future ages. To no one, 
 perhaps, are the labours of his predecessors — 
 even when they are apparently trifling or un- 
 successful, of more service than to the meta- 
 physician ; and he who is well acquainted with 
 the science can scarcely fail to perceive that 
 many of its inquiries are gradually converging 
 to important results. Unallied as they may 
 appear to present utility, it is not hazarding 
 much to assert that the world must hereafter 
 be indebted to them for the extirpation of 
 many mischievous errors, and the correction of 
 a great part of those loose and ill-founded 
 opinions by which society is now pervaded. — 
 Essays on the Formation of Opinions. 
 
 INTEMPERANCE, its Fearful End. 
 
 Oh, do not only own the heavenly dignity of 
 souls, but use your souls accordingly. Are 
 they good for no better than to serve the body 
 in lust and appetite, and keep it in motion and 
 some pleasure? . . . Sinners, hear and con- 
 sider ; if you wilfully condemn your souls to 
 bestiality, God will condemn them to perpetual 
 misery. — R. Baxter. 
 
 INTENTION, Advantage of. 
 It is of unspeakable advantage to possess our 
 minds with an habitual good intention, and to 
 aim all our thoughts, words, and actions, at 
 some laudable end, whether it be to the glory 
 of our Maker, the good of mankind, or the 
 benefit of our own souls. A person who is 
 possessed with such an habitual good intention 
 enters upon no single circumstance of life 
 
294 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 without considering it as well-pleasing to the 
 Author of his being, conformable to the dic- 
 tates of reason, suitable to human nature in 
 general, or to that particular station in which 
 Providence has placed him. He lives in a 
 perpetual sense of the Divine Presence, regards 
 himself as acting, in the whole course of his 
 existence, under the observation and inspection 
 of that Being who is privy to all his motions, 
 and all his thoughts, who knows his ''down- 
 sitting and his uprising, who is about his path 
 and about his bed, and spieth out all his ways. " 
 In a word, he remembers that the eye of his 
 Judge is always upon him ; and in every action 
 he reflects that he is doing what is commanded 
 or allowed by Him who will hereafter either 
 reward or punish it. — Addison. 
 
 INTENTION, Good, in Eeading. 
 
 It is of great importance to possess the mind, 
 as Addison beautifully expresses it, "with an 
 habitual good intention." I would apply this 
 to reading. Such an intention will lead us to 
 take up every book, on whatever subject it may 
 be, with a view of extracting something worth 
 preserving, either with reference to present 
 pursuits, excellent or beautiful in itself, or 
 which may eventually be useful individually, or 
 to others. Where books are not property, 
 and where leisure admits, notes will perhaps 
 be made, or extracts, either collective or 
 separate, according to various subjects. It is 
 incredible how much may be gained by such 
 a method ; how much satisfaction it affords in 
 its progress, and how useful, after the lapse of 
 many years, such notes and extracts have been 
 found, either from the information thus con- 
 veyed, or the hints afforded towards the ex- 
 tension of studies and pursuits, which, at the 
 time when they were made, were not within 
 the reach of the young reader. 
 
 It has been said that no book is worth 
 reading once which is not worth reading twice. 
 It may be said, with perhaps greater truth, 
 that few can be found, such as a well-principled 
 person would read, from which something may 
 not be gained. Ivet young people, then, 
 acquire the habit pi never taking up a book 
 without a sincere desire to learn something 
 from it ; let theih lay up what appears useful, 
 and trust to time and opportunity to apply 
 their stores ; let them treasure all that can 
 compensate to them for their want of ex- 
 perience ; let them read books rather above 
 
 than below their age ; so will they be excited 
 to diligence in order to comprehend and apply 
 them fully, and be preserved from the danger 
 of a fondness for idle books. 
 
 INTERMEDIATE State, The. 
 
 It is the object of this essay to prove the 
 actual existence of the soul between death and 
 the resurrection ; or, in other words, that the 
 soul, when separated from the body, enters 
 immediately into heaven or hell. 
 
 Now, if this can be established from Scrip- 
 ture, it must be done by proving, from the 
 same source, that there is in man a soul, capa- 
 ble of existing and acting without the body. 
 What, then, saith the Scriptures on this point? 
 ** There is a spirit in man, and the inspiration 
 of the Almighty giveth him understanding." 
 This explicit assurance is from the book of Job, 
 the oldest part of the Old Testament ; for the 
 great age of Job places him, to a certainty, two 
 centuries before the call of Abraham. Next 
 to the book of Job in antiquity is the Genesis 
 of Moses ; and the language of the two illus- 
 trious persons is similar on this subject. ' * God 
 breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, 
 and man became a living soul." This is 
 exactly like the oracle of Uz j and utterly un- 
 like what Moses says of beasts. Of them it is 
 merely stated, **God made the beast of the 
 earth : " but in the creation of man there was 
 counsel: "Let us make man." There was 
 a divine model : " Let us make man in our 
 own image." There was a special creative 
 act, after the formation of his body : ** God 
 breathed into his nostrils the breath of life." 
 There was a superior result : " Man became a 
 living soul. " Nothing of this kind is said of 
 the other living creatures j and as to the word 
 translated soul signifying but life, rendering 
 it so here will be its own refutation. ** Man 
 became a living life." 
 
 Similar to the language of Job and Moses 
 is that of Solomon. "The spirit of man 
 goeth upward : the spirit returns to God who 
 gave it." Agreeably to this view of the im- 
 mortal principle in man, Christ affirms the 
 positive distinction between the dead body 
 and the living soul, and assures us that no 
 human power can kill the soul, and that divine 
 power will not kill it. Thus the Old Testa- 
 ment affirms that there is a spirit in man ; and 
 the New Testament that man cannot kill the 
 soul, and God will not. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 295 
 
 On the subject of the immortality of the 
 soul, it is customary to confirm Scripture testi- 
 mony by arguments drawn from the properties 
 of matter, and the reasonings of heathen philoso- 
 phers. But we may safely dispense with the 
 former, and even despise the latter. In regard 
 to matter, it actually exists in such subtle and 
 sublimated forms, that it would be utter rash- 
 ness to affirm that it is incapable of being 
 rendered intelligent by Omnipotence ; seeing 
 that in some of its elemental forms it is already 
 invisible. The differences between matter and 
 mind do not therefore prove enough. 
 
 And as to the arguments usually drawn from 
 heathen philosophy, we may safely despise 
 them as Paul does ; for "philosophy and vain 
 deceit " are nearly akin on the subject of the 
 soul's immortality. Insulated scraps from the 
 writings of Plato, Socrates, and Cicero, are 
 often paraded to commend and confirm this 
 doctrine : but they only disgrace it in the esti- 
 mation of all who really know the sentiments 
 of these sages. Milton says of philosophers, 
 with great truth, 
 
 Much of the soul they talk— and all awry. 
 
 It was inevitably "awry," — setting out as they 
 did from the assumption that all souls were 
 parts of the soul of the universe, or of God. 
 To argue from this that they were immortal, 
 meant only that they would be resolved into 
 the divine essence at or after death: as the 
 water of vessels broken in the ocean is absorbed 
 by it. This was the philosophical view. 
 
 The vulgar or popular doctrine is, however, 
 worthy of being appealed to and reasoned 
 upon. That the soul survives the death of the 
 body, has been, under some form, the fixed 
 opinion of all ages and nations ; and as this 
 idea in any form is not deducible from observa- 
 tion nor experience, and has been held chiefly 
 by those who were strangers to abstract reason- 
 ing, it must have been derived from sacred tra- 
 dition, or from an innate tendency to hope for 
 immortality. It is therefore legitimate proof, 
 if anything be wanted beyond the testimony of 
 Scripture. But on that testimony alone, we 
 may as safely rest the fact of the soul's immor- 
 tality, as we do its value on the grandeur of 
 eternity, and its salvation on the blood of atone- 
 ment. Thus our faith will stand "On the word 
 of God, and not on the word of man. " 
 
 Having thus ascertained, from the word of 
 the God of Truth, that there is a spirit in man, 
 let us now inquire at the same source where it 
 goeth at death. "Man dieth and giveth up 
 
 the ghost, and where is he?" Now, the Scrip- 
 tural answer to this question varies according 
 to what the man was before he died. On the 
 day that the penitent thief died, he was with 
 Christ in Paradise. In like manner, when 
 Lazarus died, he was carried by angels to Abra- 
 ham's bosom. And Stephen the martyr died 
 praying, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit. " Thus, 
 whenever the question *' Where is he ? " is 
 asked in regard to a departed believer, the 
 Scriptural answer is "Absent from the body, 
 and present with the Lord." 
 
 In like manner, when the question "Where 
 are they ? " is asked concerning the wicked, 
 the answer is equally explicit. The spirits of 
 those who were disobedient in the days of 
 Noah "are in prison." Sodom and Gomor- 
 rah, with the cities round about, are like the 
 angels who kept not their first estate, "re- 
 served in chains of darkness, and suffering the 
 vengeance of eternal fire. " And the rich man, 
 when he died, "lifted up his eyes in hell." 
 
 Thus the soul of Lazarus was alive and com- 
 forted in heaven, and the soul of Dives alive 
 and tormented in hell. Language could not 
 be more explicit. But this narrative, say 
 Socinians, is only a parable ! And is that 
 nothing, or so little as to prove nothing ? The 
 history of the Prodigal Son is only a parable ; 
 and yet Socinianism finds in it — almost founds 
 on it, her darling scheme of pardoning mercy, 
 apart from the atonement. Parables, it seems 
 then, are facts when they suit her purpose. But 
 enough of this : Christ, whether he spake in 
 parables or in plain terms, must have had 
 truth for his object ; and the general idea con- 
 veyed by his words must be a just one : for it 
 is worse than absurd to insinuate that the 
 faithful and true Witness suggested or sanc- 
 tioned false opinions by his preaching. He 
 spoke, indeed, agreeably to the popular notions 
 of the soul and the separate state ; but not 
 because they were popular, but because they 
 were true. Accordingly, his reasonings from 
 historical facts are in perfect harmony with his 
 parabolic representations. When the Saddu- 
 cees denied and derided the resurrection of the 
 body, Jesus, aware that they did so because 
 they disbelieved the immortality of the soul, 
 said, "God is not a God of the dead, but of 
 the living." The scope of his argument on 
 that occasion is : "You Sadducees affirm that 
 the spirit does not survive the body; and on 
 this ground you conclude that there will be 
 no resurrection of the body : but you err — not 
 knowing the Scriptures. God called himself 
 
296 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, ages 
 after these patriarchs died. Now, he is not 
 the God of the dead, but of the living ; and 
 therefore their souls must be alive." Here, 
 Christ speaks to a matter of fact, and makes 
 it as evident that these saints are in heaven as 
 that Lazarus is so. And, of course, whatever 
 such Scriptures prove concerning the persons 
 specified, they prove also the same concerning 
 all the dead of the same character. Life and 
 glory are not the exclusive portion of Lazarus 
 and the patriarchs, nor life and torment the 
 exclusive fate of Dives ; but these men are 
 specimens of their respective, classes. All de- 
 parted saints are in heaven, and all departed 
 impenitents in hell. 
 
 Such is the doctrine of the New Testament 
 on this subject ; and judging from what Christ 
 quoted from the Old Testament, it seems the 
 doctrine of it too, although seen through a glass 
 darkly. This, however, has been denied. 
 Warburton, in his Divine Legation of Moses, 
 not only denies that Moses taught the doctrine 
 of an intermediate and future state, but at- 
 tempts to prove the truth of the Jewish religion 
 and history, from the utter absence of the 
 doctrine. The substance of his argument (as 
 to the former case) is, that as Christ brought 
 life and immortality to light by the Gospel, 
 they must have been left in darkness by Moses 
 and the Law. This, however, is a very lame 
 conclusion, if not a mere play upon words : 
 for no one knew better than the learned bishop 
 that the literal meaning of Paul's words is, 
 "Christ shed light upon, or illuminated, life 
 and immortality by the Gospel. " While, there- 
 fore, they were but dim until the Sun of 
 Righteousness arose upon them, they were 
 not unknown nor unrevealed. Warburton 
 himself admits that Moses knew and believed 
 a future state, though he did not teach it ; and 
 that the patriarchs and leading Jews were not 
 utterly ignorant of it. This concession is fatal 
 to the groundwork of the bishop's theory : for 
 if Moses has nowhere taught the doctrine of a 
 future state, how did Warburton know that he 
 believed it? There are no other writings of 
 Moses extant but in the Old Testament ; and 
 if they do not show that Moses did so, how 
 came the bishop to discover his secret ? Those 
 who are familiar with the Legation Controversy 
 will thus see that its lengths and labyrinths 
 arose chiefly from not pressing home this sim- 
 ple question. The premises of the argument 
 are — Moses knew and believed the doctrine of 
 a future state ; but Moses has nowhere taught 
 
 it in his writings. Well, if not, —where and 
 how was the fact of his knowledge and faith 
 discovered? It will not do to say that he 
 learnt the doctrine in Egypt ; for the Egyptian 
 theory of immortality is not the one in question. 
 And if it be said that he learnt it from the 
 Jews in Egypt, then they did not require to be 
 taught it by him. This seems the grand reason 
 why so little is said of it in the writings of 
 Moses. Like the being of a God, immortality 
 was taken for granted — was an understood 
 thing — a first principle amongst the seed of 
 Abraham, although not definite in its cha- 
 racter. 
 
 But after all it must be allowed that a 
 mysterious, though not an utter, silence on the 
 subject prevails in the Old Testament. For 
 although we can find in it texts "full of im- 
 mortality" now that they are explained by the 
 New Testament, it is more than probable that 
 the Jews in general did not fully understand 
 them. But while this ought to be conceded at 
 once, it can be triumphantly proved that they 
 were not ignorant of an intermediate state. 
 Moses, even in the law, says, " There shall 
 not be found among you any consulter with 
 familiar spirits, or a necromancer." Thus the 
 popular belief in separate spirits was appealed 
 to by the law itself. And that devils are not 
 meant is evident ; for the necromancer was, 
 do7'esh el kamathim, a consulter of the dead. 
 Both expressions refer to the souls of the dead. 
 Accordingly, the threatening against Ariel is 
 founded on the practice of consulting them ; 
 " Thy voice shall be as one that hath a familiar 
 spirit." That such voices were, in general^ 
 the tricks of the necromancers is certain ; but 
 still the fiction was founded on the fact that 
 the existence of separate spirits was believed 
 by the Jews. This belief was so popular in the 
 time of Saul, that to check the base purposes 
 for which it was employed, the profession of 
 necromancy was forbidden by an edict of the 
 king : but even the king himself continued a 
 believer in the system, and consulted the witch 
 of Endor to bring up Samuel. On review- 
 ing such facts, Dr. Campbell might well say,, 
 "However people may differ in explaining 
 them, judicious and impartial men can hardly 
 differ as to the evidence they afford, that the 
 existence of spirits in a separate state was an 
 article of popular belief." And there are many 
 instances in which the Old Testament writers- 
 use the word sheol, not in reference to the 
 grave, but to the invisible world of spirits. But 
 the Epistle to the Hebrews places the know- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 297 
 
 ledge of a separate state by the Jews beyond 
 all doubt. Paul proves that Abraham and the 
 Fathers sought Canaan as the pledge and type 
 of heaven ; and affirms that God was called 
 "their God " because he had prepared for them 
 a city. Canaan was not a city, but the type of 
 the heavenly country. 
 
 Thus the Bible is full of the doctrine of an 
 intermediate state : for the Gospel has illumi- 
 nated the life and immortality of departed 
 spirits. — Evangelist. 
 
 INVENTIONS, Important, 
 Disappointments of the Authors of. 
 
 Almost every one who has rendered a 
 great service to mankind by striking out in- 
 ventions, whose objects are misconceived or 
 imperfectly understood by the world, has had 
 to complain of the neglect or coldness of his 
 own generation. Even his best friends are apt 
 to suspect his motives and undervalue his 
 labours. The real recompense in such cir- 
 cumstances, as in all others, is the conscious- 
 ness of doing one's duty. Fulton, the inventor 
 of the steam-boat in North America, which, in 
 a few years, has produced such an astonishing 
 change in that vast country, by connecting 
 together its most distant states, sustained the 
 mortification of not being comprehended by 
 his countrymen. He was therefore treated 
 as an idle projector, whose schemes would be 
 useless to the world and ruinous to himself. 
 At a discourse, delivered at the Mechanics' 
 Institute, Boston, in 1829, by Judge Story, 
 the feelings of Fulton upon his first public ex- 
 periment are thus related : — 
 
 '* I myself have heard the illustrious inventor 
 of the steam-boat relate, in an animated and 
 affecting manner, the history of his labours 
 and discouragements. When, said he, I was 
 building my first steam-boat at New York, the 
 project was viewed by the public either with 
 indifference or with contempt, as a visionary 
 scheme. My friends, indeed, were civil, but 
 they were shy. They listened with patience 
 to my explanations, but with a settled cast of 
 incredulity on their countenances. I felt the 
 full force of the lamentation of the poet, 
 
 Truths would you teach to save a sinking land. 
 All shun, none aid you and few understand. 
 
 As I had occasion to pass daily to and from 
 the building-yard while my boat was in pro- 
 gress, I have often loitered unknown near idle 
 
 groups of strangers, gathering in little circles, 
 and heard various inquiries as to the object of 
 this new vehicle. The language was uniformly 
 that of scorn, or sneer, or ridicule. The loud 
 laugh often rose at my expense ; the dry 
 jest ; the wise calculation of losses and ex- 
 penditures ; the dull but endless repetition of 
 the Fulton Folly. Never did a single en- 
 coui-aging remark, a bright hope, or a warm 
 wish, cross my path. Silence itself was but 
 politeness, veiling its doubts, or hiding its re- 
 proaches. At length the day arrived when 
 the experiment was to be put into operation. 
 To me it was a most trying and interesting 
 occasion. I invited many friends to go on 
 board to witness the first successful trip. 
 Many of them did me the favour to attend, as 
 a matter of personal respect ; but it was 
 manifest that they did it with reluctance, 
 fearing to be the partners of my mortification, 
 and not of my triumph. I was well aware 
 that in my case there were many reasons to 
 doubt of my own success. The machinery 
 was new and ill-made ; many parts of it were 
 constructed by mechanics unaccustomed to 
 such work ; and unexpected difficulties might 
 reasonably be presumed to present themselves 
 from other causes. The moment arrived in 
 which the word was to be given for the vessel 
 to move. My friends were in groups on the 
 deck. There was anxiety mixed with fear 
 among them. They were silent, and sad, and 
 weary. I read in their looks nothing but 
 disaster, and almost repented of my efforts. 
 The signal was given, and the boat moved on 
 a short distance, ' and then stopped, and 
 became immovable. To the silence of the 
 preceding moment now succeeded murmurs of 
 discontent, and agitations, and whispers, and 
 shrugs. I could hear distinctly repeated, * I 
 told you it would be so, it is a foolish scheme ; 
 I wish we were well out of it.' I elevated 
 myself upon a platform, and addressed the 
 assembly. I stated that I knew not what was 
 the matter ; but if they would be quiet, and 
 indulge me for half an hour, I would either go 
 on, or abandon the voyage for that time. This 
 short respite was conceded without objection, 
 I went below, examined the machinery, and 
 discovered that the cause was a slight mal- 
 adjustment of some of the work. In a short 
 period it was obviated. The boat was again 
 put in motion. She continued to move on. 
 All were still incredulous. None seemed 
 willing to trust the evidence of their own 
 senses. We left the fair city of New York ; 
 
29B 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 we passed through the romantic and ever 
 varying scenery of the highlands ; we descried 
 the clustering houses of Albany ; we reached 
 its shores ; and then, even then, when all 
 seemed achieved, I was the victim of disap- 
 pointment. Imagination superseded the in- 
 fluence of fact. It was then doubted if it 
 could be done again ; or, if done, it was 
 doubted if it could be made of any great 
 value." — Judge Story. 
 
 IRRESOLUTION. 
 
 In matters of great concern, and which must 
 be done, there is no surer argument of a weak 
 mind than irresolution ; to be undetermined 
 where the case is so plain and the necessity so 
 urgent. To be always intending to lead a new 
 life, but never to find time to set about it : this 
 is as if a man should put off eating, and drink- 
 ing, and sleeping, from one day and night to 
 another, till he is starved and destroyed. — 
 Tillotson. 
 
 JEALOUSY. 
 
 Yet is there one more cursed than they all, 
 That canker-worm, that monster, Jealousie, 
 Which eats the heart and feeds upon the gall. 
 Turning all love's delight to misery, 
 Through fear of losing his felicity. 
 Oh, Gods ! that ever ye that monster placed 
 In gentle love, that all his joys defaced. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 JESTING, Reasonable, is Healthful. 
 
 Harmless mirth is the best cordial against 
 the consumption of the spirits ; wherefore jest- 
 ing is not unlawful if it trespasseth not in 
 quantity, quality, or season. 
 
 It is good to make a jest, but not to make 
 a trade of jesting. The Earl of Leicester, 
 knowing that Queen Elizabeth was much 
 delighted to see a gentleman dance well, 
 brought the master of a dancing-school to 
 dance before her : ** It is," said the Queen, 
 "his profession; I Will not see him." She 
 liked not where it was a master quality, but 
 where it attended on other perfections. The 
 same we say of jesting. 
 
 Jest not with the two-edged sword of God's 
 word. Know the whole art is learnt at the 
 first admission, and profane jests will come 
 
 without calling. If without thy intention and 
 against thy will, by chance-medley thou hittest 
 Scripture in ordinary discourse, yet fly to the 
 city of refuge, and pray God to forgive thee. 
 
 Wanton jests make fools laugh, and wise 
 men frown. Seeing we are civilized English- 
 men, let us not be naked savages in our talk ; 
 such rotten speeches are worst in withered age. 
 
 Let not thy jests like mummy be made of 
 dead men's flesh : Abuse not any that are de- 
 parted ; for to wrong their memories is to rob 
 their ghosts of their winding-sheets. 
 
 Scoff not at the natural defects of any which 
 are not in their power to amend. Oh, 'tis cruel 
 to beat a cripple with his own crutches : neither 
 flout any for his profession, if honest, though 
 poor and painful : mock not a cobbler for his 
 black thumbs. 
 
 He that relates another man's wicked jest 
 with delig'ht adopts it as his own. Purge them, 
 therefore, from their poison. If the profane- 
 ness may be severed from the wit, it is like a 
 lamprey ; take out the sting in the back, it 
 may make good meat. But if the staple con- 
 ceit consists in profaneness, then it is a viper, 
 all poison, and meddle not with it. 
 
 He that will lose his friend for a jest deserves 
 to die a beggar by the bargain : Yet some 
 think their conceits, like mustard, not good 
 except they bite. We read that all those who 
 were born in England in the year after the 
 beginning of the great mortality, 1349, wanted 
 their four cheek teeth. Such let thy jests be, 
 that they may not grind the credit of thy friend, 
 and make not jests so long till thou becomest 
 one. — Abridged Jrom Fuller. 
 
 JOY and Goodness. 
 Joy to the followers of the Lord ! 
 Thus saith the sure, the eternal word, 
 Not of earth the joy it brings, 
 Tempered in celestial springs. 
 
 'Tis the joy of pardoned sin. 
 When conscience cries, 'Tis well within ; 
 'Tis the joy that fills the breast 
 When the passions sink to rest. 
 
 'Tis a joy that, seated deep, 
 Leaves not when we sigh and weep ; 
 It spreads itself in holy deeds, 
 With sorrow sighs, in pity bleeds. 
 
 Stern and awful are its tones. 
 When the patriot martyr groans. 
 And the throbbing pulse beats high, 
 To rapture, mixed with agony. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 299 
 
 A tenderer, softer form it wears, 
 Dissolved in love, dissolved in tears, 
 When humble souls a Saviour greet. 
 And sinners clasp the mercy-seat. Barhauld. 
 
 JUDGMENT, Calmness of. 
 Calmness of judgment consists in the power 
 of the mind to resist external disturbances, 
 while a cool judgment results from the absence 
 of internal disturbance ; or rather from the 
 power of the mind to control its emotions. 
 Such internal disturbance may proceed from 
 various causes, such as nervous irritability, — 
 or the liveliness of the imagination, — or the 
 sensibility of the moral feelings, — or the pre- 
 valence of malignant passions. Persons who 
 have this coolness of judgment are likely to be 
 successful in trade. It may be observed, how- 
 ever, that owing to their frequent success in 
 the conduct of affairs, they are peculiarly liable 
 to self-conceit : and this vanity becomes an in- 
 direct motive which tends to pervert or disturb 
 the understanding. Such men, in order to 
 obtain an immediate gratification of their con- 
 ceit in their own skill or cunning, often confine 
 their views to the present moment, seizing upon 
 small advantages while they become blind to 
 great and distant obj ects. The common phrase, 
 *' worldly wisdom," is the name of that sort of 
 mental short-sightedness which is produced by 
 self-conceit on a cool judgment But coolness of 
 judgment is truly admirable when it results not 
 from the want of imagination and moral sensi- 
 bility, but from that strength of will which is 
 able, whenever it is necessary, to keep all the 
 emotions in subjection. — Elements of Thought. 
 
 JUDGMENT, Foundation of. 
 The three foundations of judgment : Bold de- 
 sign, frequent practice, and frequent mistakes. 
 —Catherall. 
 
 JUDGMENT-HALL, 
 Pass now between them, push the brazen doors. 
 And, standing on the polished marble floor, 
 Leave all the noises of the square behind ; 
 Most calm that reverend chamber shall ye find ; 
 Silent at first, but for the noise you made 
 When on the brazen door your hand you laid 
 To shut it after you ; but now behold 
 The city rulers on their thrones of gold. 
 Clad in most fair attire, and in their hands 
 Long, carven, silver-banded ebony wands. 
 Wm. Morris, 
 
 JUDGMENT of the Law. 
 
 If you deny me, fie upon your law. 
 There is no force in the decrees of Venice : 
 I stand for judgment : answer ; shall I have it? 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 JUSTICE Creates Confidence. 
 
 Though justice has been called an "hobbling 
 old dame, who cannot keep pace with gene- 
 rosity," yet it is the hobbling old dame who 
 creates confidence, and confidence is the firmest 
 root of love, respect, and gratitude. Gene- 
 rosity may come with holiday gifts, but justice 
 fills our cup with every-day comfort We can- 
 not live upon gifts ; if we do we are degraded. 
 Justice offers nothing but what may be ac- 
 cepted with honour ; and lays claim to nothing 
 in return but what we ought not even to wish 
 to withhold. — Woman's Rights and Duties. 
 
 JUSTICE Not Necessarily CrueL 
 No obligation to justice does force a man to be 
 cruel, or to use the sharpest sentence. A just 
 man does justice to every man and to every 
 thing ; and then, if he be also wise, he knows 
 there is a debt of mercy and compassion due 
 to the infirmities of man's nature ; and that is 
 to be paid : and he that is cruel and ungentle 
 to a sinning person, and does the worst to him, 
 dies in his debt and is unjust Pity and for- 
 bearance, and long-suflerance and fair inter- 
 pretation, and excusing our brother, and taking 
 in the best sense, and passing the gentlest 
 sentence, are as certainly our duty, and owing 
 to every person that does offend and can repent, 
 as calling to account can be owing to the law, 
 and are first to be paid ; and he that does not 
 so is an unjust person. — Jeremy Taylor. 
 
 JUSTICE, Prejudiced. 
 
 Robes and fur gowns hide all. Plate sins with 
 
 gold. 
 And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks : 
 Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 JUST to Individuals. 
 
 We should learn to be just to individuals. 
 Who can say, in such circumstances, I should 
 have done otherwise ? Who, did he but reflect 
 by what slow gradations, often by how many 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 strange concurrences, we are led astray ; with 
 how much reluctance, how much agony, how 
 many efforts to escape, how many self-accusa- 
 tions, how many sighs, how many tears — who, 
 did he but reflect for a moment, would have 
 the heart to cast a stone ? Fortunately these 
 things are known to him from whom no secrets 
 are hidden ; and let us rest in the assurance 
 that his judgments are not as ours are. — 
 Rogers, 
 
 ZING, Description of. 
 
 Broad-browed he was, hook-nosed, with 
 
 wide gray eyes 
 No longer eager for the coming prize, 
 But keen and stedfast; many an ageing line, 
 Half-hidden by his sweeping beard and fine, 
 Ploughed his thin cheeks; his hair was more 
 
 than gray ; 
 And like to one he seemed whose better day 
 Is over to himself, tho' foolish fame 
 Shouts louder year by year his empty name. 
 Unarmed he was, nor clad upon that morn 
 Much like a king ; an ivory hunting-horn 
 Was slung about him, rich with gems and 
 
 gold. 
 And a great white gee-falcon did he hold 
 Upon his fist ; before his feet there sat 
 A scrivener making notes of this or that 
 As the king bade him, and behind his chair 
 His captains stood in armour rich and fair. 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 crown ; each crown a boundless, fearless, end- 
 less kingdom. Let me strive for the glory of 
 such a kingdom only, which is a kingdom of 
 such glory. — Arthur Wombwell. 
 
 KING, Likened to the Sun. 
 
 When I see the sun rising from the east in 
 glory, like a giant ready for the course, within 
 an hour's space obscured with mists, darkened 
 with clouds, and sometimes eclipsed with the 
 moon's inferior body ; and, however, without 
 these, after noon declining, descending, setting, 
 and buried under our horizon ; I seem to see 
 an earthly king mounting his throne in glory, 
 yet soon clouded with cares, and fear of 
 dangers : sometimes darkened in honour by 
 the malicious envy of his subjects ; sometimes 
 eclipsed in his dominions by the interposition 
 of foreign powers ; and however without these, 
 in a short time descending and setting at the 
 evening of his life, 4nd seldom passing the 
 whole day thereof in perfect continual glory. 
 Then think I, Oh the odds of comfort in that 
 heavenly and these earthly kingdoms ! Oh 
 the comfort of this odds ; there each saint is a 
 glorious king ; each king hath his incorruptible 
 
 KISS, A Valued. 
 
 Oh, a kiss 
 Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge ! 
 Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss 
 I carried from thee, dear : and my true lip 
 Hath virgin'd it e'er since. Shakespeare. 
 
 KNIGHTHOOD, its Nobility. 
 
 When first this order was ordain'd, my lords, 
 Knights of the garter were of noble birth ; 
 Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage. 
 Such as were grown to credit by the wars ; 
 Not fearing death nor shrinking from distress. 
 But always resolute in most extremes. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 Knowledge can neither be cultivated nor 
 adequately enjoyed by a few ; and although 
 the conditions of our existence on earth may 
 be such as to preclude an abundant supply of 
 the physical necessities of all who may be 
 born, there is no such law of nature in force 
 against that of our intellectual and moral 
 wants. Knowledge is not, like food, destroyed 
 by use, but rather augmented and perfected. 
 There is no body of knowledge so complete 
 but that it may receive correction in passing 
 through the minds of millions. Those who 
 admire and love knowledge for its own sake 
 ought to wish to see its elements made acces- 
 sible to all, were it only that they may be the 
 more thoroughly examined and more effectually 
 developed in their consequences, and receive 
 that ductile and plastic quality which the 
 action of minds of all descriptions, constantly 
 moulding them to their purposes, can alone 
 bestow. — Sir Wm. Herschel, 
 
 KNOWLEDGE, 
 
 Attractions and Advantages of. 
 
 In every object, it appears to me, some lesson 
 is held out to us ; and who shall say we ought 
 not to read the lesson ? In the absence of 
 more varied plants, the common quickset, now 
 putting forth its little scarlet points, the future 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 301 
 
 bud, guarded by sharp spears like a polished 
 sword, may worthily occupy our attention. No 
 condition is so humble as to shut our eyes to 
 the beauty of the white thorn through many 
 months of the year ; — its first delicate green- 
 ness in the spring ; — then its thick covering of 
 white flowers, like the purest snow ; — then its 
 fuller foliage, and welcome shade ; — then, in 
 the autumn, its farewell hue of pink. No 
 workman, walking out to breathe the fresh 
 air after his labour, will be a worse man, 
 or a worse working man, for admiring the 
 green, and gold, and silver of the meadows, or 
 the perfume of the bean ; and if he knows the 
 character of the flowers which make up those 
 lovely colours, or afford that agreeable per- 
 fume, I have no doubt he will be a happier 
 man, and I think the chances are that he will 
 be a better. Vicious excitements will be less 
 necessary to him, and he will be very frequently 
 thinking of things the very beauty of which will 
 lead his thoughts to that unknown world of 
 beauty of which these present, as it were, a 
 faint image and a promise. When the cele- 
 brated but unfortunate Mungo Park was once 
 in a desert, far from his friends, uncertain in 
 what direction to proceed, faint with hunger, 
 weary with fatigue, and almost without hope, 
 it chanced that his eye rested on a piece of 
 common moss ; and this simple accident per- 
 haps saved his life at that time : for surely, he 
 said to himself, seeing how beautifully that 
 ordinary moss was formed which no man re- 
 garded, he who created this with so much care 
 will not abandon me, who have an immortal 
 soul. And with these thoughts he resumed 
 his exertions, and eventually reached a place 
 of safety. , 
 
 For those who ask us what actual benefits 
 accrue to men from knowledge, an answer is 
 written in language that cannot err, in the 
 whole history of the world. Cast your eyes 
 back to the savage state, and behold man sup- 
 porting existence with difficulty, the prey of 
 beasts, the sport of the elements, and defence- 
 less. See him by degrees improving the earth 
 by culture ; improving that culture itself by 
 instruments of metal drawn from the earth ; and 
 mark how the beasts of the desert disappear 
 before his industry, and even the worst diseases 
 of the marsh and of the poisoned air become 
 less common and less destructive. Man is 
 seen to be better fed, better lodged, better 
 clothed. If he still devotes himself to war, it 
 may be for the defence of his possessions, or 
 that his knowledge is yet imperfect, and 
 
 neither he nor his neighbours have yet learned 
 the true end of living. His luxuries, and all 
 their evils, spring in part from the same cause ; 
 gorgeous triumphs follow conquest ; indolence 
 and rest follow exertion. But flourishing com- 
 mimities and states are formed ; laws are agreed 
 upon, often partial and imperfect ; arts and 
 sciences slowly advance ; ignorance gradually 
 disappears, and the laws gradually improve. 
 More and more man's intellect becomes culti- 
 vated, and political rights become more and more 
 generally and equally imparted to all classes, to 
 which more and more comforts have gradually 
 become familiar. This seems to be the point 
 in which we may now surv'ey the most advanced 
 communities. Day by day their political 
 rights are enlarging ; if their knowledge stops 
 short, these rights will be but instruments of 
 mischief; with knowledge they will be the 
 means of assuring every blessing. Firmly 
 persuaded of these truths, I rejoice to perceive 
 that they are becoming generally admitted ; 
 that their conviction is forcing its way into the 
 minds of thinking men of whatever sect. In 
 almost every periodical publication of the 
 present day, whatever may be its political ban- 
 ner, we may see just views of society advocated, 
 and truth more and more prevailing; the 
 dawn, in fact, of a serener day. The clergy, 
 who have always been the chief instructors of 
 the people, but who have often seemed to 
 doubt the propriety of diffusing instruction 
 beyond the limits of the aristocracy of nations, 
 are now heard, from every pulpit, to acknow- 
 ledge its advantages, and to repudiate the 
 false and wicked assertion that the cultivation 
 of the mind is inseparably associated with 
 crime. All seem now to admit that it is not 
 the being able to read, but what is read that is 
 or maybe detrimental or useful. — Dr. Conolly. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE at times Degenerates. 
 
 As many natural bodies, whilst they are still 
 entire, are corrupted and putrefy, so the solid 
 knowledge of things often degenerates into 
 subtle, vain, and silly speculations, which, al- 
 though they may not seem altogether destitute 
 of ingenuity, are insipid and useless. This 
 kind of unsound learning, which preys upon 
 itself, has often appeared among men who have 
 much leisure, quick parts, and little reading ; 
 and being, moreover, in a great measure, ig- 
 norant of the history both of nature and of the 
 world ; out of very flimsy materials, but with 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 the most rapid and violent motion of the shuttle 
 of thought, they have woven those laborious 
 webs which are preserved in their writings. 
 The truth is, that the human mind, when it is 
 employed upon external objects, is directed in 
 its operations by the nature of the materials 
 upon which its faculties are exercised : but if, 
 like the spider, it draws its materials from 
 within itself, it produces cobwebs of learning, 
 wonderful indeed for the fineness of the threads 
 and the delicacy of the workmanship, but of no 
 real value or use. — Lord Bacon. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE, Early. 
 
 There is, among young men, a prodigious and 
 most lamentable waste of intellect. How few 
 do justice to their native powers ! How few 
 so improve their means and talents as to rise to 
 that eminence which a kind Providence has 
 placed within their reach ! It is peculiarly 
 desirable to acquire as much knowledge as 
 possible, while young, because it is then ac- 
 quired most easily. All the powers of mind 
 are then active and elastic ; the feelings are 
 fresh and vigorous ; imagination is lively ; the 
 spirit exults in buoyant hope, which prepares 
 it for severe and successful effort. As you ad- 
 vance from youth, the sinews of the mind be- 
 come more stiff and rigid ; it is less inclined 
 and less able to expand ; so that if you pass on 
 to mature years, with your mind narrowed by 
 ignorance, it will probably always revolve in 
 the little circle of a beaten track. — Winslow. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE, Early, Valuable Capital. 
 
 Early knowledge is very valuable capital 
 with which to set forth in life. It gives one 
 an advantageous start. If the possession of 
 knowledge has a given value at fifty, it has a 
 much greater value at twenty-five ; for there is 
 the use of it for twenty-five of the most im- 
 portant years of your life ; and it is worth more 
 than a hundred per cent, interest. Indeed, 
 who can estimate the interest of knowledge ? 
 Its price is above rubies. 7— ^mj/cTw. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE/How to Acquire. 
 
 A Persian philosopher, being asked by what 
 method he had acquired so much knowledge, 
 answered, '* By not being prevented by shame 
 from asking questions where I was ignorant." 
 
 KNOWLEDGE 
 
 Increased by the Use of the Pen. 
 
 Young persons, especially, will pardon the 
 suggestion, that in no way perhaps can their 
 store of applicable knowledge be more cer- 
 tainly, though at first almost imperceptibly, 
 increased, than by habitually reading with a 
 pen in the hand. There is much good sense in 
 these doggrel verses, for which we are indebted 
 to no ordinary thinker, — 
 
 In reading authors, when you find 
 
 Bright passages, that strike your mind, 
 
 And which, perhaps, you may have reason 
 
 To think on, at another season, 
 
 Be not contented with the sight, 
 
 But take them down in black and white ; 
 
 Such a respect is wisely shown. 
 
 As makes another's sense one's own. — Byron. 
 
 One caution, however, is here indispensable ; 
 that by deep and diligent meditation, we acquire 
 something which may truly be called our own : 
 for, as Milton says, — 
 
 Who reads 
 Incessantly, and to his reading brings not 
 A spirit and judgment equal or superior. 
 Uncertain and unsettled still remains ; 
 Deep versed in books, and shallow in himself. 
 Bishop Jehb. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE Kin to the Chief Good. 
 
 Plato says, that though knowledge and truth 
 be both of them excellent things, yet he that 
 shall conclude the chief good to be something 
 that transcends them both, will not be mis- 
 taken. For as light and sight, or the seeing 
 faculty, may both of them rightly be said to be 
 soliform things, or of kin to the sun, but 
 neither of them to be the sun itself ; so know- 
 ledge and truth may likewise, both of them, be 
 said to be of kin to the chief good, but neither 
 of them to be that chief good itself ; but this 
 is still to be looked upon as a thing more august 
 and honourable. In all which of Plato's there 
 seems to be little more than what may be ex- 
 perimentally found within ourselves ; namely, 
 that there is a certain life, or vital and moral 
 disposition of the soul, which is much more 
 inwardly and thoroughly satisfactory, not only 
 than sensual pleasures, but also than all know- 
 ledge and speculation whatever. — Cudworth. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE, Objects of. 
 
 The object of the general diffusion of know- 
 ledge is not to render men discontented with 
 their lot — to make the peasant yearn to become 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 303 
 
 an artisan, or the artisan dream of the honours 
 and riches of a profession — but to give the 
 means of content to those who, for the most 
 part, must necessarily remain in that station 
 which requires great self-denial and great en- 
 durance ; but which is capable of becoming 
 not only a condition of comfort, but of enjoy- 
 ment, through the exercise of these very vir- 
 tues, in connection with a desire for that im- 
 provement of the understanding which, to a 
 large extent, is independent of rank and riches. 
 It is a most fortunate circumstance, and one 
 which seems especially ordained by Him who 
 wills the happiness of his creatures, that the 
 highest, and the purest, and the most lasting 
 sources of enjoyment are the most accessible to 
 all. The great distinction that has hitherto 
 prevailed in the world is this — that those who 
 have the command of riches and of leisure have 
 alone been able, in any considerable degree, 
 to cultivate the tastes that open these common 
 sources of enjoyment The first desire of every 
 man is, no doubt, to secure a sufficiency for 
 the supply of the physical necessities of our 
 nature ; but in the equal dispensations of Pro- 
 vidence it is not any especial portion of the 
 state even of the humblest among us who 
 labours with his hands to earn his daily bread, 
 that his mind should be shut out from the gra- 
 tifications which belong to the exercise of our 
 observing and reflecting faculties. In this 
 exercise all men may be, to a certain extent, 
 equal. — C. Knight. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE, Our, Very Limited. 
 
 Our knowledge is very short and shallow, for 
 the disproportion of the heavens is so great, 
 that some think the earth to be but a point in 
 respect of the rest ; and others, that the great 
 orb itself is but a point in comparison of the 
 firmament. Nay, we are ignorant of so many 
 things relating to the bodies above and below 
 us, that our knowledge seems confined to a 
 very small part of that physical point ; and 
 therefore, though our knowledge may highly 
 gratify our minds, it ought not to make us 
 proud, nor ought we to value that, so as to 
 make us despise the knowledge of spiritual 
 things. — Boyle. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE, 
 The Pleasure of Acquiring. 
 In every period of life the acquisition of know- 
 ledge is one of the most pleasing employments of 
 
 the human mind. But in youth there are cir- 
 cumstances which make it productive of higher 
 enjoyment. It is then that everything has the 
 charm of novelty, that curiosity and fancy are 
 awake, and that the heart swells with the anti- 
 cipations of future eminence and utility. Even 
 in those lower branches of instruction which 
 we call mere accomplishments there is some- 
 thing always pleasing to the young in their 
 acquisition. They seem to become every well- 
 educated person; they adorn, if they do not 
 dignify humanity ; and, what is far more, while 
 they give an elegant employment to the hours 
 of leisure and relaxation, they afford a means 
 of contributing to the purity and innocence of 
 domestic life. 
 
 But in the acquisition of knowledge of the 
 higher kind, — in the hours when the young 
 gradually begin the study of the laws of nature, 
 and of the faculties of the human mind, or of 
 the magnificent revelations of the Gospel, there 
 is a pleasure of a sublimer nature. The cloud 
 which, in their infant years, seemed to cover 
 nature from their view, begins gradually to re- 
 solve. The world in which they are placed 
 opens with all its wonders upon their eye ; their 
 powers of attention and observation seem to 
 expand with the scene before them ; and, while 
 they see, for the first time, the immensity of 
 the universe of God, and mark the majestic 
 simplicity of those laws by which its operations 
 are conducted, they feel as if they were awak- 
 ened to a higher species of being, and admitted 
 into nearer intercourse with the Author of 
 Nature. 
 
 It is this period, accordingly, more than all 
 others, that determines our hopes or fears of 
 the future fate of the yoimg. To feel no joy 
 in such pursuits, to listen carelessly to the voice 
 which brings such magnificent instruction, to 
 see the veil raised which conceals the counsels 
 of the Deity, and to show no emotion at the 
 discovery, are symptoms of a weak and torpid 
 I spirit, — of a mind unworthy of the advantages 
 it possesses, and fitted only for the humility of 
 sensual and ignoble pleasure. Of those, on 
 the contrary, who distinguish themselves by 
 the love of knowledge, — who follow with 
 ardour the career that is open to them, we are 
 apt to form the most honourable presages. It 
 is the character which is natural to youth, and 
 which, therefore, promises well of their matu- 
 rity. We foresee for them, at least, a life of 
 pure and virtuous enjoyment ; and we are 
 willing to anticipate no common share of future 
 usefulness and splendour. 
 
304 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 In the second place, the pursuits of know- 
 ledge lead not only to happiness but to honour. 
 ** Length of days is in her right hand, and in 
 her left are riches and honour." It is honour- 
 able to excel even in the most trifling species 
 of knowledge, in those which can amuse only 
 the passing hour. It is more honourable to 
 excel in those different branches of science 
 which are connected with the liberal professions 
 of life, and which tend so much to the dignity 
 and well-being of humanity. It is the means 
 of raising the most obscure to esteem and at- 
 tention ; it opens to the just ambition of youth 
 some of the most distinguished and respected 
 situations in society ; and it places them there, 
 with the consoling reflection that it is to their 
 own industry and labour, in the providence of 
 God, that they are alone indebted for them . 
 But to excel in the higher attainments of 
 knowledge — to be distinguished in those greater 
 pursuits which have commanded the attention 
 and exhausted the abilities of the wise in every 
 former age — is, perhaps, of all the distinctions 
 of human understanding the most honourable 
 and grateful. 
 
 When we look back upon the great men who 
 have gone before us in every path of glory, we 
 feel our eye turn from the career of war and of 
 ambition and involuntarily rest upon those who 
 have displayed the great truths of religion, 
 who have investigated the laws of social wel- 
 fare or extended the sphere of human know- 
 ledge. These are honours, we feel, which have 
 been gained without a crime, and which can 
 be enjoyed without remorse. They are honours, 
 also, which can never die — which can shed 
 lustre upon the humblest head — and to which 
 jthe young of every succeeding age will look 
 up, as their brightest incentives to the pursuit 
 of virtuous fame. — Alison. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE, The Uses of. 
 
 The first end to which all wisdom or know- 
 ledge ought to be employed is to illustrate the 
 wisdom or goodness of the Father of Nature. 
 Every science that is cultivated by men leads 
 naturally to religious thought, fx'om the study 
 of the plant that grows beneath our feet to that 
 of the host of heave/i above us, who perform 
 their stated revolutions in majestic silence, 
 amid the expanse of infinity. When in the 
 youth of Moses, '* the Lord appeared to Him 
 in Horeb," a voice was heard saying, *' Draw 
 nigh hither, and put off thy shoes from off thy 
 
 feet ; for the place where thou standest is holy 
 ground." It is with such a reverential awe 
 that every great or elevated mind will approach 
 to the study of nature, and with such feelings 
 of adoration and gratitude that he will receive 
 the illumination that gradually opens upon his 
 soul. 
 
 It is not the lifeless mass of matter he will 
 then feel that he is examining, — it is the mighty 
 machine of eternal wisdom ; the workmanship 
 of Him ** in whom everything lives, and moves, 
 and has its being." Under an aspect of this 
 kind, it is impossible to pursue knowledge 
 without mingling with it the most elevated 
 sentiments of devotion ; it is impossible to per- 
 ceive the laws of nature, without perceiving at 
 the same time the presence and the providence 
 of the Lawgiver : — and thus it is that, in every 
 age, the evidences of religion have advanced 
 with the progress of true philosophy ; and that 
 science, in erecting a monument to herself, has 
 at the same time erected an altar to the Deity. 
 
 The knowledge of nature is not exhausted. 
 There are many great discoveries yet awaiting 
 the labours of science, and with them there are 
 also awaiting to humanity many additional 
 proofs of the wisdom and benevolence "of 
 Him that made us." To the hope of these 
 great discoveries few indeed can pretend ; yet, 
 let it ever be remembered that he who can 
 trace any one new fact, or can exemplify any 
 one new instance of divine wisdom or benevo- 
 lence in the system of nature, has not lived in 
 vain ; that he has added to the sum of human 
 knowledge, and, what is far more, that he has 
 added to the evidence of those greater truths on 
 which the happiness of time and eternity de- 
 pends. 
 
 The second great end to which all know- 
 ledge ought to be employed is to the welfare of 
 humanity. Every science is the foundation of 
 some art beneficial to men ; and while the study 
 of it leads us to see the beneficence of the laws 
 of nature, it calls upon us also to follow the 
 great end of the Father of Nature in their em- 
 ployment and application. I need not say 
 what a field is thus opened to the benevolence 
 of knowledge ; I need not tell you that, in 
 every department of learning there is good to 
 be done to mankind ; I need not remind you 
 that the age in which we live has given us the 
 noblest examples of this kind, and that science 
 now finds its highest glory in improving the 
 condition or in allaying the miseries of hu- 
 manity. But there is one thing of which it is 
 ever proper to remind you, because the modesty 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 305 
 
 of knowledge often leads us to forget it, — and 
 that is that the power of scientific benevolence 
 is far greater than that of all others, to the 
 welfare of society. 
 
 The benevolence of the great or the opulent, 
 however eminent it may be, perishes with them- 
 selves ; but the benevolence of knowledge is of 
 a kind as extensive as the race of man, and as 
 permanent as the existence of society. He, in 
 whatever situation he may be, who in the study 
 of science has discovered a new means of alle- 
 viating pain, or of remedying disease ; who has 
 described a wiser method of preventing poverty 
 or of shielding misfortune ; who has suggested 
 additional means of increasing or improving 
 the beneficent productions of nature, has left a 
 memorial of himself which can never be for- 
 gotten, which will communicate happiness to 
 ages yet unborn, and which, in the emphatic 
 language of Scripture, renders him a "fellow- 
 worker" with God himself, in the improvement 
 of his creation. 
 
 The third great end of all knowledge is the 
 improvement and exaltation of our own minds. 
 It was the voice of the apostle, " What manner 
 of men ought ye to be, to whom the truths of 
 the Gospel have come?" It is the voice of 
 nature also, ' * What manner of men ought ye 
 to be, to whom the treasures of wisdom are 
 opened?" Of all the spectacles, indeed, 
 which life can offer us, there is none more 
 painful than that of the union of vice with 
 knowledge. It counteracts the great designs of 
 God in the distribution of wisdom, and it assimi- 
 lates men not to the usual characters of human 
 frailty, but to those dark and malignant spirits 
 who fell from heaven, and who excel in know- 
 ledge only that they may employ it in malevo- 
 lence. 
 
 To the wise and virtuous man, on the con- 
 trary—to him whose moral attainments have 
 kept pace with his intellectual, and who has 
 employed the great talent with which he is 
 entrusted to the glory of God and to the good 
 of humanity— are presented the sublimest 
 prospects that mortality can know. "In my 
 Father's house," says our Saviour, "are many 
 mansions ;" mansions, we may dare to in- 
 terpret, fitted to the different powers that life 
 has acquired, and to the uses to which they 
 have been applied. 
 
 Of that great scene, indeed, which awaits 
 all, whether ignorant or wise, it becomes us to 
 think with reverential awe. Yet we know 
 "that it will then be well with the good, 
 though it will not be well with the wicked ;" 
 
 and we are led by an instinctive anticipation to 
 suppose that they who here have excelled in 
 wisdom and benevolence will be rewarded with 
 higher objects, upon which they may be em- 
 ployed, and admitted into nearer prospects of 
 the government of eternal wisdom. " In his 
 light they shall see light." "They shall see 
 him, not as through a glass darkly, but as he 
 is. They shall know, even as they themselves 
 are known," — Alison. 
 
 The end and use of a little insight in those 
 parts of knowledge which are not a man's proper 
 business is to accustom our minds to all sorts 
 of ideas, and the proper ways of examining 
 their habitudes and relations. This gives the 
 mind a freedom ; and the exercising the under- 
 standing in the several ways of inquiring and 
 reasoning, which the most skilful have made 
 use of, teaches the mind sagacity and readiness, 
 and a suppleness to apply itself more closely 
 and dexterously to the bents and turns of the 
 matter in all its researches. — Locke. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE, True End of. 
 
 The greatest error is the mistaking of the true 
 end of knowledge : for men have entered into 
 a desire of learning and knowledge, sometimes 
 to entertain their minds with variety and 
 delight ; sometimes for ornament and reputa- 
 tion ; sometimes to enable them to victory of 
 wit and contradiction ; and, most times, for 
 lucre and profession ; but seldom sincerely to 
 give a true account of their gift of reason to 
 the benefit and use of men : as if there were 
 sought in knowledge a couch, whereupon to 
 rest a searching and restless spirit ; or a 
 terrace, for a wandering and variable mind to 
 walk up and down, with a fair prospect ; or a 
 tower of state, for a proud mind to raise itself 
 upon ; or a fort or commanding ground, for 
 strife and contention ; or a shop, for profit and 
 sale ; and not a rich storehouse for the glory 
 of the Creator and the relief of man's estate. 
 — Lord Bacon. 
 
 LABOUR, its Blessed Results. 
 
 Bread, wine, and cloth are things of daily 
 use and great plenty ; yet notwithstanding 
 acorns, water, and leaves or skins, must be 
 our bread, drink, and clothing, did not labour 
 furnish us with these more useful commodities ; 
 for whatever bread is more worth than acorns, 
 wine than water, and cloth and silk than 
 
 X 
 
3o6 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 leaves, skins, or moss, that is solely owing to 
 labour and industry : the one of these being 
 the food and raiment which unassisted nature 
 furnishes us with ; the other provisions which 
 our industry and pains prepare for us, which 
 how much they exceed the other in value, 
 when any one hath computed, he will then see 
 how much labour makes the far greater part 
 of the value of things we enjoy in this world. 
 — Locke. 
 
 LABOUR, Literary, Interruptions of. 
 
 When Montesquieu was deeply engaged in 
 his great work, he wrote to a friend : — ** The 
 favour which your friend Mr. Hein often does 
 to me to pass his mornings with me occasions 
 great damage to my work, as well by his 
 impure French as the length of his details. " 
 "We are afraid," said some of those visitors 
 to Baxter, "that we break in upon your 
 time." "To be sure you do," replied the 
 disturbed and blunt scholar. To hint as 
 gently as he could to his friends that he was 
 avaricious of time, one of the learned Italians 
 had a prominent inscription over the door of 
 his study, intimating that whoever remained 
 there must join in his labours. The amiable 
 Melancthon, incapable of a harsh expression, 
 when he received these idle visits, only noted 
 down the time he had expended, that he might 
 reanimate his industry, and not lose a day. 
 Evelyn, continually importuned by morning 
 visitors, or " taken up by other impertinences 
 of my life in the country," stole his hours from 
 his night-rest to " redeem his losses." 
 
 The literary character has been driven to 
 the most inventive shifts to escape the irruption 
 of a formidable party at a single rush, who 
 enter, without "besieging or beseeching," as 
 Milton has it. The late Mr. Ellis, a man of 
 elegant tastes and poetical temperament, on 
 one of these occasions, at his country-house, 
 assured a literary friend that, when driven to 
 the last, he usually made his escape by a leap 
 out of the window ; and Boileau has noticed 
 a similar dilemma when at the villa of the 
 President Lamoignon, while they were holding 
 their delightful conversation in his grounds. 
 Brand Hollis endeavoured to hold out "the 
 idea of singularity as a shield ; " and the great 
 Robert Boyle was compelled to advertise in a 
 newspaper that he must decline visits on 
 certain days, that he might have leisure to 
 finish some of his works. — D' Israeli. 
 
 LABOUR must be Joyous. 
 Sulky labour and the labour of sorrow are 
 little worth. Whatever a man does with a 
 guilty feeling he is apt to do wrong ; and 
 whatever he does with a melancholy feeling 
 he is likely to do by halves. If you could only 
 shed tranquillity over the conscience and infuse 
 joy into the soul, you would do more to make 
 the man a thorough worker than if you could 
 lend him the force of Hercules, or the hundred 
 arms of Briareus. Now, the Gospel freely ad- 
 mitted makes the man happy. It gives 
 him peace with God, and makes him happy 
 in God. It gives to industry a noble, con- 
 tented look which selfish drudgery never 
 wore ; and from the moment that a man 
 begins to do his work for his Saviour's sake, 
 he feels that the most ordinary employments 
 are full of sweetness and dignity, and that the 
 most difficult are not impossible. And if any 
 of you, my friends, is weary with his work, if 
 dissatisfaction with yourself or sorrow of any 
 kind disheartens you, if at any time you feel 
 the dull paralysis of conscious sin, or the 
 depressing influence of vexing thoughts, look 
 to Jesus and be happy. Be happy, and your 
 joyful work will prosper well. — Wilberforce. 
 
 LABOUR of Distinguished Men. 
 
 When we read the lives of distinguished men 
 in any department, we find them almost always 
 celebrated for the amount of labour they could 
 perform. Demosthenes, Julius Caesar, Henry 
 the Fourth of France, Lord Bacon, Sir Isaac 
 Newton, Franklin, Washington, Napoleon, — 
 different as they were in their intellectual and 
 moral qualities, — were all renowned as hard 
 workers. We read how many days they could 
 support the fatigues of a march ; how early they 
 rose ; how late they watched ; how many hours 
 they spent in the field, in the cabinet, in the 
 court ; how many secretaries they kept em- 
 ployed ; in short, how hard they worked. — 
 Everett. 
 
 LABOUR, Our Lot. 
 
 Nature expects mankind should share 
 The duties of the public care. 
 Who's bom for sloth ? To some we find 
 The ploughshare's annual toil assigned ; 
 Some at the sounding anvil glow ; 
 Some the swift-gliding shuttle throw ; 
 Some, studious of the wind and tide. 
 From pole to pole our commerce guide ; 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 307 
 
 Some, taught by industry, impart 
 With hands and feet the works of art 
 While some, of genius more refined, 
 W^ith head and tongue assist mankind ; 
 Each, aiming at one common end, 
 Proves to the whole a needful friend. 
 Thus, bom each other's useful aid, 
 By turns are obligations paid. — Gay. 
 
 LABOUR, Physical and Mental 
 
 Whilst we were in hand with these four parts 
 of the Institutes, we, often having occasion to 
 go into the country, did in some sort envy the 
 state of the honest ploughman and other me- 
 chanics. For one, when he was at his work, 
 would merrily sing, and the ploughman whistled 
 some self-pleasing tune, and yet their work both 
 proceeded and succeeded ; but he that takes 
 upon him to Avrite doth captivate all the facul- 
 ties and powers of his mind and body, and 
 must be only attentive to that which he col- 
 lecteth, without any expression of joy or cheer- 
 fulness while he is at his work. — Sir Edward 
 Cok€, 
 
 LABOUR, 
 Wages of, Regulated by Riches. 
 It is not the actual greatness of national wealth, 
 but its continual increase, which occasions a 
 rise in the wages of labour. It is not, accord- 
 ingly, in the richest countries, but in the most 
 thriving, or in those which are growing rich 
 the fastest, that the wages of labour are highest. 
 — Smith. 
 
 LADIES, Old and Young. 
 
 Of the two ladies, one was well advanced in 
 years; but the high-backed oaken chair in 
 which she sat was not more upright than she. 
 Dressed with the utmost nicety and precision, 
 in a quaint mixture of by-gone costume : with 
 some slight concessions to the prevailing taste, 
 which rather served to point the old style 
 pleasantly than to impair its effect : she sat in 
 a stately manner with her hands folded on the 
 table beside her. Her eyes (and age had 
 dimmed but little of their brightness) were 
 attentively fixed upon her young companion. 
 
 The young lady was in the lovely bloom and 
 spring-time of womanhood ; at that age, when, 
 if eyer angels be for God's good purposes en- 
 throned in mortal forms, they may be, without 
 
 impiety, supposed to abide in such as hers. 
 She was not past seventeen. Cast in so slight 
 and exquisite a mould ; so mild and gentle ; so 
 pure and beautiful, that earth seemed not her 
 element, nor its rough creatures her fit com- 
 panions. The very intelligence that shone in 
 her deep blue eye, and was stamped upon her 
 noble head, seemed scarcely of her age or of 
 the world ; and yet the changing expression of 
 sweetness and good -humour, the thousand 
 lights that fall about the face, and left no sha- 
 dow there ; above all, the smile, the cheerful, 
 happy smile, were made for home : for fireside 
 peace and happiness. She was busily engaged 
 in the little offices of the table. Chancing to 
 raise her eyes as the elder lady was regarding 
 her, she playfully put back her hair, which was 
 simply braided on her forehead, and threw into 
 one beaming look such a gush of affection and 
 artless loveliness that blessed spirits might 
 have smiled to look upon her. — Dickens. 
 
 LADY, a Fair. 
 Let me contemplate ; 
 With holy wonder season my access, 
 And by degrees approach the sanctuary 
 Of unmatch'd beauty, set in grace and good- 
 ness. 
 Amongst the daughters of men I have not 
 
 found 
 A more Catholical aspect That eye 
 Doth promise single life, and meek obedience ; 
 Upon those lips (the sweet fresh buds of youth) 
 The holy dew of prayer lies, like pearl 
 Dropt from the opening eyelids of the morn 
 Upon the bashful rose. Middldon. 
 
 LADY, a Wilful Little. 
 A ROSEBUD set with little wilful thorns. 
 And sweet as English air could make her. 
 Tennysoji. 
 
 LAND, Duties of the Proprietors o£ 
 
 If we survey the various classes and condi- 
 tions of society, we shall find few so honour- 
 able, so important, so fruitful in usefulness, as 
 that of the proprietor of land. Other men 
 must struggle with the world before they raise 
 themselves into distinction and influence ; he, 
 on the contrary, is born a ruler of the people ; 
 his opinions become in many ways the model 
 of theirs, and his power can make itself felt 
 within the walls of the poorest cottage, in 
 
3o8 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 diffusing sorrow or disseminating joy ; he, 
 indeed, has the power of realizing the beautiful 
 description of the patriarch of old, "I de- 
 livered the poor and the fatherless, and him 
 that had none to help him." 
 
 How many are the opportunities which such 
 a situation affords to a noble mind for the 
 exercise of active virtue ! How many are the 
 blessings which even common kindness may 
 diffuse ! How well, too, is this situation 
 suited to the exercise of female humanity, and, 
 in the scenes far from the turbulent pleasures 
 of fashionable life, how well may female virtue 
 exert its noblest powers. To be the patterns 
 and protectors of their sex, to cherish the 
 purity of domestic virtue, to guide the mother's 
 hand in the rearing of her children, and teach 
 them the important lessons of religious educa- 
 tion and domestic economy — to awaken by 
 kind praise the ambition of the young, and to 
 soothe with lenient hand the sorrows of the 
 old. These are the occupations which such 
 situations afford to female benevolence, the 
 means by which they may exalt the character 
 and extend the virtues of their sex, and shed 
 upon the lowly cottage of the peasant blessings 
 which may mitigate its wants and its poverty. 
 
 Life, with all its riches and all its power, 
 must soon have an end, and there is an hour 
 coming when all will be forgotten but the use 
 which has been made of them. It is a charac- 
 ter of our religion not less distinguished than 
 that of its being accompanied by miraculous 
 assistance, that the Gospel was "preached to 
 the poor." In this mighty design of Provi- 
 dence you are at present the agents ; I am 
 speaking to Christians, to those who know the 
 value of religion, and have felt how little 
 every other possession is able to give peace to 
 the heart of man. How necessary is it to the 
 humbler classes of society to be taught that in 
 religion alone can they truly find the compensa- 
 tion of all their difficulties ! On the use that 
 is made of this master-spring of human happi- 
 ness must depend whether we are to be an 
 abandoned or a pious people. Let all those, 
 then, who return from the fatigues of business 
 and the tumult of unreal pleasures to the calm 
 joys and dignified /occupations of rural life, 
 return, like the simmer sun when he goeth 
 forth in his might, to give beauty to the scenes 
 of nature, and happiness to the dwellings of 
 man. Let them be the fathers of the people, 
 exerting that exalted charity which is not 
 satisfied with relieving poverty, but prevents 
 it ; which imparts to the young the means of 
 
 instruction, and awakens in manhood the 
 spirit of industry. Let them be also the 
 leaders of the people in righteousness, and 
 while employing the benevolence of men in 
 guiding them in peace through things temporal, 
 employ the still higher benevolence of Chris- 
 tians in guiding them in hope to things 
 eternal. — Alison, 
 
 LAND, First Sight of, 
 Its Ecstasy. 
 
 Unto me next morn the grace was given 
 To see land first ; and when men certainly 
 That blessed sight of all sights could descry. 
 All hearts were melted, and with happy tears. 
 Born of the death of all our doubts and fears — 
 Yea, with loud weeping, each did each em- 
 brace. 
 For joy that we had gained the glorious place. 
 Then must the minstrels sing, then must they 
 
 play 
 Some joyous strain to welcome in the day. 
 But for hot tears could see nor bow nor string. 
 Nor for the rising sobs make shift to sing ; 
 Yea, some of us in that first ecstacy. 
 For joy of 'scaping death, went near to die. 
 W771. Morris. 
 
 LAND, Nearing. 
 The sun rose up in a cloudless sky, 
 And from the east the wind blew cheerily. 
 And south-west still we steered ; till on a day 
 As nigh the mast deep in dull thoughts I lay, 
 I heard a shout, and turning could I see 
 One of the shipmen hurrying fast to me 
 With something in his hand, who cast adown 
 Close to my hand a mass of sea-weed brown 
 Without more words, then knew I certainly 
 The wrack, that oft before I had seen lie 
 In sandy bights of Norway ; and that eve 
 Just as the sun the ridgy sea would leave, 
 Shore birds we saw, that flew so nigh, we 
 
 heard 
 Their hoarse loud voice, that seemed a heavenly 
 
 word. Wm, Morris. 
 
 LAND, Nearing of. 
 
 Next morn more wrack we saw, more birds j 
 
 but still 
 No land as yet either for good or ill. 
 But with the light increased the favouring 
 
 breeze. 
 And smoothly did we mount the ridgy seas. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 309 
 
 Then as a-nigh the good ship's stem I stood 
 Gazing adown, a piece of rough-hewn wood 
 On a wave's crest I saw, and loud I cried : 
 ** Drift-wood! drift-wood!" and one from by 
 
 my side, 
 Maddened with joy, made for the shrouds, and 
 
 clomb 
 Up to the top to look on his new home, 
 For sure he thought the green earth soon to see ; 
 But gazing thence about him, presently 
 He shouted out, *' A sail astern! a sail!" 
 Freshening the hope that now had 'gun to fail 
 Of seeing our fellows with the earth new found ; 
 Wherefore we shortened sail, and sweeping 
 
 round 
 The hazy edges of the sea and sky. 
 Soon from the deck could see that sail draw 
 
 nigh. 
 Half fearful lest she yet might chance to be 
 The floating house of some strange enemy, 
 Till on her sail we could at last behold 
 The ruddy lion with the axe of gold, 
 And Marcus Erling's sign set corner-wise, 
 The green, gold-fruited tree of Paradise. 
 
 Win. Moj-ris. 
 
 LANDSCAPE, A Spring. 
 
 The green trees whisper'd low and mild : 
 
 It was a sound of joy ; 
 They were my playmates when a child, 
 And rock'd me in their arms so wild, — 
 Still they looked at me and smiled 
 
 As if I were a boy : 
 
 And ever whisper'd mild and low, 
 
 *' Come, be a child once more ! " 
 And waved their long arms to and fro, 
 And beckon'd solemnly and slow : 
 Oh ! I could not choose but go 
 Into the woodlands hoar ; 
 
 Into the blithe and breathing air, 
 
 Into the solemn wood — 
 Solemn and silent everywhere — 
 Nature with folded hands seem'd there, 
 ICneeling at her evening prayer — 
 Like one in prayer I stood. 
 
 Before me rose an avenue 
 
 Of tall and sombrous pines ; 
 Abroad their fanlight branches grew, 
 And where the sunshine darted through, 
 Spread a vapour soft and blue. 
 In long and sloping lines. 
 
 And falling on my weary brain, 
 Like a fast-falling shower. 
 
 The dreams of youth came back again — 
 
 Low lispings of the summer rain, 
 
 Dropping on the ripen'd grain. 
 As once upon the flower. 
 
 H. W. Longfellow. 
 
 LARK, his Blithesome Freedom. 
 
 Bird of the wilderness. 
 
 Blithesome and cumberless, 
 Light be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! 
 
 Emblem of happiness, 
 
 Bless'd is thy dwelling-place ! 
 Oh, to abide in the desert with thee ! 
 
 Wild is thy lay, and loud. 
 
 Far in the downy cloud ; 
 Love gave it energy ; love gave it birth. 
 
 Where, on thy dewy wing. 
 
 Where art thou journeying? 
 Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. 
 
 O'er fell and fountain sheen, 
 
 O'er moor and mountain green. 
 O'er the red streamer that heralds the day ; 
 
 Over the cloudless dim. 
 
 Over the rainbow's rim. 
 Musical cherub, hie, hie thee away ! 
 
 Then, when the gloaming comes. 
 
 Low in the heather blooms. 
 Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be ! 
 
 Emblem of happiness, 
 
 Bless'd is thy dwelling-place ! 
 Oh, to abide in the desert with thee ! Hogg. 
 
 LAW, Her Seat the Bosom of God. 
 Of Law there can be no less acknowledged 
 than that her seat is the bosom of God, her 
 voice the harmony of the world. All things 
 in heaven and earth do her homage ; the very 
 least, as feeling her care, and the greatest, as 
 not exempt from her power : both angels and 
 men, and creatures of what condition soever, 
 though each in different sort and manner, yet 
 all with uniform consent admiring her as the 
 mother of peace and joy. — Hooker. 
 
 LAWS, Needful Bits to the Headstrong. 
 We have strict statutes and most biting laws 
 (The needful bits and curbs to headstrong 
 
 steeds). 
 Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep; 
 Even like an o'ergrown lion in his cave. 
 That goes not out to prey. Shakespeare. 
 
3IO 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 LAW, The General. 
 
 All things which live and are, love quiet hours. 
 Sometimes, indeed, the waves caught up by 
 
 storms, 
 Kiss heaven and murmur, but they straight 
 
 retire. 
 Sometimes the red and busy earthquake lifts 
 His head above the hills and looks on us. 
 Sometimes a star dops. Sometimes heaven 
 
 itself 
 Grows dark, and lo^es its celestial blue. 
 But calm returneth. Thus doth man (made fit 
 To league with Fortune in her varying moods) 
 Rise on the wings of fear, or grow love-mad, 
 Yet sinks at last to earth, and dreams in quiet. 
 Barry Cormvall. 
 
 LEADERS Instinctively Followed. 
 
 It is an instinct in our nature to follow the 
 track pointed out by a few leaders; we are 
 gregarious animals in a moral as well as a 
 physical sense, and we are addicted to routine, 
 because it is always easier to follow the opinions 
 of others than to reason and judge for our- 
 selves. — Dr. Paris. 
 
 LEARNING Engendereth Gentleness. 
 For that conceit, that learning should under- 
 mine the reverence for laws and government, 
 it is assuredly a mere depravation and calumny, 
 without any shadow of truth. For to say that 
 a blind custom of obedience should be a surer 
 obligation than duty taught and understood, is 
 to affirm that a blind man may tread surer by a 
 guide than a seeing man can by a light. And 
 it is without all controversy that learning doth 
 make the minds of men gentle, amiable, and 
 pliant to government ; whereas ignorance makes 
 them churlish, thwarting, and mutinous ; and 
 the evidence of time doth clear this assertion, 
 considering that the most barbarous, rude, and 
 unlearned times have been most subject to 
 tumults, seditions, and changes. — Lord Bacon. 
 
 culties and enforce the proofs of religion. And 
 the small advances that can be made in science 
 are of themselves some proof of a future state, 
 since they show that God, who can be sup- 
 posed to make nothing in vain, has given us 
 faculties evidently superior to the business of 
 this present world. And this is perhaps one 
 reason why our intellectual powers are in this 
 life of so great extent as they are. But how 
 little reason have we to boast of our know- 
 ledge, when we only gaze and wonder at the 
 surfaces of things ! when the most arrogant 
 philosopher knows not how a grain of corn is 
 generated, or why a stone falls to the ground ! 
 But were our knowledge far greater than it is, 
 let us yet remember that goodness, not know- 
 ledge, is the happiness of man ! The day will 
 come, it will come quickly, when it shall profit 
 us more to have subdued one proud thought 
 than to have numbered the host of heaven. — 
 Dr. Johnson, 
 
 LEARNING, its Beneficial Results. 
 
 Learning, impet-fect as it is, may contribute 
 to many great and noble ends, and may be 
 called in to the assistance of religion, as it is 
 often perversely employed against it ; it is of 
 use to display the greatness and vindicate the 
 justice of the Almighty ; to explain the diffi- 
 
 LEARNING, Power of. 
 
 As for fortune and advancement, the bene- 
 ficence of learning is not so confined to give 
 fortune only to states and commonwealths, as 
 it doth not likewise give fortune to particular 
 persons. For it was well noted long ago, that 
 Homer hath given more men their livings than 
 either Scylla, or Caesar, or Augustus ever did, 
 notwithstanding their great largesses and dona- 
 tives, and distributions of lands to so many 
 legions : and no doubt it is hard to say whether 
 arms or learning have advanced greater num- 
 bers. And in case of sovereignty we see that, 
 if arms or descent have carried away the king- 
 dom, yet learning hath carried the priesthood, 
 which ever hath been in some competition with 
 empire. — Lord Bacon. 
 
 LEARNING, Three Foundations of. 
 
 The three foundations of learning : Seeing 
 much, suffering much, and studying much. — 
 Catherall. 
 
 LETTERS, their Use. 
 
 Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's 
 
 aid. 
 Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid : 
 They live, they speak, they breathe what love 
 
 inspires 
 Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 311 
 
 The virgin's wish, without her fears, impart : 
 Excuse the blush and pour out all the heart : 
 Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, 
 And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 LIBERTY and Licentiousness. 
 
 There is a very peculiar contrariety between 
 those vices which consist in excess, and the 
 virtues of which they are said to be the excess 
 and resemblance, and whose names they affect 
 to bear j the excess of anything being always 
 to its hurt, and tending to its destruction. In 
 this manner, licentiousness is in its very nature 
 a present infringement upon liberty, and dan- 
 gerous to it for the future. A particular man 
 may be licentious without being less free ; but 
 a community cannot : since the licentiousness 
 of one will unavoidably break in upon the 
 liberty of another. Civil liberty, the liberty 
 of a community, is a severe and a restrained 
 thing ; implies, in the very notion of it, autho- 
 rity, settled subordinations, subjections, and 
 obedience ; and is altogether as much hurt by 
 too little of this kind as by too much. The 
 love of liberty that is not a real principle of 
 dutiful behaviour to authority is as hypocritical 
 as the religion that is not productive of a good 
 \\{t.—Bp. Butler. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 With such a destiny attached to it, how in- 
 estimable a prerogative is human life ! And 
 what ingratitude to misuse it. Life may be 
 misused without being abused. It is misused 
 if it be not so employed as to be enjoyed, i.e.^ 
 by making the most of its opportunities, in 
 other words, devoting it to honourable deeds, 
 affectional as well as intellectual. The more 
 strenuously we enact such deeds, the more 
 genuine, because practical, is our acknowledg- 
 ment of the divine goodness in bestowing life, 
 and the keener becomes our aptitude for suck- 
 ing the honey of existence. Work or activity, 
 of whatsoever kind it be, uprightly and ear- 
 nestly pursued, is a living hymn of praise. It 
 is finest obedience also, for it is God's great 
 law that whatever powers and aptitudes he 
 has given us shall be honestly and zealously 
 employed. The energy of life, when fairly 
 brought out, is immense — immense beyond 
 what anyone who has not tried it can imagine. 
 Too often neglected, and allowed to lapse 
 
 into weakness ; trained and exercised, it will 
 quicken into grandeur. *' It is better to wear 
 out than to rust out," says a homely proverb, 
 with more meaning than people commonly 
 suppose. Rust consumes faster than use. To 
 "wear out," implies life and its pleasures; 
 to ** rust," the stagnation of death. 
 
 Life, rightly realised, is embosomed in light 
 and beauty. The world is not necessarily a 
 ** vale of tears." God never intended it to be 
 so to anyone. All his arrangements are with 
 an opposite design, and, to be fulfilled, only 
 need man's response and co-operation. True, 
 in his all-wise providence, he sends troubles 
 upon men, and grievous ones ; but they are 
 never so great as those they bring upon them- 
 selves and willingly suffer. What shall be our 
 experience of life rests mainly with ourselves. 
 The world may render us unfortunate, but it 
 cannot make us miserable ; if we are so, the 
 fault lies in our own bosoms. It is not only 
 the great who order their own circumstances. 
 
 On the wide, wild sea of human life, as on 
 that where go the ships, the winds and the 
 waves are always on the side of the clever 
 sailor. Though one breast prove unfaithful, 
 there are plenty of others that do not. It is 
 still our own to rejoice in the belief of the good 
 and beautiful, and to weave out of this belief 
 a perennial happiness. If we take precautions 
 to form and preserve a sound estimate of what 
 is past, the joyful experience and the sorrowful 
 alike, we rarely have cause for regret, and 
 always abundance for hope and thankfulness ; 
 for that which spoils life is seldom so much the 
 occurrence of certain events as the perverted 
 recollection of them, and of this, happy events 
 no less than unhappy ones may be the subject. 
 
 Even if a man make no effort of himself, if 
 he be so neglectful as not to realise the brilliant 
 opportunities permitted to him so fully as he 
 may, still is life crowded with pleasures. When 
 there is shadow, it is because there is sunshine 
 not far off. Its weeds and thorns are known 
 by contrast with surrounding flowers, and 
 though upon many even of the latter there may 
 be raindrops, those that are without are yet 
 nioi"e abounding. There are more smiles in 
 the world than there are tears ; there is more 
 love than hate, more constancy than forsaking. 
 Those that murmur the contrary choose not for 
 thy companions. 
 
 When the mist rolls away from the moun- 
 tains and the landscape stands suddenly re- 
 vealed, we find that Nature always has beauty 
 for her end. 
 
3i: 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 However long and dreary may be the win- 
 ter, we are always indemnified by the spring ; 
 not merely by the enjoyment of it when it 
 comes, but by the anticipation. So with the 
 mists and wintry days of life ; while they last 
 they are painful, but their clearing away is 
 glorious, and we find that they are only veils 
 and forerunners of something bright. Nature 
 never forgets her destination, nor Divine love 
 its compensations. **The common course of 
 things," says Paley, **is uniformly in favour of 
 happiness. Happiness is the rule, misery the 
 exception ; else would our attention be called 
 to examples of wealth and comfort, instead of 
 disease and want. " — Leo H. Griiidon, 
 
 LIFE and Death. 
 
 That a man should lament at having to die, 
 be it soon or late, indicates neither philosophy 
 nor religion. No one who is in a right state 
 of mind ever even thinks about death. He 
 thinks only of his life, knowing that if this be 
 properly regulated and developed, death, come 
 when it may, will but invigorate and renew 
 him. It would be difficult to find a greater or 
 more pernicious error than that so often pro- 
 pounded as "religious," that men should be 
 always looking forward to their " end." They 
 should never be looking forward to their end ; 
 they should be too intent upon their present. 
 True religion does not concern itself as to how 
 and when men die, but as to the quality of 
 their current life. Men are not saved according 
 to how they die, but according to how they 
 live. Death takes no man unprepared, when- 
 ever it may come, wherever he may be, or 
 however employed. Neither could he die at a 
 better time, were he allowed even to choose 
 and arrange for himself; because God, who 
 fixes the time, is the only competent judge of 
 our spiritual condition, and causes us to die 
 at the precise moment when it will be best for 
 our eternal welfare, whether we may be tending 
 upwards or downwards. Even to the most 
 wicked, death is an operation of mercy, seeing 
 that it is of Him who maketh the sun of his 
 love, no less than that of nature, to rise both 
 on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain 
 both on the just and on the unjust ? If to one 
 man life be "providentially spared," the life 
 of another is providentially taken. The only 
 ground on which we can properly lament the 
 ending of our sojourn on earth is, that it prevents 
 our being any longer corporeally useful to others. 
 
 But in thinking only of life and never of death, 
 we are not to think only of our time-life. We 
 should think of our life as a stream, which, 
 commencing in a wilderness, presently leaps 
 from it as a waterfall, and thereafter pursues 
 an endless course through a country infinitely 
 rich and beautiful with nature, art, civilization, 
 and religion, reflecting in its serene and softly 
 gliding depths every heavenly scene it visits. 
 Darwin remarks that we are less dazzled by the 
 light on waking if we have been dreaming of 
 visible objects. Happy are they who in this 
 life dream of higher things than those of earth ! 
 They will the sooner be able to see the glo- 
 ries of the world to come. Living here the 
 true life of the soul, we shall start at once from 
 the slumber of temporal existence into shining 
 and intelligible morning. 
 
 To me the thought of death is terrible. 
 
 Having such hold on life. To thee it is not 
 
 So much even as the lifting of a latch ; 
 
 Only a step into the open air 
 
 Out of a tent already luminous 
 
 With light that shines thro' its transparent walls. 
 
 Wisdom, then, dictates that life should be 
 our great and only regard. For the first office 
 of wisdom is to give things their due valuation, 
 to estimate aright how much they are worth ; 
 and the second is to treat them according to 
 their worthiness. — Leo H. Grindon. 
 
 You in your fierce desire to vanquish me, 
 Forget this tmth : — the Gods who give us life 
 Give us death also ! . . . . 
 
 Both are good : — what better, 
 After tempestuous hours, than deep repose ! 
 Barry Cornwall. 
 
 LIFE, and its End. 
 
 Remember for what purpose you were born, 
 and through the whole of life look at its end ; 
 and consider when that comes, in what will you 
 put your trust ? Not in the bubble of worldly 
 vanity : it will be broken ; not in worldly plea- 
 sures : they will be gone j not in great con- 
 nections : they cannot serve you ; not in wealth : 
 you cannot carry it with you ; not in rank : in 
 the grave there is no distinction ; not in the 
 recollection of a life spent in a giddy conformity 
 to the silly fashions of a thoughtless and wicked 
 world ; but in that of a life spent soberly, 
 righteously, and godly, in this present world. — 
 Bishop Watson. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 313 
 
 LIFE, A Psalm of. 
 
 How much for thy hours of leisure, 
 
 Tell me not in mournful numbers, 
 
 For thy hurrying to and fro. 
 
 
 How much for each idle pleasure ; — 
 
 Life is but an empty dream! 
 For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
 
 If the list thy memory know, — 
 
 And things are not what they seem. 
 
 Every wasted, mis -spent day, 
 Wliich regret can ne'er recall : — 
 
 Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 
 
 If all these thou tak'st away, 
 
 And the grave is not its goal ; 
 
 Thou wilt find thy age but small : 
 
 Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 
 
 That thy years were falsely told, — 
 
 Was not spoken of the soul. 
 
 And, even now, thou art not old. 
 
 Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 
 
 Jean Antoine De B.rif. 
 
 Is our destined end or way ; 
 But to act, that each to-morrow 
 
 
 
 Finds us farther than to-day. 
 
 LIFE, Civilized and Savage. 
 
 Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 
 
 And our hearts, though stout and brave, 
 
 
 Blest he, though undistinguish'd from the 
 crowd 
 
 Still like muffled drums are beating 
 
 Funeral marches to the grave. 
 
 By wealth or dignity, who dwells secure, 
 
 
 Where man, by nature fierce, has laid aside 
 
 In the world's broad field of battle, 
 
 His fierceness, having learnt, though slow to 
 
 In the bivouac of Life, 
 
 learn. 
 
 Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 
 
 The manners and the arts of civil life. 
 
 Be a hero in the strife ! 
 
 His wants indeed are many ; but supply 
 
 Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! 
 
 Is obvious, plac'd within the easy reach 
 
 Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
 
 Of temp'rate wishes and industrious hands. 
 
 Act,— act in the living present ! 
 
 Here virtue thrives as in her proper soil : 
 
 Heart within, and God o'erhead ! 
 
 Not rude and surly, and beset with thorns, 
 
 Lives of great men all remind us 
 
 And terrible to sight, as when she springs 
 
 We can make our lives sublime ; 
 
 {[f e'er she springs spontaneous) in remote 
 
 And, departing, leave behind us 
 Footprints on the sands of time. 
 
 And barb'rous climes, where violence prevails. 
 
 And strength is lord of all ; but gentle, kind 
 
 By culture tam'd, by liberty refresh'd 
 
 Footprints, that perhaps another. 
 
 And all her fruits by radiant truth matur'd 
 
 Sailing o'er life's solemn main. 
 
 War and the chase engross the savage whole ; 
 
 A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother, 
 
 War follow'd for revenge, or to supplant 
 
 Seeing, shall take heart again. 
 
 The envied tenants of some happier spot ; 
 
 Let us, then, be up and doing, 
 
 The chase for sustenance, precarious trust ! 
 
 With a heart for any fate ; 
 
 His hard condition with severe constraint 
 
 Still achieving, still pursuing. 
 
 Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth 
 
 Learn to labour and to wait 
 
 Of wisdom, proves a school, in which he 
 
 Lon^ellow. 
 
 learns. 
 
 
 Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate. 
 
 
 
 Mean self-attachment, and scarce aught beside. 
 
 Liij'E, Calculation ot 
 
 Thus fare the shiv'ring natives of the North, 
 
 Thou art aged, but recount 
 
 And thus the rangers of the Western world. 
 
 Since thy early life began, 
 
 Where it advances far into the deep. 
 
 What may be the just amount 
 
 Tow'rds the Antartic. E'en the favour'd isles 
 
 Thou should'st number of thy span : 
 
 So lately found, although the constant sun 
 
 How much to thy debts belong. 
 
 Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile. 
 
 How much when vain fancy caught thee. 
 
 Can boast but little virtue ; and, inert 
 
 How much to the giddy throng. 
 
 Through plenty, lose in morals what they 
 
 How much to the poor who sought thee, 
 
 gain 
 
 How much to thy lawyer's wiles, 
 
 In manners — victims of luxurious ease, 
 
 How much to thy menial crew. 
 
 These therefore I can pity, plac'd remote 
 
 How much to thy lady's smiles, 
 
 From all that science traces, art invents, 
 
 How much to thy sick-bed due — 
 
 Or inspiration teaches ; and enclos'd 
 
314 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 In boundless oceans, never to be pass'd 
 
 By navigators uninform'd as they, 
 
 Or plough'd perhaps by British bark again : 
 
 But far beyond the rest, and with most cause, 
 
 Thee, gentle savage ! whom no love of thee 
 
 Or thine, but curiosity perhaps, 
 
 Or else vain glory, prompted us to draw 
 
 Forth from thy native bow'rs, to show thee here 
 
 With what superior skill we can abuse 
 
 The gifts of Providence, and squander life. 
 
 The dream is past ; and thou hast found again 
 
 Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams. 
 
 And homestall thatch'd with leaves. But hast 
 
 thou found 
 Their former charms ? And, having seen our 
 
 state. 
 Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp 
 Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports, 
 And heard our music ; are thy simple friends, 
 Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights. 
 As dear to thee as once? And have thy joys 
 Lost nothing by comparison with ours ? 
 Rude as thou art (for we returned thee rude 
 And ignorant, except of outward show) 
 I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart 
 And spiritless, as never to regret 
 Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known. 
 Methinks I see thee straying on the beach. 
 And asking of the surge, that bathes thy foot, 
 If ever it has wash'd our distant shore. 
 I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears, 
 A patriot's for his country : thou art sad 
 At thought of her forlorn and abject state. 
 From which no pow'r of thine can raise her up. 
 ^ Cow^per. 
 
 __ LIFE, liov>^ Transitory. 
 
 O LET the soul her slumbers break, 
 Let thought be quickened, and awake. 
 
 Awake to see 
 How soon this life is past and gone. 
 And death comes softly stealing on, 
 How silently ! 
 
 Swiftly our pleasures glide away, 
 Our hearts recall the distant day 
 
 With many sighs ; 
 The moments that are speeding fast 
 We heed not, but the past — the past — 
 
 More highly prize. 
 
 Onward its cour§^ the present keeps, 
 Onward the constant current sweeps 
 
 Till life is done ; 
 And, did we judge of time aright, 
 The past and future in their flight 
 
 Would be as one. 
 
 Let no one fondly dream again. 
 That Hope and all her shadowy train 
 
 Will not decay ; 
 Fleeting as were the dreams of old, 
 Remember'd like a tale that's told, 
 
 They pass away. 
 
 Our lives are rivers, gliding free 
 To that unfathomed, boundless sea, 
 
 The silent grave ; 
 Thither all earthly pomp and boast 
 Roll, to be swallowed up and lost 
 
 In one dark wave. 
 
 Thither the mighty torrents stray. 
 Thither the brook pursues its way. 
 
 And tinkling rill. 
 There all are equal. Side by side 
 The poor man and the son of pride 
 
 Lie calm and still. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 LIFE, Human. 
 
 Pliny has compared a river to human life. I 
 have never read the passage in his works, but 
 I have been a hundred times struck with the 
 analogy, particularly amidst mountain scenery. 
 The river, small and clear in its origin, gushes 
 forth from rocks, falls into deep glens, and 
 wantons and meanders through a wild and 
 picturesque country, nourishing only the un- 
 cultivated tree or flower by its dew or spray. 
 In this its state of infancy and youth, it maybe 
 compared to the human mind, in which fancy 
 and strength of imagination are predominant — 
 it is more beautiful than useful. When the 
 diff"erent rills or torrents join, and descend into 
 the plain, it becomes slow and stately in its 
 movements ; it is applied to move machineiy, 
 to irrigate meadows, and to bear upon its 
 bosom the stately barge ; in this mature state 
 it is deep, strong, and useful. As it flows on 
 towards the sea, it loses its force and its mo- 
 tion, and at last, as it were, becomes lost and 
 mingled with the mighty abyss of waters. 
 
 One might pursue the metaphor still further, 
 and say that in its origin, its thundering and 
 foam, when it carries down clay from the bank 
 and becomes impure, it resembles the youthful 
 mind, affected by dangerous passions. And 
 the influence of a lake in calming and clearing 
 the turbid water may be compared to the effect 
 of reason in more mature life, when the tran- 
 quil, deep, cool, and unimpassioned mind is freed 
 from all its fever, its troubles, bubbles, noise, 
 and foam. And, above all, the sources of a 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 315 
 
 river, which may be considered as belonging 
 to the atmosphere, and its termination in the 
 ocean, may be regarded as imaging the divine 
 origin of the human mind, and its being ulti- 
 mately returned to and lost in the infinite and 
 eternal intelligence from which it originally 
 sprung. — Davy. 
 
 LIFE, Human, the Journey of a Day. 
 Human Life is as the journey of a day : we rise 
 in the morning of youth, full of vigour and full 
 of expectation : we set forward with spirit and 
 hope, with gaiety, and with diligence, and travel 
 on awhile in the direct road, piety, towards the 
 mansions of rest. In a short time, we remit 
 our fervour, and endeavour to find some mitiga- 
 tion of our duty, and some more easy means of 
 obtaining the same end. We then relax our 
 vigour, and resolve no longer to be terrified 
 with crimes at a distance ; but rely upon our 
 own constancy, and venture to approach what 
 we resolve never to touch : we thus enter the 
 bowers of ease, and repose in the shades of se- 
 curity. Here the heart softens, and vigilance 
 subsides ; we are then willing to inquire 
 whether another advance cannot be made, and 
 whether we may not at least turn our eyes upon 
 the gardens of pleasure. We approach them 
 with scruple and hesitation ; we enter them, 
 but enter timorous and trembling ; and always 
 hope to pass through them without losing the 
 road of virtue, which for a while we keep in 
 our sight, and to which we purpose to return. 
 But temptation succeeds temptation, and one 
 compliance prepares us for another : we in time 
 lose the happiness of innocence, and solace our 
 disquiet with sensual gratification. By degrees, 
 we let fall the remembrance of our original in- 
 tention, and quit the only adequate object of 
 rational desire. We entangle ourselves in 
 business, immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove 
 through labyrinths of inconstancy ; till the 
 darkness of old age begins to invade us, and 
 disease and anxiety obstruct our way : we then 
 look back upon our lives wth horror, with 
 sorrow, with repentance, and wish, but too 
 often vainly wish, that we had not forsaken the 
 ways of virtue. Happy are they who shall 
 learn from thy example not to despair, that 
 reformation is never hopeless, nor sincere en- 
 deavours ever unassisted ; that the wanderer 
 may at length return, after all his errors, and 
 that he who implores strength and courage 
 from above shall find danger and difficulty 
 give way before him. — Dr. Johnson. 
 
 LIFE, its True Duration, or True 
 Measurement of. 
 
 Giving full, fair play to the intellect and affec- 
 tions, we not only discover what it is to live, 
 and how easy to live happily, but the period 
 of our existence upon earth ceases to be short, 
 and becomes immensely long. It is only the 
 life of the body which is short, or need be so. 
 Real human life is immeasurable, if we will 
 have it so. "Every day," remarks Goethe in 
 his autobiography, "is a vessel, into which a 
 great deal may be poured if we will actually 
 fill it up ; that is, with thoughts and feelings, 
 and their expression into deeds, as elevated 
 and amiable as we can reach to." It needs 
 little reflection to perceive that life truly con- 
 sists only in such exercises. " The mere lapse 
 of years," remarks Miss Martineau, "is not 
 life. To eat, and drink, and sleep ; to be ex- 
 posed to the darkness and the light ; to pace 
 round the mill of habit and turn the wheel of 
 wealth ; to make reason our book-keeper, and 
 convert thought into an implement of trade ; 
 this is not life. In all this but a poor fraction 
 of the consciousness of humanity is awakened, 
 and the sanctities still slumber which make it 
 most worth while to be. Knowledge, truth, 
 love, beauty, goodness, faith, alone give vitality 
 to the mechanism of existence."' The idea is 
 grandly expressed in " Festus : " — 
 
 Life's more than breath and the quick round of blood , 
 
 'Tis a g^eat spirit and a busy heart. 
 
 We live in deeds, not years ; in thought, not breaths ; 
 
 In feelings, not in figures on a cfial. 
 
 We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives 
 
 Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best. 
 
 To measure life by yeafs is, to the true liver, 
 to measure it rather by ages. If we do not 
 feel its immensity, it is to confess to inactivity 
 and slumber. To form a genuine idea of what 
 age we have attained, we should cast up, not 
 anniversaries, but days and hours ; and to 
 satisfy ourselves how long our life has already 
 been, should reflect, not on the mere animal 
 adjuncts of life, but on the books we have 
 read, the agreeable objects we have had before 
 our eyes, the pleasant places we have visited, 
 the intercourses of friendship by which our 
 hearts have been made glad, together with the 
 aspirations which have ennobled and the hopes 
 which have cheered us. We should " taste in 
 thought again " the sweet hours spent by the 
 sea, in the green fields, and in the woods, and 
 the shining, balmy, fragrant moments, each in 
 itself a little summer, brought by the tones, 
 
3i6 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 the smile, the touch of our beloved. These 
 are the things that make life. The study even 
 of a single science adds many years to one's 
 biography. For he who busies himself with 
 chemistry, or botany, or geology, enjoys a 
 thousand pleasant thoughts in the same space 
 of clock-time wherein the indolent and in- 
 curious know but one ; and every onward step 
 in discovery becomes a new elixir vita. ' * The 
 invention of logarithms," says Laplace, "has 
 lengthened the life of the physiologist." Age, 
 accordingly, or, as it would be better to call it, 
 oldness, in its highest idea, is no mere matter 
 of birthdays. The oldest man, truly so called, 
 is he who, giving a free and cheerful recogni- 
 tion to life in its depth, variety, and majesty, 
 has employed the largest number of agreeable 
 spiritual experiences, and retains them vividly 
 before his mind. — Zco W. Grindon. 
 
 LIFE, its Wild Dimness. 
 
 How wild and dim this life appears ! 
 
 One long, deep, heavy sigh. 
 When before eyes half closed in tears, 
 The images of former years 
 Are faintly gliding by ! 
 And still forgotten while they go ! 
 As on the sea beach, wave on wave 
 Dissolves at once in snow, 
 The amber clouds one moment lie. 
 Then, like a dream, are gone ! 
 Though beautiful the moonbeams play 
 On the lake's bosom, bright as they, 
 ^Tid the soul intensely loves their stay, 
 Soon as the radiance melts away, 
 We scarce believe it shone ! 
 Heaven-airs amid the harp-strings dwell ; 
 
 And we wish they ne'er may fade : 
 Ihey cease — and the soul is a silent cell, 
 
 Where music never play'd. 
 Dreams follow dreams through the long night 
 hours. 
 Each lovelier than the last ; 
 But, ere the breath of morning flowers, 
 
 That gorgeous world flies past ; 
 And many a sweet angelic cheek, 
 Whose smiles of love and fondness speak, 
 
 Glides by us on the earth ; 
 While in a day we cannot tell. 
 Where shone the face we loved so well, 
 In sadness or in mirth. 
 
 Professor Wilson. 
 
 LIFE, Phases of. 
 Our pleasures travel by express ; our pains by 
 parliamentary. Through the loveliest scenes 
 the joy-train of our lives rushes swiftly. At 
 the pretty way-side stations, we are able but 
 to touch hands with cherished friends, and be- 
 hold ! we are off" again ; but if we have Grief 
 for our engine-driver, Care for the stoker, how 
 we creep along the lines — how we tarry in the 
 rain ; what leisure we have for surveying 
 swampy ground, turnip- fields soaking with 
 wet ; stations filled with steam and smoke, and 
 snorting, puffing engines ; what a length the 
 weary journey seems ; what an unendurable 
 companion the trouble we are compelled to 
 travel with proves. Was there ever a long, 
 happy day, I wonder, even though it fell at 
 midsummer? Did not the sun hurry on his 
 way, and set at noon, just as the tide of our 
 happiness was rising highest ? Are not twelve 
 hours of bliss distilled into minutes ? and when 
 the moment of parting comes, does it not seem 
 as if we had but that instant clasped hands in 
 joyous greeting? — F. G. Trcfford. 
 
 LIFE, Prized Above all Things. 
 
 We are naturally desirous to live ; and though 
 we prize life above all earthly things, yet we 
 are ashamed to profess that we desire it for its 
 own sake, but pretend some other subordinate 
 reason to affect it. One would live to finish 
 his building, or to clear his purchase ; another 
 to breed his children, and to see them well 
 matched : one would fain outlive his trial at 
 law, another wishes to outwear an emulous co- 
 rival : one would fain outlast a lease that holds 
 him off from his long-expected possessions ; 
 another would live to see the times amend, and 
 a re-establishment of a public peace. Thus 
 we would seem to wish life for anything but 
 itself.—^/. Hall. 
 
 LIFE, Prodigality in. 
 
 The proverbial oracles of our parsimonious 
 ancestors have informed us that the fatal waste 
 of fortune is by small expenses, by the pro- 
 fusion of sums too little singly to alarm our 
 caution, and which we never suffer ourselves 
 to consider together. Of the same kind is pro- 
 digality of life ; he that hopes to look back 
 hereafter with satisfaction upon past years 
 must learn to know the present value of single 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 minutes, and endeavour to let no particle of 
 time fall useless to the ground. An Italian 
 philosopher expressed in his motto that time 
 was his estate ; an estate, indeed, that willt 
 produce nothing without cultivation, but will 
 always abundantly repay the labours of in- 
 dustry, and satisfy the most extensive desires, 
 if no part of it be suffered to He waste by neg- 
 ligence, to be overrun by noxious plants, or 
 laid out for show rather than for use. — Johnson. 
 
 LIFE, Successive States of Human. 
 
 In our seasons we have the grateful succession 
 of the spring, the summer, and the autumn : 
 in our vegetation, the new leaf, the beauteous 
 flower, and the nutritious fruit. These corres- 
 pond with contemporaneous atmospherical- 
 changes of our system, and are followed by 
 that seeming death of nature which frosty and 
 chilling winter brings on. 
 
 The insect and reptile world exhibit similar 
 changes. The spring recalls or hatches their 
 tribes into life and feeling, in a creeping state. 
 They have their summer day of playful gaiety, 
 varying in its duration, and enjoy existence in a 
 winged form : their autumn is their time of 
 depositing their eggs : and from that they 
 depart into death or torpor. These four states 
 of all that have vital being, growth, maturity, 
 decline, and death ; and these annual succes- 
 sions of the seasons, which are so much asso- 
 ciated with the life, produce, and suspension of 
 vegetative nature, have been made the cha- 
 racteristics of our terrestrial system. 
 
 In the human race, an analogous series of 
 changes and states takes place, with such 
 striking moral and intellectual results as to 
 excite our admiration at the kindness of our 
 Creator, for having formed His human nature 
 on a plan of such wise benevolence. By this 
 He has appointed that every human being 
 should have a season of childhood ; another 
 of youth ; a third of full maturity, with its 
 parental produce ; and a following period of 
 decline and death, to pass into another state 
 of existence elsewhere. 
 
 These laws are attached to all who are per- 
 mitted to pass through the regular course of 
 human life ; though its Giver has reserved to 
 himself the resistless right of calling each of us 
 away at whatever part of it He shall think 
 proper, without completing the full progress of 
 these successive states. — Sharon Turner. 
 
 LIFE, the First Twenty Years of. 
 
 It is a saying of Dr. Southey's, ** that live as 
 long as you may, the first twenty years are 
 the longest half of your life." They appear so 
 while they are passing, — they seem to have 
 been so when we look back to them, and they 
 take up more room in our memory than all the 
 years that succeed them. 
 
 But in how strong a light has this been 
 placed by the American teacher, Jacob Abbott, 
 whose writings have obtained so wide a circu- 
 lation in England. *' Life," he says, " if you 
 understand by it the season of preparation for 
 eternity, is more than half gone ; life, so far as 
 it presents opportunities and facilities for peni- 
 tence and pardon, — so far as it bears on the 
 formation of character, and is to be considered 
 as a period of probation, — is unquestionably 
 more than half gone, to those who are between 
 fifteen and twenty. In a vast number of cases 
 it is more than half gone, even in duration; 
 and if we consider the thousand influences 
 which crowd around the years of childhood and 
 youth, winning us to religion, and making a 
 surrender of ourselves to Jehovah easy and 
 pleasant: — and, on the other hand, look for- 
 ward beyond the years of maturity, and see 
 these influences losing all their power, and the 
 heart becoming harder and harder under the 
 deadening effects of continuance in sin, we shall 
 not doubt a moment that the years of imma- 
 turity make a far more important part of our 
 time of probation than all those that follow." 
 
 That pious man, who, while he lived, was 
 the Honourable Charles How, and might pro- 
 perly now be called the honoured, says that 
 " twenty years might be deducted for educa- 
 tion from the threescore and ten which are 
 the allotted sum of human life ; this portion," 
 he observes, " is a time of discipline and re- 
 straint, and young people are never easy till 
 they are got over it." 
 
 There is, indeed, during those years much of 
 restraint, of wearisomeness, of hope, and of 
 impatience, all which feelings lengthen the 
 apparent duration of time. Suffering I have 
 not included here, but with a large portion of 
 the human race, in all Christian countries (to 
 our shame be it spoken) it makes a large item 
 in the account ; there is no other stage of life 
 in which so much gratuitous suffering is en- 
 dured, — so much that might have been spared, 
 — so much that is a mere wanton, wicked 
 addition to the sum of human misery, arising 
 solely and directly from want of feeling in 
 
3i8 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 others, their obduracy, their caprice, their stu- 
 pidity, their malignity, their cupidity, and their 
 cruelty. — Soiithey, 
 
 LIFE, TMs is. 
 
 Like to the falling of a star. 
 Or as the flights of eagles are, 
 Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, 
 Or silver drops of morning dew ; 
 Or like a wind that chafes the flood, 
 Or bubbles which on water stood : 
 Even such is man, whose borrowed light 
 Is straight called in, and paid to-night. 
 The wind blows out, the bubble dies. 
 The spring entomb'd in autumn lies, 
 The dew dries up, the star is shot, 
 The flight is past, — and man forgot. 
 
 Henry Kivg. 
 
 LIGHT, Heflections en. 
 
 Light, from whose rays all beauty springs ; 
 Darkness, whose wide expanded wings, 
 
 Involves the dusky globe : 
 Praise Him who, when the heavens He spread, 
 Darkness His thick pavilion made, 
 
 And light His regal robe. Merrick. 
 
 Let there be light ! said God, and forthwith hght 
 Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure. 
 Sprung from the deep ; and from her native east. 
 To journey the airy gloom began, 
 Sphered in a radiant cloud. Milton. 
 
 Nothing in this great creation, impressed as 
 it everywhere is with miracles of wisdom and 
 excellence, is more beautiful and marvellous 
 than light, the elder work of the Deity — the 
 master-piece of His material phenomena, and 
 the original communication of Himself when 
 He opened the treasures of His bounty. Light 
 was the commencement of our world, and it 
 continues to be the soul of every beauty which 
 it contains. 
 
 From this inexhaustible source Nature de- 
 rives all her colouring and lustre, the rainbow 
 its tints, the landscape its beauties, and every 
 leature in that glorious picture of divinity so 
 legibly impressed on the whole creation, its 
 brilliancy and sweetness. All creatures, ani- 
 mate and inanimate, seem to vie with each 
 other by heightening, as l)y common consent, 
 the blessings of light. The birds warble their 
 salutations on its dally appearance, and greet 
 its faintest rays by their liveliest strains. The 
 flowers and vegetable tribes revive at its 
 approach, and at the opening of the day they 
 
 expand their leaves to welcome with silent but 
 grateful sensations its auspicious return. 
 
 We perceive no beauty or excellence in the 
 most elegant objects, even by the help of the 
 clearest optics, and through the purest medium, 
 without light. In its absence all nature looks 
 black and cheerless. By means of this glorious 
 and celestial phenomenon, which spreads like 
 a luminous mantle through the universe, and 
 makes all things assume an aspect of come- 
 liness and gaiety, organization and vitality are 
 everywhere diffused over the surface of the 
 globe : hereby we contemplate the majesty of 
 the heavens, and are charmed with the beauties 
 of the earth. Independently of the magnifi- 
 cent objects and captivating scenes which it 
 thus presents in so much lustre, we find our 
 whole frame instinctively affected, our spirits 
 enlivened, our hearts gladdened, and our 
 minds sensibly raised and gratified in its pre- 
 sence. 
 
 No wonder that light is so frequently used 
 by the sacred oracles as the symbol of our 
 best blessings. Of the Gospel-revelation one 
 apostle says, *' The night is far spent, and the 
 day is at hand." Another, under the impres- 
 sion of the same auspicious event, thus applied 
 the language of ancient prophecy: "The 
 people who sat in darkness have seen a great 
 light ; and to them which sat in the region and 
 shadow of death light is sprung up." 
 
 We are all naturally ambitious to shine in 
 the world. It is the foible of our race ; but 
 the fault lies, not in the passion itself, but in 
 mistaking the sphere, and choosing improper 
 objects. Many are proud to shine in the lustre 
 of pomp, the elegance of dress, or the splen- 
 dour of equipage ; others, again, are ambitious 
 of the voice of fame, or the acquisition of 
 power. To such as act by the opinion of the 
 world alone, fashion is above all other laws. 
 They study nothing but appearance. This 
 object absorbs other appetites, passions, 
 principles, and duties. But religion alone will 
 teach from what principle, in what manner, 
 and by what means to shine in the world. 
 
 The subtilty and activity of light far exceed 
 all human comprehension. Its, effects upon 
 animal bodies are seen in the various tinges 
 they assume, according to the nature of the 
 light to which they are exposed. Thus, in 
 high northern latitudes, animals, during the 
 absence of the solar light, become white, and 
 in proportion to the action of light upon them 
 they are a darker colour. 
 
 Nor is the influence of light less powerful 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 319 
 
 upon the vegetable tribes. Every plant, in 
 fact, may be denominated a heliotrope, though 
 the term is confined only to such flowers as 
 exhibit a striking direction towards the sun. 
 But in the privation of light it is well known 
 that the leaves of vegetables lose their colour ; 
 and that they acquire again their verdure 
 according to the degree of light to which they 
 are exposed. 
 
 Light is diffused throughout the whole 
 universe, and is in continual exercise for the 
 preservation of all bodies, yet never actually 
 confined to any ; so that the questions in Job 
 are as philosophical as they are elegantly 
 poetical : * ' Where is the place where light 
 dwelleth? and as for darkness, where is the 
 place thereof, that thou shouldest take it to 
 the bound thereof, and that thou shouldest 
 know paths to the house thereof?" (Job 
 xxxviii. 19, 20.) 
 
 The inspired writers seem to have been par- 
 ticularly fond of this image, it representing, as 
 far as anything in the creation can possibly 
 represent, the purity of the Divine Essence : 
 God is Light ; "and in Him is no darkness at 
 all." (I John i. 5.) 
 
 The salutary and enlivening effects of light 
 upon the heavens and the earth, upon all 
 substances in nature, and upon every order of 
 beings throughout the visible creation, do cer- 
 tainly afford a lively illustration of the infinite 
 knowledge, power, and goodness of God. All 
 things are open to Him, and not a single move- 
 ment of the mind can escape His observation ; 
 His eye penetrates through all recesses of 
 nature, and examines the motive of every' 
 action of man.' What a tremendous considera- 
 tion is this ; and how should it continually 
 operate upon us, in making us watchful over 
 the thoughts of our hearts ! 
 
 Now, if material light be so glorious and so 
 extensively beneficial, how much greater must 
 be the glory and value of a communion with 
 the ineffable Fountain of all truth ; and if 
 light be essential to our present convenience, 
 and indeed to our very being in this world, 
 how much more essential is divine light to our 
 mental comfort and to our spiritual existence ? 
 May this marvellous and majestic Light, in 
 whose splendour all created luminaries are 
 lost and extinguished, shine into our hearts, 
 and give us the knowledge of God in the face 
 of His Son, Jesus Christ ! Happy they on 
 whom it dawns immortal day: who anticipate 
 by faith the fruition it imparts : who are even 
 now admitted to a participation of its pleasures ; 
 
 pleasures which neither cloy nor diminish, and 
 will never have an end, but which shall survive 
 not only our frail bodies, but sun, moon, and 
 stars, and the glories of the universe ; which 
 the shadows of death cannot cloud, which 
 the gloom of the grave cannot darken ; but 
 which are substantial as the throne of God, 
 and bright as the visions of eternity. — Baseley. 
 
 LISTLESSNESS from Suffering. 
 
 He was the listless, passionless creature that 
 suffering of body and mind had left him. We 
 call this a state of childlishness, but it is the 
 same poor hollow mockery of it that death 
 is of sleep. Where, in the dull eyes of 
 doting men, are the laughing light and life of 
 childhood, the gaiety that has known no 
 check, the frankness that has felt no chill, the 
 hope that has never withered, the joys that 
 fade in blossoming ? Where, in the sharp linea- 
 ments of rigid and unsightly death, is the 
 calm beauty of slumber ; telling of rest for the 
 waking hours that are past, and gentle hopes 
 and loves for those which are to come ? Lay 
 death and sleep down, side by side, and say 
 who shall find the two akin. Send forth the 
 child and childish man together, and blush for 
 the pride that libels our own old happy state, 
 and gives its title to an ugly and distorted 
 image. — Dickens. 
 
 LITERATURE, Changes in. 
 
 At the renewal of letters in Europe, the taste 
 was not to compose new books, but to com- 
 ment on the old ones. It was not to be ex- 
 pected that new books should be written when 
 there were so many of the ancients either not 
 known or not understood. It was not reason- 
 able to attempt any new conquests, while they 
 had such an extensive region lying v/aste for 
 want of cultivation. At that period, criticism 
 and erudition were the reigning studies of the 
 times ; and he who had only an inventive 
 genius might have languished in hopeless 
 obscurity. When the writers of antiquity were 
 sufficiently explained and known, the learned 
 set about imitating them : hence proceeded the 
 number of Latin orators, poets, and historians 
 in the reigns of Clement VII. and Alexander 
 VL This passion for antiquity lasted for 
 many years, to the utter exclusion of every 
 other pursuit, till some began to find that those 
 works which were imitated from nature were 
 
320 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 more like the writings of antiquity than even 
 those written in express imitation. It was 
 then modern language began to be cultivated 
 with assiduity, and our poets and orators 
 poured forth their wonders upon the world. — 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 LITTLE Things, their Greatness. 
 
 Farewell, it yet may hap that I, a king. 
 Shall be remembered but by this one thing. 
 That on the morn before ye crossed the sea 
 Ye gave and took in common talk with me ; 
 But with this ring keep memory of the morn, 
 O Breton, and thou Northman, by this horn 
 Remember me, who am of Odin's blood. 
 As heralds say ; moreover, it were good 
 Ye had some lines of writing 'neath my seal. 
 Or ye might find it somewhat hard to deal 
 With some of mine, who pass not for a word, 
 Whate'er they deem may hold a hostile sword. 
 Win. Morris. 
 
 LITTLE, Value of a. 
 
 Do th^ little. Never fear 
 While thy Saviour standeth near ; 
 Let the world its javelins throw, 
 On thy way undaunted go. 
 
 Do thy little : God hath made 
 Million leaves for sweetest shade j 
 Smallest stars their glory bring, 
 God employeth every thing. 
 
 Do thy little ; and when thou 
 Feelest on thy pallid brow, 
 Ere has fled the vital breath, 
 Cold and damp, the sweat of death, 
 
 God shall bless thy pillowed head. 
 Holy light upon thee shed ; 
 Boundless mercies, that shall rise 
 Far beyond the smiling skies. 
 
 LIVES, Wicked, Love not Law. 
 Men of wicked lives would be very glad there 
 were no truth in Christianity at all ; and if they 
 can pick out any one single article in the Chris- 
 tian religion which appears not agreeable to 
 their own corrupted Reason, or to the argu- 
 ments of those bad people who follow the 
 trade of seducing others, they presently con- 
 elude that the truth of the whole Gospel must 
 sink alone with that one article. This is just as 
 wise as if a man should say, because he dislikes 
 
 one law of his country, he will therefore observe 
 no law at all ; and yet that one law may be 
 very reasonable in itself, although he does not 
 allow it, or does not know the reason of the 
 lawgivers. — Swift. 
 
 LOGIC, Concentrated Thought. 
 
 Logic is the art of thinking well. The mind, 
 like the body, requires to be trained before it 
 can use its powers in the most advantageous 
 way. A man may be strong and brave without 
 having learnt the military exercise ; but he will 
 be able to exert his natural strength and cou- 
 rage to much more advantage after he has been 
 trained as a soldier ; and so a man whose 
 understanding has been regularly taught and 
 exercised in the art of thinking will be able to 
 employ his natural powers more quickly, easily, 
 and certainly, than he could otherwise have 
 done. A multiplicity of unmeaning or unim- 
 portant distinctions were formerly made, and 
 much idle labour was spent in logical studies. 
 The good sense of modern times has brought 
 these useless pursuits into disesteem ; but the 
 artificial training and exercise of the intellectual 
 powers is at present too little regarded. A 
 modern education stores the memory with a 
 great and various mass of well-ascertained and 
 important facts, but it leaves the powers of 
 abstraction and reasoning uncultivated, and 
 only accidentally exercised. In consequence of 
 this system, while extensive information on 
 all those branches of knowledge which con- 
 sist in mere collections of facts is widely dif- 
 fused, very few individuals are found who are 
 competent to a continued effort of thought ; 
 and very few books are published which re- 
 quire in the reader more than the liglitest ex- 
 ercise of the intellectual faculties. — Elements 
 of Thought. 
 
 LONDON, Description of. 
 
 Earth has not anything to show more fair : 
 Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 
 A sight so touching in its majesty : 
 This city now doth like a garment wear 
 The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare, 
 Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples 
 
 lie 
 Open unto the fields and to the sky, 
 All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 
 Never did sun more beautifully steep 
 In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill, 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 321 
 
 Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! 
 The river glideth at its own sweet will : 
 [In truth] the very houses seem asleep, 
 And all that mighty heart is lying still ! 
 
 Wordsworth, 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
 Admit impediments. Love is not love 
 Which alters when it alteration finds. 
 Or bends with the remover to remove, 
 
 no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, 
 
 That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; 
 It is the star of every wandering bark, 
 Whose worth's unknown, although his height 
 
 be taken. 
 Love's not Time's fool ; though rosy lips and 
 
 cheeks 
 Within his bending sickle's compass come, 
 Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
 Eut bears it out e'en to the edge of doom. 
 If this be error and upon me proved, 
 
 1 never writ, nor no man ever loved. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 What is love, and why is it the chief good, 
 but because it is an overpowering enthusiasm ? 
 Never self-possessed or prudent, it is all 
 abandonment. Is it not a certain admirable 
 wisdom, preferable to all other advantages, and 
 whereof all others are only secondaries and 
 indemnities, because this is that in which the 
 individual is no longer his own foolish master, 
 but inhales an odorous and celestial air, is 
 wrapt round with awe of the object, blending 
 for the time that object with the real and only 
 good, and consults every omen in Nature with 
 tremulous interest ? When we speak truly, is 
 not he only unhappy who is not in love? — his 
 fancied freedom of self-rule, is it not so much 
 death? He who is in love is wise, and is 
 becoming wiser ; seeth nearly every time he 
 looks at the object beloved, drawing from it 
 with his eyes and his mind those virtues which 
 it possesses. Therefore, if the object be not 
 itself a living and expanding soul, he presently 
 exhausts it. But the love remains in his mind, 
 and the wisdom it brought him, and it craves 
 a new and higher object. And the reason 
 why all men honour love is because it looks 
 up, and not down ; aspires and not despairs. — 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
 
 LOVE, Earnest. 
 
 He says he loves my daughter ; 
 I think so too, for never gazed the moon 
 Upon the water, as he'll stand and read 
 As 'twere my daughter's eyes. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 LOVE, First. 
 
 Why do people take to loving one another? 
 or liking, the customary and safe preliminary 
 to loving ? And how does the first love come ? 
 Through what mysterious process do young 
 folks pass — by steps rapid or slow, according 
 to their circumstances, and their own idiosyn- 
 crasy, out of the common world — the quiet, 
 colourless, every-day world, into that strange 
 new paradise from which there is no returning? 
 No, none ! We may be driven out of it by an 
 angel with a flaming sword, out into the wil- 
 derness which we have to till and keep, chang- 
 ing its thorns and thistles into a respectable, 
 ordinary garden. We may pass out of it, 
 calmly and happily, into a new earth, safe and 
 sweet and home-like, but this particular para- 
 dise is never found again, never re-entered 
 more. Why should it be ? All life is a mere 
 progression, a pressing on and on, and death 
 itself (we Christians believe) but a higher de- 
 velopment into a more perfect life. Yet as 
 nothing good is ever lost, or wholly forgotten, 
 one can imagine even a disembodied spirit 
 sitting glorious before the great white throne, 
 recalling with a tender sweetness the old 
 earthly heaven which was first created by that 
 strange state of mind, that intoxicating idealisa- 
 tion of all things within and without, as if 
 everything were beheld with new eyes, the eyes 
 of a creature new-born, the condition which silly 
 folk call "being in love." It has its silliness 
 — no one will deny its weaknesses and mad- 
 nesses — but it has its divine side too ; chiefly, 
 then, and not till then, comes the complete 
 absorption of self into some other being, dearer 
 and better, higher and nobler than one's self — 
 or imagined so — which is the foundation of 
 everything divine in human nature. If men or 
 women are ever good at all, ever heroic, un- 
 selfish, self-denying, they will be so when they 
 first fall in love. And if the love be worthy, 
 that goodness will take root and grow. 
 
 As a tree is known by its fruits, so a noble 
 love, be it happy or unhappy, ennobles a whole 
 life. And I think no friends — no parents es- 
 pecially, if they are real friends, real parents, 
 
 Y 
 
322 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 true as tender, generous as wise — can see two 
 young people standing at the enchanted gate, 
 without a prayerful thankfulness ; ay, thank- 
 fulness, for it is the gate of life to them, what- 
 ever be the end. — Davies. 
 
 LOVE, its Seductiveness. 
 
 Oh let the steps of youth be cautious 
 
 How they advance into a dangerous world ; 
 
 Our duty only can conduct us safe. 
 
 Our passions are seducers ; but of all 
 
 The strongest Love. He first approaches us 
 
 In childish play, wantoning in our walks ; 
 
 If heedlessly we wander after him, 
 
 As he will pick out all the dancing-way, 
 
 We're lost, and hardly to return again. 
 
 We should take warning : he is painted blind, 
 
 To show us, if we fondly follow him, 
 
 The precipices we may fall into. 
 
 Therefore let virtue take him by the hand : 
 
 Directed so, he leads to certain joy. 
 
 Southey. 
 
 LOVE of God. 
 
 Oh God, my God ! I do love thee ! 
 
 Nor love I, that thou may'st save me ; 
 Nor because those who love not thee 
 
 In endless flames shall punished be. 
 
 Thou, thou, my Jesus, wholly me 
 
 Did'st embrace upon the tree ; 
 
 Thou did'st bear the nail, the spear, 
 
 Bitter shame, and shrinking fear. 
 
 Griefs innumerable train. 
 
 Bloody sweat and racking pain ; 
 
 Yea, and death ; and these for me — 
 
 For the sinner against thee. 
 
 Why, then, should'st not thou by me, 
 
 Jesus, most beloved be ? 
 
 Not that in heaven thou may'st save me ; 
 
 Not lest thou doom eternally, 
 
 Nor for reward, or any fee ; 
 
 But like as thou has loved me, 
 
 I love, and ever will love thee, 
 
 Only as king of this my heart, 
 
 Only because my God thou art. 
 
 S. Wilberforce. 
 
 LOVE, Repressed, Gendereth Power. 
 
 The more thou damm'st it up, the more it 
 
 burns : 
 The current that with gentle murmur glides, 
 
 Thou know'st, being stopp'd,. impatiently doth 
 
 rage; 
 But when his fair course is not hinder'd, 
 He makes sweet music with the enamell'd 
 
 stones. 
 Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
 He overtaketh in his pilgrimage. 
 
 Shahespeare. 
 
 LOVERS. 
 
 Young Celadon 
 And his Amelia were a matchless pair ; 
 With equal virtue form'd and equal grace, 
 The same, distinguish'd by their sex alone : 
 Hers the mild lustre of the blooming morn. 
 And his the radiance of the risen day. 
 
 They lov'd : but such their guileless passion 
 
 was. 
 As in the dawn of time informed the heart 
 Of innocence, and undissembling truth — 
 'Twas friendship heightened by the mutual 
 
 wish, 
 Th' enchanting hope and sympathetic glow 
 Beam'd from the mutual eye. Devoting all 
 To love, each was to each a dearer self ; 
 Supremely happy in the awaken'd power 
 Of giving joy. Alone, amid the shades, 
 Still in hai-monious intercourse they liv'd 
 The rural day, and talk'd the flowing heart. 
 Or sigh'd, and look'd unutterable things. 
 
 So pass'd their life, a clear united stream, 
 By care unruffled ; till, in evil hour, 
 The tempest caught them on the tender walk. 
 Heedless how far, and where its mazes stray'd. 
 While, with each other blest, creative love 
 Still bade eternal Eden smile around. 
 Presaging instant fate, her bosom heav'd 
 Unwonted sighs, and stealing oft a look 
 Of the big gloom on Celadon, her eye 
 Fell fearful, wetting her disordered cheek, 
 In vain assuring love, and confidence 
 In heaven, repress'd her fear ; it grew, and 
 
 shook 
 Her frame near dissolution. He perceived 
 Th' unequal conflict, and as angels look 
 On dying saints, his eyes compassion shed. 
 With love illumin'd high. ** Fear riot," he 
 
 said, 
 * * Sweet innocence ! thou stranger to offence 
 And inward storm ! He, who yon skies involves 
 In frowns of darkness, ever smiles on thee 
 With kind regard. O'er thee the secret shaft 
 That wastes at midnight, or th' undreaded 
 
 hour 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 323 
 
 Of noon, flies harmless ; and that very voice, 
 Which thunders terror thro' the guilty heart 
 With tongues of seraphs, whispers peace to 
 
 thine. 
 'Tis safety to be near thee, sure, and thus 
 To clasp perfection ! " From his void embrace, 
 Mysterious Heaven ! that moment, to the 
 
 ground, 
 A blackened corse, was struck the beauteous 
 
 maid : 
 But who can paint the lover, as he stood 
 Pierc'd by severe amazement, hating life, 
 Speechless, and fix'd in all the death of woe ! 
 So, faint resemblance ! on the marble tomb, 
 The well-dissembled mourner stooping stands. 
 For ever silent, and for ever sad. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 LOVERS' Quarrels. 
 
 Prithee, forgive me, 
 I did but chide in jest : the best loves use it 
 Sometimes ; it sets an edge upon affection. 
 When we invite our best friends to a feast, 
 'Tis not all sweetmeats that we set before 'em ; 
 There's something sharp and salt, both to whet 
 
 appetite 
 And make 'em taste their wine well : so me- 
 
 thinks, 
 After a friendly sharp and savouiy chiding, 
 A kiss tastes wondrous well, and full o' the 
 
 grape. Middleton. 
 
 LOVE, The, of Natural Objects. 
 I DO not know that any single class of objects 
 in nature has acted so strongly upon my sense 
 of the beautiful — or perhaps I should say of 
 the sublime — as mountains. For to me 
 
 High mountains were a feeling, 
 from the time that I first gazed upon the glory 
 of the Grenada mountains, as the sun cast his 
 setting beams upon their tops, to that in which 
 I caught the Titanic shadow of Etna in the 
 horizon, or spent my days among the glories of 
 the Caucasus, or wondered at the cloudy ring 
 of Demavend, or mused day by day upon the 
 dread magnificence of Ararat. An exquisitely 
 keen perception of the beautiful in trees was 
 of somewhat later development, as my native 
 place, which I did not quit till I was about 
 twenty years of age, being by the sea-side, was 
 not favourable to the growth of oaks, and had 
 nothing to boast of beyond a few rows of good 
 elms. But afterwards the magnificent oaks 
 and other trees of the interior called into full 
 
 activity that perception of beauty in trees which 
 afterwards ministered greatly to my enjoyment 
 as I travelled among the endless fir-woods of 
 northern Europe, and the magnificent plane- 
 trees of Media, and dwelt amidst the splendid 
 palm-groves of the Tigris. Since then I have 
 seldom enjoyed serenity of mird in any house 
 from which a view of some tree or trees could 
 not be commanded. Even in the environs of 
 London — which are really beautifully wooded, 
 whatever country folks may think to the con- 
 trary — I have managed to secure this object ; 
 and in my present country retreat, in a well- 
 wooded district, and within reach of many fine 
 old trees, my heart is fully satisfied. In all 
 cases, my study has been chosen more with 
 reference to this taste than to any other cir- 
 cumstance. In any house which it has been 
 my lot to occupy, I have not sought or cared 
 for the room that might be in itself the most 
 convenient, but the one from the window of 
 which my view might, with the least effort, 
 rest upon trees, whenever the eyes were raised 
 from the book I read, or from the paper on 
 which I wrote. In all cases even the stillness 
 of a tree has been pleasing to me ; and the life 
 of a tree — the waving of its body in the wind, 
 or the vibration of its leaves and branchlets in 
 the breeze — has been a positive enjoyment, a 
 gentle excitement, under which I could have 
 rested for hours. This strong feeling has en- 
 abled me to understand, better than I other- 
 wise might, the curious and often beautiful 
 superstitions and idolatries which were asso- 
 ciated with trees in the ancient times ; and I 
 have understood, better than ^lian, the class 
 of associations which may have induced the 
 Persian king to present the glorious plane near 
 Sardis with costly gifts, and to deck it with the 
 ornaments of a bride. It is by this keen pre- 
 ception of the seducements of grove-worship 
 that one is able to understand and illustrate 
 the many cautions against it which the Holy 
 Scriptures contain. Under the influence of 
 such impressions, I find it very difficult by any 
 effort of reason to control the regret and in- 
 dignation with which I regard the destruction 
 of a tree, especially if it be one of which I had 
 any previous knowledge. — The Lost Senses. 
 
 LOVE, True, Deepens. 
 
 Mary, since first I knew thee, to this hour, 
 My love hath deepened, with my wiser sense 
 Of what in woman is to reverence : 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Thy clear heart, fresh as e'er was forest flower, 
 Still opens more to me its beauteous dower :— 
 But let praise hush— Love asks no evidence 
 To prove itself well placed : we know not 
 
 whence 
 It gleans the straws that thatch its humble 
 
 bower : 
 We can but say we found it in the heart, 
 Spring of all sweetest thoughts, arch foe of 
 
 blame, 
 Sower of flowers in the dusty mart. 
 Pure vestal of the poet's holy flame, — 
 This is enough, and we have done our part 
 If we but keep it spotless as it came. 
 
 y. R. Lowell 
 
 LOVE, True, its Sweetness. 
 Sweet is true love, tho' given in vain, in 
 vain ; 
 And sweet is death who puts an end to pain : 
 I know not which is sweeter, no, not T. 
 
 Love, art thou sweet? then bitter death 
 must be : 
 Love, thou art bitter ; sweet is death to me. 
 
 Love, if death be sweeter, let me die. 
 Sweet love, that seems not made to fade 
 
 away, 
 Sweet death, that seems to make us loveless 
 clay, 
 
 1 know not which is sweeter, no, not I. 
 
 I fain would follow love, if that could be ; 
 I needs must follow death, who calls for me ; 
 Call and I follow, I follow ! let me die. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 LYING, a Hateful Vice. 
 
 In plain truth, lying is a hateful and an 
 accursed vice. We, as men, have no other 
 tie upon one another but our word. If we 
 did but perceive the horror and ill conse- 
 quences of it, we should pursue it with fire 
 and sword, and more justly than other crimes. 
 I see that parents commonly, and with in- 
 discretion enough, correct their children for 
 little innocent faults, and torment them for 
 wanton childish tricks that have neither im- 
 pression nor tend to any consequence^ whereas, 
 in my opinion, lyiijg only, and, what is of 
 something a low^form, wilful obstinacy, are 
 the faults which ought, on all occasions, to be 
 combated, both in the infancy and progress 
 of these vices, which will otherwise grow up 
 and increase with them j and after ^ tongue 
 
 has once got the knack of lying 'tis not to 
 be imagined how impossible almost it is to 
 reclaim it. Whence it comes to pass that 
 we see some, who are otherwise very honest 
 men, so subject to this vice. I have a good 
 fellow for my tailor, who, yet, I never knew 
 guilty of one truth ; no, not even when it 
 had been to his advantage. If falsehood had, 
 like truth, but one face only, we should be 
 upon better terms ; for we should then take 
 the contrary to what the liar says for certain 
 truth ; but the reverse of truth has a hundred 
 thousand shapes, and a field indefinite with- 
 out bound or limit. The Pythagoreans make 
 good to be certain and finite ; evil infinite 
 and uncertain ; there are a thousand ways to 
 miss the white, there is only one to hit it. 
 For my own part, I have this vice in so great 
 a horror that I am not sure I could prevail 
 with my conscience to secure myself from the 
 most manifest and extreme danger by an im- 
 pudent and solemn lie. An ancient father 
 says that a dog we know is better company 
 than a man whose language we do not un- 
 derstand. " Ut externus alieno non sit homi- 
 nis vice." And how much less sociable is 
 false speaking than silence. — Montaigne. 
 
 LYING, 
 The Causes which Lead to the Habit of. 
 A LIE, in the judgment of all moralists, is the 
 utterance of something contrary to the inward 
 sense of the mind, something intended to mis- 
 lead and deceive our fellow-men. The prac- 
 tice of lying is odious and injurious in the 
 highest degree. No excuses and apologies can 
 palliate this vice, for it carries the deepest de- 
 gradation in its very nature, and the direst 
 mischiefs in its train. "Lying lips are an 
 abomination to the Lord ; but they that deal 
 truly are his delight." " All liars should have 
 their portion in the lake which burnetii with 
 fire and brimstone." 
 
 But how is it that the habitual violation of 
 truth is so common in the world? How shall 
 we account for the melancholy yet admitted 
 fact, that a crime so detestable in itself, so dis- 
 graceful to the character of the individual, and 
 so pernicious to society, should have gained 
 such prevalence among all classes ? 
 
 Every departure from rectitude, either by 
 words or actions, must be traced to the work- 
 ing of those evil passions which swell and 
 agitate the human heart. A keen and impar- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 325 
 
 lial observer of mankind will be led to con- 
 clude that the habit of lying usually takes its 
 rise from the fear of punishment, the love of 
 gain, or the desire of admiration and applause. 
 The propensity to deviate from truth, by sup- 
 pressing or concealing some particulars, and 
 by supplying and feigning others, may be easily 
 seen in all children. They oppose the known 
 will, and transgress the positive commands of 
 their parents and teachers, and then have re- 
 course to falsehood that they may escape 
 detection, reproof, and chastisement. The 
 same cause produces precisely the same effects 
 in menial and mechanic servants. And when 
 we advert to those who have no reason to dread 
 corporeal punishment, or any palpable loss, 
 the wish to avoid the shame attendant on some 
 irregular or improper part of conduct fre- 
 quently gives birth to falsehood. The guilt of 
 a deliberate lie, in almost every case, is a thou- 
 sand times more hateful and aggravated than 
 the fault it was intended to hide ; for it is 
 surely far less terrible to incur the censure of 
 men, because we have done wrong, than to 
 have God and our own consciences against us. 
 The love of gain has a powerful influence in 
 forming the habit of lying. It is impossible 
 to enter much into the busy world of trade and 
 commerce without being convinced of this. 
 False statements, delusive promises and pledges 
 are given ; adulterated wares are warranted as 
 genuine, and a thousand tricks and artifices are 
 contrived, solely to secure high profits. He 
 who in his first attempts of this kind happens 
 to succeed is strongly tempted to push his ad- 
 venturous course into all the dark and detested 
 practices of villainy. But those who are com- 
 mencing such a course would do well to pause 
 and ask themselves whether the object they 
 propose is likely, in the long run, to be attained 
 by these dishonourable means. Aristotle, when 
 once asked what a man could gain by uttering 
 falsehoods, pointedly replied, "Not to be cre- 
 dited when he tells the truth." And is this 
 indeed so valuable a privilege that any hazard 
 should be run, and any sacrifice made, in order 
 to acquire it ? 
 ■ But perhaps the desire of admiration and 
 applause is a still more powerful and prevailing 
 incitement to falsehood. The gross lies which 
 covetousness frames to carry on trade, or 
 which malice forges and inculcates for purposes 
 of slander, are universally abhorred ; but those 
 lies which issue from the mint of vanity are, 
 by most people, thought of little consequence. 
 How many invent incidents and circumstances 
 
 which never existed to embellish narratives, 
 the design of which is to display their own im- 
 portance. Scarcely can a great man be named 
 whom they do not remember among their 
 friends and acquaintances, or an event of inte- 
 rest be related, with which they do not contrive 
 to be in some way intimately connected. If 
 their own statements and stories could be be- 
 lieved, they are the choice spirits of the day, 
 the guides of fashion, the grand agents of 
 power, the wonder, envy, and jealousy of the 
 great world. 
 
 But these borrowed, or rather stolen plumes, 
 with which vanity decks herself, provoke a 
 smile of mirth, rather than a frown of indig- 
 nation. Falsehood in such a form is deemed 
 a thing too light and venal for serious reproof ; 
 nay, sometimes the habit is paraded with 
 something akin to ostentation; for, as Dr. 
 Young observes, "infamy itself often stands 
 candidate for praise." The following from 
 Cantenac, who gives us a curious and appa- 
 rently ingenuous account of himself, will illus- 
 trate this part of our subject : "I sometimes 
 lie, but generally in affairs of gallantry, where 
 I voluntarily confirm falsehoods by oaths, 
 without reflection, for swearing with me is a 
 habit. I am told that my mind is brilliant, 
 and that I have a certain manner in turning a 
 thought which is quite my own. I am agree- 
 able in conversation, though I confess I am 
 often troublesome ; for I maintain paradoxes 
 to display my genius which savour too much 
 of scholastic subterfuges. " The dark lines of 
 this frivolous man's portrait of his own cha- 
 racter are, without question, sufficiently cor- 
 rect ; but how mean an opinion he must have 
 formed of the judgment and moral sentiment 
 of mankind. 
 
 The indifference which is too generally 
 shown in matters of this kind deserves to be 
 severely reprobated. Lying, with most, is 
 then only blamed when it becomes palpable 
 and directly pernicious. Does it indeed 
 " lose half its evil by losing all its grossness?" 
 This I can never believe, or one moment 
 countenance, whatever fashion dictates. Dr. 
 Johnson, giving advice to his intimate friend, 
 said — " Above all, accustom your children 
 constantly to tell the truth, without varying in 
 any circumstance. " A lady present impatiently 
 exclaimed — "Nay, this is too much; for 
 a little variation in narrative must happen a 
 thousand times a day, if one is not perpetually 
 watching." Well, madam," replied the 
 doctor, " and you ought to be perpetually 
 
326 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 watching. It is more from carelessness about 
 truth, than from intentional lying, that there 
 is so much falsehood in the world." 
 
 Those who would keep clear of the disgrace- 
 ful habit against which so much is justly 
 spoken by all that have any regard to the 
 interests of virtue and religion in the world, 
 should be careful not to exaggerate in their 
 discourse. I say not that figures of speech 
 are to be wholly laid aside ; but it is well to be 
 sparing in the use of hyperboles. Without 
 running into a ridiculous preciseness, we ought 
 so to measure our words as never to impair 
 the reverence due to the sacred majesty of 
 truth. 
 
 And if it is wrong to lie, it certainly cannot 
 be right to equivocate. Let us remember that 
 the essence of lying consists in an intention to 
 deceive ; and though words may be so artfully 
 selected as to admit a construction agreeable to 
 truth, yet if they pervert or mislead, they 
 involve the guilt of deceit, coupled with 
 cowardice. 
 
 There can be no doubt that numbers fall 
 into this vice by imitating their superiors. 
 Parents must not wonder to detect their 
 children, nor masters their servants, in false- 
 hood, when they have set them the example. 
 
 The last cause which I shall mention is the 
 employment of arguments and specious 
 apologies to defend the base practice of lying. 
 When any one has become pretty expert in 
 deceiving others, the next step is an attempt to 
 deceive himself, which rarely fails to succeed, 
 He looks around for precedents or pretexts, 
 and finding some just suited to his purpose, he 
 abandons the dictates of conscience, to follow 
 custom and expediency. The Jesuits devised a 
 method of chopping a proposition into two 
 parts ; and while one was expressed, the other 
 was retained in the mind. A subject, for in- 
 stance, is charged with holding a traitorous 
 correspondence with the enemies of the state, 
 and upon oath answers that he had never the 
 least correspondence with them, meaning 
 since last week. The proposition, as it stands 
 in words, contains an entire sense, and in that 
 sense is a gross lie ; but allowing the addition, 
 which the man makes in his own mind, may 
 be true enough. Such evasions are of no 
 avail; for, as Bishp^ Taylor says, "If the 
 words are a lie without a mental reservation, 
 they are so with it ; for this does not alter the 
 words themselves, nor the meaning of the 
 words, nor the purpose of the speaker. Words 
 spoken, and words not spoken, cannot, with 
 
 any propriety of speech, be said to be members 
 of the same numerical proposition." Those 
 who do not go to the school of the Jesuits, often 
 find others sufficiently qualified, both by theory 
 and practice, to teach them the art of lying, 
 and also of lulling conscience into a dangerous 
 peace. 
 
 The best guard against this vice is to have 
 the mind thoroughly imbued with the principles 
 of genuine religion. Miss Hamilton has 
 justly remarked — "Were our faith in the 
 existence and presence of the Deity sufficiently 
 strong, and our belief in a state of future re- 
 tribution sufficiently accurate, it would be 
 almost impossible for us, in any instance, to 
 make a willing departure from truth. All the 
 little acts of palliation and equivocation would 
 then be held in deserved abhorrence. We 
 should, in all we say, speak as those who 
 speak not unto men but unto God, who knows 
 that as he now sees us, we shall hereafter be 
 seen of all. 
 
 " A child who has been induced to tell lies 
 through fear of punishment would not (unless 
 the habit were very inveterate indeed) tell a 
 falsehood in which he was certain of being 
 immediately detected. And what is the span 
 of life? How short! how uncertain! How 
 little is it worth our pains, for any paltry con- 
 sideration, to dissemble what, in a little, a very 
 little, will stand revealed to men and angels ! 
 
 * * The further my acquaintance with the 
 world extends, the more deeply am I confirmed 
 in the opinion that the principles of truth 
 have no other solid basis than the fear of God. 
 If I have ever been led to imagine that notions 
 of honour and of self-respect would ensure a 
 strict adherence to truth and justice, I have 
 been amply convinced of my error. " 
 
 Evangelist. 
 
 MACHINERY, Benefit of. 
 
 There is this immense benefit in machinery, 
 that it carries on those operations which debase 
 the mind and injure the faculties. A man by 
 constantly performing the same operations 
 becomes unfit for any other. Machinery re- 
 quires attention, intellectual exertion, and 
 bodily labour of various kinds. — Sir Hum- 
 phry Davy. 
 
 The fact of facts is the termination of the 
 world in a man. This appears to be the last 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 z'^y 
 
 victory of intelligence. The universal does not 
 attract us until housed in an individual. Who 
 heeds the waste abyss of possibility? The 
 ocean is everywhere the same, but it has no 
 character until seen with the shore or the ship. 
 Who would value any number of miles of 
 Atlantic brine, bounded by lines of latitude 
 and longitude ? Confine it by granite rocks, 
 let it wash a shore where wise men dwell, and 
 it is filled with expression ; and the point of 
 greatest interest is where the land and water 
 meet. So must we admire in man the form of 
 the formless, the concentration of the vast, the 
 house of reason, the cave of memory. See the 
 play of thoughts ! What nimble, gigantic, 
 creatures are these ! What Saurians, what 
 palaiotheria shall be named with these agile 
 movers? The great Pan of old, who was 
 clothed in a leopard skin to signify the beauti- 
 ful variety of things, and the firmament his 
 coat of stars, was but the representative of 
 thee, O rich and various man ! thou palace of 
 sight and sound, carrying in thy senses the 
 morning and the night, and the unfathomable 
 galaxy ; in thy brain, the geometry of the city 
 of God ; in thy heart, the power of love and 
 the realms of right and wrong. An individual 
 man is a fruit which it cost all the foregoing 
 ages to form and ripen. He is strong, not to 
 do, but to live ; not in his arms, but in his 
 heart : not as an agent, but as a fact. — R. W. 
 Liner son . 
 
 MAN, as Man, Does not Differ Much. 
 
 There is not such a mighty difference as 
 some men imagine between the poor and 
 the rich ; in pomp, show, and opinion, there 
 is a great deal, but little as to the pleasures 
 and satisfactions of life : they enjoy the same 
 earth, and air, and heavens ; hunger and thirst 
 make the poor man's meat and drink as 
 pleasant and relishing as all the varieties 
 which cover the rich man's table ; and the 
 labour of a poor man is more healthful, and 
 many times more pleasant, too, than the ease 
 and softness of the rich. — Sherlock. 
 
 MAN, his Inclination to be Trained. 
 Nature ever, 
 Finding discordant fortune, like all other seed 
 Out of its proper climate, thrives but ill ; 
 And were the world below content to mark, 
 And work on the foundation Nature lays, 
 
 It would not lack supply of excellence. 
 
 But ye perversely to religion strain 
 
 Him, who was born to gird on him the sword ; 
 
 And of the fluent phraseman you make your 
 
 king : 
 Therefore your steps have wander' d from the 
 
 paths. Da7tte. 
 
 MAN, his Nature and Circumstances. 
 
 Consider the nature and circumstances of 
 man. Introduced into the world in an in- 
 digent condition, he is supported at first by 
 the care of others ; and as soon as he begins 
 to act for himself finds labour and industry to be 
 necessary for sustaining his life, and supplying 
 his wants. Mutual defence and interest give rise 
 to society, and society, when- formed, requires 
 distinctions of property, diversity of conditions, 
 subordination of ranks, and a multiplicity of 
 occupations, in order to advance the general 
 good. The services of the poor and the pro- 
 tection of the rich become reciprocally neces- 
 sary. The governors and the governed must 
 co-operate for general safety. Various arts 
 must be studied ; some respecting the culti- 
 vation of the mind, others the care of the 
 body ; some to ward off the evils and some 
 to provide the conveniences of life. In a 
 word, by the destiny of his Creator, and the 
 necessities of his nature, man commences, at 
 once, an active, not merely a contemplative 
 being. Religion assumes him as such. It 
 supposes him employed in this world, as on 
 a busy stage. It regulates, but does not 
 abolish, the enterprises and cares of ordinary 
 life. It addresses itself to the various ranks 
 in society ; to the rich and the poor, to the 
 magistrate and the subject. It rebukes the 
 slothful ; directs the diligent how to labour ; 
 and requires every one to do his own busi- 
 ness. — Blair. 
 
 MAN, his own King. 
 
 Every man hath a kingdom within himself : 
 Reason, as the princess, dwells in the high- 
 est and inwardest room : the senses are the 
 guard and attendants on the court ; without 
 whose aid nothing is admitted into the pre- 
 sence : the supreme faculties (as will memory, 
 &c.) are the Peers : the outward parts, and 
 inward affections, are the Commons : violent 
 passions are rebels, to disturb the common 
 peace. — Bishop Hall. 
 
328 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 MAN, his Proud Nature. 
 
 It is the nature of man to be proud, when man 
 by nature hath nothing to be proud of. He 
 more adorneth the creature than he adoreth 
 the Creator ; and makes not only his belly his 
 god, but hie body. I am ashamed of their 
 glory, whose glory is their shame. If nature 
 will needs have me to be proud of something, I 
 will be proud only of this, that I am proud of 
 nothing. — Arthur Warwick. 
 
 MAN, his Quality. 
 
 Now wasting years my former strength con- 
 found, 
 And added woes have bowed me to the ground j 
 Yet by the stubble you may guess the grain, 
 And mark the ruins of no vulgar man. 
 
 Broome. 
 
 MAN, his Utter Frailty. 
 
 Like to the damask rose you see, 
 Or like the blossom on the tree, 
 Or like the dainty flower of May, 
 Or like the morning of the day. 
 Or like the sun, or like the shade. 
 Or like the gourd which Jonas had, 
 Ev'n so is Man, whose thread is spun, 
 Drawn out, and cut, and so is done. 
 The rose decays, the blossom blasteth. 
 The flower fades, the morning hasteth, 
 The sun declines, the shadow flies, 
 The gourd consumes, and Man he dies. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 MAN, Idle. 
 
 There is no saying shocks me so much as 
 that which I hear very often, that a man does 
 not know how to pass his time. It would 
 have been but ill spoken by Methuselah, in 
 the nine hundred and sixty-ninth year of his 
 life. — Cowley. 
 
 MAN, in After-Life. 
 
 It is not in the hey-day of health and enjoy- 
 ment, it is not in the morning sunshine of his 
 vernal day, that man can b6 expected feelingly 
 to remember his latter end, and to fix his heart 
 upon eternity. But in after-life many causes 
 operate to wean us from the world : grief 
 softens the heart, sickness searches it, the 
 blossoms of hope are shed, death cuts down 
 
 the flower of the affections ; the disappointed 
 man turns his thoughts toward a state of 
 existence where his wiser desires may be fixed 
 with the certainty of faith ; the successful man 
 feels that the objects which he has ardently 
 pursued through a long and eventful career 
 fail to satisfy the cravings of an immortal 
 spirit ; the wicked man turneth away from 
 his wickedness, that he may save his soul 
 alive. — Southey. 
 
 MAN is Vanity. 
 
 He died ; and in his place was set his son. 
 He died ; and in a few days every one 
 Went on their way as tho' he had not been. 
 Wtn. Morris^ 
 
 MAN, Likened to a House. 
 
 Man's body's like a house ; his greater bones 
 Are the main timber ; and the lesser ones 
 Are smaller joints ; his ribs are laths daubed 
 
 o'er, 
 Plastered with flesh and blood ; his mouth's. 
 
 the door. 
 His throat's the narrow entry, and his heart 
 Is the great chamber full of curious art. 
 His midriff is a large partition wall 
 'Twixt the great chamber and the spacious 
 
 hall; 
 His stomach is the kitchen, where the meat 
 Is often put half sod for want of heat 
 His spleen's a vessel Nature doth allot, 
 To take the scum that rises from the pot ; 
 His lungs are like the bellows that respire. 
 In every office, quickening every fire ; 
 His nose the chimney is, whereby are vented 
 Such fumes as with the bellows are augmented ; 
 His eyes are crystal windows clear and bright^ 
 Let in the object, and let out the sight ; 
 And as the timber is, or great or small. 
 Or strong or weak, 'tis apt to stand or fall. 
 
 Quarks. 
 
 MAN, Likened to a Ripple. 
 
 See how, beneath the moonbeam's smile. 
 
 Yon little billow heaves its breast. 
 And foams and sparkles for a while. 
 
 And murmuring then subsides to rest. 
 Thus man, the sport of bliss and care, 
 
 Rises on Time's eventful sea ; 
 And, having swell'd a moment there. 
 
 Thus melts into eternity ! 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 329 
 
 MAN, Ostentatious. 
 ** It is a hard and nice subject for a man to 
 speak of himself," says Cowley; "it grates 
 his own heart to say anything of disparage- 
 ment, and the reader's ears to hear anything of 
 praise from him. " Let the tenom- of his dis- 
 course be what it will upon this subject, it 
 generally proceeds from vanity. An ostenta- 
 tious man will rather relate a blunder or an 
 absurdity he has committed than be debarred 
 from talking of his own dear person. — Addison. 
 
 MAN, Proud in his Littleness. 
 
 Proud little man, opinion's slave, 
 Error's fond child, too duteous to be free, 
 
 Say, from the cradle to the grave, 
 Is not the earth thou tread'st too grand for 
 
 thee? 
 This globe that turns thee on her agile wheel. 
 Moves the deep springs which thou canst never 
 
 feel; 
 Her day and night, her centre and her sun, 
 Untraced by thee, their annual courses run. 
 A busy fly, thou sharest the march divine, 
 And flattering fancy calls the motion thine ; 
 Untaught how soon some hanging grave may 
 
 burst, 
 And join thy flimsy substance to the dust. 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 MAN, The Limited Power of. 
 
 Man can construct exquisite machines, can call 
 in vast powers, can form extensive combina- 
 tions, in order to bring about results which he 
 has in view. But in all this he is only taking 
 advantage of laws of nature which already 
 exist ; he is applying to his use qualities which 
 matter already possesses. Nor can he by any 
 effort do more. He can establish no new law 
 of nature which is not a result of the existing 
 ones. He can invest matter with no new pro- 
 perties which are not modifications of its present 
 attributes. His greatest advances in skill and 
 power are made when he calls to his aid forces 
 which before existed unemployed, or when he 
 discovers so much of the habits of some of the 
 elements as to be able to bend them to his pur- 
 pose. He navigates the ocean by the assist- 
 ance of the wind, which he cannot raise or 
 still ; and even if we suppose him able to con- 
 trol the force of these, his yet unsubjugated 
 ministers, this could only be done by studying 
 their characters, by learning more thoroughly 
 
 the laws of air, and heat, and moisture. He 
 cannot give the minutest portion of the atmos- 
 phere new relations, a new course of expansion, 
 new laws of motion. But the Divine opera- 
 tions, on the other hand, include something 
 much higher. They take in the establishment 
 of the laws of the elements, as well as the com- 
 binations of these laws, and the determination 
 of the distribution and quantity of the materials 
 on which they shall produce their effect. We 
 must conceive that the Supreme Power has 
 ordained that air shall be rarefied, and water 
 turned into vapour by heat ; no less than that 
 he has combined air and water, so as to sprinkle 
 the earth with showers, and determined the 
 quantity of heat, and air, and water, so that 
 the showers shall be as beneficial as they are. 
 We may and must, therefore, in our con- 
 ceptions of the Divine purpose and agency, go 
 beyond the analogy of human contrivances. 
 We must conceive the Deity, not only as con- 
 structing the most refined and vast machinery 
 with which the universe is filled, but we must 
 also imagine him as establishing those proper- 
 ties by which such machinery is possible : as 
 giving to the materials of his structure the 
 qualities by which the material is fitted to its 
 use. There is much to be found in natural 
 objects, of the same kind of contrivance which 
 is common to these and to human inventions : 
 there are mechanical devices, operations of 
 the atmospheric elements, chemical processes. 
 But besides these cases we are led to con- 
 sider the Divine Being as the author of the 
 laws of action, and of such other laws as make 
 matter what it is ; and this is a view which no 
 analogy of human inventions, no knowledge 
 of human powers, at all assists us to embody 
 or understand. Science, therefore, while it 
 discloses to us the mode of instrumentality 
 employed by the Deity, convinces us, more 
 effectually than ever, of the impossibility of 
 conceiving God's actions by assimilating them 
 to our own. — Whewell. 
 
 MAN, The Social. 
 I MUST talk with my wife, and chat with my 
 children, and I have somewhat to say to my 
 servants. All these things I reckon as a part 
 of business, except a man will resolve to be a 
 stranger at home ; for with whomsoever either 
 nature, or chance, or choice has engaged a man 
 in any commerce, he must endeavour to make 
 himself as acceptable to those about him as he 
 possibly can. — Sir Thomas Moore, 
 
330 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 MAN, The Wants of. 
 
 Corregio's Magdalen, and Night, 
 
 "Man wants but little here below, 
 Nor wants that little long." 
 
 The Matron of the Chair ; 
 Guido's fleet coursers, in their flight, 
 And Claudes at least a pair. 
 
 'Tis not with me exactly so. 
 
 
 But 'tis so in the song. 
 
 I want a cabinet profuse 
 
 My wants are many, and if told. 
 
 Of medals, coins, and gems ; 
 
 Would muster many a score ; 
 
 A printing-press for private use. 
 
 And were each wish a mint of gold. 
 
 Of fifty thousand ems ; 
 
 I still should long for more. 
 
 And plants, and minerals, and shells ; 
 
 What first I want is daily bread. 
 
 Worms, insects, fishes, birds ; 
 
 And canvas-backs and wine ; 
 
 And every beast on earth that dwells 
 
 And all the realms of nature spread 
 
 In solitude or herds. 
 
 Before me when I dine ; 
 
 I want a board of burnish'd plate. 
 
 With four choice cooks from France, beside 
 
 Of silver and of gold ; 
 
 To dress my dinner well ; 
 
 Tureens, of twenty pounds in weight. 
 
 Four courses scarcely can provide 
 
 And sculpture's richest mould ; 
 
 My appetite to quell. 
 
 Plateaus, with chandeliers and lamps, 
 
 What next I want at heavy cost. 
 
 Plates, dishes — all the same ; 
 
 Is elegant attire : 
 
 And porcelain vases, with the stamps 
 
 Black sable furs for winter's frost. 
 
 Of Sevres and Angouleme. 
 
 And silks for summer's fire ; 
 And Cashmere shawls, and Brussels lace 
 
 And ma])les of fair glossy stain 
 Must form my chamber doors. 
 
 My bosom's front to deck, 
 
 And carpets of the Wilton grain 
 
 And diamond rings my hands to grace. 
 
 Must cover all my floors ; 
 
 And rubies for my neck. 
 
 My walls with tapestry bedeck'd, 
 
 And then I want a mansion fair. 
 
 Must never be outdone ; 
 
 A dwelling-house, in style. 
 
 And damask curtains must protect 
 
 Four stories high, for wholesome air— 
 
 Their colours from the sun. 
 
 A massive marble pile ; 
 
 
 With halls for banquetings and balls, 
 
 And mirrors of the largest pane 
 
 All furnish'd rich and fine ; 
 
 From Venice must be brought ; 
 
 W^ith high-blood studs in fifty stalls. 
 And cellars for my wine. 
 
 And sandal-wood and bamboo-cane 
 
 For chairs and tables bought ; 
 
 
 On all the mantel-pieces, clocks 
 
 I want a garden and a park. 
 
 Of thrice-gilt bronze must stand. 
 
 i-^— My dwelling to surround — 
 
 And screens of ebony and box 
 
 A thousand acres (bless the mark !) 
 
 Invite the stranger's hand. 
 
 With walls encompassed round — 
 
 
 Where flocks may range and herds may low. 
 
 I want (who does not want ?) a wife. 
 
 And kids and lambkins play, 
 
 Affectionate and fair. 
 
 And flowers and fruits commingled grow. 
 
 To solace all the woes of life. 
 
 All Eden to display. 
 
 And all its joys to share. 
 
 I want, when summer's foliage falls. 
 
 Of temper sweet, of yielding will. 
 Of firm yet placid mind. 
 
 With all my faults to love me still. 
 With sentiment refined. 
 
 And autumn strips the trees. 
 
 A house within the city's walls. 
 
 For comfort and for ease ; 
 
 
 But here, as space is somewhat scant. 
 
 And as time's car incessant inins, 
 
 And acres somewhat rare. 
 
 And fortune fills my store. 
 
 My house in town I only want 
 
 I want of daughters and of sons 
 
 To occupy — a square. 
 
 From eight to half a score. 
 
 I want a steward, butler, cooks ; 
 
 I want (alas ! can mortal dare 
 
 A coachman, footman, grooms ; 
 
 Such bliss on earth to crave ?) 
 
 A library of well-bound books. 
 
 That all the girls be chaste and fair — 
 
 And picture-garnished rooms ; 
 
 The boys all wise and brave. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 331 
 
 And when my bosom's darling sings, 
 
 The destitute to clothe and feed, 
 
 With melody divine, 
 
 Free bounty to bestow. 
 
 A pedal harp of many strings 
 
 Supply the helpless orphan's need. 
 
 Must with her voice combine. 
 
 And soothe the widow's woe. 
 
 Piano, exquisitely wrought, 
 
 I want the genius to conceive. 
 
 Must open stand, apart. 
 
 The talents to unfold. 
 
 That all my daughters may be taught 
 
 Designs, the vicious to retrieve, 
 
 To win the stranger's heart. 
 
 The virtuous to uphold ; 
 
 My wife and daughters will desire 
 
 Inventive power, combining skill, 
 
 Refreshment from perfumes. 
 Cosmetics for the skin require. 
 
 A persevering soul. 
 
 Of human hearts to mould the will. 
 
 And artificial blooms. 
 
 And reach from pole to pole. 
 
 The civet fragrance shall dispense, 
 
 I want the seals of power and place, 
 
 And treasured sweets return ; 
 
 The ensigns of command. 
 
 Cologne revive the flagging sense. 
 
 Charged by the people's unbought grace. 
 
 And smoking amber bum. 
 
 To rule my native land ; 
 
 
 Nor crown nor sceptre would I ask. 
 
 And when at night my weary head 
 
 But from my country's will. 
 
 Begins to droop and dose, 
 
 By day, by night, to ply the task 
 
 A chamber south, to hold my bed, 
 
 Her cup of bliss to fill. 
 
 For Nature's safe repose ; 
 
 
 With blankets, counterpanes, and sheets, 
 Mattress, and sack of down, 
 
 I want the voice of honest praise 
 To follow me behind. 
 
 And comfortables for my feet. 
 
 And to be thought, in future days. 
 
 And pillows for my crown. 
 
 The friend of human kind ; 
 
 
 That after-ages, as they rise, 
 
 I want a warm and faithful friend. 
 
 Exulting may proclaim. 
 
 To cheer the adverse hour, 
 
 In choral union to the skies, 
 
 W^ho ne'er to flatter will descend. 
 
 Their blessings on my name. 
 
 Nor bend the knee to power ; 
 
 These are the wants of mortal man ; 
 
 A friend to chide me when I'm wrong. 
 
 I cannot need them long. 
 
 My inmost soul to see ; 
 
 For life itself is but a span, 
 
 And that my friendship prove as strong 
 
 And earthly bliss a song. 
 
 For him, as his for me. 
 
 My last great want, absorbing all. 
 
 I want a kind and tender heart. 
 
 Is, when beneath the sod. 
 
 For others' wants to feel ; 
 
 And summoned to my final call — 
 
 A soul secure from fortune's dart. 
 
 The mercy of my God. 
 
 And bosom arm'd with steel ; 
 
 And oh ! while circles in my veins 
 
 To bear Divine chastisement's rod. 
 
 Of life the purple stream. 
 
 And, mingling in my plan, 
 
 And yet a fragment small remains 
 
 Submission to the will of God, 
 
 Of nature's transient dream. 
 
 With charity to man. 
 
 My soul, in humble hope unscared, 
 
 
 Forget not thou to pray. 
 
 I want a keen, observing eye, 
 
 That this thy want may be prepared 
 
 An ever-listening ear. 
 
 To meet the Judgment-Day. 
 
 The truth through all disguise to spy, 
 
 J. Q. Adams. 
 
 And wisdom's voice to hear ; 
 A tongue, to speak at virtue's need. 
 
 
 
 In heaven's sublimest strain ; 
 
 MAN, when Subjected, Unhappy. 
 
 And lips, the cause of man to plead, 
 And never plead in vain. 
 
 
 Man is, for the most part, equally unhappy. 
 
 when subjected, without redress, to the passions 
 
 I want uninterrupted health. 
 
 of another, or left, without control, to the do- 
 
 Throughout my long career. 
 
 minion of his own. This, every man, however 
 
 And streams of never-failing wealth, 
 
 unwilling he may be to own it of himself, will 
 
 To scatter far and near— 
 
 very readily aclcnowledge of his neighbour. 
 
332 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 No man knows anyone except himself, whom 
 he judges fit to he set free from the coercion of 
 laws, and to be abandoned entirely to his own 
 choice. By this consideration have all civilized 
 nations been induced to the enaction of penal 
 laws ; laws by which every man's danger 
 becomes every man's safety, and by which, 
 though all are restrained, yet all are benefited. 
 — Johnson, 
 
 MAN'S Society, Like a Flower. 
 
 Man in society is like a flower 
 Blown in its native bed ; 'tis there alone 
 His faculties, expanded in full bloom, 
 Shine out : there only reach their proper use, 
 But man associated and leagued with man 
 By regal warrant, or self-joined by bond 
 For interest sake, or swarming into clans 
 Beneath one head, for purposes of war, 
 Like flowers selected from the rest, and bound 
 And bundled close to fill some crowded vase, 
 Fades rapidly, and by compression marred. 
 Contracts defilement not to be endured 
 Hence chartered boroughs are such public 
 
 plagues ; 
 And burghers, men immaculate perhaps 
 In all their private functions, once combined, 
 Become a loathsome body, only fit 
 For dissolution, hurtsome to the main. 
 Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sin 
 Against the charities of domestic life, 
 Incorporated, seem at once to lose 
 Their nature, and disclaiming all regaid 
 For mercy and the common rights of man. 
 Build factories with blood, conducting trade 
 At the sword's point, and dyeing the white 
 
 robe 
 Of innocent commercial Justice red. Cowper. 
 
 MAN'S Youth Eenewed in Heaven. 
 
 The highest rejuvenescence of all is man's 
 return to youth in heaven. Some people think, 
 weakly, " That death is the only reality in 
 life : happier are those who see and feel that 
 life is the true reality in death." Why, then, 
 call it death ? And why mourn and weep for 
 those who return to the spring-time of exist- 
 ence? Why complain that we ourselves seem 
 to be so soon taken from this land of tombs, 
 and replaced in the golden country of our pris- 
 tine hopes and imaginings ? — Leo W. Grindon. 
 
 MANAGEMENT. 
 
 As in the greater world for man, so in the little 
 world of man, as in the outward riches of the 
 one, so in the inner treasures of the other, many 
 possess much and enjoy but little, many have 
 much and use but little, others use much, and 
 but little well. I shall not so much endeavour 
 to have much wherewithal to do as to do 
 much with that little I have. It shall not so 
 much grieve me that I am a poor treasurer, as 
 joy me if I had been a good steward. I could 
 wish I had more to use well, but more wish, 
 well to use that I have. If he were so 
 blamed that employed not one talent well, 
 what would become of me if I had ten and 
 abused them ? — Arthur Wanvick. 
 
 MANNERS. 
 
 It is easier to polish the manners than to 
 reform the heart, to disguise a fault than to 
 conquer it. He who can venture to appear as 
 he is, must be what he ought to be — a difficult 
 and arduous task, which often requires the 
 sacrifice of many a darling inclination and the 
 exertion of many a painful effort. — Bowdler. 
 
 MANNERS, Good. 
 
 Good manners are, to particular societies, 
 what good morals are to society in general — 
 their cement and their security. The immoral 
 man, who invades another's property, is justly 
 punished for it ; and the ill-bred man, who by 
 his ill manners invades and disturbs the quiet 
 and comforts of private life, is by common 
 consent as justly banished society. For my 
 own part, I really think, next to the conscious- 
 ness of doing a good action, that of doing a 
 civil one is the most pleasing ; and the epithet 
 which I should covet the most, next to that of 
 Aristides, would be that of well-bred. — 
 Chesterfield. 
 
 MARINER, The Homeward Bound. 
 
 Beneath a beaming star-lit sky the ocean 
 
 bright was spread. 
 And softly o'er its bosom calm the murmuring 
 
 breezes sped ; 
 Deep stillness was on all that night, and rock 
 
 and mountain lay 
 In mellowed beauty shadowed on many a 
 
 glassy bay, 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 333 
 
 Unmoved, the ship lay on the deep, for 
 
 every sail was furled, 
 And silently and beautiful the waters round her 
 
 curled. 
 As, like some giant phantom in the solitude of 
 
 night, 
 Her tall and solitary form reposed beneath the 
 
 moonbeams' light, 
 Deep stillness was around her on the mid- 
 night ocean's breast. 
 For all her busy mariners had laid them down 
 
 to rest ; 
 And many thoughts and many dreams of joys 
 
 and sorrows past. 
 Bright hope-awakened visions to their mind 
 
 were crowding fast. 
 I stood alone upon the deck, and on the 
 
 midnight sky 
 I watched the silver-tinted clouds, as they 
 
 were wandering by ; 
 A scattered anda changeful train, as were the 
 
 thoughts that pressed, 
 So wildly and so fearfully upon my anxious 
 
 breast. 
 For many a year my path had been upon 
 
 the ocean's breast. 
 Tost like a storm-uprooted weed without a 
 
 place of rest : 
 Peril and famine had been mine, and every 
 
 change of woe 
 That on a wild and stormy deep the mariner 
 
 must know. 
 Of brothers three that, full of hope, had 
 
 left with me their home. 
 Rejoicing in youth's glowing strength, the 
 
 waters wide to roam. 
 One I had seen a bloody corse when victory 
 
 was won. 
 Another died at Fever's touch, beneath the 
 
 southern sun ; 
 That morn the younger one had found a 
 
 cold and wavy bed. 
 And now I looked upon the hills for which he 
 
 languished. 
 A severed and a sorrowing thing, I had come 
 
 back alone, 
 One wandering bird unto the nest from which 
 
 a brood had flown. 
 Far off through the lone night-watch I had 
 
 yearned for my home. 
 When dreams and thoughts of happiness 
 
 across my soul had come : 
 Yet now my heart was fainting, and I gazed 
 
 with anxious fear 
 Upon the well-known mountains, though so 
 
 beautiful and near ; 
 
 The hopes that round my heart had clung, ere 
 
 those I loved were gone. 
 Had vanished, as the sparkling frost beneath 
 
 the noon-tide sun 
 Melts from some branching tree, with its 
 
 feathery gems of light, 
 And leaves it dark and desolate to tell of 
 
 Winter's blight, 
 I feared the morn — I feared to seek my long, 
 
 long-wished-for home. 
 As with a sad foreboding dread of misery to 
 
 come? 
 I feared to see my mother's tears, my father's 
 
 agony. 
 When they knew that their beloved ones were 
 
 in the deep, deep sea. 
 Yet still my eyes looked wistfully across the 
 
 ocean- tide, 
 And, half-unconsciously, I watched the pallid 
 
 moonbeams glide 
 In silver streams across the hills, until they 
 
 rested where 
 The old church raised its ivy-tower upon the 
 
 midnight air. 
 I knew that dark green ivy- tower, I knew the 
 
 house of God, 
 To which so oft in sinless joy my boyhood's 
 
 steps had trod ; 
 Where youth's first breath of prayer and 
 
 praise had risen up on high, 
 Pure as the dew-drop of the mom exhaled to 
 
 the sky. 
 And many of my early loved were sleeping all 
 
 around 
 Within their narrow, silent home, beneath 
 
 that holy ground : 
 And on their peaceful resting-place I saw the 
 
 moonbeams shed 
 A ray as if Time's finger pale was pointing to 
 
 the dead. 
 I gazed upon the moonbeam pale, till, to my 
 
 aching eyes, 
 A melancholy spectral shade seemed on the 
 
 air to rise ; 
 The phantom of a waking dream with coming 
 
 sorrow fraught, 
 The dim ideal shadow of an agonizing 
 
 thought. 
 As gliding from my aching sight, the wan, 
 
 pale figure passed, 
 A damp and painful chilliness o'er my trem- 
 bling limbs was cast : 
 I spake no word, I heard no sound, but by my 
 
 feelings led. 
 Believed, what soon I found was true, that all 
 
 at home were dead ! J. A. J. 
 
334 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 MARRIAGE, its Blessed State. 
 
 But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd 
 Than that which, withering on the virgin-thorn, 
 Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness. 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 MARRIAGE, Twenty Maxims on. 
 
 The following "marriage" maxims are wor- 
 thy of more than a hasty reading. Husbands 
 should not pass them by, for they are designed 
 for wives ; and wives should not despise them, 
 for they are addressed to husbands — 
 
 1. The very nearest approach to domestic 
 happiness on earth is in the cultivation on both 
 sides of absolute unselfishness. 
 
 2. Never both be angry at once. 
 
 3. Never talk at one another, either alone or 
 in company. 
 
 4. Never speak loud to one another unless 
 the house is on fire. 
 
 5. Let each one strive to yield oftenest to the 
 wishes of the other. 
 
 6. Let self-denial be the daily aim and prac- 
 tice of each. 
 
 7. Never find fault unless it is perfectly cer- 
 tain that a fault has been committed, and 
 always speak lovingly. 
 
 8. Never taunt with a past mistake. 
 
 9. Neglect the whole wojld besides rather 
 than one another. 
 
 10. Never allow a request to be repeated. 
 
 11. Never make a remark at the expense of 
 each other, — it is a meanness. 
 
 12. Never part for a day without loving 
 words to think of during absence. 
 
 ^t%. Never meet without a loving welcome. 
 
 14. Never let the sun go down upon any 
 anger or grievance. 
 
 15. Never let any fault you have committed 
 go by until you have frankly confessed it and 
 asked forgiveness. 
 
 16. Never forget the happy hours of early 
 love. 
 
 17. Never sigh over what might have been, 
 but make the best of what is. 
 
 ig. Never forget that marriage is ordained 
 of God, and that His blessing alone can make 
 it what it should ever be. / 
 
 19. Never be contented till ymi know you 
 are both walking in the narrow way. 
 
 20. Never let your hopes stop short of the 
 eternal home. 
 
 From the Cottager and Artisan. 
 
 MARRIAGE Vow, The. 
 
 Speak it not lightly ! 'tis a holy thing, 
 A bond enduring thro' long distant years. 
 
 When joy o'er thine above is hovering ; 
 
 Or when thine eye is wet with bitterest tears. 
 
 Recorded by an angel's pinions high. 
 
 And must be questioned in eternity. 
 
 Speak it not lightly ! though the young and 
 
 gay 
 
 Are thronging round thee now with tones of 
 mirth ; 
 Let not the holy promise of to-day 
 
 Fade like the clouds that with the morn 
 have birth. 
 But ever bright and sacred may it be. 
 Stored in the treasure-cell of memory. 
 
 Life will not prove all sunshine ; there will 
 come 
 Dark hours for all. O, will ye, when the 
 night 
 Of sorrow gathers thickly round your home, 
 
 Love as ye did when calm and bright 
 Seemed the sure path ye trod, untouched by 
 
 care, 
 And deemed the futui-e like the present, fair ? 
 
 Should fortune frown on your defenceless head, 
 Should storms o'ertake your bark on life's 
 dark sea, 
 
 Fierce tempests rend the sail so gaily spread. 
 When Hope her syren strain sang joyously, 
 
 Will ye look up though clouds your sky o'ercast. 
 
 And say, together we will bide the blast ? 
 
 Speak it not lightly ! oh ! beware, beware ! 
 
 'Tis no vain promise, no unmeaning word ; 
 Lo ! men and angels list the faith ye swear. 
 
 And by the High and Holy One 'tis heard. 
 O, then kneel humbly at His altar now. 
 And pray for strength to keep the marriage 
 vow. Anon. 
 
 MASTER, his Last Wish. 
 
 Tend me to-night ; 
 May-be it is the period of your duty : 
 Haply, you shall not see me more ; or if, 
 A mangled shadov/ : perchance to-morrow 
 You'll serve another master. I look on you 
 As one that takes his leave. Mine honest 
 
 friends, 
 I turn you not away ; but like a master 
 Married to your good service, stay till death : 
 Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more, 
 And the gods yield you for 't. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 335 
 
 MATERIALISM. 
 
 The doctrine of the materialists was always, 
 even in my youth, a cold, heavy, dull, and in- 
 supportable doctrine to me, and necessarily 
 tending to atheism. When I heard with dis- 
 gust, in the dissecting-rooms, the plan of the 
 physiologist, of the gradual secretion of matter, 
 and its becoming endued with irritability, 
 ripening into sensibility, and acquiring such 
 organs as were necessary, by its own inherent 
 forces, and at last rising into intellectual 
 existence, a walk into the green fields, or 
 woods, by the banks of rivers, brought back 
 my feelings from nature to God, I saw in all 
 the powers of matter the instruments of the 
 Deity ; the sunbeams, the breath of the zephyr, 
 awakened animation in forms prepared by 
 Divine Intelligence to receive it ; the insen- 
 sate seed, the slumbering ^gg, which were to 
 be vivified, appeared like the new-bom animal, 
 works of a divine mind ; I saw love as the 
 creative principle in the material world, and 
 this love only as a divine attribute. Then, in 
 my own mind, I felt connected with new sen- 
 sations and indefinite hopes, a thirst for im- 
 mortality ; the great names of other ages, and 
 of distant nations, appeared to me to be still 
 living around me ; and even in the funeral 
 monuments of the heroic and the great I saw, 
 as it were, the indestructibility of mind. 
 
 These feelings, though generally considered 
 as poetical, offer a sound philosophica]^ argu- 
 ment in favour of the immortality of the soul. 
 In all the habits and instincts of yovmg animals, 
 their feelings or movements may be traced in 
 intimate relation to their improved perfect 
 state ; their sports have always affinities to 
 their modes of hunting or catching their food, 
 and young birds even in the nest show marks 
 of fondness, which, when their frames are de- 
 veloped, become signs of actions necessary to 
 the reproduction and preservation of the 
 species. The desire of glory, of honour, of 
 immortal fame, and of constant knowledge, so 
 usual in young persons of well-constituted 
 minds, cannot, I think, be other than symp- 
 toms of the infinite and progressive nature of 
 intellect — hopes which, as they cannot be gra- 
 tified here, belong to a frame of mind suited to 
 a nobler state of existence. — Sir Humphry 
 Davy. 
 
 MATRIMONIAL Forbearances. 
 Man and wife are equally concerned to avoid 
 all offences of each other in the beginning of 
 
 their conversation : every little thing can blast 
 an infant blossom ; and the breath of the south 
 can shake the little rings of the vine, when first 
 they begin to curl like the locks of a new- 
 weaned boy ; but when, by age and consoli- 
 dation, they stiffen into the hardness of a stem, 
 and have, by the warm embraces of the sun 
 and the kisses of heaven, brought forth their 
 clusters, they can endure the storms of the 
 north, and the loud noises of a tempest, and 
 yet never be broken. So are the early unions 
 of an unfixed marriage ; watchful and obser- 
 vant, jealous and busy, inquisitive and careful, 
 and apt to take alarm at every unkind word : 
 for infirmities do not manifest themselves in 
 the first scenes, but in the succession of a long 
 society ; and it is not chance ot weakness 
 when it appears at first, but it is want of love 
 or prudence, or it will be so expounded ; and 
 that which appears ill at first usually affrights 
 the inexperienced man or woman, who makes 
 unequal conjectures, and fancies mighty sor- 
 rows by the proportions of the new and early 
 unkindness. — Jeremy Taylor. 
 
 MATTER, as Significant of Mind. 
 
 Matter is sublime or beautiful only as it is 
 significant of mind. Here pleasure is, as in 
 every other case, "made instrumental to the 
 moral purposes of our being. While the ob- 
 jects of the material world are made to attract 
 our infant eyes, there are latent ties by which 
 they reach our hearts ; and wherever they 
 afford us delight they are always the signs or 
 expressions of higher qualities, by which our 
 moral sensibilities are called forth. It may 
 not be our fortune, perhaps, to be bom amid 
 its nobler scenes. But wander where we Avill, 
 trees wave, rivers flow, mountains ascend, 
 clouds darken, or winds animate, the face of 
 heaven ; and over the whole scenery the sun 
 sheds the cheerfulnesss of his morning, the 
 splendour of his noon-day, or the tenderness 
 of his evening light. There is not one of these 
 features of scenery which is not fitted to awaken 
 us to moral emotion ; to lead us, when once 
 the key of our imagination is stmck, to trains 
 of fascinating and endless imagery ; and in the 
 indulgence of them make our bosoms either 
 glow with conceptions of mental excellence or 
 melt in the dreams of moral good. Even 
 upon the man of the most uncultivated taste, 
 the scenes of nature have some inexplicable 
 charm : there is not a chord, perhaps, of the 
 
1^,6 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 human heart which may not be wakened by 
 their influence ; and I believe there is no man 
 of genuine taste who has not often felt, in the 
 lone majesty of nature, some unseen spirit to 
 dwell, which, in his happier hours, touched, as 
 if with magic hand, all the springs of his moral 
 sensibility, and rekindled in his heart the 
 original conceptions of the moral and intel- 
 lectual excellence of his nature. — Alison. 
 
 MAXIMS. 
 Persevere against discouragements. Keep 
 your temper. Employ your leisure in study, 
 and always have some work in hand. Be 
 punctual and methodical in business, and never 
 procrastinate. Never be in a hurry. Preserve 
 self-possession, and do not be talked out of a 
 conviction. Rise early, and be an economist 
 of time. Maintain dignity without the appear- 
 ance of pride ; manner is something with every- 
 body, and everything with some. Be guarded 
 in discourse, attentive and slow to speak. 
 Never acquiesce in immoral or pernicious 
 opinions. Be not forward to assign reasons to 
 those who have no right to ask. Think 
 nothing in conduct unimportant or indifferent. 
 Rather set than follow examples. Practise 
 strict temperance ; and in all your transactions 
 remember the final account. — Bp. Middleton. 
 
 MAY, the Month of Mirth. 
 
 May is the very month of mirth ! 
 And if there be a time on earth, 
 When things below in part may vie 
 JFor beauty with the things on high ; 
 As some have thought earth's beauties given 
 For counterparts of those in heaven ; 
 'Tis in that balmy vernal time, 
 When Nature revels in her prime ; 
 And all is fresh, and fair, and gay, 
 Resplendent with the smiles of May. 
 
 Mant 
 
 MEDICAL SkUl. 
 
 It deserves to be noted, as a marvellous 
 instance of that truly learned conjecture by 
 which the skill of Dr. Baillie wa<i'distinguished, 
 that after many other physicians had severally 
 given their opinions on the nature of Mr. 
 Horner's hidden complaints. Dr. Baillie at 
 once decided against all those theories ; but, 
 when he came to propose his own, avowed the 
 
 extreme uncertainty in which so obscure and 
 difficult a case had left him. However, he 
 said that he guessed it was one or the other of 
 two maladies so rare that he had only seen a 
 case or two of the one, and the other never but 
 in a museum of morbid anatomy. When the 
 body was opened by Vacca, at Pisa, where he 
 died, it was found that both those rare diseases 
 existed. — Lord Brougham. 
 
 MEDITATION. 
 
 Meditation is a busy search in the storehouse 
 of phantasy for some ideas of matters, to be 
 cast in the moulds of resolution into some forms 
 of words or actions ; in which search, when I 
 have used my greatest diligence, I find this is 
 the best conclusion, that to meditate on the best 
 is the best of meditations : and a resolution to 
 make a good end is a good end of my resolu- 
 tions. — A. Warwick., 
 
 If, in the definition of meditation, I should 
 call it an unaccustomed and unpractised duty, 
 I should speak a truth, though somewhat in- 
 artificially, for not only the interior beauties and 
 excellences are as unfelt as ideas and abstrac- 
 tions are, but also the practice and common 
 knowledge of the duty itself are strangers to 
 us, like the retirements of the deep, or the 
 undiscovered treasures of the Indian hills. 
 And this is a very great cause of the dryness 
 and expiration of man's devotion, because our 
 souls are so little refreshed with the waters and 
 holy dews of meditation. We go to our prayers 
 by chance, or order, or by determination of 
 accidental occurrences ; and we recite them as 
 we read a book ; and, sometimes, we are 
 sensible of the duty, and a flash of lightning 
 makes the room bright, and our prayers end, 
 and the lightning is gone, and we are as dark 
 as ever. We draw our water from standing 
 pools which never are filled but with sudden 
 showers, and therefore we are dry so often. 
 — Jere77iy Taylor, 
 
 MEMORY and Hope. 
 Oft have I mark'd, as o'er the sea 
 
 We've swept before the wind. 
 That those whose hearts were on the shore 
 
 Cast longing looks behind ; 
 While they whose hopes have elsewhere been 
 
 Have watch'd with anxious eyes, 
 To see the hills that lay before, 
 
 Faint o'er the waters rise. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 337 
 
 'Tis thus as o'er the sea of life 
 
 Our onward course we track, 
 That anxious sadness looks before, 
 
 The happy still look back, 
 Still smiling on the course they've past 
 
 As earnest of the rest, — 
 'Tis hope's the charm of ^vretchedness 
 
 While memory woo's the blest. Anoft. 
 
 MEMORY, Descriptive of. 
 
 What is Memory ? 'tis the light 
 
 Which hallows life— a ray profound 
 Upon the brow of mental night ; 
 
 An echo — time the passing sound ; 
 A mirror — its bright surface shows 
 
 Hope, fear, grief, love, delight, regret ; 
 A generous spring ; a beam which glows 
 
 Long after sun and star have set ; 
 A leaf— nor storm nor blight can fade ; 
 
 An ark of Time's bereaving sea ; 
 A perfume from a flower decayed ; 
 
 A treasure for Eternity ! Anott. 
 
 MEMORY, Distance of. 
 
 The distance of memory alone can change the 
 drops of time through which we swim into the 
 rainbow of enjoyment. • 
 
 MEMORY, its Charms. 
 
 Say whence the charm that those sweet scenes 
 
 impart. 
 To raise at once, and to subdue the heart — 
 To paint sweet fiction in the hues of light. 
 And lead the mind through ages wrapt in night? 
 Whence the soft power that speaks'alike to all, 
 And binds the sternest in her thrilling thrall ? 
 'Tis thine, dear Memory, thus to fill the soul, — 
 Thus o'er the heart to exercise control, — 
 To wrest from Time some portion of his prey, 
 Breathe life in dust, and animate decay ! 
 
 No joy we boast, but which the coming hour 
 May whelm in sorrow, or with pain o'erpower. 
 Still former scenes sweet recollection claims — 
 Still bum the embers of our former flames — 
 Still every cloud fond memory tints with light, 
 And gilds with stars the mind's obscurest 
 
 night ; 
 O'er life's rude storms a rainbow hue she 
 
 casts, — 
 Her's is the beam that every cloud outlasts. 
 
 Thus, when the traveller quits his native 
 shore, 
 The scenes he leaves seemed ne'er so dear before; 
 As less and less its fading traces grow. 
 His heart is grieved with unavailing woe — 
 His anxious eye he strains across the main. 
 To view those native, long-loved scenes again. 
 So by thy light, sweet Memory, we survey 
 Youth's hours of bliss, and childhood's happier 
 
 day — 
 So once again, while tears the eyes bedew, 
 Reflected in thy glass these scenes we view. 
 Sweet childhood ! still we mourn those halcyon 
 
 hours 
 When guileless peace and innocence were ours — 
 When every change could only add to joy. 
 Which neither woe could blight nor care de- 
 stroy ! 
 When life was sweet, and every sorrow feigned, 
 The elastic mind defied, and soul disdained ; 
 When all was pure as Eden's lovely bowers. 
 And every smiling path was strewn with flowers. 
 Delightful days ! alas, ye blushed to fade — 
 Your bloom 'neath sorrow's blighting breath 
 
 decayed ; 
 The flower which smiles amid the summer gales, 
 When autumn blows, its short-lived lustre fails; 
 The leaf that spring beholds so bright and 
 
 green, 
 A few short months, and sad and sear 'tis seen : 
 The opening buds that brightly meet the mom. 
 Oft from their stem by evening blasts are torn : 
 So does keen anguish smite the woe-worn 
 
 brow, 
 And grief its empire is maintaining now. 
 And must the withered leaf alone be here ? 
 Must every smile be followed by a tear ? 
 No ! still that eye one kindling spark relumes — 
 Its wonted fires it once again resumes : 
 As the warm brilliance of the sunbeam shines, 
 And melts the snow that crowns the Apen- 
 nines — 
 Thus lights the heart sweet Memory's genial 
 
 ray. 
 Thus gilds its woes, and smiles its cares away. 
 
 7. A. 
 
 MEMORY, its Essence. 
 No, the roses soon withered that hung o'er the 
 wave. 
 But some blossoms were gathered, while 
 freshly they shone. 
 And a dew was distilled from their flowers, 
 that gave 
 All the fragrance of summer, when summer 
 was gone. 
 
 z 
 
338 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, 
 An essence that breathes of it many a year ; 
 Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my 
 eyes, 
 Is that bower on the banks of the calm 
 Bendemeer ! Moore. 
 
 MEMORY, its Sanctity. 
 
 That sanctity which settles on the memory of 
 a great man ought, upon a double motive, to 
 be vigilantly sustained by his countrymen ; 
 first, out of gratitude to him, as one column of 
 the national grandeur ; secondly, with a prac- 
 tical purpose of transmitting, unimpaired, to 
 posterity the benefit of ennobling models. High 
 standards of excellence are among the happiest 
 distinctions by which the modem ages of the 
 world have an advantage over earlier, and we 
 are all interested by duty as well as policy in 
 preserving them inviolate. 
 
 MEMORY, Thoughts on 
 
 It is not easy to invest any subject relating to 
 the philosophy of the mind with an interest 
 sufficiently powerful to secure the protracted 
 attention of a reader. Indeed, a writer, as 
 well as a reader, must often be conscious of the 
 strong propensity of his mind to wander — to 
 fly off, and to settle on any appearance in the 
 whole range of real or imaginary existence, 
 rather than on itself. At the first proposal of 
 a mental subject, the mind, perhaps, suspect- 
 ing a little difficulty, springs towards it with 
 all its native elasticity, but soon discovers that 
 it has drawn its sword on a leviathan, and the 
 ardour of its enthusiasm gradually chills into 
 impatience and chagrin. In this state of feel- 
 ing, unable to meet its demands, and unwilling 
 to act the part of an amanuensis, the mind 
 heats and agitates itself by its own action. 
 Unable to fasten on facts and realities, it 
 "bodies forth the forms of things unknown," 
 and applying its wand to each as it passes, 
 endeavours to give it a complexion illustrative 
 of the subject under consideration. But, at 
 length, wearied by its nndisciplined efforts, it 
 relinquishes the subject, endeavours to lose the 
 thoughts which have occurred on it, to with- 
 draw from their unwelcome influence, and to 
 recover its wonted temperament, in the hope 
 that the subject, when resumed, will present 
 itself in a more eligible light. 
 
 Much of this mental distress may often be 
 attributed to a weak or immethodical memory. 
 On such an occasion, probably, a far greater 
 demand is made on the memory, and the asso- 
 ciating principle, than on the imagination. 
 Thoughts and opinions make their re-appear- 
 ance, which, till now, perhaps, we knew not 
 were in our possession. They may not wear 
 the freshness of novelty, and may remind us 
 of some indistinct resemblances which have 
 already floated across our minds ; but, fre- 
 quently, in the feeling which attends the pre- 
 sent appropriation of them, we think not of 
 their anterior existence, but are apt to regard 
 them as the creations of the present moment. 
 If, however, a person can command the assist- 
 ance of a feeble and untutored memory only, 
 he may call on it for aid with the same success 
 as Glendower could "command spirits from 
 the vasty deep." Or, like the ghosts on the 
 banks of the Styx, his ideas, unaccustomed 
 to control and arrangement, will rush promis- 
 cuously forward, and his every production will 
 exhibit the picture of a mind habitually sub- 
 missive to objects and events, without any 
 power to classify and appropriate them. 
 
 Memory may be classed among those facul- 
 ties of the mind which, on our retiring to rest, 
 seem to descend from their station of authority 
 and observation to repose in silence with their 
 material partner. Arid this partial loss of the 
 memory during sleep may account for much of 
 the inconsistency of dreams. We often find 
 ourselves realising again the scenes of the past 
 day with a thousand strange additions — but 
 suddenly the scene is changed, and we are in- 
 troduced to new appearances, without any 
 recollection whatever of the past. Thus we 
 sometimes revisit the familiar scenes of child- 
 hood with a friend whom, perhaps, we long 
 since lowered into the grave, without re- 
 membrance of the solemn event, or our 
 deep emotion at witnessing it. The mind, in 
 sleep, seems quite incapable of retrospection, 
 and is wholly confined to the present scene. 
 Hence, if we ever suspect ourselves to be 
 dreaming, should the subject of our dream 
 change, the former dream, and the suspicion, 
 are entirely obliterated, and we are quite ab- 
 sorbed in the scenes of the new drama. 
 
 It is reasonable to suppose, since the memory 
 must always regard some object, and the senses 
 are the great medium of access to the mind, 
 that the active existence of memory is subse- 
 quent to that of perception. From the recol- 
 lection of external objects and events the mind 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 339 
 
 gradually advances to the more refined exercise 
 of remembering past thoughts. This important 
 advance in its history depends, however, prin- 
 cipally upon education. An uncultivated mind 
 has few intellectual reminiscences. It has no 
 hallowed thoughts of the past, no shadowy 
 abstractions to commune with in silence, as 
 with the spirit of a departed friend. Still a 
 chrysalis, it knows not that fancy may be 
 winged, and visit other worlds. Like the Jews, 
 under the present economy, it continues sur- 
 rounded with types and shadows, when it 
 should be looking back on them as on the 
 pleasing instructors of its nonage. 
 
 In early childhood, when the mind can just 
 turn its eye from the present to look a short 
 distance "before and after," its efforts of 
 memory and anticipation are nearly balanced. 
 From the recollection of a yesterday it begins 
 to think of a to-morrow. And this proportion 
 in its intimacy with the past and future con- 
 tinues until the sphere of its vision has so far 
 increased that the future can venture to assert 
 its independence of the past. Henceforth, 
 during the greater part of life, anticipation is 
 commonly found to lord it over the memory. 
 The mind feels its impotence when it refers to 
 past scenes — they seem to have fled beyond 
 the limits of its influence. But the future is 
 ever pregnant with interest. All the im- 
 portant events of life are yet to come. Over 
 these the mind intends to exert its highest 
 authority, and to surprise the world into an un- 
 premeditated acknowledgment of its powers. 
 Perhaps almost every past day has presented 
 blanks only from the great lottery of life ; but 
 this, so far from damping the ardour of the 
 mind, induces it the more to luxuriate in fancy 
 on the prizes which yet remain. Thus the 
 memory is commonly doomed to hold an office 
 of secondary importance, until the history of 
 life becomes well stored with incidents, and, 
 from the diminished interest of the present, 
 the mind begins to feel itself occasionally 
 thrown back on the past. The balance of 
 power is now gradually restored ; and at 
 length, perhaps, the preponderance appears on 
 the side of memory. Besides, having proved 
 the uncertainty of the future, and enjoying a 
 pleasure in revolving and detailing the past, 
 nothing can now be seen or heard but the mind 
 instantly recurs to something parallel in the 
 record of days gone by. 
 
 The pleasures and advantages of memory 
 will be found to compete with the most exalted 
 we enjoy. It is the museum of the mind. 
 
 where are deposited the rare, the costly, and 
 the beautiful, to be exhibited as occasion may 
 require. It is the mysterious power which 
 calls up our former joys and sorrows, and bids 
 them live again. It invests every man, more 
 or less, with the character of a prophet, 
 enabling him to foretell the nature and ap- 
 proach of many events with accuracy. In 
 short, an idea of the influence which it exer- 
 cises on our happiness is given us by the fact 
 that the poets of all ages have personified and 
 apostrophized it with religious enthusiasm ; 
 nor should it sink in our estimation from the 
 circumstance that the instinctive tribes have 
 given repeated indications that they possess it 
 as well as ourselves, though in a much inferior 
 degree. Indeed, in some of them, there are 
 traces of other powers besides the memory. 
 But if we reflect that these phenomena are 
 quite incidental, seldom satisfactory, and 
 always confined to the Bacons and Newtons of 
 their species, we feel ourselves reinstated in 
 our accustomed elevation, and exult in the 
 assurance that whatever may be the nature of 
 our mental economy, ** There is a spirit in man, 
 and the inspiration of the Almighty hath given 
 him understanding." 
 
 There is something extremely revolting in 
 the contemplation of the state induced by the 
 total absence of memory. We review with so 
 much interest scenes that are past, as con- 
 stituting parts of our former selves, that, with 
 all our anxiety to pry into futurity, we should 
 not probably be disposed to exchange memory 
 for prescience. And this predilection for 
 memory will doubtless increase as the history 
 of our existence advances. How must it 
 enhance the pleasure of a pure intelligence to 
 trace back the events which have given interest 
 to the history of ten thousand years ! 
 
 It might be amusing to contrast the probable 
 state of man, possessed of prescience instead 
 of memory, with his present state. His con- 
 duct to-day would not be regulated by the 
 experience of yesterday, but by the events of 
 to-morrow. The philosopher, in discussing 
 the subject of his personal identity, could 
 derive no evidence from the past, but could 
 only show that he is the san^e person now that 
 would do such a thing ten or twenty years 
 hence. A man would suffer, if punished at 
 all, for a crime which he would commit, and 
 not for one which he had perpetrated ; for if 
 he were allowed to incur the actual guilt, he 
 would escape with impunity. He would be 
 as presumptuous, then, who should pry into 
 
340 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 the mysteries of yesterday, as he is now, who 
 presumes concerning the events of futurity. 
 
 There is one peculiarity which would dis- 
 tinguish the loss of memory, that its departure 
 would be attended by no regret, since this 
 would imply a recollection of having once 
 possessed it. When we have lost other 
 blessings, it is often a solace to feel that we 
 can embalm them in the memory. But were 
 memory itself to perish, we could only specu- 
 late concerning it as we do now concerning a 
 sixth sense. He who drinks the waters of 
 Lethe forgets that he ever drank them. — 
 Aspirate. 
 
 MEN, Crafty, Contemn Study. 
 
 Crafty men contemn studies ; simple men 
 admire them ; and wise men use them ; for 
 they teach not their own use ; that is a wisdom 
 without them ; and won by observation. Read 
 not to contradict, nor to believe, but to weigh 
 and consider. Some books are to be tasted, 
 others swallowed, and some few to be chewed 
 and digested. Reading maketh a full man, 
 conference a ready man, and writing an exact 
 man. And therefore if a man write little, he 
 had need have a great memory ; if he confer 
 little, have a present wit ; and if he read little, 
 have much cunning to seem to know that he 
 doth not Histories make men wise, poets 
 witty, the mathematics subtle, natural philo- 
 sophy deep, morals grave, logic and rhetoric 
 able to contend. — Bacon. 
 
 MEN, FaUen. 
 
 Poor race of men ! said the pitying spirit, 
 Dearly ye pay for your primal fall — 
 
 Some flowerets of Eden ye still inherit. 
 
 But the trail of the serpent is over them all ! 
 
 Moore. 
 
 MEN, Inconsistent. 
 
 How frail and inconsistent are men ! How dif- 
 ferently they think and act, even for themselves, 
 in different circumstances ! How strangely 
 does the passion of pride seek for gratification 
 from contrary causes, from pursuing ideal 
 good, and from giving up that which is attain- 
 able and real ! One moment a man strains 
 at a gnat, applauding himself for sagacity, 
 in the next not suspecting himself of credulity 
 when he swallows a camel. — Parr. 
 
 MEN, Naturally Ambitious. 
 
 There are few men who are not ambitious of 
 distinguishing themselves in the nation or coun- 
 try where they live, and of growing considerable 
 with those with whom they converse. There 
 is a kind of grandeur and respect which the 
 meanest and most insignificant part of mankind 
 endeavour to procure in the little circle of their 
 friends and acquaintances. The poorest me- 
 chanic, nay, the man who lives upon common 
 alms, gets him his set of admirers, and delights 
 in that superiority which he enjoys over those 
 who are in some respects beneath him. This 
 ambition, which is natural to the soul of man, 
 might, methinks, receive a very happy turn ; 
 and, if it were rightly directed, contribute as 
 much to a person's advantage as it generally 
 does to his uneasiness and disquiet. — Addison. 
 
 MEN of Brilliant Talents. 
 
 Men of splendid talents are generally too 
 quick, too volatile, too adventurous, and too 
 unstable to be much relied on ; whereas men 
 of common abilities, in a regular plodding 
 routine of business, act with more regularity 
 and greater certainty. Men of the best intel- 
 lectual abilities are apt to strike off suddenly, 
 like the tangent of a circle, and cannot be 
 brought into their orbits by attraction or 
 gravity — they often act with such eccentricity 
 as to be lost in the vortex of their own reveries. 
 Brilliant talents in general are like the ignes 
 fatui ; they excite wonder, but often mislead. 
 They are not, however, without their use ; like 
 the fire from the flint, once produced, it may 
 be converted, by solid thinking men, to very 
 salutary and noble purposes.— Truster . 
 
 MEN, ReciprocaL 
 
 There are a sort of men which are kind men 
 to me, when they expect some kindness from 
 me : who have their hands down to the ground 
 in their salutations, when the ground of their 
 salutations is to have a hand at me in some 
 commodity. But their own ends once served, 
 their kindness hath its end at once : and then 
 it seems strange to me, how strange they will 
 seem to grow to me ; as if the cause (their de- 
 sire) being removed, the effect (their courtesy) 
 must straight cease. I will not acknowledge 
 such my friends, but their own : and whenever 
 I see such insinuating palpation, I will bethink 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 341 
 
 me what the authors would have of me : and 
 with a thrifty discretion, rather deny such their 
 requests, than in a prodigal kindness become 
 their friend more than mine own. — Arthur 
 IVarwick, 
 
 MENTAL Depression. 
 
 How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable. 
 Seem to me all the uses of this world ! 
 
 There are moments, reader — cold, dreary, 
 cheerless moments — which occasionally ob- 
 trude, like the visits of a demon, into the history 
 of the wisest and the best. Do you anticipate 
 my meaning? If not, pass on to the next 
 article, for I speak to sympathy. " Why, who 
 does not know that life has its sorrows as well 
 as its joys? There needs no ghost come from 
 the grave to tell us this." My good reader, 
 pass on, as I requested you, to the next article : 
 I speak to sympathy. 
 
 The state of mind which I contemplate 
 acknowledges no relation either to a whining 
 sentimentality on the one hand, or to a convul- 
 sion of grief on the other. It is marked by 
 silence, self-possession, and retirement. It 
 does not resemble that common, imiversal 
 sorrow, which has suggested the idea of com- 
 paring life to the ocean. It is more like those 
 subterranean depths, sacred to darkness and 
 silence, which curiosity approaches with cau- 
 tion, and superstition with awe. It does not 
 so much resemble the darkness of midnight as 
 the twilight of a summer's evening, when even 
 inanimate natvu-e seems deep in thought, and 
 the mind, detached from the interests of earth, 
 wanders to other worlds and systems. It de- 
 pends not for its continuance on time or place, 
 though it has its preferences, and often ejacu- 
 lates, ** O that I had wings like a dove, for 
 then would I flee away and be at rest ! " It is 
 not averse to communion, for it \vill "weep 
 with those that weep," though it cannot " re- 
 joice with those that rejoice." Its course is 
 far away in the past or the future, though it 
 commonly takes its rise in some present object 
 or passing incident Selfishness does not enter 
 into its composition, for it often looks abroad 
 with interest on the condition and prospects of 
 the species, and even of the imiverse. 
 
 Reader, hast thou friends? — are they far 
 away ? — have they forsaken thee ? or are they 
 dead? Then, at such a moment, they will 
 appear before thee with their several peculiari- 
 ties of character. They will come from the 
 
 regions of the dead as well as of the living, and 
 seem to stand around thee with looks of affec- 
 tionate concern. Are there spots in the past 
 dear to memory and friendship — places where 
 you first met or last parted with a congenial 
 spuit — where you have often been the subject 
 of deep feeling or have taken "sweet coun- 
 sel ? " They will all pass in slow and thought- 
 ful review. Have you been misimderstood, 
 frowned on, and buffetted by the world ? You 
 wifl then say, * * My soul hath them still in re- 
 membrance, the wormwood and the gall. " Is 
 there a point in the path of life to which you 
 fancy you must attain before you can deem 
 yourself safe and happy ? It will then seem to 
 recede far into the distance, and to defy your 
 attempts to reach it. Is health a timid and 
 unfrequent companion in your course ? You 
 will then catch in the ear of fancy the distant 
 sounds of gladness uttered by those who started 
 at the same moment as yourself in the career of 
 active life. And while you mark their happy, 
 healthful, easy progress, you will feel the im- 
 measurable distance at which you are left be- 
 hind to pace along with slow and painful steps. 
 Influenced by such feelings and reflections, the 
 imagination may lead you imperceptibly on- 
 wards through scenes of treachery, oppression, 
 suffering, and want. For in a world like this 
 it requires but little invention to pourtray such 
 scenes — the materials are all around. The 
 most familiar objects will, at such a moment, 
 assume an appearance almost vmearthly, and 
 the strains of music and the voice of mirth will 
 fall on the ear like soimds from another world. 
 And, with Cowper, you may sigh, — 
 O for a lodge in some vast wilderness. 
 Some boundless contiguity of shade ! 
 And where, reader, amidst this gloom and 
 prostration of mind, is a remedy to be foxmd — 
 where, but in religion? Reflect at such a 
 moment, that His eye who never slumbers is 
 fastened on you in compassion ; — that his hand, 
 which supports the universe, is stretched out 
 to raise and sustain you. He offers you a staff 
 for a pilgrimage, a balm for your wounds, and 
 a lamp lighted at the altar of heaven to illu- 
 minate every scene of darkness. And to crown 
 his other acts of love, he points you to his Son, 
 as to a friend who never misrepresents, never 
 forgets, never abandons those who give him 
 the confidence which he solicits — and whose 
 peculiar claim to our affection is, that ** he is 
 touched with the feehng of our infirmity." 
 And when, invigorated by these consolatory 
 reflections, you remember that he has engaged 
 
342 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 to renovate the moral world, and is actually 
 carrying forward the grand undertaking to- 
 wards perfection, you will look up and perceive 
 a sphere for your activity, and a subject to 
 employ and exhilarate your mind. — Aspirate. 
 
 MENTAL Exercise. 
 
 By looking into physical causes our minds are 
 opened and enlarged ; and in this pursuit, 
 whether we take or whether we love the game, 
 the chase is certainly of service. — Burke. 
 
 MERCY, Meet for Kings. 
 
 Say pardon, king ; let pity teach thee how : 
 The word is short, but not so short as sweet : 
 No word like pardon, for kings' mouths so 
 meet. Shakespeare. 
 
 MERCY of God. 
 
 God's mercy is a holy mercy, which knows 
 how to pardon sin, not to protect it ; it is a 
 sanctuary for the penitent, not for the pre- 
 sumptuous. — Bp. Reynolds. 
 
 MERCY, the Virtue of Law. 
 
 I AM an humble suitor to your virtues ; 
 For pity is the virtue of the law. 
 And none but tyrants use it cruelly. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 MERIT, Rare. 
 If virtue's self were lost, we might 
 From your fair miijd new copies v/rite. 
 Waller. 
 
 MERIT, Superior to 6ppression. 
 
 Distinguished merit will ever rise to oppres- 
 sion, and will draw lustre from reproach. The 
 vapours which gather round the rising sun, and 
 follow him in his course, seldom fail at the 
 close of it to form a magnificent theatre for 
 his reception, and to invest with variegated 
 tints and with a softened effulgence the lumi- 
 nary which they cannot Mx'^Q.-^Robert Hall. 
 
 METAPHYSICIAN. 
 He could reduce all things to acts. 
 And knew their natures by abstracts 
 
 Where entity and quiddity, 
 The ghosts of defunct bodies fly ; 
 Where truth in person does appear. 
 Like words congeal'd in Northern air. 
 He knew what's what, and that's as high 
 As metaphysic wit can fly. 
 
 He could raise scruples, dark and nice. 
 And after solve them in a trice ; 
 As if divinity had catch'd 
 The itch, on purpose to be scratch'd 
 Or like a mountebank, did wound 
 And stab herself with doubts profound. 
 Only to show with how small pain 
 The sores of faith are cur'd again ; 
 Altho' by woful proof we find 
 They always leave a scar behind. 
 
 Butler. 
 
 METHOD, its Importance. 
 
 It would, indeed, be superfluous to attempt a 
 proof of the importance of method in the 
 business and economy of active or domestic 
 life. From the cotter's hearth, or the work- 
 shop of the artisan, to the palace or the 
 arsenal, the first merit, that which admits 
 neither substitute nor equivalent, is that ever)'- 
 thing is in its place. Where this charm 
 is wanting, every other merit either loses its 
 name or becomes an additional ground of 
 accusation and regret. Of one, by whom it 
 is eminently possessed, we say proverbially, 
 he is like clock-work. The resemblance ex- 
 tends beyond the point of regularity, and yet 
 falls short of the truth. Both do, indeed, at 
 once divide and announce the silent and 
 otherwise undistinguishable lapse of time. 
 
 But the man of methodical industry and 
 honourable pursuits does more : he realises its 
 ideal divisions, and gives a character and in- 
 dividuality to its moments. If the idle are 
 described as killing lime, he may be justly 
 said to call it into life and moral being, while 
 he makes it the distinct object not only of 
 the consciousness but of the conscience. He 
 organises the hours and gives them a soul : 
 and that, the very essence of which is to fleet 
 away, and evermore to have been, he takes up 
 into his own permanence, and communicates it 
 to the imperishableness of a spiritual nature. 
 Of the good and faithful servant, whose ener- 
 gies, thus directed, are thus methodized, it is 
 less truly affirmed that he lives in time than 
 that time lives in him. His days, months, and 
 years, as the stops and punctual marks in the 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 343 
 
 records of duties performed, will survive the 
 wreck of worlds, and remain extant when time 
 itself shall be no more, — Coleridge. 
 
 MIDNIGHT Musings. 
 
 I AM now alone in my chamber. The family 
 have long since retired. I have heard their 
 steps die away, and the doors clap to after 
 them. The murmur of voices and the peal of 
 remote laughter no longer reach the ear. The 
 clock from the church in which so many of 
 the former inhabitants of this house lie buried 
 has chimed the awful hour of midnight. 
 
 I have sat by the window, and mused upon 
 the dusky landscape, watching the lights dis- 
 appearing one by one from the distant village ; 
 and the moon, rising in her silent majesty, and 
 leading up all the silver pomp of heaven. As 
 I have gazed upon these quiet groves, and 
 shadowy lawns, silvered over and imperfectly 
 lighted by streaks of dewy moonshine, my mind 
 has been crowded by "thick coming fancies" 
 concerning those spiritual beings which 
 
 Walk the earth 
 Unseen both when we wake and when we sleep. 
 
 Are there, indeed, such beings? Is this 
 space between us and the Deity filled up by 
 innumerable orders of spiritual beings forming 
 the same gradations between the human soul 
 and divine perfection, that we see prevailing 
 from humanity down to the meanest insect? 
 It is a sublime and beautiful doctrine incul- 
 cated by the early fathers, that there are guar- 
 dian angels appointed to watch over cities and 
 nations, to take care of good men, and to guard 
 and guide the steps of helpless infancy. Even 
 the doctrine of departed spirits returning to 
 visit the scenes and beings which were dear 
 to them during the bodies' existence, though 
 it has been debased by the absurd superstitions 
 of the vulgar, in itself is awfully solemn and 
 sublime. 
 
 However lightly it may be ridiculed, yet the 
 attention involuntarily yielded to it whenever 
 it is made the subject of serious discussion, 
 and its prevalence in all ages and countries, 
 even among newly-discovered nations that 
 have had no previous interchange of thought 
 with other parts of the world, prove it to be 
 one of those mysterious and instinctive beliefs, 
 to which, if left to ourselves, we should natu- 
 rally incline. 
 
 In spite of all the pride of reason and phi- 
 
 losophy, a vague doubt will still lurk in the 
 mind, and perhaps will never be eradicated, as 
 it is a matter that does not admit of positive 
 demonstration. Who yet has been able to 
 comprehend and describe the nature of the 
 soul ; its mysterious connection with the body ; 
 or in what part of the frame it is situated ? We 
 know merely that it does exist : but whence it 
 came, and when it entered into us, and how it 
 is retained, and where it is seated, and how it 
 operates, are all matters of mere speculation 
 and contradictory theories. If, then, we are 
 ignorant of this spiritual essence, even while 
 it forms a part of ourselves, and is continually 
 present to our consciousness, how can we pre- 
 tend to ascertain or deny its powers and ope- 
 rations, when released from its fleshy prison- 
 house ? 
 
 Everything connected with our spiritual 
 nature is full of doubt and difficulty. "We 
 are fearfully and wonderfully made : " we are 
 surrounded by mysteries, and we are mysteries 
 even to ourselves. It is more the manner in 
 which this superstition has been degraded, 
 than its intrinsic absurdity, that has brought 
 it into contempt. Raise it above the frivolous 
 purposes to which it has been applied, strip it 
 of the gloom and horror with which it has been 
 enveloped, and there is none, in the whole 
 circle of visionary creeds, that could more de- 
 lightfully elevate the imagination, or more 
 tenderly affect the heart. It would become a 
 sovereign comfort at the bed of death, soothing 
 the bitter tear wrung from us by the agony of 
 mortal separation. 
 
 Wliat could be more consoling than the idea 
 that the souls of those we once loved were per- 
 mitted to return and watch over our welfare ? 
 — that affectionate and guardian spirits sat by 
 our pillows when we slept, keeping a vigil 
 over our most helpless hours? — that beauty 
 and innocence, which had languished into the 
 tomb, yet smiled unseen around us, revealing 
 themselves in those blest dreams wherein we 
 live over again the hours of past endearments ? 
 A belief of this kind would, I should think, 
 be a new incentive to virtue, rendering us cir- 
 cumspect, even in our most secret moments, 
 from the idea that those we once loved and 
 honoured were invisible witnesses of all our 
 actions. 
 
 It would take away, too, from that loneli- 
 ness and destitution, which we are apt to feel 
 more and more as we get on in our pilgrimage 
 through the wilderness of this world, and find 
 that those who set forward with us lovingly 
 
344 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 and cheerily on the journey, have one by one 
 dropped away from our side. Place the super- 
 stition in this light, and I confess I should like 
 to be a believer in it. I see nothing in it that 
 is incompatible with the tender and merciful 
 nature of our religion, or revolting to the wishes 
 and affections of the heart. 
 
 There are departed beings that I have loved 
 as I never again shall love in this world ; that 
 have loved me as I never again shall be loved. 
 If such beings do ever retain in their blessed 
 spheres the attachments which they felt on 
 earth ; if they take an interest in the poor con- 
 cerns of transient mortality, and are permitted 
 to hold communion with those whom they have 
 loved on earth, I feel as if now, at this deep 
 hour of night, in this silence and solitude, I 
 could receive their visitation with the most 
 solemn but unalloyed delight. 
 
 In truth, such visitations would be too happy 
 for this world : they would take away the 
 bounds and barriers that hem us in, and keep 
 us from each other. Our existence is doomed 
 to be made up of transient embraces and long 
 separations. The most intimate friendship — 
 of what brief and scattered portions of time 
 does it consist ! We take each other by the 
 hand ; and we exchange a few words and looks 
 of kindness ; and we rejoice together for a few 
 short moments ; and then days, months, years 
 intervene, and we have no intercourse with 
 each other. Or if we dwell together for a 
 season, the grave soon closes its gates, and 
 cuts off all further communion ; and our spirits 
 must remain in separation and widowhood, 
 until they meet again in that more perfect state 
 of being where soul shall dwell with soul, and 
 there shall be no such thing as death, or ab- 
 sence, or any other interruption of our union. 
 — Washington Irving. 
 
 Tis now the noon of night ; yet timid sleep 
 To me brings not the opiate of repose ; 
 And restless Fancy points my thoughts to those 
 Who at this hour a gloomy reckoning keep ; 
 Like sullen sentinels, how minutes creep ! 
 I see the robber at the widow's door ; 
 The murd'rer with his hands fresh dyed in gore; 
 The wretch, whom frightful ruin wakes to weep; 
 The villain plotting to oppress the poor ; 
 The traitor, brooding o'er some /ell design ; 
 The prisoner breaking from his dark confine ; 
 The heart that's broken to be healed no more ; 
 These their lone vigils keep at this still hour. 
 Nor woo, or vainly woo, O sleep ! thy power. 
 
 Mill house. 
 
 MIND, A Great, 
 Devotion of to its Duties. 
 Milton, the poet of "Paradise Lost," who, 
 during an active life in the most troublesome 
 times, was unceasing in the cultivation of his 
 understanding, thus describes his own habits : 
 — "Those morning haunts are where they 
 should be, at home ; not sleeping or concoct- 
 ing the surfeits of an irregular feast, but up and 
 stirring ; in winter, often ere the sound of any 
 bell awakes men to labour and devotion ; in 
 summer as oft with the bird that first rouses, 
 or not much tardier, to read good authors, or 
 cause them to be read, till the attention be 
 weary, or memory have its full fraught ; then 
 with useful and generous labours preserving 
 the body's health and hardiness, to render 
 lightsome, clear, and not lumpish obedience 
 to the mind, to the cause of religion and our 
 country's liberty." 
 
 MIND, Bias of the, 
 Respecting the Future. 
 The common bias of the mind undoubtedly is 
 (such is the benevolent appointment of Provi- 
 dence) to think favourably of the future ; to 
 over value the chances of possible good, and to 
 underrate the risks of possible evil ; and in 
 the case of some fortunate individuals this 
 disposition remains after a thousand disap- 
 pointments. To what this bias of our nature 
 is owing it is not material for us to inquire ; 
 the fact is certain, and it is an important one 
 to our happiness. It supports us under the 
 real distresses of life, and cheers and animates 
 all our labours ; and although it is sometimes 
 apt to produce, in a weak and indolent mind, 
 those deceitful suggestions of ambition and 
 vanity which lead us to sacrifice the duties 
 and the comforts of the present moment to 
 romantic hopes and expectations, yet it must 
 be acknowledged, when connected with habits 
 of activity, and regulated by a solid judgment, 
 to have a favourable effect on the character, 
 by inspiring that ardour and enthusiasm which 
 both prompt to great enterprises and are 
 necessary to ensure their success. When such 
 a temper is united (as it commonly is) with 
 pleasing notions concerning the order of the 
 universe, and in particular concerning the con- 
 dition and the prospects of man, it places our 
 happiness, in a great measure, beyond the 
 power of fortune. While it adds a double 
 relish to every enjoyment, it blunts the edge 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 345 
 
 of all our sufferings ; and even when human 
 life presents to us no object on which our 
 hopes can rest, it invites the imagination 
 beyond the dark and troubled horizon which 
 terminates all our earthly prospects, to wander 
 unconfined in the regions of futurity. A man 
 of benevolence, whose mind is enlarged by 
 philosophy, will indulge the same agreeable 
 anticipations with respect to society ; will view 
 all the different improvements in arts, in com- 
 merce, and in the sciences, as co-operating to 
 promote the union, the happiness, and the 
 virtue of mankind ; and, amidst the political 
 disorders resulting from the prejudices and 
 follies of his own times, will look forward with 
 transport to the blessings which are reserved 
 for posterity in a more enlightened age. — 
 Duzald Stewart. 
 
 MIND, Firmness of. 
 
 ** Fortitude," says Mr. Locke, *' is the guard 
 and support of all the other virtues." The as- 
 sertion, if limited and properly applied, is just. 
 But the question may be asked, can there be 
 true constancy without devotion ? If the suf- 
 frage of the best judges and the fruit of experi- 
 ence 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 incur- 
 sion 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. 
 
 Yet it may admit a doubt whether some of 
 the best specimens of Christian fortitude are 
 not to be found in those circumstances which 
 cannot attract much notice. Its value is per- 
 haps intrinsically the greatest where it makes 
 the least show — where it is guided by wisdom 
 and graced by humility. 
 
 Mosheim, in his Commentaries on the Early 
 History of the Church, has observed, "that 
 both martyrs and confessors were looked upon 
 as being full of the Holy Ghost, and as act- 
 ing under an immediate divine inspiration." 
 Whatever they said or did was revered ; what- 
 ever they required was in general yielded to 
 
 them by their brethren. Some allowance must 
 certainly be made for the peculiar circumstances 
 in which they were placed. Mr. Nelson, a 
 layman, whose religious writings are in high 
 repute, speaking on this subject, says, "they 
 thought it reasonable to do all possible honour 
 to the memories of martyrs ; partly, that others 
 might be encouraged to the same patience and 
 fortitude, and partly that virtue, even in this 
 world, might not lose its reward." 
 
 Yet though devotion gives the greatest firm- 
 ness and energy to the mind, we must remem- 
 ber that the best men, under the general in- 
 fluence of the best principles, are far from per- 
 fection, as is sufficiently manifest with reference 
 to the point now in hand. Whether we turn 
 to the martyrs of the first age, or to those of 
 the Reformation, some portion of alloy will be 
 found in the brightest of their virtues. The 
 eager desire which Ignatius showed for martyr- 
 dom, and his entreaty that the Romans should 
 use no means to save him, can neither be re- 
 conciled to the dictates of reason nor the pre- 
 cepts and examples of Scripture. The night 
 before Bilney suffered, he put his finger into 
 the flame of a candle, and said, "I feel that 
 fire is hot ; yet I am persuaded, by God's holy 
 word, and by the experience of some spoken 
 of in it, that in the flame they felt no heat, and 
 in the fire no consumption." Farrar said to a 
 friend, " If you see me once to stir while I 
 suffer the pains of burning, then give no credit 
 to the truth of those doctrines for which I die." 
 The good men here named might, in such a 
 trial, reasonably expect all needful strength 
 and support ; but had they any right to look 
 for miracles, or to make the measure of their 
 personal fortitude in the hour of extremity a 
 criterion by which the principles they had em- 
 braced should be judged? There was some- 
 thing far more admirable in the dying language 
 of Richard Baxter. Amidst exquisite pains, 
 which arose from the peculiar nature of his 
 disease, he said, "I have a rational patience, 
 and a believing patience, though sense would 
 recoil. Lord, when thou wilt, what thou wilt, 
 how thou wilt. " This last expression was often 
 on the lips of a most excellent man whom I 
 formerly knew and loved ; at a time when he 
 endured great anguish and affliction, he con- 
 fessed that the recollection of these words, and 
 of the saint who uttered them, seemed to soothe 
 his troubled mind and sustain his sinking spirit. 
 A Christian may be concerned to act in cha- 
 racter, and adorn the profession of the Gospel, 
 without any imputation of vanity, and oppor- 
 
346 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 tunities, though in obscurity and retirement, 
 will not be long wanting. The late pious John 
 Newton is said to have endured a very severe 
 operation without a groan. The operator ex- 
 pressed surpi-ise at his fortitude. ** Why, sir," 
 said he, " I have preached some years from my 
 pulpit about divine support, and shall I live to 
 negative all by my cowardice?" Great and 
 trying occasions, which attract the eyes of all 
 men, rarely occur ; but every good man fre- 
 quently finds something to exercise his faith 
 and patience. "Perhaps," said Mr. Cecil, 
 *' it is a greater energy of divine power which 
 keeps the Christian from day to day, from year 
 to year, praying, hoping, running, believing, 
 against all hinderances, which maintains him 
 as a living martyr, than that which bears him 
 up for an hour in sacrificing himself at the 
 stake. " — Rnstiais. 
 
 MIND, Formation of. 
 Consider if that mind which is in your body 
 does order and dispose it every way it pleases, 
 why should not that wisdom which is in the 
 universe be able to order all things therein also, 
 as seemeth best to it ? And if your eye can 
 discern things several miles distant from it, 
 why should it be thought impossible for the 
 eye of God to behold all things at once ? 
 Lastly, if your soul can mind things both here 
 and Egypt, and in Sicily ; why may not the 
 great mind or wisdom of God be able to take 
 care of all things, in all places 1— Socrates. 
 
 MIND, Inactive, Injurious. 
 Tr^ cannot but be injurious to the human mind 
 never to be called into effort ; the habit of 
 receiving pleasure without any exertion of 
 thought, by the mere excitement of curiosity 
 and sensibility, may be justly ranked among 
 the worst effects of habitual novel-reading. 
 Those who confine their reading to such books 
 dwarf their own faculties, and finally reduce 
 their understandings to a deplorable imbecility. 
 Like idle morning visitors, the brisk and 
 breathless periods hurry in and hurry off in 
 quick and profitless succession ; each, indeed, 
 for the moments of its stay, prevents the pain 
 of vacancy, while it indulges the love of sloth ; 
 but all together they leave the mistress of the 
 house (the soul, I mean) flat and exhausted, 
 incapable of attending to her own concerns, 
 and unfitted for the conversation of more 
 rational guests. — Coleridge. 
 
 MIND, its Aspirations. 
 
 Every great mind seeks to labour for eternity. 
 All men are captivated by immediate advan- 
 tages ; great minds alone are excited by the 
 prospect of distant good. — Frederick Schiller. 
 
 MIND, its Blessedness. 
 
 Let a man have all the world can give him, 
 he is still miserable, if he has a grovelling, un- 
 lettered, undevout mind. Let him have his 
 gardens, his fields, his woods, his lawns for 
 grandeur, plenty, ornament, and gratification ; 
 Avhile at the same time God is not in all his 
 thoughts. And let another man have neither 
 field nor garden ; let him look only at nature 
 with an enlightened mind — a mind which can 
 see and adore the Creator in His works, can 
 consider them as demonstrations of His power, 
 His wisdom. His goodness, and His truth; 
 this man is greater, as well as happier, in his 
 poverty, than the other in his riches. The 
 one is but little higher than a beast, the other 
 but a little lower than an angel. — Jones oj 
 Nayland. 
 
 MIND, its Degrees. 
 
 We ought, in humanity, no more to despise a 
 man for the misfortunes of the mind than for 
 those of the body, when they are such as he 
 cannot help ; were this thoroughly considered, 
 we should no more laugh at a man for having 
 his brains cracked than for having his head 
 broke. — Pope. 
 
 MIND, its Vegetative Power. 
 
 The mind has a certain vegetative power, 
 which cannot be wholly idle. If it is not laid 
 out and cultivated into a beautiful garden, it 
 will of itself shoot up in weeds, or flowers of 
 a wild growth. — The Spectator. 
 
 MIND, Must Govern. 
 As the mind must govern the hands, so in 
 evei-y society the man of intelligence must 
 direct the man of labour. — Dr. Johnson. 
 
 MINDS, 
 The Great Ones Formed in Secret. 
 
 How many minds — almost all the great ones 
 — were formed in secresy and solitude, without 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 347 
 
 knowing whether they should ever make a 
 figure or not ! All they knew was that they 
 liked what they were about, and gave their 
 whole souls to it. — Dr. Arnold. 
 
 MIND, The, 
 
 Cultivation of, in Mature Age. 
 
 Instances have frequently occurred of indi- 
 viduals in whom the power of imagination has 
 at an advanced period of life been found 
 susceptible of culture to a wonderful degree. 
 In such men what an accession is gained to 
 their most refined pleasures ! What enchant- 
 ments are added to their most ordinary per- 
 ceptions ! The mind awakening, as if from a 
 trance to a new existence, becomes habituated 
 to the most interesting aspects of life and of 
 nature ; the intellectual eye is "purged of its 
 film," and things the most familiar and un- 
 noticed disclose charms invisible before. The 
 same objects and events, which were lately 
 beheld with indifference, occupy now all the 
 powers and capacities of the soul ; the con- 
 trast between the present and the past serving 
 only to enhance and to endear so unlooked-for 
 an acquisition. What Gray has so finely said 
 of the pleasures of vicissitude conveys but a 
 faint image of what is experienced by the man 
 who, after having lost in vulgar occupations 
 and vulgar amusements his earliest and most 
 precious years, is thus introduced at last to a 
 new heaven and a new earth : — 
 
 The meanest floweret of the vale 
 The simplest note that swells the gale, 
 The common sun, the air, the skies. 
 To him are op'ning Paradise. 
 
 Dumld Stnvart. 
 
 MIND, The, 
 
 Influence of Classical Literature upon. 
 
 There are few pursuits, perhaps, which ex- 
 cite so absorbing an interest in the mind as the 
 study of the classical writers of Greece and 
 Rome. Apart from the consideration of the 
 intrinsic value of the productions of those 
 authors, there are one or two extraneous cir- 
 cumstances which serve to cast around them a 
 more interesting appearance than they would 
 otherwise wear, and to invest them with addi- 
 tional interest. The mere circumstance of 
 antiquity often gives things, comparatively 
 worthless in themselves, an inestimable im- 
 
 portance. Time, indeed, is so resistless and, 
 generally speaking, so sure a destroyer, that 
 anything, however trivial, rescued from his 
 dissolving touch is looked upon in the light of 
 a trophy. It is thus that we regard the differ- 
 ent productions of art or nature which have 
 preserved their form beyond the usual time 
 allotted to material substances. It is with this 
 feeling that we curiously regard the different 
 petrefactions with which the earth is strown, or 
 anything indeed, be it ever so rude or mis- 
 shapen, that has retained the same appearance 
 for any considerable length of time. But the 
 feeling becomes still stronger when contem- 
 plating the relics of art — the productions of 
 the skill and the ingenuity of those of our own 
 species who have long since mouldered into 
 dust. And here the merely accidental circum- 
 stance of antiquity is not that alone which 
 confers interest upon these objects. They are 
 blended with our most hidden sympathies — we 
 gaze upon the productions of our forefathers 
 with a deeper feeling than the sight of any 
 object merely ancient can occasion. No one 
 would regard Mount Vesuvius, could he be 
 sure that it had worn precisely the same ap- 
 pearance for twenty centuries, with the same 
 deepened feelings v/ith which he would look 
 upon Herculaneum and Pompeii, more than 
 half demolished by its eruption ; or view the 
 specimens of antediluvian antiquity which are 
 every now and then ransacked from the earth, 
 with half the excitement of mind with which 
 he would stand before the Pyramids of Egypt, 
 considering both only in the light of anti- 
 quities. And in proportion as the different 
 remnants of ancient genius and science and art 
 are more connected with mind, and have been 
 more peculiarly the objects of its creating, this 
 feeling of interest increases. We look upon 
 the remains of ancient sculpture and archi- 
 tecture with almost devouring gaze, so exqui- 
 site and so perfect in their beauty ; but with 
 how much more intense a feeling do we con- 
 template the writings of the classic times, which 
 have stamped immortality upon the languages 
 in which they were composed ! We hold con- 
 verse in them with the spirits of past times — 
 we see the energies of mind triumphing over 
 the oblivion of ages, and the waste and devas- 
 tation of years — and the only objects of anti- 
 quity that are unimpaired, untouched, and 
 uncorroded. 
 
 But when, in addition to the fascination 
 which their antiquity throws around them, we 
 consider their inherent excellences and unri- 
 
348 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 vailed beauties as compositions — the strength 
 and grandeur of their philosophy — the bril- 
 liancy and mellifluousness of their poetry — 
 their polish — their refinement, with their sub- 
 limity and majesty, it can scarcely be wondered 
 at that they have excited for ages the ad- 
 miration of the world, or that they have led 
 captive the feelings of those who have paid 
 devoted attention to them. 
 
 But though it cannot excite much surprise 
 that, with the fascinations they present, they 
 should have drawn forth such unmingled tri- 
 butes of admiration and applause, yet their 
 influence upon the human mind, though in 
 some respects it has been, and is, most salutary, 
 yet in others is, we fear, very prejudicial. It 
 is true, indeed, that their beneficial results have 
 been numerous ; if a man wishes to attain re- 
 finement and polish, and elegance of mind, he 
 certainly cannot do better than study upon the 
 Grecian and Roman models. It is a curious 
 fact that there has scarcely ever been a tolerable 
 writer in English, or indeed in any other 
 modern language, who has not been eai-ly im- 
 bued with some love for classical literature — 
 who has not been taught to admire it, and re- 
 gard it as one of the most glorious trophies of 
 the genius of unassisted man. The ancients, 
 indeed, but especially the Greeks, had such a 
 perfect idea of beauty — such exquisite taste, 
 that it is impossible to study their productions, 
 whether in the fine arts or the loftier range of 
 philosophy, without feeling the mind enlarged, 
 its faculties quickened, and its ideas, as it were, 
 etherealized and refined. 
 
 But the advantages which accrue to the in- 
 tellectual part of man in the study of them are, 
 perhaps, more than counterbalanced by the in- 
 jury done to moral feeling. In their contem- 
 plation, the mind imperceptibly (for the poison 
 is too insinuating and lulling in its influence to 
 be easily detected) catches its spirit, and 
 becomes pervaded with its unchristian influence. 
 It drinks sweetness, indeed, but poison with 
 the draught. The song is soft, but it is a syren 
 who sings it. 
 
 First, with regard to the philosophy Of those 
 times. There is something in it which suits 
 the haughty spirit of man, and feeds his 
 natural pride and indisposition to receive the 
 truths of revelation. He sees what the human 
 mind has performed, and forgetting the by far 
 greater part that it has left unperformed, begins 
 to swell out into exaggerated opinions of the 
 vastness of the faculties and capabilities of man ; 
 the great men of Greece and Rome, seen 
 
 through the mist of ages, and the medium of 
 an excited imagination, stalk along with gigan- 
 tic step and swollen dimensions ; and the mind 
 becomes peopled with demi-gods, for doubting 
 and perplexed philosophers. Nor, in this 
 state of mind, can the truths of Christianity, so 
 plain, so unornamented, so unpretending, so 
 devoid of all the meretricious recommendations 
 of diction or imagination, find a voice to the 
 heart and conscience, but is barred out by the 
 influence of a vain and speculative philosophy. 
 
 And too frequent converse with the poets of 
 antiquity has a still more deteriorating influence 
 upon the mind than the study of its philo- 
 sophy. How many hearts have they excited to 
 ambition, by placing before them in such an 
 enchanting light the allurements of false glory, 
 and the fame of conquest and of war. It is 
 impossible not to feel their fascination in this 
 respect. In the perusal of them, the chambers 
 of the mind become, like some ancient baronial 
 hall, hung round with all the symbols and 
 panoply of war. Such is the influence of the 
 heroic poets ; nor is that of the others less pre- 
 judicial. Indeed it might become a question 
 which has done most injury — the inflated pride 
 of ancient philosophy, or the false glory of the 
 heroic, or the sensuality of the amatory poets. 
 
 But what then ? Shall the classics of anti- 
 quity be suppressed ? it may be asked. By 
 no means. We are not such Goths as to wish 
 to throw aside the noblest productions of the 
 human mind. But we have been induced to 
 make these remarks because we think that the 
 general system of education pursued at this 
 time, with regard to our youth, is too exclu- 
 sively classical, and therefore tending to pro- 
 duce those feelings which we have just been 
 endeavouring to trace as the natural conse- 
 quence of a too close application to classical 
 literature. It is true, indeed, that nothing can 
 more efficiently enlarge and polish the mind, if 
 made subordinate to still higher pursuits ; but 
 taught upon the exclusive principle it now is, 
 in many of our public seminaries, we cannot 
 but think its benefits must be at least counter- 
 poised by its evils.— /Z 
 
 MIND, The, 
 
 Means by which it Acquires Full Poweis. 
 
 Besides the reasoning powers and the judg- 
 ment, I spoke of the power of rapid and ex- 
 tensive combination as one of the things which 
 enabled the mind to be an universal instrument. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 349 
 
 Perhaps, strictly speaking, I ought not to give 
 it a distinct place, for it is in many cases essen- 
 tial towards forming a sound judgment ; but 
 its great importance may justify me in bestow- 
 ing some separate notice upon it. We live in 
 a world so varied, that without this power of 
 combination our views must be exceedingly 
 narrow or exceedingly confused. They must 
 be narrow, if, confining ourselves to one class of 
 subjects and of relations, we understand them 
 indeed in themselves thoroughly, so far as they 
 can be understood thoroughly without con- 
 sidering them as acting or acted on by other 
 things, but are wholly ignorant of all others : 
 they must be confused, if, studying variously, 
 and receiving ideas from many different sources, 
 we let them lie confusedly upon one another, 
 without arranging them into one great whole. 
 The power of combination may be said to con- 
 sist in a quick perception of likeness : in two 
 different subjects we discern some one point 
 bearing a resemblance to a common third ; we 
 group them together, and then notice their 
 disagreements as well as their agreements : and 
 this goes on continually with a multiplied 
 power ; for the more ideas we have thus 
 grouped together in our minds, the more 
 points are offered to which some new idea may 
 attach itself. — Dr. Arnold. 
 
 MIND, Vision of. 
 
 As sweeps the bark before the breeze, 
 
 "While waters coldly close around. 
 Till of her pathway through the seas. 
 
 The track no more is found ; 
 Thus passing down oblivion's tide. 
 
 The beauteous visions of the mind 
 Fleet as this ocean pageant glide, 
 
 And leave no trace behind. 
 
 John Malcolm. 
 
 MINISTER of Religion. 
 
 Give me the priest, the graces shall possess, 
 Of an ambassador, — the just address ; 
 A father's tenderness, — a shepherd's care ; 
 A leader's courage, which the cross can bear 
 A ruler's awe, — a watchman's wakeful eye, 
 A pilot's skill, the helm in storms to ply ; 
 The fisher's patience, and a labouring toil, 
 A guide's dexterity to disembroil, 
 A prophet's inspiration from above, 
 A teacher's knowledge, and a Saviour's love. 
 
 Kerr. 
 
 MIRTH, Preferable to Melancho:y. 
 
 Let me play the fool : 
 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come ; 
 And let my liver rather heat with wine 
 Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 MISCHIEF Afloat. 
 
 Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, 
 Take thou what course thou wilt. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 MISCHIEF, 
 
 Doubly so against the Trustful. 
 
 Let not the quietness of any man's temper, 
 much less the confidence he has in thy honesty 
 and goodness, tempt thee to contrive any mis- 
 chief against him ; for the more securely he 
 relies on thy virtue, and the less mistrust he 
 has of any harm from thee, the greater wicked- 
 ness will it be to entertain even the thought of 
 doing him an injury. — Bp. Patrick. 
 
 MISCHIEF, 
 
 The Characteristic of Priestcrafi 
 
 Attend : This holy fox. 
 Or wolf, or both, — for he is equal ravenous 
 As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief 
 As able to perform 't. Shakespeare. 
 
 MISCHIEF, 
 
 The Companion of Desperateness. 
 
 O MISCHIEF ! thou art swift 
 To enter in the thoughts of desperate men ! 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 MISERT, Different Aspects of. 
 
 If misery be the effect of virtue, it ought to be 
 reverenced ; if of ill-fortune, to be pitied ; and 
 if of vice, not to be insulted ; because it is, 
 perhaps, itself a punishment adequate to the 
 crime by which it was produced ; and the huma- 
 nity of that man can deserve no panegyric who 
 is capable of reproaching a criminal in the 
 hands of the executioner. — Johnson. 
 
350 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 MISFORTUNES Never Alone. 
 
 Never stoops the soaring vulture 
 On his quarry in the desert, 
 On the sick or wounded bison, 
 But another vulture, watching 
 From his high aerial look-out, 
 Sees the downward plunge, and follows 
 And a third pursues the second, 
 Coming from the invisible ether, 
 First a speck, and then a vulture, 
 Till the air is dark with pinions. 
 So disasters come not singly • 
 But as if they watched and waited, 
 Scanning one another's motions, 
 When the first descends, the others 
 Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise 
 Round their victim, sick and wounded. 
 First a shadow, then a sorrow, 
 Till the air is dark with anguish. 
 
 Longfellozv. 
 
 MISSIONARY, Death of a. 
 
 How short his day ? The glorious prize 
 To our slow hearts and failing eyes 
 
 Appear'd too quickly won ; 
 The warrior rush'd into the field 
 With arm invincible to wield 
 The spirit's sword, the spirit's shield. 
 
 When lo ! the fight was done. 
 
 liTontgomery. 
 
 Sleep, sweetly sleep, young warrior of the 
 
 cross ! 
 Soon is thy sacred mission closed on earth ; 
 And though, while mourning o'er thy grave, 
 
 the loss 
 Of such surpassing, yet retiring worth. 
 May bid the momentary tear to flow ; — 
 Yet by the eye of faith we love to climb 
 To that high Heav'n of purity, where now 
 'Thy sainted spirit, freed from things of time. 
 Lost in adoring wonder, praise, and love, 
 Drinks rapture from the fount of life above. 
 
 What though in lands far from thy place of 
 
 birth 
 Thy body to its kindred dust was given, 
 As free from thence, thy spirit bursted forth, 
 From warfare here, to its reward in Heaven. 
 Yes, Warden ! thine, — these humble lines 
 
 record, / 
 
 Appear'd indeed, a victory "quickly won," 
 Soon was thy labour crown'd with itS reward. 
 Soon was thy work of love and mercy done ; — 
 Scarce enter'd on thy warfare, e'er the light 
 Of glory, burst upon thy raptur'd sight. 
 
 The pagan darkness of Egyptian night 
 Could ill afford so early to resign 
 The faintest ray of intellectual light. 
 Much less the beam of talents bright as thine : 
 Those talents consecrated to the cause 
 That mov'd the inmost feelings of thy heart, 
 And early taught thee to take up the cross, 
 And bear the yoke of Him, who said, 
 
 ** Depart, 
 To distant nations of the earth proclaim 
 Life and salvation, through thy Saviour's 
 
 name." 
 
 But it was thine to find an early grave 
 
 Upon the field of glory and renown ; 
 
 Death chose his victim from the young and 
 
 brave. 
 And sent thee from thy tent to wear thy 
 
 crown : 
 Then why repine? — "The God of all the 
 
 earth 
 What seemeth to him good, will He not do ?" 
 The loss is ours, not thine ; and human 
 
 worth 
 Is His to give, — and His to rescue, too, 
 From time's cold climate, to the brighter land 
 Of joys immortal at His own right hand. 
 
 E.B. 
 
 MISSIONARY Hymn. 
 
 Where rolls the stormy billow 
 
 Along the troubled deep ; 
 Where verdant prairies pillow 
 
 The sunbeams as they sleep ; 
 W^here hills with heaven are blending. 
 
 Where spi-eads the dreary waste ; 
 Where torrents are descending, 
 
 The Gospel heralds haste. 
 
 Where perfume-breathing flowers 
 
 Shed fragrance on the gales 
 That sweep through rosy bowers 
 
 Of sunny Pei'sia's vales ; 
 Where o'er the snow-clad mountains 
 
 Swells China's busy hum ; 
 Where flow those olden fountains, 
 
 The gladsome tidings come 
 
 The forest dark is hushing 
 
 The murmur of the blast. 
 While melodies are gushing 
 
 Unknown in ages past ; 
 And softly, sweetly stealing 
 
 Upon the desert air. 
 The Sabbath bells are pealing 
 
 To wake the voice of prayer. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 351 
 
 Old Grecian temples hoary, 
 
 Decayed with vanished time, 
 Shrines famed in song and story, 
 
 Reverberate that chime ; 
 And louder, louder swelling. 
 
 It sweeps o'er Afric's shore, 
 With gentle music quelling 
 
 The lion's angry roar. 
 
 Lord ! in Thy mercy speeding, 
 
 Thy chosen heralds guide. 
 That they in triumph leading 
 
 Thy people scattered wide, 
 From every clime and nation 
 
 May gather them in one. 
 Till earth with adoration 
 
 Hails the eternal Son. 
 
 Till in each mortal dwelling. 
 
 As in Thy realms above. 
 High songs of praise are swelling 
 
 To hjmin redeeming love j 
 Till every home's an altar, 
 
 Where holy hearts set free 
 In service never falter, 
 
 Unchanged in love to Thee. 
 
 Winslow. 
 
 MISTAKE, Exemption from Impossible. 
 Exemption from mistake is not the privilege 
 of mortals ; but when our mistakes are invo- 
 luntary, we owe each other eveiy candid con- 
 sideration ; and the man who, on discovering 
 his errors, acknowledges and corrects them is 
 scarcely less entitled to our esteem than if he 
 had not erred. — Pye Smith. 
 
 MISTRESS, Her End. 
 
 Well, thou mayest go 
 And feel the afternoon wind blow 
 Within Dame Bertha's pleasance here ; 
 She that was held so lief and dear. 
 All this was built but for her sake. 
 Who made the hearts of men to ache ; 
 And dying full of years and shame, 
 Yet left an unforgotten name — 
 *' God rest her soul ! " Wm. Morris. 
 
 MOB, 
 
 A Creature of Mysterious Existence. 
 
 A MOB is usually a creature of very mysterious 
 
 existence, particularly in a large city. Where 
 
 it comes from, or whither it goes, few men can 
 
 tell. Assembling and dispersing with equal 
 suddenness, it is as difficult to follow to its 
 various sources as the sea itself ; nor does the 
 parallel stop here, for the ocean is not more 
 fickle and uncertain, more terrible when roused, 
 more unreasonable or more cruel. — Dickens. 
 
 MOB, Always Facile. 
 
 You have many enemies that know not 
 WhY they are so, but, like to village curs, 
 Bark when their fellows do. Shakespeare. 
 
 MOB, its utter Lightness in Opinion. 
 
 Look, as I blow this feather from my face. 
 And as the air blows it to me again. 
 Obeying with my wind when I do blow. 
 And yielding to another when it blows, 
 Commanded always by the greater gust ; 
 Such is the lightness of your common men. 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 MOB, The Rank-scented Many. 
 
 For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them 
 Regard me as I do not flatter, and 
 Therein behold themselves : I say again. 
 In soothing them we nourish 'gainst our senate 
 The cockle of rebellion. Shakespeare. 
 
 MODERATION. 
 I CANNOT but commend, says Bishop Hall, 
 that gieat clerk of Paris, who when King 
 Louis of France required him to write down 
 the best word that ever he had learnt, called 
 for a fair skin of parchment, and in the midst of 
 it wrote this one word "Measure," and sent it 
 sealed up to the king. The king, opening the 
 sheet, and finding no other inscription, thought 
 himself mocked by his philosopher, and calling 
 fbr him, expostulated the matter ; but when it 
 was showed him that all virtues, and all reli- 
 gious and worthy actions were regulated by this 
 one word, and that without this virtue itself 
 turned vicious, he rested satisfied ; and so he 
 well might ; for it is a word well worthy of the 
 seven sages of Greece, from whom, indeed, it 
 was borrowed, and only put into a new coat. 
 For while he said of old (for his motto) 
 ' ' Nothing too much, " he meant no other than to 
 comprehend both extremes under the mention 
 of one : neither in his sense is it any paradox 
 to say that too ^-ttle is too much ; for as too 
 
352 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 much bounty is prodigality, so too much sparing 
 is niggardness. Neither could aught be spoken 
 of more use or excellency ; for what goodness 
 can there be in the world without moderation, 
 whether in the use of God's creatures, or in 
 our own disposition and carriage ? Without 
 this, justice is no more than cruel rigour ; 
 mercy, unjust remissness ; pleasure, brutish 
 sensuality ; love, frenzy ; anger, fury ; sorrow, 
 desperate mopishness ; joy, distempered wild- 
 ness ; knowledge, saucy curiosity ; piety, super- 
 stition ; care, wracking distraction ; courage, 
 mad rashness ; shortly there can be nothing 
 under Heaven without it, but mere vice and 
 confusion : like as in nature, if the elements 
 should forget the temper of their due mixture, 
 and encroach upon each other by excess, what 
 would follow but universal ruin ? 
 
 It is, therefore, moderation by which this 
 inferior world stands ; since the wise and great 
 God, who hath ordained the continuance of it, 
 hath decreed so to contemper all the parts 
 thereof that none of them should exceed of 
 their own proportion and degree, to the pre- 
 judice of the other. Yea, what is the heaven 
 itself but (as Gerson compares it well) as a 
 great clock regularly moving in an equal sway 
 of all the orbs, without difference of poise, 
 without variation of minutes, in a constant 
 state of eviternal evenness, both of being and 
 motion? Neither is it any other, by which 
 this little world of ours (whether of body or 
 mind) is upheld in any safe and tolerable 
 estate ; when humours pass their stint, the 
 body sickens ; when the passions, the mind. 
 
 There is nothing, therefore, in the world 
 more wholesome or more necessary for us to 
 learn than this gracious lesson of moderation ; 
 without which, in very truth, a man is so far 
 from being a Christian that he is not himself. 
 This is the centre wherein all, both divine and 
 moral, philosophy meet ; the rule of life, the 
 governess of manners, the silken string that 
 runs through the pearl chain of all virtues, thfe 
 very ecliptic line, under which reason and reli- 
 gion moves without deviation ; and, therefore, 
 most worthy of our best thoughts, of our most 
 careful observance. — Bp. Hall. 
 
 MODESTY, its Wondrous Fascination. 
 That modest grace subdued my soul, 
 That chastity of look which seems to hang, 
 A veil of purest light o'er all her beauties, 
 And by forbidding most inflames desire ! 
 
 Young. 
 
 MONEY, its Proper Management. 
 
 If good management and great regularity in the 
 appropriation and employment of money really 
 increase the wealth of individuals and states, 
 the same must be the case with time and life. 
 We augment them, we impart to them a 
 virtue of reproduction and fecundity, we mul- 
 tiply their results, if we know how to allot 
 and direct their various applications with regu- 
 larity and method. — Art of Employing Time. 
 
 MOON. 
 
 The moon like a silver bow, 
 Now bent in heaven, shall behold the night 
 Of our solemnities. Shakespeare. 
 
 MOON, Chaste and Fair, 
 Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, 
 
 Now the sun is laid to sleep. 
 Seated in thy silver chair. 
 
 State in wonted manner keep : 
 Hesperus entreats thy light, 
 Goddess, excellently bright. 
 
 Earth, let not thy envious shade 
 
 Dare itself to interpose ; 
 Cynthia's shining orb was made 
 
 Heav'n to clear, when day did close : 
 Bless us, then, with wished sight, 
 Goddess, excellently bright. 
 
 Lay thy bow of pearl apart. 
 
 And thy crystal shining quiver ; 
 Give unto the flying hart 
 
 Space to breathe, how short soever : 
 Thou that makest a day of night, 
 Goddess, excellently bright. 
 
 yoftsofi. 
 
 MOON, 
 Queen of the Various -vested Night. 
 
 Mild splendour of the various-vested Night ! 
 Mother of wildly-working visions ! hail ! 
 I watch thy gliding, while with watery light 
 Thy weak eye glimmers through a fleecy veil. 
 And when thou lovest thy pale orb to shroud 
 Behind the gathered blackness lost on high ; 
 And when thou dartest from the wind-rent 
 
 cloud 
 Thy placid light'ning o'er the awakened sky. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 353 
 
 Ah, such is hope ! as changeful and as fair ! 
 Now dimly peering on the wistful sight, 
 Now hid behind the dragon-wing'd Despair : 
 But soon emerging in her radiant might 
 She o'er the sorrow-clouded breast of Care 
 Sails, like a meteor kindling in its flight. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 MOON, Sickly Light of. 
 This night methinks is but the daylight sick ; 
 It looks a little paler j 'tis a day 
 Such as a day is when the sun is hid. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 MOON, the Maker of Sweet Poets. 
 O MAKER of sweet poets ! dear delight 
 Of this fair world and all its gentle livers ; 
 Spangler of clouds, halo of crystal rivers, 
 Minglerwith leaves, and dew, and tumbling 
 
 streams. 
 Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams. 
 Lover of loneliness and wandering. 
 Of upcast eye, and tender pondering ! 
 Thee must I praise above all other glories 
 That smile us on to tell delightful stories. 
 For what has made the sage or poet write 
 But the fair paradise of Nature's light ? 
 In the calm grandeur of a sober line 
 We see the waving of the mountain pine ; 
 And when a tale is beautifully staid. 
 We feel the safety of a hawthorn glade : 
 When it is moving on luxurious wings, 
 The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings : 
 Fair dewy roses brush against our faces. 
 And flowering laurels spring from diamond 
 
 vases ; 
 O'erhead we see the jasmine and sweet-briar, 
 And bloomy grapes laughing from green attire: 
 While at our feet the voice of crystal bubbles 
 Charms us at once away from all our troubles : 
 So that we feel uplifted from the world. 
 Walking upon the white clouds wreath'd and 
 
 curl'd. 
 So felt he, who first told how Psyche went 
 On the smooth wind to realms of wonderment ; 
 What Psyche felt, and Love, when their full 
 
 lips 
 First touch'd ; what amorous and fondling nips 
 They gave each other's cheeks ; with all their 
 
 sighs, 
 And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes : 
 The silver lamp, — the ravishment — the won- 
 der — 
 The darkness — the loneliness — the fearful 
 
 thunder ; 
 
 Their woes gone by, and both to heaven up 
 
 flown, 
 To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne. 
 So did he feel, who pull'd the boughs aside. 
 That we might look into a forest wide, 
 To catch a glimpse of fauns and dryades 
 Coming with softest rustle through the trees ; 
 And garlands woven of flowers wild and sweet. 
 Upheld on ivory wrists or sporting feet : 
 Telling us how fair trembling Syrinx fled 
 Arcadian Pan, with such a fearful dread. 
 Poor nymph,— poor Pan,— how he did weep 
 
 to find 
 Nought but a lovely sighing of the wind 
 Along the reedy stream ! a half-heard strain, 
 Full of sweet desolation — balmy pain. KuUs. 
 
 MOON, the Queen of Night. 
 
 There is something peculiarly pleasing to the 
 imagination in contemplating the Queen of 
 Night, when she is wading, as the expression 
 is, among the vapours which she has not power 
 to dispel, and which, on their side, are unable 
 entirely to quench her lustre. It is the striking 
 image of patient virtue calmly pursuing her 
 path through good report and bad report, 
 having that excellence in herself which ought 
 to command all admiration, but bedimmed in 
 the eyes of the world, by suffering, by misfor- 
 tune, by calumny. — Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 MOON, the Refulgent Lamp of Night. 
 As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night. 
 O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred 
 
 light. 
 When not a breath disturbs the deep serene. 
 And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene. 
 Around her throne the vivid planets roll. 
 And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole ; 
 O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed. 
 And tip with silver every mountain's head ; 
 Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise, 
 A flood of glory bursts from all the skies : 
 The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight. 
 Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 MOON, the Silver-footed. 
 
 By the feud 
 'Twixt Nothing and Creation, I here swear, 
 Eterne Apollo ! that thy sister fair 
 Is of all these gentlier-mightiest. 
 When thy gold breath is misting in the west, 
 
354 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 She unobserved steals unto her throne, 
 
 And there she sits most meek and most alone ; 
 
 As if she had not pomp subservient ; 
 
 As if thine eye, high poet ! was not bent 
 
 Towards her with the Muses in thine heart ; 
 
 As if the minist'ring stars kept not apart, 
 
 Waiting for silver-footed messages. 
 
 O moon ! the oldest shadows 'mongst oldest 
 
 trees, 
 Feel palpitations when thou lookest in : 
 O moon ! old boughs lisp forth a holier din 
 The while they feel thine airy fellowship. 
 Thou dost bless everywhere with silver lip 
 Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping 
 
 kine, 
 Couch'd in thy brightness, dream of fields 
 
 divine. 
 Innumerable mountains rise, and rise 
 Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes ; 
 And yet thy benediction passeth not 
 One obscure hiding-place, one little spot 
 Where pleasure may be sent : the nested wren 
 Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken, 
 And from beneath a sheltering ivy leaf, 
 Takes glimpses of thee ; thou art a relief 
 To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps 
 Within its pearly house ; the mighty deeps. 
 The monstrous sea is thine — the myriad sea ! 
 O Moon ! far spooming Ocean bows to thee, 
 And Tellus feels her forehead's cumbrous load . 
 
 Keats. 
 
 MORAL Habits, their Influence. 
 Those who would train up young people 
 without the cultivation of moral habits, trust- 
 ing solely to the future influence of religion 
 upon, tlieir hearts, are like mariners, who, 
 ,;while they wait for their bark to be safely 
 guided out to sea, allow their sails to swing 
 idly in the wind, their cordage to become en- 
 tangled, and the general outfit of their vessel 
 to' suffer injury and decay ; so that when the 
 pilot comes on board, they lose much of the 
 advantage of his services, and fail to derive 
 the anticipated benefit from his presence. — 
 Ellis. 
 
 MORALITY, True, Based on Religion. 
 
 The system of morality which Socrates made 
 it the business of his life to teach was raised 
 upon the firm basis of religion. The first 
 principles of virtuous conduct which are 
 common to all mankind are, according to this 
 
 excellent moralist, laws of God ; and the 
 conclusive argument by which he supports this 
 opinion is, that no man departs from these 
 principles with impunity. "It is frequently 
 possible," says he, **for men to screen them- 
 selves from the penalty of human laws, but 
 no man can be unjust, or ungrateful, without 
 suffering for his crime ; hence I conclude 
 that these laws must have proceeded from a 
 more excellent legislator than man. " Socrates 
 taught that true felicity is not to be derived 
 from external possessions, but from wisdom, 
 which consists in the knowledge and practice 
 of virtue ; that the cultivation of virtuous 
 manners is necessarily attended with pleasure 
 as well as profit ; that the honest man alone is 
 happy ; and that it is absurd to attempt to 
 separate things which are in nature so closely 
 united as virtue and interest. — Enfield. 
 
 MORAL Qualities, 
 
 A Pleasure or a Pain. 
 
 There is in the very taste and feeling of moral 
 qualities a pleasure or a pain ; and the argu- 
 ment is greatly strengthened by the adaptation 
 to that constitution of external nature, more 
 especially as exemplified in the reciprocal in- 
 fluences which take place between mind and 
 mind in society. The first, the original plea- 
 sure, is that which is felt by the virtuous man 
 himself ; as, for example, by the benevolent, 
 in the very sense and feeling of that kindness 
 whereby his heart is actuated. The second is 
 felt by him who is the object of this kindness ; 
 for merely in the conscious possession of 
 another's good-will there is a great and 
 distinct enjoyment. And then the manifested 
 kindness of the former awakens gratitude in 
 the bosom of the latter ; and this, too, is a 
 highly pleasurable emotion. And lastly, gra- 
 titude sends back a delicious incense to the 
 benefactor who awakened it. By the purely 
 mental intei-change of these affections there is 
 generated a prodigious amount of happiness ; 
 and that altogether independent of the gratifi- 
 cations which are yielded by the material 
 gifts of liberality on the one hand, or by the 
 material services of gratitude on the other. 
 Insomuch that we have only to imagine a 
 reign of perfect virtue ; and then, in spite of 
 the physical ills which essentially and inevit- 
 ably attach to our condition, we should feel as 
 if we had approximated very nearly to a state 
 of perfect enjoyment among men ; or, in other 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 355 
 
 words, that the bliss of Paradise would be 
 almost fully realised upon earth, were but the 
 moral graces and charities of Paradise firmly 
 established there, and in full operation. 
 
 Let there be honest and universal good-will 
 in every bosom, and this be responded to from 
 all who are the objects of it, by an honest gra- 
 titude back again ; let kindness, in all its 
 various effects and manifestations, pass and 
 repass from one heart and countenance to ano- 
 ther, let there be a universal courteousness in 
 our streets, and let fidelity and affection in all 
 the domestic virtues take up their secure and 
 lasting abode in every family ; let the succour 
 and sympathy of a willing neighbourhood be 
 ever in readiness to meet and to overpass 
 all the want and wretchedness to which hu- 
 manity is liable ; let truth, and honour, and 
 inviolable friendship between man and man, 
 banish all treacheiy and injustice from the 
 world ; in the walks of merchandize let an un- 
 failing integrity on the one side have the 
 homage done to it of unbounded confidence on 
 the other, insomuch that each man, reposing 
 with conscious safety on the uprightness and 
 attachment of his fellow, and withal rejoicing 
 as much in the prosperity of an acquaintance 
 as he should in his own, there would come to 
 be no place for the harassments and the heart- 
 burnings of mutual suspicion, or resentment, 
 or envy. — Chalmers. 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 Come into the garden, Maud, 
 
 For the black bat, night, has flown, 
 
 Come into the garden, Maud, 
 I am here at the gate alone ; 
 
 And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad. 
 And the musk of the roses blown. 
 
 For a breeze of morning moves, 
 And the planet of Love is on high. 
 
 Beginning to faint in the light that she loves 
 On a bed of daffodil sky, 
 
 To faint in the light of the sun she loves, 
 To faint in his light, and to die. 
 
 Tliere has fallen a splendid tear 
 
 From the passion-flower at the gate. 
 She is coming, my dove, my dear ; 
 
 She is coming, my life, my fate : 
 The red rose cries, *' She is near, she is near ;" 
 
 And the white rose weeps, •' She is late;" 
 The larkspur listens, '* I hear, I hear ; " 
 
 And the lily whispers, ** I wait." 
 
 She is coming, my own, my sweet ; 
 
 Were it ever so airy a tread. 
 My heart would hear her and beat, 
 
 Were it earth in an earthy bed ; 
 My dust would hear he^* and beat. 
 
 Had I lain for a century dead ; 
 Would start and tremble under her feet. 
 
 And blossom in purple and red. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 MORNING, Early. 
 This morning, like the spirit of a youth 
 That means to be of note, begins betimes. 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Look, love, what envious streaks 
 Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : 
 Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day 
 Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 And i>(y he kept, until the rosy veils 
 Mantling the east, by Aurora's peering hand 
 Were lifted from the water's breast, and 
 
 fann'd 
 Into sweet air ; and sober'd morning came 
 Meekly through billows. Keats. 
 
 MORNING in June. 
 Through the half-opened casements now 
 
 there blew 
 A sweet fresh air — that of the flowers and sea 
 Mingled together, smelt deliciously. 
 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 MORNING in the Highlands. 
 Morn wakes in beauty, but her eyes are pale, 
 
 As pillow'd downy in aerial snow. 
 She bids from off the lake the dull mists sail, 
 And watches, with her mild and sunny brow, 
 Till slowly up the green hill's side they go. 
 To cling around the cliffs their glittering 
 wreaths ; 
 Then, moving forth in smiles, her footsteps 
 glow 
 With dewy radiance o'er the purple heaths, 
 And fresh through all the soul her rapturous 
 spirit breathes. J. G. Crosbie. 
 
 MORTALITY, Inevitable. 
 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. 
 
3S6 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 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. 
 
 Only a sweet and virtuous soul. 
 
 Like seasoned timber never gives, 
 But when the whole world turns to coal. 
 Then chiefly lives. 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 MORTALITY. 
 
 "We all do Fade as a Leaf." 
 
 Have you never been struck, reader, by the 
 evident resemblance between the various ap- 
 pearances of nature, and the various states of 
 the human mind, as well as the successive 
 stages of human life ? If not — reflect on it, 
 and you will find it interesting. We can easily 
 conceive how the Divine Being might have 
 created a perpetual variance between our con- 
 dition and the state of nature around us. 
 "When he pronounced the earth "accursed for 
 our sakes" he might have aggravated that curse, 
 by surrounding us to a painful extent with im- 
 mitigable sameness. He might have reduced 
 the large variety of animal tribes to the few 
 which we use for food ; and have left us no 
 quadruped to please us with its gambols, — no 
 insect to sport in the summer's sun, — no birds 
 to delight us with their flight and their song. 
 He might have taken away all the beauty of 
 the landscape by commanding the hill to sink 
 jatfd the valley to rise to a perfect level, — by 
 sinking the torrent and the rivulet beneath the 
 surface of the earth, — and by substituting for 
 the towering and luxuriant tree nothing but the 
 thorn and the briar. And from this scene he 
 might have commanded the moon and the stars 
 to withdraw their light, and have permitted the 
 sun to look upon it only through a cloud. And 
 had the face of nature worn an aspect so dreary, 
 he doubtless would have counted himself most 
 happy, or rather least miserable, who could 
 have secluded himself most effectually from be- 
 holding it But so far from being surrounded by 
 such, paradise was not more adapted to man 
 in his state of primeval purity than the present 
 condition of nature corresponds with our altered 
 circumstances. 
 We know not to what extent the fall of man 
 
 affected the original constitution of nature. In 
 the poetic eye of Milton, 
 
 Sky lowered, and muttering thunder, some sad drops 
 
 Wept at completion of the mortal sin 
 
 Original. 
 
 But this, if more than poetically correct, was 
 only a presage of approaching revolution. 
 From the tenor of the curse, we learn that a 
 material change, never to be revoked, imme- 
 diately followed. Nor do we know the effects 
 produced by the universal deluge and by other 
 convulsions of nature. But whatever they may 
 have been, we find ourselves the passing in- 
 habitants of a world where nature, animate and 
 inanimate, seem.s to sympathise with our lot, 
 to point out our duties, and to remind us of 
 our end. Nature, in this light, is only a 
 grand depository of means intended to pro- 
 mote the end of our being. It is a temple in 
 which Piety finds herself surrounded by a 
 thousand emanations from the Supreme, and 
 addressed by a thousand voices of warning and 
 encouragement. The poet has drawn from it 
 his most pathetic images, the moralist many 
 of his best arguments and examples, and the 
 prophet some of his most arousing monitions. 
 
 In exemplification of this fact, but without 
 pretending to furnish an adequate idea of it, 
 you may be reminded of a few of the more 
 obvious illustrations of our condition with 
 which nature abounds. How often is the 
 restlessness of man compared to the constant 
 agitation of the ocean ; and the uncertainty of 
 friendship, and of success in life, to the in- 
 stability of that element. How beautifully 
 does the setting of the unclouded sun illustrate 
 the closing scene of the Christian's life ; how 
 friendly the calm and twilight of evening are 
 to solitude and meditation ; and how aptly the 
 rage of a storm represents the frequent turbu- 
 lence of human passions. If life be compared 
 to a day, it has its morning, its noon, its 
 evening, and its night ; and when compared 
 with the year, it has its "flowering spring," its 
 "summer's ardent strength," its 
 
 Sober autumn fading into age ; 
 
 And pale concluding winter comes at last. 
 
 And shuts the scene. 
 
 No subject, however, has been more copiously 
 illustrated by comparisons drawn from nature 
 than the brevity and uncertainty of human life. 
 The change continually passing upon every 
 thing around us, can scarcely fail to remind 
 even the most thoughtless that such, " in his 
 best estate," is man. But it is an unwelcome 
 subject to the majority of mankind, and often 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 jj/ 
 
 remanded, like Paul by Felix, until a more 
 convenient season shall have arrived. It can- 
 not, however, be dismissed at present on ac- 
 count of its unseasonableness, for scarcely can 
 we walk, without being reminded of it by some 
 striking emblem. The warmth of summer is 
 gone, and the freshness of the grass. The 
 tribes of insects have gradually disappeared, 
 and those which Providence instructs to pro- 
 vide for the winter have begun to live on the 
 fruit of their industry. The trees have lost the 
 beauty and luxuriance of their foliage ; for 
 while some of them are already left naked to 
 the blast, the leaves which remain on the rest 
 have become sere and yellow, and every breath 
 of air diminishes their number. The birds are 
 become almost silent ; and the sun leaves us in 
 darkness in the day. Here, then, is a silent but 
 an eloquent appeal to our hearts ; and surely 
 no one can be offended when nature itself be- 
 comes the instructor. Had we, by any possi- 
 bility, been ignorant that all the preceding 
 generations of men had died, and that the same 
 event awaited us, who could go out and con- 
 template those images of desolation without 
 wondering whether a change would ever take 
 place in our condition, answering to this change 
 in the aspect of nature ? But this is not a sub- 
 ject of conjecture — we know that it is the lot 
 of all, and nature only aims to remind us of it. 
 We are too much disposed to act as though the 
 winter of our life would never come. But na- 
 ture, at this season of the year, addresses us in 
 the tone of warning, and assures us that it will ; 
 and presents itself as an example. We are so 
 far absorbed in the present concerns of life 
 that we are in extreme danger of forgetting 
 what awaits us at the end. But, as if to pre- 
 vent this fatal inattention, nature at this season 
 dies before our eyes. It prospectively cele- 
 brates our funeral ; and while the funeral pro- 
 cession is passing before us, the voice of wisdom 
 pronounces in solemn accent, " We all do fade 
 as a leaf." 
 
 And is it so, reader? Then act as though 
 you believed it. And remember that the por- 
 tion which awaits the Christian when he has 
 faded and fallen here is "an inheritance, in- 
 corruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not 
 away." His body, too, like seed deposited in 
 the earth, is eventually to burst into second 
 life. It is designed to wear no earthly form, but 
 to be ** fashioned like unto Christ's glorious 
 body." And at the same moment a new 
 heaven and a new earth are to start into being 
 likewise. Not more certainly will the present 
 
 season give place to another spring than the 
 storms and vicissitudes of time will be succeeded 
 by that glorious event. To secure that, the 
 Saviour died ; and to accelerate it he lives, 
 and reigns, and triumphs. It is that to which 
 all the affairs of the universe are hourly tend- 
 ing. Then a summer shall flourish which 
 shall know no winter, there the verdure shall 
 never wither ! and the blessed who enjoy it, 
 freed from everything which rendered them 
 fading on earth, shall know no change but 
 that of advancing "from glory to glory." — 
 Aspirate. 
 
 MOTHER, her Heart. 
 
 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 woo'd by flattering friends, 
 
 And fed with fame (if fame it be). 
 This heart, my own dear mother, bends, 
 
 With love's true instinct, back to thee. 
 Moore. 
 
 MOTHER, her High Responsibility. 
 
 The mother in her office holds the key of the 
 
 soul. Old Play. 
 
 MOTIVE, Ptirity of. 
 
 The purest motive of human action is the love 
 of God. There may be motives stronger and 
 more general, but none so pure. The religion, 
 the virtue, which owes its birth in the soul to 
 this motive is always genuine religion ; always 
 true virtue. It reaches every action, it in- 
 cludes every duty. Religion may spring from 
 various principles, begin in various motives. 
 It is not for us to narrow the promises of God 
 which belong to sincere religion, from what- 
 ever cause it originates. But of these prin- 
 ciples, the purest, the surest, is the love of 
 God, forasmuch as the religion which proceeds 
 from it is sincere, constant, and universal. It 
 will not, like fits of terror and alarm (which 
 yet we do not despise), produce a temporary 
 religion. It will not, like some other, and 
 these also good and laudable principles of 
 
358 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 action, as far as they go, produce a partial 
 religion. It is co-extensive with all our ob- 
 ligations. It is a guard against error in con- 
 duct, because it is a guard against those evil 
 influences which mislead the understand- 
 ing in moral questions. Cherish, confirm, 
 strengthen the principle itself, and you will 
 not want many lessons — you need not listen 
 to any other monitor. — Paley. 
 
 MOTIVES, their Importance. 
 
 It is the motive that more than anything else 
 renders an action good or bad. However fair 
 the look of an action may be, if the right mo- 
 tive is wanting the action is hollow ; if the 
 motive be a bad one, the action is rotten at the 
 core. Who cares for an outward seeming or 
 show of friendship or affection, unless the heart 
 be also friendly and affectionate ? Who does 
 not prize a rough outside, when it covers an 
 honest inside, more than the most fawning 
 fondness from a heart that is cold and false ? 
 Thus it is right to insist on the principles for 
 their own sake ; because the principles give 
 their value to the action, not the action to the 
 principles. The principles are the gold on 
 which the stamp is to be put : if the gold be 
 not good, the stamp, though it may often de- 
 ceive people, gives it no real worth ; and he 
 who graves the king's image on base metal is 
 punished for forgery. — Rev. Augustus Hare. 
 
 MOURNING for the Dead. 
 
 No longer mourn for me when I am dead. 
 Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
 Give warning to the world that I am fled 
 From this vilt^ ivorld, with vilest worms to 
 
 dwell ; 
 Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
 The hand that writ it ; for I love you so. 
 That I in your sweet thoughts would be 
 
 forgot. 
 If thinking on me then should make you woe. 
 O if, I say, you look upon this verse. 
 When I, perhaps, compounded am with clay. 
 Do not so much as my poor name rehearse ; 
 But let your love even with my life decay : 
 Lest the wise world should look into your 
 
 moan. 
 And mock you with me after I am gone. 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 MURDER will Out. 
 
 It will have blood, they say j blood will have 
 
 blood : 
 Stones have been known to move and trees to 
 
 speak ; 
 Augurs and understood relations have 
 By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, 
 
 brought forth 
 The secret'st man of blood. Shakespeare. 
 
 When the searching eye of heaven is hid 
 Behind the globe, and lights the lower world. 
 Then thieves and robbei-s range abroad unseen, 
 In murders and in outrage, bloody here ; 
 But when, from under this terrestrial ball, 
 He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines. 
 And darts his light through every guilty hole, 
 Then murders, treasons, and detested sins. 
 The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their 
 
 backs. 
 Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves. 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 MUSIC and the Muscular Sense. 
 
 The divisions of the time in music in some 
 degree depend on the muscular sense. A man 
 will put down his staff in regulated time, and 
 in his common walk the sound of his steps 
 will fall into a measure. A boy striking the 
 railing in mere wantonness will do it with a 
 regular succession of blows. This disposition 
 in the muscular frame to put itself into motion 
 with an accordance to time is the source of 
 much that is pleasing in music, and assists the 
 effect of melody. The closest connection is 
 thus established between the employments of 
 the sense of hearing and the exercise of the 
 muscular sense. The effect of disorders of the 
 nervous system is sometimes to show how 
 natural certain combinations of actions are in 
 the exercise of the muscular frame. 
 
 The following is a curious illustration of 
 what we have just been dwelling upon : — A 
 young woman (who, by the bye, could not be 
 taught to go down a country dance), under a 
 morbid mental excitement in association with 
 the organs of voluntary motion, began to exer- 
 cise involuntary movements not unbecoming 
 an opera dancer. At one time she would pace 
 slowly round the room, as in a minuet, with a 
 measured step, the arms carried with elegance ; 
 at another time she would stand on the toes of 
 one foot, and beat time with the other. On 
 some occasions she would strike the table, or 
 whatever she could reach with her hand, many 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 359 
 
 times softly, and then with force. At length it 
 was found that she did everything in rhythms. 
 A friend thought that in her regular beating 
 he could recognise a tune, and he began 
 singing it. The moment this struck her ears 
 she turned suddenly to the man, danced 
 directly up to him, and continued to dance 
 until she was quite out of breath. 
 
 The cure of this young woman was of a very 
 unusual kind : a drum and fife were procured, 
 and when a tune corresponding to the rhythms 
 of her movements was played, in whatever 
 part of the room she was, she would dance 
 close up to the drum, and continue dancing 
 until she missed the step, when these involun- 
 tary motions instantly ceased, and the paroxysm 
 ended. The physician, profiting by this, and 
 observing a motion in her lips, put his ear close 
 to her mouth ; he thought he could hear her 
 sing, and questioning her, she said that there 
 ■ was always a tune dwelling upon her mind, 
 i which at times had an irresistible influence 
 upon her, and impelled her to begin her in- 
 voluntary motions. In the end, she v;as cured 
 by altering the time in the beating of the drum ; 
 for whenever she missed the time the motions 
 stopped. 
 
 We may now ask, what is this extraordinary 
 disease ? From being an excitable state of the 
 nervous and muscular system, it will be called 
 chorea ; but it is an instance of a natural 
 combination of muscular actions morbidly pro- 
 duced ; just as in hysteria, where we have the 
 expressions of various natural passions ex- 
 hibited — for example, weeping or laughing. — 
 Sir Charles Bell. 
 
 MUSIC, Fairy-like. 
 
 ** How sweet it would be could I hear. 
 Soft music mate the drowsy afternoon, 
 And drown awhile the bees' sad murmuring 
 
 tune, 
 Within these flowering limes." E'en as she 
 
 rpoke 
 A sweet- voiced choir of unknown, unseen folk. 
 Singing to words that match the sense of these. 
 Hushed the faint music of the linden trees. 
 IVtn. Morris. 
 
 MUSIC of Maidenhood. 
 Emilia. 'Twas Agatha. 
 And very fair she was, and very meek : 
 Tall too, and bent her as yon poplar bows 
 To the sv/eet music of the river airs ; 
 And so it was she whisper'd. 
 
 Philostratus. What, in music ! 
 
 Emilia. Ay, sir; for what is music, if 
 
 sweet words 
 kising from tender fancies be not so ? 
 Methinks there is no sound so gentle, none, 
 Not even the south wind young when first he 
 
 comes 
 Wooing the lemon flowers, for whom he leaves 
 The coasts of Baias : not melodious springs, 
 Though heard i' the stillness of their native 
 
 hills : 
 Not the rich viol, trump, cymbal, nor horn, 
 Guitar, nor cittern, nor the pining flute. 
 Are half so sweet as tender human words. 
 Barry Cornwall, 
 
 MUSIC of Nature. 
 
 Still as everything is to the eye, sometimes 
 for a hundred miles together along these deep 
 sea valleys there is rarely silence. The ear is 
 kept awake by a thousand voices. In the 
 summer there are cataracts leaping from ledge 
 to ledge of the rocks, and there is the bleating 
 of the kids that browse there, and the flap of 
 the great eagle's wings as it dashes abroad from 
 its eyrie, and the cries of whole clouds of sea- 
 birds which inhabit the islets ; and all these 
 sounds are mingled and multiplied by the 
 strong echoes till they become a din as loud as 
 that of a city. Even at night, when the flocks 
 are in the fold, and the birds at roost, and the 
 echoes themselves seem to be asleep, there is 
 occasionally a sweet music heard, too soft for 
 even the listening ear to catch by day. Every 
 breath of summer wind that steals through the 
 pine forests wakes this music as it goes. The 
 stiff spiny leaves of the fir and pine vibrate 
 with the breeze, like the strings of a musical 
 instrument, so that every breath of the night 
 wind in a Norwegian forest wakens a myriad 
 of tiny harps, and this gentle and mournful 
 music may be heard in gushes the whole night 
 through. This music of course ceases when 
 each tree becomes laden with snow ; but yet 
 there is sound in the midst of the longest 
 winter night. There is the rumble of some 
 avalanche, as, after a drifting storm, a mass of 
 snow too heavy to keep its place slides and 
 tumbles from the mountain peak. There is 
 also now and then a loud crack of the ice in 
 the nearest glacier ; and, as many declare, there 
 is a crackling to be heard by those who listen 
 when the northern lights are shooting and 
 blazing across the sky. Nor is this all. Where- 
 
360 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 ever there is a nook between the rocks on the 
 shore, where a man may build a house and 
 clear a field or two ; wherever there is a plat- 
 form beside the cataract, where the sawyer may 
 plant his mill, and make a path for it to join 
 some road, there is a human habitation, and 
 the sounds that belong to it Thence in winter 
 nights come music and laughter, and the tread 
 of dancers, and the hum of many voices. The 
 Norwegians are a social and hospitable people, 
 and they hold their gay meetings in defiance of 
 their Arctic climate, through every season of 
 the year. — Miss Martineaii. 
 
 MUSIC of Yore. 
 
 O FELLOW ! come, the song we had last 
 
 night : — 
 Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain : 
 The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, 
 And the free maids, that weave their thread 
 
 with bones, 
 Do use to chaunt it ; it is silly sooth. 
 And dallies with the innocence of love, 
 Like the old age. Shakespeare. 
 
 MUSIC, Panting After. 
 
 I PANT for the music which is divine. 
 
 My heart in its thirst is a dying flower. 
 Pour forth the sound like enchanted wine. 
 
 Loosen the notes in a silver shower ; 
 Like a herbless plain, for the gentle rain, 
 
 I gasp, I faint, till they wake again. 
 Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet 
 sound. 
 
 More, O more, — I am thirsting yet. 
 It loosens the serpent which care has bound 
 
 Upon my heart, to stifle it ; 
 The dissolving strain, through every vein. 
 
 Passes into my heart and brain. 
 
 / Shelley. 
 
 MUSIC, Solemn. 
 
 Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of heaven's joy, 
 Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and 
 
 Verse, 
 Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power 
 
 employ, 
 Dead things with imbreathed sense able to 
 
 pierce ; 
 And to our high-raised phantasy present 
 That undisturbed song of pure consent. 
 
 Aye sung before the sapphire-coloured throne 
 To Him that sits thereon. 
 With saintly shout and solemn jubilee : 
 Where the bright seraphim, in burning row, 
 Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow ; 
 And the cherubic host, in thousand quires, 
 Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, 
 With those just spirits that wear victorious 
 
 palms. 
 Hymns devout and holy psalms 
 Singing everlastingly ; 
 That we on earth, with undiscording voice. 
 May rightly answer that melodious noise ; 
 As once we did, till disproportioned sin 
 Jarred against nature's chime, and with harsli 
 
 din 
 Broke the fair music that all creatures made 
 To their great Lord, whose love their motiork 
 
 swayed 
 In perfect diapason, whilst they stood 
 In first obedience, and their state of good. 
 Oh ! may we soon again renew that song. 
 And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere 
 
 long 
 To his celestial concert us unite. 
 To live with him, and sing in endless morn of 
 
 light ! Milton. 
 
 MUSIC, the Gift of God. 
 
 Music, though now a very complete and difficult 
 art, is in truth, a gift of the Author of Nature 
 to the whole human race. Its existence and 
 influence are to be traced in the records of 
 every people from the earliest ages, and are 
 perceptible, at the present time, in every quar- 
 ter of the globe. It is a part of the benevolent 
 order of Providence, that we are capable of 
 receiving from the objects around us pleasures 
 independent of the immediate purposes for 
 which they have been created. Our eyes do- 
 not merely enable us to see external things, sa 
 as to avail ourselves of their useful proper- 
 ties ; they enable us also to enjoy the delight 
 produced by the sensation of beauty, a per- 
 ception which (upon whatever principle it may- 
 be explained) is something distinct from any 
 consideration of the mere utility of an object. 
 We could have had the most accurate percep- 
 tions of the form and position of everything 
 that constitutes the most beautiful landscape, 
 without receiving any idea of its beauty. We 
 could have beheld the sun setting amid the 
 glowing tints of a summer evening, without 
 thinking of anything beyond the advantage of 
 serene weather ; we might have contemplated 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 361 
 
 the glossy expanse of the ocean reflecting the 
 tranquil beams of the moon, without any other 
 feeling than the comfort of a safe and easy 
 navigation ; and the varieties of hill and dale, 
 of shady woods and luxuriant verdure, might 
 have been pleasant only in the eyes of farmers 
 and graziers. We could, too, have listened to 
 sounds with equal indifference to everything 
 beyond the mere information they conveyed to 
 us ; and the sighing of the breeze, or the mur- 
 muring of the ocean, while we learned nothing 
 from them of which we could avail ourselves, 
 might have been heard without pleasure. It 
 is evident that the perception of external things 
 for the mere purpose of making use of them 
 has no connection with the feeling of their 
 beauty ; and that our Creator, therefore, has 
 bestowed on us this additional feeling for the 
 purpose of augmenting our happiness. Had 
 he not had this design, he might have left us 
 without the sense of beauty or deformity. " If 
 God," says Paley, **had wished our misery, 
 he might have made sure of his purpose, by 
 forming our senses to be as many sores and 
 pains to us as they are now instruments of our 
 gratification and enjoyment ; or by placing us 
 among objects so ill-suited to our perceptions 
 as to have continually offended us, instead of 
 ministering to our refreshment and delight. 
 He might have made, for instance, everything 
 we saw loathsome, everything we touched a 
 sting, and every sound a discord." 
 
 In place of every sound being a discord, the 
 greatest part of the sounds which we hear are 
 more or less agreeable to us. The infinite 
 variety of sounds produced by the wind and 
 waters, the cries of animals, the notes of birds, 
 and above all, the tones of the human voice, 
 all affect us with various kinds and degrees of 
 pleasure ; and, in general, it may be said that 
 it is such sounds as indicate something to be 
 feared and avoided, such as the howling of wild 
 beasts, or the hissing of serpents, that are 
 positively painful to our ears. In this sense 
 all nature may be said to be full of music, the 
 disagreeable and discordant sounds being (as 
 in artificial music) in such proportion only as 
 to heighten the pleasure derived from those 
 which are agreeable. The human voice is that 
 which pleases us chiefly, and affects us most 
 powerfully. Its natural tones and accents are 
 calculated to penetrate the heart of the listener, 
 and the union of these to articulate speech, in 
 every language, not only produces a melody 
 which pleases the ear, but an effect on the feel- 
 ings of which the mere words would be incap- 
 
 able. These natural tones of the voice, either 
 by themselves, or joined to articulate language, 
 constitute music in its simplest state ; and the 
 pleasures and feelings derived from such music 
 must necessarily have existed in every form of 
 society. — Hogarth. 
 
 MTJSIO to the Weary Spirit. 
 Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends, 
 Unless some dull and favourable hand 
 Will whisper music to my weary spirit. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 MUSIC, Vocal, Cultivation of. 
 Whatever tends to refine, to civilize, to exalt 
 the intellectual faculties of man is not merely 
 ornamental but useful. This is the character 
 and purpose of all the arts, whether painting, 
 sculpture, poetry, or music. Rising above and 
 beyond the limits of the sensible and material, 
 they delight in the contemplation of the infinite 
 and the spiritual, and know no bound or limit 
 for the sphere of their exertions. Every power 
 and every faculty with which man is endued 
 was given to be improved and enjoyed. There 
 is the same mutual adaptation between know- 
 ledge and the human mind as there is between 
 light and the eye, sound and the ear, seed and 
 the earth. When the Almighty on the one 
 one hand so constituted the seed that when 
 deposited in the earth it germinates and grows 
 and produces fruit, and when on the other he 
 so constituted the human body that the fruit 
 nourishes and sustains it, he in the most em- 
 phatic manner commanded man to cultivate the 
 earth and to reap its fruits. In like manner, 
 when he endued the human voice with sweet- 
 ness, compass, flexibility, and power, and 
 made it capable of giving expression to 
 every emotion of the heart — when he bestowed 
 on the ear the power of the nicest discrimina- 
 tion, and rendered it one of the channels 
 through which pleasure is conveyed to the 
 mind ; when he also established those laws 
 which control and regulate the production, 
 diffusion, and combination of sound, render- 
 ing each beneficent provision tributary and 
 dependent upon the other, and uniting all in 
 beauteous harmony ; can we doubt that these 
 gifts were dispensed with a view to their en- 
 joyment, or that by cultivating the powers thus 
 bestowed we are not only best consulting our 
 own happiness, but rendering to their Giver 
 the acceptable tribute of obedience ? — Taylor. 
 
362 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 NAME, A Good. 
 Who shall pretend to calculate the value of 
 the inheritance of a good name? Its benefit 
 is often great when dependent on no stronger 
 ties than those which accident or relationship 
 have created ; but when it flows from friend- 
 ships 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 best ends ; 
 and it carries with it an influence which power- 
 fully disposes all worthy persons to co-operate 
 in its views. Nor is this all. The conscious- 
 ness 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 foundations of the very 
 highest fortunes upon no other ground than 
 that which this goodly inheritance has sup- 
 plied. — Bishop Otler. 
 
 NAME, A Great. 
 
 What should be in that Ccesar ? 
 Why should that name be sounded more than 
 
 yours ? 
 Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 
 Sound them, it doth become the mouth as 
 
 well ; 
 Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with 'em, 
 Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Csesar. 
 Now, in the name of all the gods at once. 
 Upon what meat doth this our Coesar feed, 
 That he is grown so great ? Shakespeare. 
 
 NAME, Desire to Know. 
 
 I DO beseech you, 
 Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers, 
 i What is your name ? Shakespeare. 
 
 NATURAL History, 
 Advantages of a Taste for. 
 When a young person, who has enjoyed the 
 benefits of a liberal education, instead of leading 
 a life of indolence, dissipation, or vice, em- 
 ploys himself in studying the marks of infinite 
 wisdom and goodness which are manifested in 
 every part of the visible creation, we know not 
 
 which we ought most to congratulate, the 
 public or the individual. 
 
 Self-taught naturalists are often found to 
 make no little progress in knowledge, and to 
 strike out many new lights, by the mere aid 
 of original genius and patient application. But 
 the well-educated youth engages with these 
 pui'suits with peculiar advantage. He takes 
 more comprehensive views, is able to consult 
 a greater variety of authors ; and, from the 
 early habits of his mind, is more accurate and 
 more methodical in all his investigations. The 
 world at large, therefore, cannot fail to be 
 benefited by his labours ; and the value of the 
 enjoyments which at the same time he secures 
 to himself is beyond all calculation. No 
 tedious, vacant hour ever makes him wish for 
 he knows not what — complain, he knows not 
 why. Never does a restless impatience at 
 having nothing to do compel him to seek a 
 momentary stimulus to his dormant powers in 
 the tumultuous pleasures of the intoxicating 
 cup, or the agitating suspense of the game of 
 chance. Whether he be at home or abroad, 
 in every different clime, and in every season of 
 the year, universal Nature is before him, and, 
 invites him to a banquet richly replenished 
 with whatever can invigorate his understanding 
 or gratify his mental taste. The earth on 
 which he treads, the air in which he moves, 
 the sea along the margin of which he walks, 
 all teem with objects to keep his attention per- 
 petually awake, excite him to healthful activity, 
 and charm him with an ever-varying succession 
 of the beautiful, the wonderful, the useful, and 
 the new. And, in conformity with the direct 
 tendency of such occupations, he rises from 
 the creature to the Creator, and considers the 
 duties which naturally result from his own 
 situation and rank in this vast system of being, 
 he will derive as much satisfaction from the 
 anticipation of the future as from the expe- 
 rience of the present and the recollection of 
 the past. 
 
 The mind of the pious naturalist is always 
 cheerful, always animated with the noblest and 
 most benign feelings. Every repeated observa- 
 tion, every unexpected discovery, directs his 
 thoughts to the great Source of all order and 
 all good ; and harmonizes all his faculties with 
 the general voice of Nature. 
 
 The men 
 Whojti Nature's works can charm, with God himself 
 Hol4 converse ; grow familiar day by day, 
 With His conceptions ; act upon His plan, 
 And form to His the relish of their souls. 
 
 Wood, 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 363 
 
 NATUEE. 
 
 The fair smile of morning, 
 
 The glory of noon, 
 The bright stars adorning 
 
 Tlae path of the moon. 
 The mist-covered mountain. 
 
 The valley and plain, 
 The lake and the fountain, 
 
 The river and main, 
 Their magic combining, 
 
 Illume and control 
 The care and repining. 
 
 That darken the soul. 
 . The timid Spring stealing 
 
 Through light and perfume ; 
 The Summer's revealing 
 
 Of beauty and bloom ; 
 The rich Autumn glowing, 
 
 With fruit- treasures crowned ; 
 The pale Winter throwing 
 
 His snow-wreaths around. 
 All widely diffusing 
 
 A charm on the earth, 
 Wake loftier musing. 
 
 And holier mirth. 
 There is not a sorrow. 
 
 That hath not a bali:!i 
 From Nature to borrov.-. 
 
 In tempest or calm ; 
 There is not a season. 
 
 There is not a scene. 
 But Fancy and Reasor., 
 
 May gaze on serene, 
 And own it possessing 
 
 A zest for the glad, 
 
 A solace and blessing 
 
 To comfort the sad. 
 
 David Lester Richardson, 
 
 The first in time and the first in importance 
 of the influences upon the mind is that of 
 Nature. Every day the sun, and after sunset 
 night and her stars. Ever the winds blow; 
 ever the grass grows. Every day men and 
 women, conversing, beholding, and beholden. 
 The scholar must needs stand wistful and 
 admiring before this great spectacle. He 
 must settle its value in his mind. What is 
 Nature to him ? There is never a beginning ; 
 there is never an end to the inexplicable con- 
 tinuity of this web of God ; but always circular 
 power returning into itself Therein it re- 
 sembles his own spirit whose beginning, 
 whose ending, we can never find, so entire, so 
 boundless. Far, too, as her splendours shine, 
 
 system and system shooting like rays upward, 
 downward, without a centre, without circum- 
 ference — in the mass and in the particle. 
 Nature hastens to render account of herself to 
 the mind. — R. IV. Emerson. 
 
 NATURE, a Friend to Truth. 
 Read Nature ; Nature is a friend to truth ; 
 Nature is Christian, preaches to mankind ; 
 And bids dead matter aid us in our creed. 
 
 Yowig. 
 
 NATURE, Aid of, in Manufactures. 
 Does Nature nothing for man in manufactures? 
 Are the powers of wind and water, which 
 move our machinery and assist navigation, 
 nothing? The pressure of our atmosphere 
 and the elasticity of steam, which enable us to 
 work the most stupendous machines — are they 
 not the gifts of Nature? to say nothing of the 
 effects of the matter of heat in softening and 
 melting metals, of the decomposition of the 
 atmosphere in the process of dyeing and fer- 
 mentation. There is not a manufacture which 
 can be mentioned in which Nature does not 
 give her assistance to man, and give it, too, 
 generously and gratuitously. — David Ricardo. 
 
 NATURE, a Manuscript from God. 
 There are two books from whence I collect 
 my divinity ; besides that written one of God, 
 another of his servant Nature, that universal 
 and publick Manuscript that lies expansed unto 
 the eyes of all ; those that never saw him in 
 the one have discovered him in the other : this 
 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 eyes on these common 
 Hieroglyphics, and disdain to suck divinity 
 from the flowers of Nature. — Sir T. Browne. 
 
 NATURE, an Inspired Teacher. 
 Deem we the face 
 Of changeful seasons varied but to charm 
 The gazing eye, and soothe the vacant mind ? 
 Say, is not Nature's ample tone displayed. 
 
364 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Even to the careless wanderer in the field, 
 With loftier purpose ? Wisdom's dictates pure , 
 Themes of momentous import, charactered 
 By more than human finger, every page 
 Discloses. He, who formed this beauteous 
 
 globe 
 So fair, amid her brightest scenes hath hung 
 Fit emblems of a perishable world ; 
 And graved on tablets he that runs may read 
 Your fickle date, ye sublunary joys. 
 The buds doth Spring unfold, and thick as dew 
 Spangling the grass, the purple bloom diffuse ? 
 Comes a chill blight, and bids the sanguine 
 
 youth 
 Read in its ravages a lore that tells 
 Of frustrate plans, and hope indulged in vain. 
 Do Summer suns the mead with herbage load, 
 And tinge the ripening ear? With sudden 
 
 rage 
 The thunder-storm descends ; the river swells 
 Impatient, leaps the mound ; and, while the 
 
 waves 
 Devour the promised harvest, calls on thee, 
 O Man, to tremble for thy daily bread. 
 The faded leaves doth Autumn scatter wide ; 
 Or Winter rend the desolated boughs. 
 And lay the fathers of the forest low ? 
 Child of the dust, attend ! To thee they cry. 
 Each from his whirlwind. Earth is not thy 
 
 home. Gisborne. 
 
 NATURE, Beauty of. 
 
 O AZURE vaults ! O crystal sky ! 
 
 The world's transparent canopy. 
 Break your long silence, and let mortals know 
 With what contempt ye look on things below. 
 
 Great eye of all, whose glorious ray 
 Rules the bright empire of the day, 
 O praise His name, without whose purer light 
 Thou hadst been hid m an abyss of night. 
 
 Ye moon and planets, who dispense 
 By God's command your influence, 
 Resign to Him, as your Creator, due 
 That veneration which men pay to you. 
 
 Fairest as well as first of things 
 From whom all joy, all beauty springs, 
 O praise th' Almighty ruler of the globe, 
 Who useth thee for his imperial robe. 
 
 Praise Him, ye loud harmonious spheres, 
 Whose sacred stamp all Nature bears. 
 Who did all forms from the wide chaos draw, 
 And whose command is th' universal law. 
 
 Earl of Roscommon. 
 
 NATURE, Deep Rapture in. 
 
 O ! NOW glad Nature bursts upon mine eye — 
 The shroud of care is rent. Deep rapture thrills 
 My waking heart ; for life's deforming ills. 
 That come like shadows when the storm is nigh. 
 Foreboding strife, at length have floated by. 
 And left my spirit free ! The skylark trills 
 His matin song ; the cloud-resembling hills 
 In dim cerulean beauty slumbering lie. 
 And form the throne of Peace ; the silver stream 
 Is sparkling in the sun — its bright waves seem 
 Instinct with joy ; the verdant breast of Earth 
 Teems with delight. The past is like a dream, 
 A dull trance broken by the voice of mirth. 
 Or gray mist scattered by the morning beam ! 
 D. L. Richardson. 
 
 NATURE Displays Religion to Mankind. 
 The works of Nature and the works of revela- 
 tion display religion to mankind in characters 
 so large and visible, that those who are not 
 quite blind may in them see and read the first 
 principles and most necessary parts of it, and 
 from thence penetrate into those infinite depths 
 filled with the treasures of wisdom and know- 
 ledge. — Locke. 
 
 NATURE, Enjoyment of. 
 
 See ! purpled by the twilight gleam. 
 
 O'er meads of flow'rs the streamlet flows. 
 While, softly drooping o'er the stream. 
 
 The waving poplar breathes repose. 
 The unseen Spirit of the Lord 
 
 Floats here, amid the breath of spring ; 
 Whose youth and loveliness afford 
 
 The holiest raptures earth can bring ! 
 And while I these fair charms behold. 
 
 My spirit soars more blest, more free ; 
 And pomp and splendour, fame and gold, 
 xAre, Nature, nought compared with thee ! 
 
 \ From the German of Matthisson. 
 
 NATURE, God in. 
 
 O, Nature, -^vhose Elysian scenes disclose 
 His bright perfections at whose word they 
 
 rose. 
 Next to that Pow'r who formed thee and 
 
 sustains. 
 Be thou the gfeat inspirer of my strains. 
 Still as I toucii the lyre, do thou expand 
 Thy genuine charms, and guide an artless 
 
 hand ; 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 365 
 
 That I may catch a fire but rarely known, 
 Give useful light though I should miss renown. 
 And poring on thy page, whose ev'ry line 
 Bears proof of an intelligence divine. 
 May feel a heart enriched by what it pays, 
 That builds its glory on its Maker's praise. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 NATURE, her All-Sufflciency. 
 
 O, Nature, all-sufficient, over all ! 
 
 Enrich me with the knowledge of thy works ! 
 
 Snatch me to heaven ; thy rolling wonders 
 
 there. 
 World beyond world in infinite extent, 
 Profusely scattered o'er the blue immense, 
 Show me ; their motions, periods, and their 
 
 laws. 
 Give me to scan ; through the disclosing deep 
 Light my blind way ; the mineral strata there ; 
 Thrust, blooming, thence the vegetable world ; 
 O'er that the rising system, more complex. 
 Of animals ; and higher still, the mind, 
 The varied scene of quick-compounded 
 
 thought. 
 And where the mixing passions endless shift ; 
 These ever open to my ravished eye — 
 A search the flight of time can ne'er exhaust ! 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 NATURE, 
 Her Boundless Store of Charms. 
 O HOW canst thou renounce the boundless 
 store 
 Of charms which Nature to her votary 
 yields ? 
 The warbling woodland, the resounding shore. 
 The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ; 
 All that the genial ray of morning gilds. 
 
 And all that echoes to the song of even ; 
 All that the mountain's sheltering bosom 
 shields, 
 And all the dread magnificence of heaven ; 
 O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be 
 forgiven ? Beattie. 
 
 NATURE, her Gentle Economy. 
 To watch the economy of birds, to mark the 
 enjoyment of the animal world, to view with 
 an eye of interest and contemplation the fields 
 "with verdure clad," and every opening 
 blossom bursting into beauty and to life, are 
 enjoyments that instruct and delight youth, 
 
 middle, and old age. They supply us with a 
 source of innocent employment, to which none 
 need be dead but those who wilfully become 
 so by keeping their eyes closed before that 
 book of Nature which is everywhere spread 
 around, that we should read in it those 
 characters of an Almighty hand that lead the 
 mind to wonder at and adore His goodness, 
 the heart to acknowledge and to feel His 
 power, as a Father, who in His "wisdom has 
 created," and preserves them all. — Mrs. Bray. 
 
 NATURE, her Influences Essential 
 
 The influence of the forms and actions in 
 Nature is so needful to man that, in its lowest 
 functions, it seems to lie on the confines of 
 commodity and beauty. To the body and 
 mind which have been cramped by noxious 
 work or company Nature is medicinal, and 
 restores their tone. The tradesman, the 
 attorney, comes out of the din and craft of the 
 street, and sees the sky and the woods, and is 
 a man again. In their eternal calm he finds 
 himself. The health of the eye seems to 
 demand an horizon. We are never tired so 
 long as we can see far enough. 
 
 But in other hours Natuie satisfies the soul 
 purely by its loveliness, and without any 
 mixture of corporeal benefit. I have seen the 
 spectacle of morning from the hill-top over 
 against my house, from daybreak to sunrise, 
 with emotions which an angel might share. 
 The long slender bars of cloud float like fishes 
 in the sea of crimson light. From the earth, 
 as a shore, I look out into that silent sea. I 
 seem to partake its rapid transformations ; the 
 active enchantment reaches my dust, and I 
 dilate and conspire with the morning wind. 
 How does Nature deify us with a few and cheap 
 elements ! Give me health and a day, and I 
 will make the pomp of emperors ridiculous. 
 
 The dawn is my Assyria ; the sunset and 
 moonrise my Paphos, and unimaginable realms 
 of faerie ; broad noon shall be my England of 
 the senses and the understanding ; the night 
 shall be my Germany of mystic philosophy 
 and dreams. Not less excellent, except for 
 our less susceptibility in the afternoon, was the 
 charm, last evening, of a January sunset. 
 The western clouds divided and subdivided 
 themselves into pink flakes, modulated with 
 tints of unspeakable softness ; and the air had 
 so much life and sweetness that it was a pain 
 to come within doors. 
 
366 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 The leafless trees becomespires of flame in the 
 sunset, with the bhie east for their background, 
 and the stars of the dead calices of flowers, 
 and every withered stem and stubble rimed 
 with frost, contribute something to the mute 
 music. The inhabitants of cities suppose that 
 the country landscape is pleasant only half the 
 year. I please myself with observing the 
 graces of the winter scenery, and believe that 
 we are as much touched by it as by the 
 genial influences of summer. To the attentive 
 eye, each moment of the year has its own 
 beauty; and in the same field it beholds, every 
 hour, a picture which was never seen before, 
 and which shall never be seen again. The 
 heavens change every moment, and reflect 
 their glory or gloom on the plains beneath. 
 But this beauty of Nature, which is seen and 
 felt as beauty, is the least part. The shows 
 of day, the dewy morning, the rainbow, 
 mountains, orchards in blossom, stars, moon- 
 light, shadows in still water, and the like, if 
 too eagerly hunted, become shows merely, and 
 mock us with their unreality. Go out of the 
 house to see the moon and 'tis mere tinsel ; it 
 will not please us when its light shines upon 
 your necessary journey. The beauty that 
 shimmers in the yellow afternoons of October, 
 who ever could catch it ? Go forth to find it, 
 and it is gone : 'tis only a mirage as you look 
 from the windows of diligence. The presence 
 of the higher, spiritual element, is essential to 
 its perfection. The high and divine beauty 
 which can be loved without effeminacy is 
 found in combination with the human will, and 
 never separate. Beauty is the mark God sets 
 upon virtue. — R. W. Emerson. 
 
 NATURE, lier Innate Beauty. 
 
 When through ^rtnink a darkened room 
 
 Admits the^lar beam, 
 Down the Jong light that breaks the gloom, 
 
 Millions of atoms stream, 
 In sparkling agitations bright, 
 
 Alternate dies they bear ; 
 Too small for any sense but sight, 
 
 Or any sight, but there. 
 Nature reveals not all her store 
 
 To human search or skill ; 
 And when she deigns to show us more. 
 
 She shows us beauty still. BisJiop. 
 
 NATURE, her Internal Beauty. 
 
 The various productions of Nature were not 
 made for us to tread upon, nor only to feed our 
 eyes with their grateful variety, or to bring a 
 sweet odour to us ; but there is a more internal 
 beauty in them for our minds to prey upon, 
 did we but penetrate beyond the surface of 
 these things into their hidden properties. — 
 Patrick. 
 
 NATURE, her Mutability. 
 Nature presents throughout her works an 
 illustration of the important, but little heeded 
 truth, that everything is mutable here below. 
 What we call our own, and those objects 
 around, with which we hold the most familiar 
 acquaintance, perish in the use ; and no man, 
 however sceptical he may be with regard to 
 the truths of religion, will dare to deny the 
 evidence of his senses. Not only powerful 
 empires have sunk into oblivion, and the most 
 stupendous works of art been swept into the 
 gulf of destruction ; even mighty rivers have 
 shifted their beds and become shallows, and 
 vast mountains have presented manifest proofs 
 of revolution and decay^ 
 
 While, then, we are looking forward our- 
 selves with a certain, though trembling, 
 assurance of our own dissolution, and while we 
 behold on all sides the manifest traces of 
 change, why should it be deemed incredible 
 that the earth itself will die, and give place to 
 another state of things ? Time, the measure of 
 the mundane system, compared with the im- 
 mensity of the universe, is but as the span's 
 breadth of man's existence, to the eternity that 
 is expanded before him ? Fluctuation is per- 
 ceptible in every part of Nature which comes 
 under our inspection ; and though our con- 
 tracted period and narrow observation pre- 
 vent us from seeing with equal clearness the 
 changes which take place in the whole system, 
 there can be no just ground to suppose that a 
 frame is immutable which is made up of 
 materials continually altering their situation 
 and appearance. 
 
 But what reason leads us to conclude from 
 inquiries and experiments properly conducted, 
 revelation stamps at once with the unerring 
 decision of its Divine Author. The Holy 
 Scriptures make it throughout a prominent 
 object to convihce us of this great truth, that 
 all visible things are mutable, and that the 
 succession of time is only a stream that leads 
 us to Eternity. — Baseley. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 367 
 
 NATURE, her Prodigies Disregarded.. 
 
 What prodigies can power divine perform 
 More grand than it produces year by year, 
 And all in sight of inattentive man ? 
 Familiar with the effect, we slight the cause ; 
 And in the constancy of Nature's course, 
 The regular return of genial months. 
 And renovation of a faded world. 
 See nought to wonder at Should God again. 
 As once in Gibeon, interrupt the race 
 Of the undeviating and punctual Sun, 
 How would the world admire ! but speak it less 
 An agency divine, to make him know 
 His moment when to sink and when to rise, 
 Age after age, than to arrest his course ? 
 All we behold is miracle ; but seen 
 So duly, all is miracle in vain. 
 AVhere now the vital energy that moved, 
 While summer was, the pure and subtle lympli 
 Through the imperceptible meandering veins 
 Of leaf and flow'r ? It sleeps ; and th' icy 
 
 touch 
 Of unprolific winter has impressed 
 A cold stagnation on the intestine tide, 
 But let the months go round, a few short 
 
 months. 
 And all shall be restored. Cowpa: 
 
 NATURE, her Resplendent Hues. 
 
 Who can paint 
 Like Nature ? Can imagination boast. 
 Amid its gay creation, hues like hers ? 
 Or can it mix them with that matchless skill, 
 And lose them in each other, as appears 
 In every bud that blows ? If fancy then 
 Unequal falls beneath the pleasing task, 
 Ah ! what shall language do ? Ah, where find 
 
 words. 
 Tinged with so many colours ; and whose 
 
 power. 
 To life approaching, may perfume my lays 
 With that fine oil, those aromatic gales, 
 That inexhaustive flow continual round. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 NATURE, her Works. 
 
 The love of Nature's works 
 Is an ingredient in the compound man. 
 Infused at the creation of his kind. 
 And though the Almighty Maker has through- 
 out 
 
 Discriminated each from each, by strokes 
 And touches of his hand, with so much art 
 Diversified, that two were never found 
 Twins at all points ; yet this obtains in all. 
 That all discern a beauty in his works. 
 And all can taste them : minds that have been 
 
 formed. 
 And tutor'd with a relish more exact. 
 Cut none without some relish, none unmov'd. 
 It is a flame, that dies not even there. 
 Where nothing feeds it : neither business 
 
 crowds. 
 Nor habits of luxurious city life. 
 Whatever else they smother of true worth 
 In human bosoms, quench it or abate. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 NATURE, Human, a Simile. 
 
 Tender-handed touch a nettle. 
 And it stings you for your pains ; 
 
 Grasp it like a man of mettle. 
 And it soft as silk remains. 
 
 So it is with common natures. 
 Treat them gently, they rebel ; 
 
 But be rough as nutmeg-graters. 
 And the rogues obey you well. 
 
 Aa7-on Hill. 
 
 NATURE, Human, a Study of. 
 
 Happy is he who lives to understand. 
 Not human nature only, but explores 
 All natures, — to the end that we may find 
 The law that governs each ; and where begin 
 The union ; the partition where, that makes 
 Kind and degree, among all visible beings ; 
 The constitutions, powers, and faculties, 
 Which they inherit, cannot step beyond, 
 And cannot fall beneath ; that do assign 
 To every class its station and its office 
 Through all the mighty commonwealth of 
 
 things. 
 Up from the creeping plant to sovereign man. 
 Such converse, if directed by a meek. 
 Sincere, and humble spirit, teaches love ; 
 For knowledge is delight, and such delight 
 Breeds love ; yet, suited, as it rather is, 
 To thought and to the climbing intellect. 
 It teaches less to love than to adore. 
 If that be not indeed the highest love ! 
 
 Wordsxvorth. 
 
368 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 NATURE, Hymn of. 
 
 God of the earth's extended plains ! 
 
 The dark green fields contented lie ; 
 The mountains rise like holy towers 
 
 Where man might commune with the sky ; 
 The tall cliff challenges the storm 
 
 That lours upon the vale below, 
 Where shaded fountains shed their streams 
 
 With joyous music in their flow. 
 
 God of the dark and heavy deep ! 
 
 The waves lie sleeping on the sands, 
 Till the fierce trumpet of the storm 
 
 Hath summoned up their thundering Lands; 
 Then the white sails are dashed like foam, 
 
 Or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas. 
 Till, calmed by thee, the sinking gale 
 
 Serenely breathes, depart in peace. 
 
 God of the forest's solemn shade ! 
 
 The grandeur of the lonely tree, 
 That w^restles singly with the gale, 
 
 Lifts up admiring eyes to thee ; 
 But more majestic far they stand, 
 
 When, side by side, their ranks they form, 
 To weave on high their plumes of green, 
 
 And fight their battles with the storm. 
 
 God of the light and viewless air ! 
 
 Where summer breezes sweetly flow, 
 Or, gathering in their angry might. 
 
 The fierce and wintry tempests blow ; 
 All — from the evening's plaintive sigh. 
 
 That hardly lifts the drooping flower. 
 To the wild whirlwind's midnight cry — 
 
 Breathe forth the language of thy power. 
 
 God of the fair and open sky ! 
 
 How gloriously above us springs 
 The tented dome of heavenly blue, 
 
 Suspended on the rainbow's rings ! 
 Each brilliant star that sparkles through, 
 
 Each gilded cloud that wanders free 
 In evening's purple radiance, gives 
 
 The beauty of its praise to thee. 
 
 God of the rolling orbs above ! 
 
 Thy name is written clearly bright 
 In the warm day's unvarying blaze. 
 
 Or evening's golden shower of light. 
 For every fire that fronts the sun. 
 
 And every spark that walks alone 
 Around the utmost verge of heaven, 
 
 Were kindled at thy burning throne. 
 
 God of the world ! the hour must come. 
 And Nature's self to dust return ; 
 
 Her crumbling altars must decay. 
 Her incense fires shall cease to bum ; 
 
 But still her grand and lovely scenes 
 
 Have made man's warmest praises flow ; 
 
 For hearts grow holier as they trace 
 The beauty of the world below. 
 
 Peahody. 
 
 NATURE, Instinctive Wisdom of. 
 
 Nature, in the formation of her instruments, 
 has always adopted the best size and the best 
 form. If her creatures wanted but to see, a 
 globular eye floating in space might perhaps be 
 the uniform character of the animal world ; if 
 to see and to eat, an eye and a mouth would 
 be given ; if to move swiftly in the air were 
 desirable, wings must be supplied ; if on earth, 
 legs must be added ; if in the water, fins. To 
 carry all these organs, and to contain muscle to 
 guide and govern them, a body must be added. 
 Each part of the body will be of the best size 
 and best form for the functions it has to per- 
 form. Observe the dragon fly, the emperor of 
 his tribe : his wings rustle as he hovers station- 
 ary and hawk-like in the air ; his appetite is 
 insatiable ; his food the active occupants of his 
 own element. It is given to him in charge to 
 set bounds to the increase of the insect race : 
 he beholds his prey afar off ; he darts on it 
 like the rapidity of a lightning flash : to devour 
 it ere life is departed is the work of an instant : 
 he sails round and round ; he soars up and 
 down. When the sky is serene he seeks his 
 prey, like the swallows, almost beyond the 
 reach of human sight. What organs does such 
 an animal require ? Are they not these eyes, 
 mouth, and wings ? How has Nature provided 
 for his wants ? Regard his head — below, it is 
 all mouth ; above, it is one continuous eye. 
 Contemplate his wings — their character is 
 strength and activity, power and lightness. 
 His body is slender and graceful : like a rud- 
 der, it serves as an instrument wherewith to 
 shape his course. Feelers would be compara- 
 tively useless to an animal whose dependence 
 for support is on the keenness of its vision and 
 the velocity of its flight. We find them but 
 little prominent — his every organ of the re- 
 quired size. There is truly a best form, and a 
 best size, and Nature provides both. — Newman. 
 
 NATURE, Instruction Derived from. 
 Go ! wrhere the autumn flowers 
 
 Fade from the ripening tree ; 
 Krueel ! where the warm spring preaches 
 
 His text in eternity ! 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 )69 
 
 Think ! where the ocean ripples, 
 In sunlight glory spread 
 
 Paths for bright angel missions 
 That come with noiseless tread. 
 
 Learn ! 'tis around us written, 
 
 From cradle unto grave, 
 That He who hath created 
 
 Hath power and will to save. 
 Without this, life's chief blessings 
 
 Were but life's chiefest curse, 
 Life's road a dusty, death-march 
 
 Unto a tearless hearse. 
 
 Dark, silent, musicless, forlorn, 
 
 Our end the wild beasts' death. 
 That, worn out, crawl in caverns 
 
 To grin forth their fierce breath. 
 Oh, for a solemn whisper 
 
 To thrill through deafest ear ; 
 A tongue of flame to sunder 
 
 Man's blindness, like a spear ! 
 
 Alfreds. Richards. 
 
 NATUEE is Truth's Friend. 
 
 Welcome silence ! welcome peace ! 
 
 O most welcome, holy shade ! 
 Thus I prove, as years increase. 
 
 My heart and soul for quiet made. 
 Thus I fix my firm belief 
 
 While rapture's gushing tears descend. 
 That every flower and every leaf 
 
 Is moral Truth's unerring friend. 
 
 I would not, for a world of gold. 
 
 That Nature's lovely face should tire ; 
 Fountain of blessings yet untold ; 
 
 Pure source of intellectual fire ! 
 Fancy's fair buds, the germs of song, 
 
 Unquicken'd 'midst the world's rude strife, 
 Shall sweet retirement render strong. 
 
 And morning silence bring to life. 
 Then tell me not that I shall grow 
 
 Forlorn, that fields and woods will cloy ; 
 From Nature and her changes flow 
 
 An everlasting tide of joy. 
 I grant that summer heats will bum, 
 
 That keen will come the frosty night ; 
 But both shall please ; and each in turn 
 
 Yield Reason's most supreme delight. 
 Build me a shrine, and I could kneel 
 
 To rural gods or prostrate fall ; 
 Did I not see, did I not feel. 
 
 That one Great Spirit governs all. 
 
 O Heaven permit thai I may lie 
 Where o'er my corpse green branches 
 wave ; 
 And those who from life's tumult fly 
 With kindred feelings press my grave. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 NATURE, its Inspiration. 
 
 Give me of the true, — 
 
 Whose ample leaves and tendrils, curl'd 
 
 Among the silver hills of heaven, 
 
 Draw everlasting dew ; 
 
 Wine of wine, 
 
 Blood of the world. 
 
 Form of forms, and mould of statues. 
 
 That I, intoxicated. 
 
 And by the draught assimilated 
 
 May float at pleasure through all natures 
 
 The bird-language rightly spell. 
 
 And that which roses say so well. 
 
 Emerson. 
 
 NATURE, its Religiousness. 
 It is truly a most Christian exercise to extract 
 a sentiment of piety from the works and the 
 appearances of Nature. It has the authority of 
 the sacred writers upon its side, and even our 
 Saviour himself gives it the weight and the so- 
 lemnity of his example. ** Behold the lilies of 
 the field ; they toil not, neither do they spin, 
 yet your heavenly Father careth for them. " He 
 expatiates on a single flower, and draws from 
 it the delightful argument of confidence in God. 
 He gives us to see that taste may be combined 
 with piety, and that the same heart may be 
 occupied with all that is serious in the con- 
 templations of religion, and be at the same time 
 alive to the charms and the loveliness of Nature. 
 — Dr. Chalmers. 
 
 NATURE, 
 Its Sweet Power over the Heart. 
 Surely there is nothing in the world, short of 
 the most imdivided reciprocal attachment, that 
 has such power over the workings of the human 
 heart as the mild sweetness of Nature. The 
 most ruffled temper, when emerging from the 
 town, will subside into a calm at the sight of 
 an extended landscape reposing in the twilight 
 of a fine evening. It is then that the spirit of 
 peace settles upon the heart, unfetters the 
 thoughts, and elevates the soul to the Creator. 
 It is then that we behold the Parent of the 
 
370 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 universe in his works ; we see his grandeur in 
 earth, sea, sky ; we feel his affection in the 
 emotions which they raise, and half-mortal, 
 half-etherialized, forget where we are in the 
 anticipation of what that world must be, of 
 which this lovely earth is merely the shadow. 
 — Miss Porter. 
 
 NATURE, its Teachings. 
 
 Think me not imkind and rude 
 
 That I walk alone in grove and glen ; 
 
 I go to the God of the wood 
 To fetch his word to men. 
 
 Tax not my sloth that I 
 
 Fold my arms beside the brook ; 
 Each cloud that floated in the sky 
 
 Writes a letter in my book. 
 
 Chide me not, laborious band, 
 For the idle flowers I brought ; 
 
 Every aster in my hand 
 
 Goes home loaded with a thouglit. 
 
 There was never mystery 
 
 But 'tis figured in the flowers ; 
 
 Was never secret history 
 
 But birds tell it in the bowers. 
 
 One harvest from thy field 
 
 Homeward brought the oxen strong ; 
 A second crop thy acres yield. 
 
 Which I gather in a song. 
 
 Emerson. 
 
 NATURE, Love of. 
 
 Who loves not the shady trees, 
 
 The smell of flowers, the sound of brooks, 
 The song of birds, and hum of bees, 
 Murmuring in green and fragrant nooks, 
 The voice of children in the spring. 
 Along the field-paths wandering ? 
 
 Who has not stood at morning's dawn, 
 When all the eastern sky was gold, 
 When pearly dew bedropt the lawn, 
 And shone on waving wood and wold, 
 When dappled clouds were blue and white, 
 And felt his soul move like the light ? 
 England has many a flowery vale, 
 
 Wild heath, and hill, and twilight grove. 
 Where yet the lute-tongued nightingale 
 Makes answer to the low -voiced dove : 
 O, leave your towns, and come with me, 
 Under the shady greenwood tree. 
 
 T. Millar. 
 
 NATURE, Music of. 
 Music of the bough that waves 
 
 As the wind plays lightly o'er ; 
 Music of the stream, that laves 
 
 Pebbly marge or rocky shore ; 
 Sweet your melody to me. 
 
 Singing to the soul, — the tone 
 Exceeds by far the minstrelsy 
 
 Of halls wherein bright harpers shone ; 
 For ye attune His praise, who made 
 
 The wondrous perfect frame we view. 
 Each hill, and plain, and leafy shade, 
 
 And yon fair canopy of blue : 
 Ye seem to sing, — ** How great the arm 
 
 Of that high God who reigns above ; 
 Him worship ! but without the alarm ; 
 
 His dearest, best-known name is Love.' 
 yames Edmeston. 
 
 NATURE Never Deserts her Disciples. 
 
 Nature ne'er deserts the wise and pure 
 No plot so narrow, — be but Nature there, 
 No waste so vacant, but may well employ 
 Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart 
 Awake to love and beauty ! Coleridge. 
 
 NATURE, no Deformity in. 
 I HOLD that there is a general beauty in the 
 works of God, and therefore no deformity in 
 any kind of species of creature whatsoever. I 
 cannot tell by what logic we call a toad, a 
 bear, or an elephant ugly, they being created 
 in those outward shapes and figures which best 
 express the actions of their inward forms. 
 And having past that general visitation of God, 
 who saw that all that he had made was good, 
 that is, conformable to his will, which abhors 
 deformity, and is the rule of order and beauty. 
 There is no deformity but in monstrosity, 
 wherein, notwithstanding, there is a kind of 
 beauty ; Nature so ingeniously contriving the 
 irregular parts as they became sometimes more 
 remarkable than the principal fabric. To 
 speak yet more narrowly, there was never any- 
 thing ugly or mis-shapen, but the chaos j 
 wherein, notwithstanding, to speak strictly, 
 there was no deformity, because no form, nor 
 was it yet impregnant by the voice of God. 
 Now Nature is not at variance with Art, nor 
 Art with Nature, they being both servants of 
 his providence. Art is the perfection of Na- 
 ture. Were the world now as it was on the 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 371 
 
 sixth day, there were yet a chaos. Nature 
 hath made one world and Art another. In 
 brief, all things are artificial ; for Nature is the 
 Art of God. — Sir Thomas Browne. 
 
 NATURE, Our Sympathetic. 
 It is an exquisite and beautiful thing in our 
 nature that when the heart is touched and 
 softened by some tranquil happiness or affec- 
 tionate feeling, the memory of the dead comes 
 over it most powerfully and irresistibly. It 
 would almost seem as if our better thoughts 
 and sympathies were charms, in virtue of which 
 the soul is enabled to hold some vague and 
 mysterious intercourse with the spirits of those 
 whom we dearly loved in life. Alas ! how 
 often and how long may those patient angels 
 hover above us, watching for the spell which 
 is so seldom uttered, and so soon forgotten. — 
 Dickens. 
 
 NATURE Reveals Truth. 
 Combined with revealed truth is the evidence 
 of Natvure on every side, in our paths, our fields, 
 our gardens, our woods ; in cultivation and in 
 the desert, in every fibre, root, stem, leaf, 
 flower, or fruit, demonstrating the omnipotent, 
 omnipresent, benevolent God, alluring and 
 compelling our attention, rousing the torpid, 
 and overawing the proud by his terrors, yet 
 cheering those who seek him, with unbounded 
 beneficence, and filling the heart of the humble 
 with rapture and love. — Duncan. 
 
 NATURE, Study of, Produces Calm. 
 
 Those who devote themselves to the peaceful 
 study of Nature (observed a philosopher who 
 confirmed his opinion by his example) have 
 but little temptation to launch out upon the 
 tempestuous sea of ambition ; they will scarcely 
 be hurried away by the more violent or cruel 
 passions, the ordinary failings of those ardent 
 persons who do not control their conduct ; but, 
 pure as the objects of their researches, they 
 will feel for everything about them the same 
 benevolence which they see Nature display to- 
 wards all her productions. — Cuvier, 
 
 NATURE, Study of, 
 
 Should Not be Exclusive. 
 
 The study of material nature should not be 
 
 exclusive. We have been, perhaps, occupied 
 
 rather too exclusively in observing and de- 
 scribing the details and minutenesses of ma- 
 terial nature. It is right that these should be 
 carefully studied, because we cannot have exact 
 knowledge of things any other way ; and they 
 furnish the facts and grounds of the grandest 
 speculations. But still, with the earthly and 
 the palpable, the heavenly and the intellectual 
 should be associated. For the contemplation 
 of the plans and principles of their magnificent 
 Author, and of the means He has employed, 
 and of the results which they have produced, 
 will always be amongst the sublimest subjects 
 of our thoughts, and a constant fountain of in- 
 tellectual enjoyment ; and though we, who can 
 rarely justly estimate the intentions of each 
 other, whom we daily see, must always be very 
 imperfectly qualified to criticise or appreciate 
 the unrevealed purposes of the Almighty, yet we 
 cannot err, if we always believe that the uni- 
 versal reason why any or every part and sub- 
 stance are what they are, will always be, be- 
 cause He has deliberately chosen, planned, and 
 formed them to be so. 
 
 Let this be the fixed deduction of our reason, 
 and then it will be gratifying to the intellect to 
 endeavour to comprehend the manner in which 
 He causes what we admire or are studying ; 
 and to explore the reasons which appear to 
 have actuated Him in His ways as well as His 
 works. The satisfaction will always increase 
 with the success ; but there will be pleasure in 
 the effort even where it is unavailing, because 
 it is one of the laws assigned to our intellectual 
 nature that the true knowledge of Him shall 
 be attended with sweet and ennobling feelings ; 
 and that every endeavour to attain it, reve- 
 rentially pursued, shall be one of the most 
 agreeable exercises of our thinking faculty. — 
 Sharon Ttirner. 
 
 NATURE'S Voice 
 An Emotional Instinct. 
 
 The fall of kings. 
 The rage of nations, and the crush of states. 
 Move not the man, who from the world escaped, 
 In still retreats, and flowery solitudes, 
 To Nature's voice attends, from month to 
 
 month, 
 And day to day, thro' the revolving year ; 
 Admiring sees her in her every shape, 
 Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart. 
 Takes what she lib'ral gives, nor thinks of 
 
 more. Thomson. 
 
372 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 NATURE'S Workmen. 
 There are three creatures, the squirrel, the 
 field-mouse, and the bird called the nut-hatch, 
 which live much on hazel-nuts, and yet they 
 open them each in a different way. The first, 
 after rasping off the small end, splits the shell 
 into two with his long fore-teeth, as a man does 
 with his knife ; the second nibbles a hole with 
 his teeth, as regular as if drilled with a wimble, 
 and yet so small that one would wonder how 
 the kernel can be extracted through it ; while 
 the last picks an irregular ragged hole with its 
 bill ; but as this artist has no paws to hold the 
 I nut firm while he pierces it, — like an adroit 
 workman, he fixes it, as it were in a vice, in 
 some cleft of a tree, or in some crevice, when, 
 standing over it, he perforates the stubborn 
 shell— White. 
 
 NATURE, The Book of, 
 
 And the Book of Revelation. 
 
 The deist points to the heaven and the earth, 
 and says, ' * Behold our bible. " But the Chris- 
 tian points to the same creature and says, 
 "Behold my book ;" and, pointing to another 
 quarter, says, "Behold my bible too. You bid 
 me bum my bible that I may study Nature ; I 
 invite you to read my bible that you may study 
 Nature better. You have but an odd volume 
 from a great author ; I present to you a second 
 that never contradicts the first, but completes 
 the work ; and tells you so much which the 
 first cannot, that you will by this read that in 
 a clearer light. The book of Nature is illumi- 
 nated to the student of revelation. What 
 charms are thrown on every page of creation 
 by the volume of revelation ! The blue sky 
 assumes a lovelier hue to him that has learned 
 who it is that stretcheth out the heavens as a 
 curtain, and spreadeth them abroad as a tent 
 to dwell in. I had never seen half the splen- 
 dour I now behold in the sun, if I had not read 
 of Him who is the "Sun of Righteousness, 
 that rises in the soul with healing on his 
 wings." The clouds assume new forms of 
 grandeur and new tints of beauty ; the winds 
 roar music and the lightnings flash with glory, 
 since I have read of him that maketh the clouds 
 his chariot, and walketh on the wings of the 
 wind ; who maketh the storms his messengers, 
 and the flaming fire his ministers. I love to 
 stand by the foaming surge of ocean, because 
 it remindeth me of him that holdeth its waters 
 in the hollow of his hand, and says to my soul, 
 
 " Fear ye not me ? saith the Lord ? will ye not 
 tremble at my presence, who has placed the 
 sand for the bound of the sea by a perpetual 
 decree, that it cannot pass it ; and though the 
 Avaves thereof toss themselves, yet can they not 
 prevail ; though they roar, yet can they not 
 pass over it ? " 
 
 At my Saviour's bidding I behold the lilies 
 of the field how they grow. (Matt. vi. 28 — 30.) 
 Who but a lover of Nature could have para- 
 phrased the book of grace as Watts has done ? 
 Who ever studied the volume of creation so 
 profoundly, so extensively as Newton? Far 
 into her most distant fields of grandeur and 
 glory he passed ; but he pronounced atheism 
 as unphilosophical as it is impious. Who led 
 the way to the modern discoveries of che- 
 mistry? Boyle. Who made the bible his 
 study and delight? Who has disclosed the 
 wonders of creation with so much success as 
 Ray, and Derham, and Nieuwentyt ? Where 
 will they who bid us forsake the bible that we 
 may study Nature, find such students of Nature 
 as among Christians ? These are the men that 
 rise from Nature up to Nature's God. All that 
 creation can teach, they are glad to learn ; all 
 that she cannot teach, they are still more ready 
 to learn elsewhere. And now when you ask us 
 to forsake the bible and follow you, we ask 
 who you are? — "Jesus we know, and Paul we 
 know, but who are ye ? " — Dr. Bennett. 
 
 NATURE, The Constancy of, 
 
 Contrasted with Changes in Human Life. 
 
 How like eternity doth Nature seem 
 To life of man,— that short and fitful dream. 
 I look around me, — nowhere can I trace 
 Lines of decay that mark our human race. 
 There are the murmuring waters — there the 
 
 flowers 
 T mused o'er in my earlier, better hours ; 
 Like sights and scents of yesterday they come ; 
 Long years have passed since this was last my 
 
 home ! 
 And I am weak, and toil-worn is my frame, 
 But all this vale shuts in is still the same ; 
 'Tis I alone am changed, — they know me not ; 
 I feel a stranger, or as one forgot. 
 The breeze that cooled my warm and youthful 
 
 brow 
 Breathes the same freshness on its wrinkles 
 
 now ; 
 The leaves that flung around me sun and shade 
 While gazing idly on them as they played, 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 373 
 
 Are holding yet their frolic in the air ; 
 The motion, joy, and beauty still are there. 
 But not for me ! — I look upon the ground, 
 Myriads of happy faces throng around, 
 Familiar to my eye ; yet heart and mind 
 In vain would now the old communion find. 
 Ye were as living, conscious beings, then, 
 With whom I talked ; but I have talked with 
 
 men. 
 With uncheered sorrow — with cold hearts I've 
 
 met ; 
 Seen honest minds by hardened craft beset ; 
 Seen hope cast down, turn deathly pale its 
 
 glow ; 
 Seen virtue rare, but more of virtue's show. 
 
 Da7ia. 
 
 NATURE, The Gladness of. 
 Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, 
 
 When our mother Nature laughs around ; 
 When even the deep-blue heaven looks glad, 
 And gladness breathes from the blossoming 
 ground ? 
 
 There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and 
 wren. 
 And the gossip of swallows through all the 
 sky ; 
 The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den, 
 And the wilding-bee hums merrily by. 
 
 The clouds are at play in the azure space. 
 And their shadows at play on the bright- 
 green vale. 
 
 And here they stretch to the frolic chase, 
 And there they roll on the easy gale. 
 
 There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower. 
 
 There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree. 
 
 There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the 
 
 flower. 
 
 And a laugh from the brook that runs to the 
 
 sea. 
 
 And look at the broad-faced sun, how he 
 smiles 
 On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray. 
 On the leaping waters and gay young isles : 
 Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. 
 C. Bryant. 
 
 NATURE, the Kindest Mother. 
 Dear Nature is the kindest mother still. 
 Though always changing, in her aspect 
 mild ; 
 From her bare bosom let me take my fill, 
 Her never- weaned, though not her favoured 
 child. 
 
 Oh ! she is fairest in her features wild. 
 Where nothing polished dares pollute her 
 path : 
 For me by day or night she ever smiled, 
 Though I have marked her when none 
 other hath, 
 And sought her more and more, and loved her 
 best in wrath. Byron. 
 
 NATURE, The Literature of. 
 
 There is nothing so charming as the knowledge 
 of literature ; of that branch of literature, I 
 mean, which enables us to discover the infinity 
 of things, the immensity of Nature, the heavens, 
 the earth, and the seas : this is that branch 
 which has taught us religion, moderation, mag- 
 nanimity, and that has rescued the soul from 
 obscurity : to make her see all things above and 
 below, first and last, and between both ; it is 
 this that furnishes us wherewith to live well and 
 happily, and guides us to pass our lives without 
 displeasure and without offence. — Cicero, 
 
 NATURE, 
 The more Observed, the more Beautiful. 
 
 It is particularly worth observation, that the 
 more we magnify, by the assistance of glasses, 
 the works of Nature, the more regular and 
 beautiful they appear ; while it is quite different 
 in respect to those of art : for when they are 
 examined through a microscope, we are as- 
 tonished to find them so coarse, so rough, and 
 uneven, although they have been done with all 
 imaginable care by the best workmen. Thus 
 God has impressed even on the smallest atom 
 an image of his infinity.— .S/z/r/w. 
 
 NATURE, The Religion of. 
 
 'TwAS in a lovely Grecian vale. 
 
 Where low acanthus blooms. 
 And roses fair and lilies pale 
 
 Enwreathe Athenian tombs ; 
 That Philo, as he traced the forms 
 
 Of sculpture which had borne the force 
 Of rains, of dews, of thousand storms, 
 
 Of Time in his resistless course, 
 Open'd a sepulchre — the dust 
 Pass'd with the breathing of the gust. 
 
374 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 ** Look there, Philosophy," he said, 
 *' Not all thy ponderous tomes, 
 
 To crowds by teaching schoolmen read 
 Beneath scholastic domes, 
 
 Could half so well the truth impart — 
 
 Humanity, how vain thou art ! 
 
 " Tell me, ye atoms, ere ye fly, 
 What was the form ye bore ; 
 
 Was it the garb of splendid dye, 
 Or casque of war ye wore ? 
 
 Did in the dance your lightning feet 
 
 The labyrinthine mazes beat ? 
 
 Or did ye seek the crowded street 
 Or distant realms explore ? 
 
 It matters not the time nor scene. 
 
 Ye are as if ye ne'er had been ; 
 
 And who that sees these atoms flee. 
 
 Could dream of immortality ?" 
 
 How often is the enlighten'd mind, 
 
 (As far as human wit can rise), 
 Darkly, impenetrably blind, 
 To that more pure and more refin'd — 
 
 The wisdom of eternal skies ? 
 Had Philo known the sacred page 
 
 Instead of Nature's — that could teach 
 What man's dark mind, in every age, 
 
 Has often tried but could not reach — 
 The Gospel shining through the night. 
 Brought immortality to light. 
 
 James Edmcston, 
 
 NATURE, the Servant of Man. 
 If the frame of the heavenly arch erected over 
 our heads should loosen and dissolve itself ; if 
 celestial spheres should forget their wonted 
 motion, and by irregular volubility turn them- 
 selves any way as it might happen ; if the prince 
 of the lights of heaven, who now as a giant doth 
 run his unwearied course, should, as it were, 
 through a languishing faintness, begin to stand, 
 and to rest himself ; if the moon should wan- 
 der from her beaten way; the times and seasons 
 of the year blend themselves by disordered and 
 confused mixture, — the winds breathe out their 
 last gasp, — the clouds yield no rain, — the earth 
 be defeated of heavenly influence, the fruits of 
 the earth pine away ; — what would become of 
 Man himself, whom these things do now all 
 serve ? — Hooker. 
 
 NATURE, The Wonders of. 
 
 From partial consideration of things, we are 
 very apt to criticise what we ought to admire ; to 
 
 look upon as useless, what perhaps we should 
 own to be of infinite advantage to us did we 
 see a little further ; to be peevish where we 
 ought to give thanks ; and at the same time ta 
 ridicule those who employ their time and 
 thoughts in examining what we were — that is, 
 some of us most assuredly were — created and 
 appointed to study. In short, we are too apt 
 to treat the Almighty worse than a rational 
 man would treat a good mechanic, whose 
 works he would either thoroughly examine or 
 be ashamed to find any fault with them. This 
 is the effect of a partial consideration of 
 Nature ; but he who has candour of mind and 
 leisure to look further will be inclined to cry 
 out : — 
 How wondrous is this scene ! where all is 
 
 formed 
 With number, weight, and measure ! all de- 
 signed 
 For some great end ! where not alone the 
 
 plant 
 Of stately growth ; the herb of glorious hue. 
 Or foodful substance ; not the labouring steed; 
 The herd and flock that feed us ; not the mine 
 That yields us stores for elegance and use ; 
 The sea that loads our table, and conveys 
 The wanderer man from clime to clime, with 
 
 all 
 Those rolling spheres that from on high shed 
 
 down 
 Their kindly influence ; not these alone 
 Which strike ev'n eyes incurious ; but each 
 
 moss, 
 Each shell, each crawling insect, holds a rank 
 Important in the plan of Him who framed 
 This scale of beings ; holds a rank which lost 
 Would break the chain, and leave behind a gap 
 Which Nature's self would rue. Almighty 
 
 Being, 
 Cause and support of all things, can I view 
 These objects of my wonder : can I feel 
 These fine sensations, and not think of thee ? 
 Thou who dost through th' eternal round of 
 
 time. 
 Dost through th' immensity of space, exist 
 Alone, shalt thou alone excluded be 
 From this thy universe ? Shall feeble man 
 Think it beneath his proud philosophy 
 To call for thy assistance, and pretend 
 To frame a world, who cannot frame a clod ? — 
 Not to know thee, is not to know ourselves — 
 Is to know nothing — worth the care 
 Of man's exalted spirit — all becomes. 
 Without thy ray divine, one dreary gloom. 
 Where lurk the monsters of fantastic brains, 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 375 
 
 Order bereft of thought, uncaused effects, 
 Fate freely acting, and unerring chance. 
 Where meanless matter to a chaos sinks, 
 Or something lower still, for without thee 
 It crumbles into atoms void of force. 
 Void of resistance — it eludes our thought. 
 Where laws eternal, to the varying code 
 Of self-love dwindle. Interest, passion, whim, 
 Take place of right and wrong, the golden 
 
 chain 
 Of beings melts away, and the mind's eye 
 Sees nothing but the present. All beyond 
 Is visionary guess — is dream — is death. 
 
 Benjamin Stillingflcd. 
 
 NATURE, 
 
 To be Studied in Meek Devotion. 
 
 Manso saw nothing but the sunbeams pouring 
 in at the window. But in truth there is a 
 heavenly spirit, not only in every flash of sun- 
 shine, but in every flower of the garden and 
 in every cloud of a summer evening, if we look 
 upon them with Christian eyes. Keble has 
 touched upon this feeling with great sweetness 
 and beauty : — 
 
 But he whose heart will bound to mark 
 The full bright burst of summer morn. 
 
 Loves too each little dewy spark. 
 By leaf or flow'ret worn : 
 
 Cheap forms and common hues, 'tis true. 
 
 Through the bright shower-drop meet his view ; 
 
 The colouring may be of this earth. 
 
 The lustre comes of heavenly birth. 
 
 By studying Nature in this spirit of meek 
 devotion and solemn love, a good man may 
 indeed **walk up and down the world as in a 
 garden of spices, and draw a divine sweetness 
 out of every flower." 
 
 NATURE, True to the Observer in. 
 
 Nature never did betray 
 The heart that loved her ; 'tis her privilege 
 Through all the years of this our life to lead 
 From joy to joy ; for she can so inform 
 The mind that is within us, so impress 
 With quietness and beauty, and so feed 
 With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, 
 Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, 
 Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb 
 Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold 
 Is full of blessings. Wordsworth. 
 
 NATURE, Wondrous Beauty of. 
 
 About me round I saw 
 Hill, dale, and shady wood, and sunny plains. 
 And liquid lapse of murmuring streams ; by 
 
 these 
 Creatures that liv'd, and mov'd, and walk'd, or 
 
 flew ; 
 Birds on the branches warbling ; all things 
 
 smil'd 
 With fragrance ; and with joy my heart o'er- 
 
 flow'd. Milton. 
 
 HiP^hl^ Officer. 
 
 As to the naval officer of the station, with his 
 hearty fresh face, and his blue eye that has 
 pierced all kinds of weather, it warms our 
 hearts when he comes into church on a Sunday, 
 with that bright mixture of blue coat, buff 
 waistcoat, black neckerchief, and gold epau- 
 lette, that is associated in the minds of all 
 Englishmen with brave, unpretending, cordial 
 national service. We like to look at him in 
 his Sunday state ; and if we were First Lord 
 (really possessing the indispensable qualifica- 
 tion for the office of knowing nothing whatever 
 about the sea) we would give him a ship to- 
 morrow. — Dickens. 
 
 NECESSARY, 
 
 A Word often Wrongly Used. 
 
 The word "necessary" is miserably applied. 
 It disordereth families and overturneth go- 
 vernment by being so abused. Remember that 
 children and fools want everything, because 
 they want judgment to distinguish, and there- 
 fore there is no stronger evidence of a crazy un- 
 derstanding than the making too large a cata- 
 logue of things necessary. — Lord Hallifax. 
 
 NECESSARIES, The, of Life. 
 
 By necessaries I understand not only the com- 
 modities which are indispensably necessary for 
 the support of life, but whatever the custom of 
 the country renders it indecent for creditable 
 people even of the lowest order to appear with- 
 out. A linen shirt for example is, strictly 
 speaking, not a necessary of life. The Greeks 
 and Romans lived, I suppose, very comfortably, 
 though they had no linen. But in the present 
 times, through the greater part of Europe, a 
 
27^ 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 creditable day-labourer would be ashamed to 
 appear in public without a linen shirt, the 
 want of which would be supposed to denote 
 that disgraceful degree of poverty which it is 
 presumed nobody can well fall into without 
 extreme bad conduct. Custom, in the same 
 manner, has rendered leather shoes a necessary 
 of life in England. The poorest creditable person 
 of either sex would be ashamed to appear in 
 public without them. Under necessaries, there- 
 fore, I comprehend, not only those things which 
 nature, but those things which the established 
 rules of decency have rendered necessary to 
 the lowest rank of people. All other things 
 I call luxuries. Nature does not render them 
 necessary for the support of life ; and custom 
 nowhere renders it indecent for a man to live 
 without them. — Adam Smith. 
 
 NECESSITY, the Mother of Invention. 
 
 We believe that there are very few educated 
 people who will dispute the immense benefit 
 which the invention of new and improved 
 machinery has in the long run conferred upon 
 all ranks and classes of mankind. There is a 
 general opinion, which many people too often 
 take for granted, that inventions of machinery 
 are necessarily attended with at least a temporary 
 injury to the operative mechanic. That this 
 is not always the case — that we are not obliged 
 at all times to look far into the future for the 
 advantages of improved machinery — is shown 
 by the following striking instance of prompt 
 as well as permanent benefit derived by a 
 manufacturing population from a sudden and 
 unexpected invention. 
 
 The Rev. John Thomas Becher, in his 
 evidence before a Committee of the House of 
 Lords, gives the following interesting narra- 
 tive : — ^ 
 
 ** In the county of Nottingham, in tSi2, 
 there was a suspension of the manufacturing 
 profits, and a difference of opinion between 
 the masters and the workmen. At one time 
 these disagreements proceeded to such a height 
 and to such tumultuous conduct on the part of 
 the workmen that vast numbers of them were 
 thrown out of employ, and whole districts 
 became extensively pauperised by a mass of 
 artificers thrown upon the poor-rates. Several 
 parishesdeclaredthattheexpenditureforthepoor 
 was equal to their income ; and an application 
 was made to the county magistrates for a rate 
 upon other hundreds in aid of the parishes so 
 
 oppressed with poor. The magistrates were 
 almost inclined to enter upon the question ; 
 but some of the parties having consulted counsel 
 for the purpose of resisting this application, it 
 appeared that the beds must be sold from 
 under the poor before such a * rate in aid ' 
 could be legally granted. This necessarily 
 threw the poor themselves, as well as the pro- 
 prietors of estates, upon the consideration of 
 other resources. A sum was raised by volun- 
 tary subscription amounting to about _;i^6,ooo, 
 and a committee was appointed from different 
 parts, of whom I happened to be one, to meet 
 from time to time, in the centre of the distressed 
 districts, so as to relieve these artificers. It 
 was then determined to employ this subscrip- 
 tion solely in manual labour, and the frame- 
 work-knitters were employed at small wages, 
 I think about tenpence a day, a very meagre 
 pittance for men who had been earning from 
 ;^i to £2 a week. The consequence was, that 
 this threw the artificers upon devising the 
 means of self-support ; and what was the 
 consequence? They invented among other 
 means the lace machinery ; and I saw that 
 population, which had been a little while 
 before declared to be superabundant, rise up 
 into such progressive improvement that the 
 supply of human labour was quite unable to 
 meet the demand. Even the upper servants in 
 gentlemen's families were tempted in several 
 instances to withdraw not only their persons, 
 but the capital which they had accumulated, 
 for the purpose of dedicating both their per- 
 sons and their property to the advancement of 
 these manufactures. In a word, lace-making 
 proceeded at such an incredible rate, that 
 single families of artificers were earning at the 
 rate of ten guineas a week. This they effected 
 by the father and son working their machines 
 both day and night : they took it in turns, and 
 'consequently they were enabled to work per- 
 manently. So valuable were the machines 
 fabricated by the ingenuity of those men (for 
 the inventions were all, or nearly all originated 
 by working men) that some of those lace 
 machines were sold for more than ;^ 1,000 a 
 piece. Even common persons, for filing the 
 parts of those machines, were men hired at 
 the rate of one guinea or more per week." 
 
 The inference which the witness draws from 
 this fact, is that a man's wits when fairly left 
 to themselves will go much farther than is 
 generally supposed to provide profitable em- 
 ployment for his labour ; and that we ought 
 not hastily to assume that there is no employ- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 \77 
 
 ment for a man, or for a set of men. In fact, 
 until all a man's own mental and bodily 
 energies have been awakened by the spur of 
 necessity — until so stimulated he has himself 
 tried and failed — relief may do him more harm 
 than good ; for it will assuredly, if too easily 
 attained, blunt those keen faculties of the 
 mind through which means alone unassisted 
 man, if such he can be called while in pos- 
 session of the gifts of his all-wise Creator, has 
 so often triumphed over the greatest difficulties ; 
 and without which, under no circumstances, 
 can he expect to improve his condition. 
 
 Mr. Becher has given much attention to the 
 means of improving the system of our poor- 
 laws and of putting an end to one of its 
 greatest abuses. That abuse is the system of 
 relieving able-bodied labourers by making up 
 their wages out of the poor's-rate. Of the 
 mischief done by this practice to the labourer, 
 to his employer, and to the country at large, 
 we believe there is no one who now enter- 
 tains a doubt. This good riddance has been 
 effected by Mr. Becher in his own neigh- 
 bourhood, and by several other active and 
 intelligent gentlemen, who acted upon his 
 advice, in other parts of the country. His 
 success, as well as that of others, affords a 
 proof that when the nightmare of parish 
 allowance no longer presses upon the faculties 
 and industry of the agricultural labourer, he 
 is not far behind his manufacturing brethren 
 in the active and successful pursuit of em- 
 ployment. — Anon. 
 
 NEEDLE-WOMAN. 
 
 Hark ! that rustle of a dress, 
 
 Stiff with lavish costliness ! 
 
 Here comes one whose cheek would flush 
 
 But to have her garment brush 
 
 'Gainst the girl whose fingers thin 
 
 Wove the weary 'broidery in. 
 
 Bending backward from her toil. 
 
 Lest her tears the silk might soil. 
 
 And in midnight's chill and murk 
 
 Stitched her life into the work, 
 
 Shaping from her bitter thought 
 
 Heart's-ease and forget-me-not. 
 
 Satirizing her despair 
 
 With the emblems woven there. 
 
 Little doth the weary heed 
 
 Of the heart-break in the brede ; 
 
 A hyena by her side 
 
 Skulks, down-looking — it is Pride. 
 
 Lowell. 
 
 NEGLECT. 
 
 There is the same difference between diligence 
 and neglect that there is between a garden 
 curiously kept and the sluggard's field that fell 
 under Solomon's prospect, when it was all 
 overgrown with nettles and thorns. The one 
 is clothed with beauty and the gracious amia- 
 bleness of content and cheering loveliness ; 
 while the other hath nothing but either little 
 smarting pungencies or else such transpiercings 
 as rankle the flesh within. Negligence is the 
 rust of the soul that corrodes through all her 
 strongest resolutions, and, with admittance 
 only, flakes away more of its steel and hard-- 
 ness than all the hackings of a violent hand 
 can perform. The excretions of the body 
 grow but insensibly ; yet, unless they be daily 
 taken away, they disguise a man to a monster ; 
 as Nebuchadnezzar's hairs were like eagle's 
 feathers, and his nails like bird's claws, in his 
 seven years' bestiality. What Nature made for 
 use, for strength, for ornament, neglect con- 
 verts to trouble, weakness, and to loathed de- 
 formity. We need no more but sit still, and 
 diseases will arise only for want of exercise. 
 
 How fair and fresh soever the soul be, yet 
 in our flesh it lives in smoke and dust ; and if 
 it daily be not brushed and cleansed by care 
 and penitence, it quickly discolours and soils. 
 Take the weeders from the garden, and a very 
 little time will change it to a wilderness ; and 
 then that becomes a habitation for vermin 
 which before was a recreation for men. Our 
 life is a warfare, and men use not in it to sleep 
 without a sentinel, nor march without a scout. 
 He that wanteth either of these exposes him- 
 self to surprise and the becoming a prey to the 
 diligence and laboriousness of his adversary. 
 We have known many that have wasted goodly 
 patrimonies, who have been handsomely na- 
 tured and free from vices of any signal remark 
 at all ; for which we could give no other reason 
 but only a general neglect of timely inspection 
 into their own affairs. The mounds of life and 
 virtue as well as those of pastures will decay ; 
 if we forbear to repair them the beasts of the 
 field may enter and tear up whatsoever is good 
 in us and grows. 
 
 Certainly, religion teaches to be exact and 
 curious. The law is such a rule, as every aber- 
 ration from it is an eyesore. We see some- 
 times how small a scruple can disturb the 
 mind's fair peace. Who does not therefore 
 guard himself neglects his greatest enemy. 
 Man is like a watch : if evening and morning 
 
378 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 he be not wound up with prayer and circum- 
 spection, he either is unprofitable or false ; he 
 either goes not to direct or serves to mislead. 
 If the instrument of living be not truly set, all 
 that we play upon it will be harsh and out of tune. 
 Surely, without a union to God we cannot 
 be secure or well. Can he be happy that from 
 happiness is divided ? And God is so exact, 
 so smooth, so straight, so perfectly perfect in 
 all, that it is not possible for man to be joined 
 to him, unless proportionably he be so too. 
 The smooth and rugged never make good joint. 
 The straight and crooked will never be brought 
 to close. Unless our knots and excrescences 
 'be taken off and shot into directness, they 
 hinder union and thrust us off from Deity. No 
 glue will hold us close when we shall swell 
 into unevenness by the neglect of not planing 
 ourselves into virtue and piety. Diligence 
 alone is a good patrimony ; but neglect wastes 
 a fair fortune. One preserves and gathers ; 
 the other, like death, is the dissolution of 
 all. The industrious bee by her sedulity in 
 summer dwells in and lives on honey all the 
 winter. But the drone is not only cast out, 
 but beaten and punished. — Owen Feltham. 
 
 NEGLECT, its IndicaUons. 
 
 'Tis on the bleak and barren heath, 
 Where mis'ry feels the shaft of death. 
 As to the dark and freezing grave 
 Her children, not a friend to save, 
 Unheeded go ! 
 
 Is it in chambers, silken drest. 
 At tables with profusion's heap ; 
 Is it on pillows soft to rest 
 In dreams of long and balmy sleep ? 
 Ah ! no ! 
 
 'Tis in the rushy hut obscure. 
 Where poverty's low sons endure, 
 And, scarcely daring to repine, 
 On a straw pallet, mute, recline, 
 
 O'erwhelmed with woe I / 
 
 Is it to flaunt in warm attire, / 
 
 To laugh, and feast, and dance, and sing. 
 And crowd around the blazing fire, 
 And make the room with revels ring ? 
 Ah ! no ! 
 
 'Tis on the prison's flinty floor, 
 'Tis where the deaf ning whirlwinds roar, 
 'Tis when the sea-boy on the mast 
 Hears the waves bounding to the blast I 
 And looks below ! 
 
 Is it in chariots gay to ride. 
 To crowd the splendid midnight ball. 
 To revel in luxurious pride, 
 While pampered vassals wait your call ? 
 Ah ! no ! 
 
 'Tis in a cheerless, naked room, 
 Where mis'ry's victims wait their doom ! 
 Where a fond mother famished dies. 
 While forth a frantic father flies, 
 Man's desp'rate foe. 
 
 Is it where, prodigal and weak, 
 The silly spendthrift scatters gold. 
 Where eager folly hastes to seek 
 The sordid, wanton, false, and bold ? 
 Ah ! no ! 
 
 'Tis in the silent spot obscure. 
 Where, forced all sorrows to endure. 
 Pale genius learns, oh, lesson sad ! 
 To court the vain, and on the bad 
 False praise bestow ! 
 
 Is it where gamesters flocking round 
 Their shining heaps of wealth display ? 
 Where fashion's giddy tribes are found 
 Sporting their senseless hours away ? 
 Ah ! no ! 
 
 'Tis where neglected genius sighs. 
 Where hope exhausted silent dies ; 
 Where merit starves, by pride oppressed. 
 Till ev'ry stream that warms the breast 
 Forbears to flow ! Mrs. Robinson. 
 
 NEIGHBOUR, Love of. 
 
 This holy affection of the heart causeth us to 
 delight in God for His goodness' sake, and in 
 our neighbour for God's sake. This is Chris- 
 tian love ; a fruit and sign of a justified person ; 
 but it is not our justice before God. — Stimson. 
 
 Our love, if it be without hypocrisy, doth 
 communicate itself unto God in things in which 
 He will be loved of us ; namely, in the person 
 of our neighbour, and specially of the poor. 
 For God will have our neighbour in respect of 
 love to be in His room and stead ; and in the 
 love of our neighbour with whom we converse 
 will He be loved of us. Hence it is that St. 
 Paul saith, * * That the love of our neighbour is 
 the fulfilling of the whole law."— ^ Perkins. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 379 
 
 NEIGHBOUR, 
 Love of, a Scripture Command. 
 "LovEyourneighbour as yourself," and ** Do 
 unto others as you would they should do unto 
 you," are Scripture comrtiands, to be no more 
 forgotten in language than in action. How 
 often and how much is truth sacrificed to a 
 good jest against another ; and how many a 
 sharp remark, which began in idle mirth, has 
 passed from lip to lip, till it kindled an unkind 
 feeling, and has irretrievably wounded the 
 unlucky cause of it ! It must indeed be a 
 very strong love of truth which will prevent a 
 man's overstepping the exact fact with regard 
 to the conduct of another, when by some 
 exaggeration he could make a witty speech 
 which is burning on his tongue. Yet "false 
 witness " is more often exaggeration than a 
 direct lie. — Truih "without Prejudice. 
 
 NEIGHBOUR, Who is My? 
 
 You ask me who thy neighbour is. 
 
 And what his rank and name, 
 And where, amid the moving throng, 
 
 You may thy neighbour claim. 
 You tell me favour never grows 
 
 Where truth is seldom seen ; 
 That hearts are never truly joined 
 
 Where self intrudes between ! 
 
 And though the friendship of the world 
 
 Is crowned in poet's page. 
 It has, with all the syren's tongue, 
 
 A more than syren's rage ; 
 For, like the serpent, there distils 
 
 A poison from its breath, 
 While those allured within its coil. 
 
 There find despair and death. 
 
 Eut know, thy neighbour is not one 
 
 Whom caution may not seek ; 
 Nor held by ties, which fraud can wean. 
 
 And treachery can break : 
 Cut he is of that chartered home 
 
 Which, in its ample span, 
 Invites to love and brotherhood 
 
 The family of man. 
 
 And there, to love him as thyself. 
 
 Is now to you assigned — 
 A law of love, which God himself 
 
 Delivered to mankind ! 
 And be it thine, oh ! man, whate'er 
 
 The world without may do. 
 To pay to him the debt of love 
 
 Thy Maker laid on you ! 
 
 And would you know him ? — go and find 
 
 The stranger left to die. 
 With none to 'suage the fever's thirst, 
 
 Or fix his faith on high : 
 Aye, go — and give thy soothing aid, 
 
 And give thy counsels blest. 
 And so, with mercy on the means, 
 
 Will Heaven perform the rest. 
 
 And there, oh ! yes, behold her there, 
 
 Where, 'mid the hovel's gloom. 
 She's weeping, as around its board 
 
 Her famished children come. 
 Then go, and with no stinted gift 
 
 Thy speedy help afford, 
 And share the joy thy hand bestows 
 
 With those it has restored. 
 
 Thy neighbour ? 'tis that widowed one 
 
 Whom evil men oppress, — 
 It is her orphan child who shares 
 
 In all her heart's distress. 
 Then go, and with a patient ear 
 
 Receive their tale of grief. 
 And fearless of oppression's arm. 
 
 Work out for them relief. 
 
 Eut see, where comes that suffering child. 
 
 With soot and rags defaced. 
 Whose toil, on Britain's hearths employed. 
 
 Had long its sons disgraced. 
 Then go, and rescued from his task. 
 
 Repair what ill you can. 
 And give thy care, that he may grow 
 
 A wise and virtuous man. 
 
 Thy neighbour ? 'tis the infant poor 
 
 Of needful guides bereft. 
 Who, reared without instruction, are 
 
 To evil courses left. 
 Then go, and round thy learning shed 
 
 Religion's beacon light. 
 And thus will heavenly wisdom lead 
 
 Their wandering steps aright ! 
 
 And look, where roams that Israelite, 
 
 By fearful judgments taught 
 To mourn with tears the awful crime 
 
 His guilty fathers wrought ! 
 Then go, and spread before his mind 
 
 His doom foretold of yore. 
 That so he may adore the Name 
 
 His fathers spurned before. 
 
 Thy neighbour ? 'tis the heathen, who 
 Makes stocks and stones his trust. 
 
 Yet with a zeal which, swayed by truth, 
 Would make his worship just. 
 
38o 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Then go, and in his darkened mind 
 
 Light up Religion's ray, 
 And send him with a purer faith 
 
 Rejoicing on his way. 
 
 And know you not thy fellow man, 
 
 Beyond the Western wave, 
 Though born to freedom, is condemned 
 
 To live and die a slave ! 
 Then loud and ceaseless tell his lord, 
 
 As he would be forgiven, 
 He must strike off the accursed chain, 
 
 Or die accursed of Heaven ! 
 
 Thy neighbour ? 'tis the oppressor, when 
 
 He mourns a chast'ning rod. 
 Yet, unrepentant, sees not there 
 
 The gracious hand of God ! 
 Go, teach him that contrition's tears 
 
 His rebel eye must dim. 
 And pointing to the Saviour's cross. 
 
 Guide you his steps to Him ! 
 
 And thus the oppressor and oppressed, 
 
 The faithless and the true. 
 Alike are neighbours, and, with love, 
 
 Must have thy service too. 
 Then go, and with each neighbour still 
 
 The righteous rule pursue. 
 And do to him as you would have 
 
 That he should do to you ! 
 
 Dr. Arnold. 
 
 NEWS, All-Absorbing. 
 
 I SAW a smith stand with his hammer thus, 
 The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool. 
 With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news ; 
 Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, 
 Standing on slippers, — which his nimble haste 
 Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet, — 
 Told of a many thousand warlike French 
 That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent : 
 Another lean, unwash'd artificer 
 Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 NEWSPAPER, UniversaUty of the. 
 Compare the orator with the newspaper, and 
 a faint glimpse of the pre-eminently ubiquitous 
 power of the latter may be obtained. The 
 orator addresses himself to and may be heard 
 by a few hundreds, possibly thousands, but 
 the newspaper may be and is perused by mil- 
 lions. Evanescently the words of the orator 
 
 pass into the air and are no more heard — the 
 language of the newspaper, stamped on the 
 widely-spread tablet, remains almost imperish- 
 able. The arguments of the orator may follow 
 in such rapid succession that by the majority 
 of the audience they are not comprehended, and 
 their convincing or persuasive tendencies are 
 lost ; the reasoning of the newspaper, without 
 fear of perplexity, may be scanned at leisure, 
 each point tells, and the reader's determinative 
 faculties are arrested in full force. The passion 
 of the orator may excite an assembly, but the 
 feeling imparted by the newspaper electrifies a 
 continent, nay the globe itself. The orator is 
 for an edifice, the newspaper is for the world — 
 the one has existence for an hour, the other 
 lives for all time. The orator may be compared 
 to the lightning, the vividity of which flashes 
 for a moment, but again on the instant leaves 
 all in darkness ; while the newspaper is like 
 the sun diffusing its light over the whole earth, 
 brightening the wide expanse, and fixing on 
 the basis of its own eternity. Printing has 
 been happily defined the art which preserves 
 all arts ; printing makes the orator himself 
 more than an orator ; it seizes and embodies 
 his dying words, breathes into them the breath 
 of vitality, and they live when even the cor- 
 poreal reality of the speaker has ceased to be. 
 The newspaper is the speaking gallery through 
 which the orator peals diffusely his thunder in 
 the ear of ages, and thus, though silent in the 
 tomb, becomes the Mentor over the cradle of 
 rising generations. 
 
 NIGHT, her Queen-like Beauty. 
 
 O NIGHT ! how beautiful thy golden dress. 
 
 On which so many stars like gems are strewed, 
 So mild and modest in thy loveliness. 
 
 So bright, so glorious in thy solitude ! 
 The soul soars upwards on its holy wings, 
 
 Through the vast ocean-paths of light sublime, 
 Visits a thousand yet unravelled things ; 
 
 And, if its memories look to earthly time 
 And earthly interests, 'tis as in a dream — 
 For earth and earthly things but shadows seem ; 
 
 While heaven is substance and eternity. 
 
 That is thy temple. Lord ! 'tis w^orthy thee. 
 And in it thou hast many a lamp suspended. 
 
 That dazzles not, but lights resplendently ; 
 And there thy court is — there thy court, attended 
 
 By myriad, myriad messengers — the song 
 Of countless and melodious harps is heard. 
 Sweeter than rill, or stream, or vernal bird, 
 
 The dark and melancholy woods among. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 381 
 
 And golden worlds in that wide temple glow, 
 And roll in brightness, in their orbits vast. 
 And there the future mingles with the past. 
 
 An unbeginning, an unending now. 
 
 Bowling. 
 
 NIGHTINGALE, an Allegory. 
 
 A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long 
 Had cheer'd the village with his song, 
 Nor yet at eve his note suspended. 
 Nor yet when eventide was ended. 
 Began to feel, as well he might. 
 The keen demands of appetite ; 
 When, looking eagerly around, 
 He spied far off, upon the ground, 
 A something shining in the dark, 
 And knew the glow-worm by his iparU ; 
 So, stooping from the hawthorn top. 
 He thought to put him in his crop. 
 The worm, aware of his intent. 
 Harangued him thus, right eloquent : — 
 
 Did you admire my lamp, quoth he, 
 As much as I your minstrelsy. 
 You would abhor to do me wrong. 
 As much as I to spoil your song ; 
 For 'twas the self-same Power Divine 
 Taught you to sing, and me to shine ; 
 That you with music, I with light, 
 Might beautify and cheer the night. 
 
 The songster heard his short oration. 
 And warbling out his approbation. 
 Released him, as my story tells, 
 And found a supper somewhere else. 
 
 Hence jarring sectaries may learn 
 Their real interest to discern ; 
 That brother should not war with brother. 
 And worry and devour each other ; 
 But sing and shine with one consent. 
 Till life's poor transient night is spent. 
 Respecting in each other's case, 
 The gifts of natm-e and of grace. 
 
 Those Christians best deserve the name 
 Who studiously make peace their aim ; 
 Peace, both the duty and the prize 
 Of him that creeps and him that flies. 
 
 Coivper, 
 
 NIGHTINGALE, a Token. 
 
 Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day : 
 It was the nightingale, and not the lark. 
 That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear ; 
 Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree : 
 Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 NIGHTINGALE, Celebrated by Miltcn. 
 
 The nightingale has been celebrated as a 
 melancholy bird by the poets, and is ex- 
 quisitely described as such by Milton, in the 
 most beautiful of all beautiful poems, the 
 " Penseroso :" — 
 
 Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, 
 Most musical, most melancholy ; 
 Thee, chantress, oft the woods among 
 I woo to hear thy evening song. 
 
 So great a favourite was this bird with 
 Milton that he never omits an opportunity of 
 celebrating its powers. What a sweet passage 
 is that, in his fifth book of " Paradise Lost," 
 where Eve, relating her dream to Adam, 
 fancies him to have said, — 
 
 Why sleep'st thou. Eve ? now is the pleasant 
 
 time. 
 The cool, the silent, save where silence yields 
 To the sweet night- warbling bird, that now, 
 
 awake. 
 Tunes sweetest her love-laboured song. 
 
 And again, where the earth and all its 
 animal and feathered inhabitants give signs of 
 gratulation at our parents' nuptials : — 
 
 Joyous of birds ; fresh gales and gentle airs 
 Whispered it to the woods, and from their 
 
 wings. 
 Flung rose, flung odours from the spicy shrub. 
 Disporting, till the amorous bird of night 
 Sung spousal, and bid haste the evening star 
 On his hill top to light the bridal lamp. 
 These, lulled by nightingales, embracing slept. 
 
 NIGHTINGALE, 
 Her Complaining Notes. 
 
 Here can I sit alone, unseen by any. 
 And to the nightingale's complaining notes 
 Tune my distresses and record my woes. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 NIGHTINGALE, Inquiry of. 
 
 Say ! when the blast 
 Of winter swept our whitened plains, what 
 
 clime. 
 What summer realm thou gladdest, and how 
 was past 
 
 Thy joyous time ? 
 
38: 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Did the green isles 
 Detain thee long ? or, 'mid the palmy groves 
 Of the bright South, where Liberty now smiles, 
 
 Didst sing thy loves? 
 
 Oh ! well I know 
 Why thou art here thus soon, and why the 
 
 bowers 
 So near the sun have lesser charms than now 
 
 Our land of flowers. 
 
 Thou art returned 
 On a glad errand — to rebuild thy nest, 
 And fan again the gentle fire that burned 
 
 Within thy breast. 
 
 And thy wild strain, 
 Poured on the gale, is love's transporting 
 
 voice, 
 That, calling on the plumy choir again. 
 Bids them rejoice ; 
 
 Nor calls alone 
 T' erjoy, but bids improve the fleeting hour — 
 Bids all that ever heard Love's witching tone. 
 
 Or felt his power. 
 
 The poet too 
 It soft invokes to touch the trembling wire ; 
 Yet, ah ! how few its sounds shall list, how few 
 
 His song admire ? 
 
 But thy sweet lay. 
 Thou darling of the spring ! no ear disdains ; 
 Thy sage instructress. Nature, says, be gay ! 
 
 And prompts thy strains. 
 
 Oh ! if I knew 
 Like thee to sing, like thee the heart to fire. 
 Youth should enchanted throng, and Beauty 
 sue, 
 
 To hear my lyre. 
 
 Oft as the year 
 In gloom is wrapped, thy exile I shall mourn 
 And oft as smiles the spring, shall hail sincere 
 
 Thy glad return. The Token. 
 
 NIGHTINGALE, , 
 
 Her Home in Nature. 
 
 No cloud, no relique of the sunken day 
 Distinguishes the west, no long thin slip 
 Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues. 
 Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge. 
 You see the glimmer of the stream beneath, 
 But hear no murmuring : it flows silently, 
 O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still, 
 A balmy night ! and though the stars be dim. 
 
 Yet let us think upon the vernal showers 
 That gladden the green earth, and we shall 
 
 find 
 A pleasure in the dimness of the stars. 
 And hark ! the nightingale begins its song, 
 ** Most musical, most melancholy" bird ! 
 A melancholy bird ! Oh ! idle thought ! 
 In nature there is nothing melancholy. 
 But some night-wandering man, whose heart 
 
 was pierced 
 With the remembrance of a grievous wrong. 
 Or slow distemper, or neglected love, 
 (And so, poor wretch ! filled all things with 
 
 himself. 
 And made all gentle sounds tell back the tale 
 Of his own sorrow) — he, and such as he. 
 First named these notes a melancholy strain. 
 And many a poet echoes the conceit ; 
 Poet who hath been building up the rhyme 
 When he had better far have stretched his 
 
 limbs 
 Beside a brook in mossy forest-dell, 
 By sun or moonlight, to the influxes 
 Of shapes and sounds and shifting elements 
 Surrendering his whole spirit, of his song 
 And of his fame forgetful ! so his fame 
 Should share in Nature's immortality, 
 A venerable thing ! and so his song 
 Should make all Nature lovelier, and itself 
 Be loved like Nature ! But 'twill not be so ; 
 And youths and maidens most poetical, 
 Who lose the deepening twilights of the spring 
 In ballrooms and hot theatres, they still 
 Full of meek sympathy must heave their sighs 
 O'er Philomela's pity -pleading strains. 
 My friend, and thou, our sister ! we have 
 
 learnt 
 A different lore : we may not thus profane 
 Nature's sweet voices, always full of love 
 And joyance ! 'Tis the merry nightingale 
 That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates 
 With fa^ Ihick warble his delicious notes, 
 As he were fearful that an April night 
 Would be too short for him to utter forth 
 His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul 
 Of all its music ! Coleridge. 
 
 NIGHTINGALE, on the. 
 
 Lone bird of night, of tender melody, 
 I come to woo thee, gentle Philomel ; 
 And to thee all my hidden plaint I'll tell — 
 Where art thou ? let me hear thy minstrelsy ! 
 The moon is high in yonder blessed sphere ; 
 The spangled myriads shine, and thou'rt not 
 here; 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 383 
 
 Where dost thou tarry, seraph of the grove ? 
 Oh ! let me hear thy liquid note of love — 
 Let us, in soft accord, our sorrows tell — 
 Wilt thou not warble forth one sad farewell ? 
 Still thou art silent; unkind melodist — 
 I'll court thy love no more, nor bid thee list, 
 That, in my wounded breast, henceforth shall 
 
 lie. 
 Enshrined, entomb'd, unsung, until I die ! 
 Mrs. Emmerson. 
 
 NIGHTINGALE, To the. 
 Thou matchless, yet modest, harmonious 
 
 bird ! 
 Who hath not with rapture thy singing oft 
 
 heard ? 
 Who hath not oft snatched, what time mid- 
 night is still, 
 A moment to listen by copse or by rill ? — 
 A moment, in May-time, when zephyr, not 
 
 storm. 
 Gives the shadows of moonlight fantastical 
 
 form? 
 Not content thou to charm us with song 
 
 through the night, 
 Through the day, too, thy notes oft resound 
 
 with delight. 
 O say, are they sad? — dost thou grieve while 
 
 thy song, 
 'Midst the glade, wakens echo and warbles 
 
 along ? 
 Or doth pleasure — doth mirth prompt thy 
 
 wonderful lay ? 
 Or doth love — pensive love — its soft feeling 
 
 display ? 
 Whatever the cause, be e'er hallowed thy 
 
 note, 
 That at midnight or moonlight distends thy 
 
 sweet throat. James Jennings. 
 
 NIGHT, its Absorbing Beauty. 
 
 How beautiful is Night ! 
 
 A dewy freshness fills the silent air. 
 
 No mist, no little cloud, 
 
 Breaks the whole serene of heaven. 
 
 In full-orbed glory the majestic moon 
 
 Rolls through the dark blue depths. 
 
 Around her steady ray 
 
 The desert circle spreads ; 
 
 Like the round ocean girded by the sea. 
 
 How beautiful is Night ! 
 
 Southey. 
 
 NIGHT, its Fruitful Silence. 
 'Scap'd from the noisy world's bewitching 
 power. 
 Where endless Discord holds her cheerless 
 reign. 
 From Folly's trifling train I steal an hour, 
 And dedicate to Night the youthful strain. 
 
 Now balmy slumbers soothe the cares of toil. 
 Sweet sleeps the peasant in his humble cot ; 
 
 Now Flattery's flippant tongue lies still awhile. 
 And all the labour of the day's forgot. 
 
 Cynthia, emerging from the crimson'd east. 
 Moves slowly onward with her starry train ; 
 
 And sober Night, in dusky mantle drest. 
 Resumes once more her awful silent reign ; 
 
 Save where the mastiff, on the village green. 
 Barks wildly at the wan moon's glimm'ring 
 ray; 
 
 Save where the drowsy owl, with dismal mien. 
 Hoots lonely on the dew-bespangled spray ; 
 
 Save where the rill, whose mazy banks are clad 
 
 With plaintive willows, waving o'er the 
 
 stream. 
 
 Comes softly murm'ring thro' the peaceful 
 
 glade. 
 
 And silver'd glitters in the quiv'ring gleam ; 
 
 Save where the raven, from her airy nest, 
 'Mid woods impervious to the midnight 
 moon. 
 Lulls with her dreary songs her young to rest, 
 While weary Nature mourns her beauties 
 gone. 
 
 When at this solemn hour the slumb'ring world 
 Lies lowly prostrate on the downy couch ; 
 
 And riot's sons, in mere confusion hurl'd, 
 Prolong the revels of the mad debauch ; 
 
 Oft let me wander near the heath-clad hill. 
 O'er whose high top beams sweet the star of 
 eve ; 
 
 Or tread beside the daisy-margin'd rill, 
 And ev'ry scene of vice and folly leave ; 
 
 And there hold converse with the sacred muse. 
 With night's seraphic bard, immortal Young! 
 
 In memory's fair page his strains peruse. 
 How sweet he warbled, and how sad he 
 sung : 
 
 Or feel the force of Thomson's deathless song, 
 Who copied Nature in each diff'rent hue ; 
 
 Who, soft as Sappho, and as Pindar strong, 
 Describ'd such scenes as Jonson never 
 drew. 
 
384 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 There let me meditate on themes divine, 
 
 Whose blissful influence high exalts the soul ; 
 
 Or bend at wisdom's ever-glorious shrine, 
 And leam the throbbing passions to control. 
 The Scotsman. 
 
 NIGHT, its Influence on the Heart. 
 Bright and so beautiful was that fair night, 
 It might have calm'd the gay amidst their mirth, 
 And given the wretched a delight in tears. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 NIGHT, its Majesty. 
 
 O MAJESTIC Night ! 
 
 Nature's great ancestor ! Day's elder born ! 
 
 And fated to survive the transient sun ! 
 
 By mortals and immortal seen with awe ! 
 
 A starry crown thy raven brow adorns. 
 
 An azure zone thy waist : clouds in heaven's 
 loom 
 
 Wrought through varieties of shape and shade. 
 
 In ample folds of drapery divine. 
 
 Thy flowing mantle form, and, heaven through- 
 out, 
 
 Voluminously pour thy pompous train. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 NIGHT, Star-lighted. 
 
 One sun by day, by night ten thousand shine, 
 
 And light us deep into the Deity ; 
 
 How boundless in magnificence and might ! 
 
 O what a confluence of etherial fires. 
 
 From urns unnumbered, down the steep of 
 
 heaven, 
 Streams to a point, and centres in the sight ! 
 
 Young. 
 
 NIGHT, the Earth-Favouring Queen. 
 
 The day has gone, and Night, o'er land and 
 
 sea, 
 Like human bliss, comes slow and silently ; 
 Earth-fav'ring queen, whose veil as with a pall 
 Of deep and awful darkness covers all ; 
 And, hid from prying eyes, those deeds are 
 
 done. 
 That shame the eye of mom to look upon ; 
 Thou walkest o'er the waters, and the day 
 Before thy awful presence shrinks away ; 
 Beneath thy shade the usurer counts his store 
 With longing eye, and hand that' asks for more; 
 Shelter'd by thee, base profligates repair 
 To cells of sin, and roll in riot there. Anon. 
 
 NIGHT, the Grave of Buried Ages. 
 
 Another day is added to the mass 
 Of buried ages. Lo ! the beauteous moon, 
 Like a fair shepherdess, soon comes abroad, 
 With her full flock of stars, that roam around 
 The azure meads of heaven. And, oh ! how 
 
 charmed. 
 Beneath her loveliness, creation looks : 
 Far-gleaming hills, and light-endearing streams, 
 And sleeping boughs, with dewy lustre clothed, 
 And green haired valleys, all in glory dressed. 
 Wake up the pageantries of night. One 
 
 glance 
 Upon old Ocean, where the moonbeams 
 Have braided her dark waves. Their roar is 
 
 hushed ! 
 Her billowy wings are folded up to rest ; 
 Till once again the wizard winds shall yell. 
 And tear them into strife. 
 
 A lone owl's hoot — 
 The waterfall's faint drip, or insect stir 
 Among the emerald leaves, or infant wind 
 Rifling the pearly lips of sleeping flowers, 
 Alone disturb the stillness of the scene. 
 
 Spirit of All ! as up yon star-hung deep 
 Of air, the eye and heart together mount, 
 Man's immortality within him stirs. 
 And Thou art all around ! Thy beauty walks 
 In airy music o'er the midnight heavens ; 
 Thy glory's shadowed on the slumb'ring 
 world. Wordswoi ih. 
 
 NIGHT, 
 
 The Hour of Shadows Deepest FalL 
 
 I COME, I come, when the hours have run. 
 Three times their course since the set of sun, 
 When the distant shadows deeper fall. 
 And the star-beams brighten my festal hall. 
 And a softer gleam is spread over the sea. 
 To mirror the path where my steps will be. 
 
 I come, when the young moon, calm and still, 
 
 Is rising over the eastern hill — 
 
 As the soft winds waft her onward through 
 
 The heaven's unruffled sea of blue, 
 
 And the night stars shine with their ray 
 
 serene, 
 And hail her in beauty. Night's holy queen. 
 
 I come, when the heavens are hushed and 
 
 deep. 
 And the stars in their silence a vigil keep. 
 As they watch in their beauty throughout the 
 
 hour. 
 On each whispering leaf, andeachfolded flower, 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 385 
 
 And no far sound breaks on their quiet dim, 
 Save the wandering chaunt of some spirit's 
 hymn. 
 
 These glories come with me — they all are 
 
 mine, — 
 But see in the east, there is one pale line, 
 'Tis the first faint tinge of the silver dawn, 
 It will waken to beauty each lea and lawn, 
 And shed a soft gleam o'er the blue sea's 
 
 swell. 
 Bright stars, ye must vanish — farewell ! — fare- 
 well I F. Muller. 
 
 NIGHT, The Song of. 
 
 I COME to thee, O Earth ! 
 
 With all my gifts : — for every flower, sweet 
 
 dew, 
 In bell, and urn, and chalice to renew 
 The glory of its birth. 
 
 Not one which glimmering lies 
 Far amidst folding hills or forest-leaves, 
 But, through its views of beauty, so receives 
 
 A spirit of fresh dyes. 
 
 I come with every star : 
 Making thy streams, that on their noon-day 
 
 track 
 Gave but the moss, the reed, the lily back, 
 
 Mirrors of worlds afar. 
 
 I come with Peace j I shed 
 Sleep through thy wood-walks o'er the honey- 
 bee, 
 The lark's triumphant voice, the fawn's young 
 glee. 
 The hyacinth's meek head. 
 
 On my own heart I lay 
 The weary babe, and sealing with a breath 
 Its eyes of love, send fairy dreams, beneath 
 
 The shadowing lids to play. 
 
 I come with mightier things ! 
 Who calls me silent ? — I have many tones— 
 The dark skies thrill with low mysterious moans 
 
 Borne on my sweeping wings. 
 
 I waft them not alone 
 From the deep organ of the forest shades. 
 Or buried streams, unheard amidst their glades, 
 
 Till the bright day is done. 
 
 But in the human breast 
 A thousand still small voices I awake, 
 Strong in their sweetness from the soul to shake 
 
 The mantle of its rest. 
 
 I bring them from the past : 
 From true hearts broken, gentle spirits torn, 
 From crush'd affections, which, though long 
 o'erbome, 
 
 Make their tone heard at last. 
 
 I bring them from the tomb : 
 O'er the sad couch of late repentant love, 
 They pass — though low as murmurs of a dove — 
 
 Like trumpets through the gloom. 
 
 I come with all my train : 
 Who calls me lonely ? —Hosts around me tread, 
 Th' intensely bright, the beautiful, the dread — 
 
 Phantoms of heart and brain I 
 
 Looks from departed eyes, 
 These are my lightnings ! — filled with anguish 
 
 vain, 
 Or tenderness too piercing to sustain. 
 
 They smite with agonies. 
 
 I, that with soft control 
 Shut the dim violet, hush the woodland song, 
 I am th' Avenging One !— the Armed, the 
 Strong, 
 
 The Searcher of the soul ! 
 
 I, that shower dewy light 
 Through slumbei-ing leaves, bring storms ! — 
 
 the tempest birth 
 Of Memory, Thought, Remorse ; — be holy, 
 Earth ! 
 — I am the solemn Night ! Hemans. 
 
 NIGHT, the Time of Study. 
 
 With thee the sage communes, and minstrels 
 
 raise 
 The song array'd in light of other days ; 
 To stillness and to thee the lover hies. 
 And tastes of rapture that the day denies j 
 And weary man in sleep forgets his pain, 
 While lasts o'er earth thy solitary reign. 
 
 His aged knees upon the earth were bent. 
 His dark eye turn'd upon the firmament, 
 That deep-blue space where Inspiration's eye 
 Gives unto shadowy forms reality ; 
 Where the soul seeks its Maker's sacred throne 
 With pure devotion, ne'er in temples known ; 
 Myriads of stars magnificently bright. 
 In beauty circled round the queen of night. 
 Whose pale light shone upon his forehead bare, 
 Silv'ring the few weak locks by Time left there. 
 Shedding a lustre o'er his features wan, 
 Awful, yet beautiful to look upon. 
 
 S. R, Jackson. 
 C c 
 
386 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 NIGHT, The Voice of. 
 How beautiful the heavens look to-night ! 
 So calm, transparent ; and the starry crowd, 
 Those exquisite embodiments of light, 
 Could ye not almost fancy they were proud 
 Of their own loveliness ? that they had bliss 
 In beaming forth on such a night as this ? 
 
 For ever and for ever there is set 
 
 In the enduring sky, a seal and sign, 
 
 A voiceless evidence of God ! — which yet 
 
 Unchanged shall live, when this frail form of 
 
 mine 
 Hath moulder'd from the bosom of the earth. 
 Leaving no record of its mortal birth. 
 The elements of which we are composed 
 May perish ; they are finite : but the soul 
 Bursts from the frame in which it lived enclosed 
 Beyond the grasping reach of Time's control ! 
 That spirit which within us swells and speaks, 
 Shall find the immortality it seeks ! 
 
 thou ! Creator ! God ! and can it be 
 That man is heir to thine own glorious heaven ! 
 'Tis so ! — the light, which is sublimity, 
 
 The essence, which is thought, by Thee was 
 
 given ! — 
 The fear and heaviness of doubt is o'er — 
 
 1 muse and feel — and tremble — and adore ! 
 
 Charles Swain. 
 
 NOBILITY, True. 
 
 Search we the springs, 
 And backward trace the principles of things : 
 There shall we find that when the world began, 
 One common mass composed the mould of man; 
 One paste of flesh on all degrees bestowed. 
 And kneaded up alike with moist'ning blood. 
 The same Almighty power inspired the frame 
 With kindled life, and formed the souls the 
 
 same. 
 The faculties of intellect and will, 
 Dispensed with equal hand, disposed with 
 
 equal skill ; 
 Like liberty indulged, with choice of good or ill. 
 Thus born alike, from Virtue first began 
 The difference that distinguished man from 
 
 man. 
 He claimed no title from descent of blood. 
 But that which made him noble, made him 
 
 good. 
 Warmed with more particles of heavenly flame. 
 He winged his upward flight, and soared to 
 
 fame ; 
 The rest remained below, a tribe without a 
 
 name. 
 
 This law, though custom now diverts the course. 
 As nature's institute, is yet in force, 
 Uncancelled, though diffused : and he whose 
 
 mind 
 Is virtuous, is alone of noble kind ; 
 Though poor in fortune, of celestial race : 
 And he commits the crime who calls him base. 
 
 Dry den. 
 
 He who is lord of himself, and exists upon 
 his own resources, is a noble but a rare being. — 
 Sir E. Brydges. 
 
 NONCONFORMITY. 
 
 We have not put on Christ to live any more to 
 ourselves in the vanities, delights, and plea- 
 sures of the world and the flesh ; suffering the 
 concupiscence and carnality of the flesh to 
 have its full swing; for we must walk after 
 the Spirit, and not after the flesh. I would 
 that all Christians, like as they have professed 
 Christ, would so endeavour themselves to fol- 
 low Him in godly living. — Queen Catherine 
 Parr. 
 
 Do not flatter yourselves. So long as your 
 minds remain carnal, ardent in love to the 
 world and cold in love to God, 'Movers of 
 pleasure more than of God," you are his ene- 
 mies, for with Him there is no neutrality. — 
 AbJ>. Leighton^ 
 
 The true reason why men are so apt to neg- 
 lect the great concernment of their souls, a 
 careful and due preparation for another world, 
 and are so hardly brought to those things 
 wherein religion mainly consists, I mean "the 
 fruits of the Spirit " and the practice of real 
 goodness ; — I say the true reason of this is be- 
 cause they are so extremely desirous to recon- 
 cile, if it were possible, the hopes of eternal 
 happiness in another world with a liberty to 
 live as they list in this present world. They 
 are loth to be at the trouble and drudgery of 
 mortifying their lusts and governing their pas- 
 sions, and bridling their tongues, and practis- 
 ing all those duties which are comprehended 
 in those two great commandments of the love 
 of God and of our neighbour. They would 
 fain gain the favovu- of God, and make their 
 calling and election sure, by some easier way 
 than by giving ' ' all diligence " to add to their 
 faith and knowledge the graces and virtues of 
 a good life. — Abp. Tillotson. 
 
 J 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 587 
 
 NOON. 
 
 *Tis raging noon ; and, vertical, the Sun 
 Darts on the head direct his forceful rays. 
 O'er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye 
 Can sweep, a dazzling deluge rains ; and all, 
 From pole to pole, is undistinguished blaze. 
 In vain the sight, dejected to the ground. 
 Stoops for relief; thence hot ascending steams 
 And keen reflection pain. Deep to the root 
 Of vegetation parched, the cleaving fields 
 And slippery lawn an arid hue disclose, 
 Blast Fancy's blooms, and wither e'en the soul. 
 Echo no more returns the cheerful sound 
 Of sharpening scythe ; the mower, sinking, 
 
 heaps 
 O'er him the humid hay, with flowers perfumed ; 
 And scarce a chirping grasshopper is heard 
 Through the dumb mead. Distressful Nature 
 
 pants. 
 The very streams look languid from afar ; 
 Or, through th' unsheltered glade, impatient, 
 
 seem 
 To hurl into the covert of the grove. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 NOONTIDE. 
 
 Beneath a shivering canopy reclined, 
 
 Of aspen leaves that wave without a wind, 
 
 I love to lie, when lulling breezes stir 
 
 The spiry cones that tremble on the fir ; 
 
 Or wander 'mid the dark green fields of broom. 
 
 When peers in scattered tufts the yellow 
 
 bloom : 
 Or trace the path with tangling furze o'errun. 
 When bursting seed-bells crackle in the sun, 
 And pittering grasshoppers, confusedly shrill. 
 Pipe giddily along the glowing hill. 
 Sweet grasshopper, who lov'st at noon to lie 
 Serenely in the green-ribbed clover's eye. 
 To sun thy filmy wings and emerald vest. 
 Unseen thy form and undisturbed thy rest ; 
 Oft have I, listening, mused the sultry day. 
 And wondered what thy chirping song might say. 
 When nought was heard along the blossomed 
 
 lea. 
 To join thy music, save the listless bee. 
 
 Leyden, 
 
 NOONTIDE, A StilL 
 Beyond the cedar forests lay the cliffs 
 That overhung the beach, but midway swept 
 Fair swelling lands, some green with brightest 
 
 grass, 
 Some golden in the sun. Mute was the scene 
 
 And moveless. Not a breeze came o'er the 
 edge 
 
 Of the high-heaving fields and fallow lands , 
 
 Only the zephyrs at long intervals 
 
 Drew a deep sigh, as of some blissful thought. 
 
 Then swooned to silence. Not a bird was 
 seen, 
 
 Nor heard : all marbly gleamed the steadfast 
 sky. 
 
 Hither Orion slowly walked alone. 
 
 And passing round between two swelling 
 slopes 
 
 Of green and golden light, beheld afar 
 
 The broad gray horizontal wall o' the dead- 
 calm sea. R. H. Home. 
 
 NOTHING is Made in Vain. 
 
 A Man of sceptical turn might ask of what 
 use is the common nettle, and for what end 
 was it created? Cattle regard it not, and to 
 man it is an annoyance. It may be answered, 
 that cattle and men are not the only animals 
 for whom the Creator has made provision. 
 Not to dwell on the probability that the nettle 
 may be medicinal in some cases, there are not 
 less than fifty species of insects, all formed by 
 the wonderful operations of infinite wisdom, 
 which have their subsistence from this plant. 
 It is said that there are thirty of the genus 
 cimex alone. 
 
 It requires but little acquaintance with 
 those things whose uses and properties we 
 best understand, to discover their exact 
 adaptation to the end for which they were 
 designed. In so far as they remain uncor- 
 rupted by the fall, God beholds them "very 
 good," as he did in the day when he called 
 them into being. Let the reader remember 
 that, although man is the noblest work of 
 creation, he has been, since he sinned, the 
 farthest from answering the end of his exist- 
 tence. The ground is cursed for his sake ; 
 and so long as he lives without repentance 
 toward God, and faith in our Lord Jesus 
 Christ, the law pronounces him also to be 
 cursed : Gen. iii. 17, Gal. iii. 10. He is 
 a blot upon creation, an enemy to himself, a 
 stranger to God and to true happiness. — E.C. 
 
 NOTHING. 
 
 To do Nothing is Criminal. 
 
 To do nothing is in many cases to do a 
 
 positive wrong ; and as such, requires a 
 
 positive punishment. To stand neuter in 
 
388 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 dangerous commotions of the state, the great 
 Athenian lawgiver declared to be a crime 
 against the state ; and in like manner the 
 great Christian lawgiver declares, ** He that 
 is not with me, is against me ; and he that 
 gathereth not with me, scattereth abroad."— 
 Portetis, 
 
 NOVELTY, Charm of. 
 
 All with one consent praise new-born 
 
 gawds 
 Though they are made and moulded of things 
 
 past. 
 The present eye praises the present object. 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 NOVELTY, the Power of. 
 
 Events, of which we confess the importance, 
 excite little sensibility unless they affect us 
 more nearly than as sharers in the common 
 interest of mankind. That desire which 
 every man feels of being remembered and 
 lamented is often mortified when we remark 
 how little concern is caused by the eternal de- 
 parture even of those who have passed their 
 lives with public honours, and been dis- 
 tinguished by extraordinary performances. 
 It is not possible to be regarded with tender- 
 ness except by a few. That merit which 
 gives greatness and renown diffuses its in- 
 fluence to a wide compass, but acts weakly on 
 every single breast : — it is placed at a distance 
 from common spectators, and shines like one 
 of the remote stars, of which the light reaches 
 us, but not the heat. The wit, the hero, the 
 philosopher, whom their tempers or their 
 fortunes have hindered from intimate rela- 
 tions, die, without any other effect than that 
 of adding a new topic to the conversation of 
 the day. They impress none with any fresh 
 conviction of the fragility of our nature, be- 
 cause none had any particular interest in their 
 lives, or was united to them by a reciproca- 
 tion of benefits and endearments. Thus it 
 often happens that those who in their lives 
 were applauded and admired are laid at last 
 in the ground without the common honour of 
 a stone, because by those excellences with 
 which many were delighted none had been 
 obliged, and though they had many to cele- 
 brate, they had none to love X^atxa.—Johnsotu 
 
 NOVEMBER, a Morning's Reverie. 
 
 Hast thou a chamber in the utter west, 
 A cave of shelter from the glare of day. 
 Oh radiant star of morning ! whose pure eye, 
 Like an archangel's, over the dim earth, 
 With such ineffable effulgence shines ? 
 Emblem of sanctity and peace art thou I 
 Thou leavest man, what time to daily toil 
 His steps are bent — what time the bustling 
 
 world 
 Usurps his thought ; and, through the sunny 
 
 hours. 
 Unseen, forgot, art like the things that were ; 
 But twilight weeps for joy at thy return. 
 With brighter blaze the faggots on the hearth 
 Sparkle, and home records its happiest hour ! 
 
 Hark ! 'tis the robin's shrill yet mellow pipe. 
 That in the voiceless calm of the young morn 
 Commingles with my dreams : — lo ! as I draw 
 Aside the curtains of my couch, he sits. 
 Deep over-bower'd by broad geranium leaves, 
 (Leaves trembling 'neath the touch of sere 
 
 decay, ) 
 Upon the dewy window-sill, and perks 
 His restless black eye here and there, in search 
 Of cnmibs, or shelter from the icy breath 
 Of wild winds rushing from the Polar sea : 
 For now November, with a brumal robe. 
 Mantles the moist and desolated earth ; 
 Dirti sullen clouds hang o'er the cheerless sky. 
 And yellow leaves bestrew the undergrove. 
 
 'Tis earliest sunrise. Through the hazy mass 
 Of vapours moving on like shadowy isles. 
 Athwart the pale, gray, spectral cope of 
 
 heaven. 
 With what a feeble, inefficient glow 
 Looks out the Day ; all things are still and 
 
 calm. 
 Half wreathed in azure mist the skeleton 
 
 woods, 
 And as a picture silent. Little bird ! 
 Why with unnatural tameness comest thou 
 
 thus, 
 Offering in fealty thy sweet simple songs 
 To the abode of man ? Hath the rude wind 
 Chilled thy sweet woodland home, now quite 
 
 despoiled 
 Of all its summer greenery, and swept 
 The bright, close, sheltering bowers, where 
 
 merrily 
 Rang out thy notes — as of a haunting sprite. 
 There domiciled — the long blue summer 
 
 through i 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 389 
 
 Moulders untenanted thy trim-built nest, 
 And do the unpropitious fates deny 
 Food for thy little wants, and penury. 
 With tiny grip, drive thee to dubious walls, — 
 Though terrors flutter at thy panting heart, — 
 To stay the pangs which must be satisfied ? 
 Alas ! the dire sway of necessity 
 Oft makes the darkest, most repugnant things 
 Familiar to us ; links us to the feet 
 Of all we feared, or hated, or despised ; 
 And, mingling poison with our daily food, 
 Yet asks the willing heart and smiling cheek : 
 Yea ! to our subtlest and most tyrannous foes, 
 May we be driven for shelter, and in such 
 May our sole refuge lie, when all the joys, 
 That, iris-like, wantoned around our paths 
 Of prosperous fortune, one by one have died ; 
 When day shuts in upon our hopes, and night 
 Ushers blank darkness only. Therefore we 
 Should pity thee, and have compassion on 
 Thy helpless state, poor bird, whose loveliness 
 Is yet unscathed, and whose melodious notes 
 (Sweeter by melancholy rendered) steal 
 With a deep supplication to the heart, 
 Telling that thou wert happy once — that now 
 Thou art most destitute ; and yet, and yet — 
 Only were thy small pinching wants supplied 
 By charity — could'st be most happy still ! — 
 Is it not so ? 
 
 Out on unfeeling man ! 
 Will he who drives the beggar from his gates. 
 And to the moan of fellow-man shuts up 
 Each avenue of feeling — will he deign 
 To think that such as thou deserve his aid ? 
 No ! when the gust raves, and the floods 
 
 descend. 
 Or the frost pinches, thou may'st, at dim eve. 
 With forced and fearful love approach his 
 
 home. 
 What time, 'midst western mists, the broad, 
 
 red sun. 
 Sinking, calls out from heaven the earliest 
 
 star ; 
 And the crisp blazing of the dry yule-log 
 Flickers upon the pictured walls, and lights 
 By fits the unshutter'd la'tice ; but, in vain, 
 Thy chirp repeated earnestly; the flap. 
 Against the obdurate pane, of thy small 
 
 wing ; — 
 lie hears thee not — he heeds not — but, at 
 
 morn. 
 The ice-enamoured schoolboy, early afoot, 
 Finds thy small bulk beneath the alder stump. 
 Thy bright eyes closed, and tiny talons clench'd. 
 Stiff in the grip of death. 
 
 The floating plume 
 Tells how the wind blows, with a certainty 
 As great as doth the vessel's full-swoln sheets ; 
 So doth the wing'd seed ; 'tis not alone 
 In mighty things that we may truliest read 
 The heart, but in its temper and its tone : — 
 Thus true benevolence we ever find 
 Forgiving, gentle, tremblingly alive 
 To pity, and unweariedly intent 
 On all the little, thousand charities, 
 Which day by day calls forth. Oh ! as we 
 
 hope 
 Forgiveness of our earthly trespasses, — 
 Of all our erring deeds and wayward thoughts, 
 When Time's dread reckoning comes, — oh ! as 
 
 we hope 
 Mercy, who need it much, let us, away 
 From kindness never turning, mould our hearts 
 To sympathy, and from all withering blight 
 Preserve them, and all deadening influences : — 
 So 'twill be best for us. The All-seeing eye. 
 Which numbers each particular hair, and notes 
 From heaven the sparrow's fall, shall pass not 
 
 o'er 
 Without approval deeds unmarked by man — 
 Deeds which the right hand from the left con- 
 ceals — 
 Nor overlook the well-timed clemency 
 That soothed and stilled the murmurs of 
 distress. 
 
 Enamour'd of all mysteries, in love 
 
 With doubt itself, and fond to disbelieve. 
 
 We ask not, *' if realities be real ? " 
 
 With Plato, or with Berkeley ; but we know 
 
 Life comes not of itself, and what hath life, — 
 
 However insignificant it seem 
 
 To us, whose noblest standard is ourselves, — 
 
 Plath been by the Almighty's finger touch'd. 
 
 Or ne'er had been at all — it must be so. 
 
 Therefore 'tis by comparison alone 
 
 That things seem great or small ; and noblest 
 
 they 
 Whose sympathies, with a capacious range, 
 Would own no limit to their fond embrace. 
 Yea, there, as in all else, doth duty dwell 
 With happiness : for far the happiest he. 
 Who through the roughness of life preserves 
 His boyish feelings, and who sees the world. 
 Not as it is in cold reality, 
 A motley scene of struggle and of strife. 
 But tinted with the glow of bright romance : 
 For him the morning has its star ; the sun. 
 Rising or setting, fires for him the clouds 
 With glory ; flowers for him have tales, 
 Like those which, for a thousand nights and one. 
 
;9o 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Enchained the East ; each season as it rolls 
 Strikes in his bosom its peculiar chord, 
 j Yet each alike harmonious, to a heart 
 That vibrates ever in sweet unison : 
 Each scene hath its own influence, nor less 
 The frost that mimics each on pool or pane : 
 Delight flows in alike from calm or storm : 
 Delight flows in to him from Nature's shows 
 Of hill and dale, swift river or still lake : 
 To him the very winds are musical — 
 Have harmony ^olian, wild and sweet ; 
 The stream sings to its banks, and the wild 
 
 birds 
 To Echo — viewless tell-tale of the rocks — 
 Who in the wantonness of love responds. 
 Gifts in the eye of Heaven, not always bear 
 The marketable value stamped by man 
 Upon them, — else the poor were truly poor, 
 The willing spirit destitute indeed. 
 In other balance are our actions weighed 
 By Him who sees the heart in all its thoughts ; 
 Both what it wills and cannot, what it tries 
 And doth, — and with what motive, for what 
 
 end. 
 Clouds clothe them like realities, and shine 
 Even so to human eyes ; yet, not the less 
 Are only mockeries of the things they seem, 
 And melt as we survey them. Let us not 
 The shadow for the substance take, the jay 
 For the true bird of paradise. A crust 
 Dealt by the poor man from his daily loaf. 
 To the wayfarer, poorer than himself — 
 A cup of water, in the Saviour's name 
 Proffered with ready hand to thirsting lips, — 
 Seem trifles in themselves, yet weigh for wine. 
 And gems, and gold, and frankincense. The 
 
 mite, — 
 The widow's offering, and her all, put in 
 With grief, because she had no more to give, 
 Yet given although her all, — was in the sight 
 Of heaven a sumless treasury bestowed. 
 And reckoned such in her account above : — 
 When Nineveh, through all her myriad streets, 
 Lay blackened with idolatry and crime, 
 God had preserved her— would have saved her 
 
 whole — 
 Had but the Prophet, as a leaven, found 
 His righteous ten ! 
 
 Therefore, oh never deem 
 Thoughts, deeds, or feelings valueless, that bear 
 The balance of the heart to Virtue's side ! 
 The coral worm seems nought, but coral 
 
 worms 
 Combined heave up a reef, where mightiest 
 
 keels 
 
 Are stranded, and the powers of man put 
 
 down. 
 The water-drop wears out the stone ; and 
 
 cares 
 Trifling, if ceaseless, form an aggregate 
 Whose burden weighs the buoyant heart to 
 
 earth. 
 Think not the right path may be safely left. 
 Though 'twere but for one moment, and one 
 
 step ; 
 That one departure, slight howe'er it be, 
 From innocence is nought. The young peach- 
 bloom. 
 Rudely brushed off", can be restored no more 
 By all the cunning of the painter's art ; 
 Nor to the seared heart comes, in after life 
 Again, — however longed for, or bewailed, — 
 Youth's early dews, the pure and delicate ! 
 
 Delta. 
 
 NOVEMBER by the Sea- Side. 
 
 A DIM blue haziness o'erhangs the sea, 
 While here and there, upon the surgy tide, 
 With bellied sails, the vessels, dim descried. 
 
 Against the opposing blast toil heavily. 
 
 Blackwood' s Mamzine. 
 
 NOVEMBER, Description of. 
 No sun, no moon ! 
 No morn, no noon, 
 No dawn, no dusk, no proper time of day ; 
 No sky, no earthly view, 
 No distance looking blue, 
 No road, no street — no ** t'other side the way j 
 No end to any row. 
 No indications where the crescents go ; 
 No top to any steeple. 
 No recognitions of familiar people, 
 No courtesies for showing 'em — 
 No knowing 'em ! 
 No travelling at all, no locomotion, 
 No inkling of the way, no notion ; 
 " No go," by land or ocean ; 
 No mail, no post. 
 No news from any foreign coast ; 
 No Park, no Ring, no afternoon gentility. 
 
 No company, no nobility ; 
 No warmth, no cheerfuhiess, no healthful 
 ease, 
 No comfortable feel in any member ; 
 No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees : 
 No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, 
 — November ! Arthur Warwick. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 391 
 
 NOVEMBER, Sharp and Bream. 
 
 Next was November ; he full-grown and fat 
 As fed with lard, and that right well might 
 seeme ; 
 For he had been a fatting hogs of late, 
 
 That yet his browes with sweat did reek and 
 
 steam ; 
 And yet the season was full sharp and 
 bream ; 
 In planting eeke he took no small delight 
 
 Whereon he rode, not easie was to deeme ; 
 For it a dreadful centaur was in sight. 
 The seed of Saturn and fair Nais, Chiron 
 hight. Spenser. 
 
 NUTTING, Pleasures of. 
 
 It seems a day, 
 (I speak of one from many singled out,) 
 One of those heavenly days that never dies ; 
 When in the eagerness of boyish hope, 
 I left our cottage threshold, sallying forth 
 With a huge mantle o'er my shoulders hung, 
 A nutting crook in hand, and turned my steps 
 Toward some far-distant wood, a figure quaint, 
 Tcicked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds. 
 Which for that service had been husbanded, 
 By exhortation of my frugal dame. 
 Motley accoutrement, of power to smile 
 At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, and, in 
 
 truth, 
 More ragged than need was ! O'er pathless 
 
 rocks, 
 Through beds of matted fern and tangled 
 
 thickets. 
 Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook, 
 Unvisited, where not a broken bough 
 Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious 
 
 sign 
 Of devastation ; but the hazels rose 
 Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung, 
 A virgin scene ! A little while I stood 
 Breathing with such sup]Dression of the heart 
 As joy delights in ; and with wise restraint, 
 Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed 
 The banquet ; — or beneath tlie tx-ees I sate 
 Among the flowers, and with the flowers I 
 
 played ; 
 A temper known to those who, after long 
 And weary expectation, have been blest 
 With sudden happiness beyond all hope. 
 Perhaps it was a bower, beneath whose leaves, 
 The violets of five seasons re-appear 
 And fade, unseen by any human eye ; 
 Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on 
 
 For ever ; and I saw the sparkling foam. 
 And, with my cheek on one of those green 
 
 stones, 
 That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady 
 
 trees. 
 Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep^ 
 I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound, 
 In that sweet mood, when pleasure loves to pay 
 Tribute to ease ; and of its joy secure. 
 The heart luxuriates with indifferent things. 
 Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, 
 And on the vacant air. Then up I rose, 
 And dragged to earth both branch and bough, 
 
 with crush 
 And merciless ravage ; and the shady nook 
 Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, 
 Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up 
 Their quiet being ; and unless I now 
 Confound my present feelings with the past, 
 Ere from the mutilated bower I turned. 
 Exulting rich beyond the wealth of kings, 
 I felt a sense of pain when I beheld 
 The silent trees, and saw the intruding skies. 
 Wo}'dswo7'ih. 
 
 OAK, An Old. 
 
 A HUGE oak; dry and dead, 
 Still clad with reliques of its trophies old. 
 Lifting to heaven its aged, hoary head. 
 Whose foot on earth hath got but feeble hold, 
 And half disbowelled stands above the ground, 
 With wreathed roots and naked arms, 
 And trunk all rotten and unsound. 
 
 Sj>e}ise7'. 
 
 An antient oak in the dark centre stood, 
 The covert's glory, and itself a wood ; 
 Garlands embraced its shaft, and from the 
 
 boughs 
 Hung tablets, monuments of prosperous vows. 
 In the cool dusk its unpierced verdure spread 
 The dryads oft their hallowed dances led ; 
 And oft when round their gaging arms they 
 
 cast. 
 Full fifteen ells it measured in the waste : 
 Its height all under standards did surpass, 
 As they aspired above the humbler grass. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 OAK, Destiny of. 
 Many a conflict brave, 
 And many a dreadful storm defy ; 
 Then, groaning o'er the adverse wave, 
 Bring home the flag of victory ! 
 
 Bloomfield. 
 
392 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 OAK, its Beginnings. 
 
 Thou wast a bauble once ; a cup and ball, 
 
 Which babes might play with ; and the thievish 
 
 jay 
 Seeking her food, with ease might have pur- 
 
 loin'd 
 The auburn nut that held thee, swallowing 
 
 down 
 Thy yet close-folded latitude of boughs, 
 And all thy embryo vastness, at a gulp. 
 But fate thy growth decreed : autumnal rains, 
 Beneath thy parent-tree, mellow'd the soil 
 Design'd thy cradle, and a skipping deer, 
 With pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, prepar'd 
 The soft receptacle, in which secure 
 Thy rudiments should sleep the winter through . 
 
 So fancy dreams — disprove it if ye can. 
 Ye reas'ners broad awake, whose busy search 
 Of argument, employ'd too oft amiss. 
 Sifts half the pleasures of short life away ! 
 
 Thou fell'st mature, and in the loamy clod. 
 Swelling with vegetative force instinct. 
 Didst burst thine egg, as their's the fabled 
 
 twins. 
 Now stars ; two lobes protruding pair'd exact : 
 A leaf succeeded, and another leaf, 
 And all the elements thy puny growth 
 Fost'ring propitious, thou becam'st a twig. 
 
 Who liv'd when thou wast such ? Oh ! 
 couldst thou speak. 
 As in Dodona once thy kindred trees 
 Oracular, I would not curious ask. 
 The future, best unknown, but at thy mouth 
 Inquisitive, the less ambiguous past ! 
 
 By thee I might correct, erroneous oft, 
 The clock of history, facts and events 
 Timing more punctual, unrecorded facts 
 Recov'ring, and misstated setting right — 
 Desp'rate attempt till trees shall speak again ! 
 
 Time made thee what thou wast — king of 
 the woods ! 
 And time hath made thee what thou art— a 
 
 cave 
 For owls to roost in ! Once thy spreading 
 
 boughs 
 O'erhung the champaign, and the numerous 
 
 flock. 
 That graced it stood beneath that ample cope 
 Uncrowded, yet safe-sheltered from the storm. 
 No flock frequents thee now ; thou hast out- 
 lived 
 Thy popularity, and art become 
 (Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a thing 
 Forgotten, as the foliage of thy youth ! 
 
 While thus through all the stages thou hast 
 
 push'd 
 Of treeship — first a seedling, hid in grass ; 
 Then twig ; then sapling ; and, as century 
 
 roll'd 
 Slow after century, a giant-bulk 
 Of girth enormous, with moss-cushioned root 
 Upheav'd above the soil, and sides imboss'd 
 With prominent wens globose — till at the last, 
 The rottenness, which time is charg'd to inflict 
 On other mighty ones, found also thee. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 OAK, The, and the Hazel. 
 
 A PERT young Hazel once bespoke. 
 
 In terms like these, a sturdy Oak : 
 
 " What lofty branches still are spread 
 
 Around your vast extensive head ! 
 
 And what a piece of fertile ground 
 
 Your root encompasses around ? 
 
 Your bulk, how vast ! But, pray, what use 
 
 Does all your mightiness produce ? 
 
 So horrid brackish is your fruit, 
 
 The taste of swine 'twill only suit ; 
 
 While I, a low and simple tree, 
 
 A pigmy unto giant thee, 
 
 A pleasing milky burden bear, 
 
 Admir'd by all the young and fair. 
 
 Who ever listen to the cry 
 
 Of hazel-nuts, come crack, and try ! 
 
 But when were acorns ever known, 
 
 Thus to be sung about the town ? 
 
 Were I the farmer, well I know, 
 
 I'd send you somewhere else to grow. 
 
 Nor let you longer thus expand, 
 
 To over-shadow half my land ; 
 
 And in your place I'd Hazel put. 
 
 There is some profit in a nut." 
 
 "Thou empty thing," the Oak replied"^ 
 ** I answer but to check thy pride ; 
 For 'tis beneath an Oak like me. 
 To answer such a twig as thee : 
 Know, from my trunks are bulwarks made,. 
 Employ'd to distant worlds in trade ; 
 Or when invidious foes appear, 
 I o'er the ocean thunders bear ; 
 When fleets engage in fire and smoke. 
 Would Hazels do as well as Oak ? 
 A vessel form'd of wood of thine. 
 Call it — the nutshell of the line ? 
 Your emptiness no longer show. 
 To talk of what you do not know ; 
 Crack of your nuts, but crack no jokes 
 In futui-e with us tough old Oaks ; 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 39: 
 
 A sapling gather'd from my head. 
 
 If well applied, would strike thee dead." 
 
 To fops and fools the moral's shown, 
 Boast not what trifles are your own. 
 
 Scots Mamzine. 
 
 OBEDIENCE, from Holy Fear. 
 
 It is the will of our heavenly Father that we 
 serve Him in truth and uprightness of heart. 
 We must do our works out of the fear of God 
 and conscience of His commandments, not 
 out of respect of profit, or fear, or praise of 
 men ; for such as do so are hypocrites .... 
 God esteems our actions and works, not ac- 
 cording to the greatness or exactness of the 
 performance, but according to the sincerity 
 and truth of our hearts in doing them. — 
 J. Mcde. 
 
 OBEDIENCE, from Love to God. 
 
 Look carefully that love to God and obedience 
 to His commands be the principle and spring 
 from whence thy actions flow ; and that the 
 glory of God and the salvation of thy soul be 
 the end to which all thy actions tend ; and 
 that the word of God be thy rule and guide in 
 every enterprise and undertaking. *' As many 
 as walk by this rule, peace be unto them, and 
 mercy. " — Burkitt. 
 
 ** His kingdom come ! " For this we pray 
 in vain, 
 Unless He does in our aflfections reign. 
 How fond it were to wish for such a King, 
 And no obedience to his sceptre bring, 
 Whose yoke is easy, and His burthen light ; 
 His service freedom, and His judgments right. 
 
 Waller. 
 
 OBEDIENCE is Praise to God. 
 
 He praiseth God best that serveth and 
 obeyeth Him most : the life of thankfulness 
 consists in the thankfulness of the life. — 
 Burkitt. 
 
 Happy is that man, and that man only, who 
 so submits his mind to the power of the Holy 
 Spirit that he learns to follow His blessed 
 teaching, to be guided by His holy influences, 
 to pray under His gracious inspiration, and to 
 sanctify and to purify his heart, his will, and 
 his affections, more and mure, from all that 
 is earthly and of low degree. — G. Townseiid. 
 
 OBEDIENCE of Faith. 
 
 Faith is not only a means of obeying, but a 
 principal act of obedience. It is not only a 
 needful foundation ; it is not only as an altar, 
 on which to sacrifice, but it is a sacrifice itself; 
 — it is a submission of our understandings, an 
 oblation of our idolized reason, to God ; which 
 He requires so indispensably, that our whole 
 will, and affections, though seemingly a larger 
 sacrifice, will not, without it, be received at 
 our hands. ... A virtuous life, rising from 
 a corrupted faith, is as an angel of light sup- 
 ported by a cloven foot. We are expressly 
 told in the inspired volume that "the just 
 shall live by faith ; " — even the just, shall not 
 live — yea, even they shall not be saved with- 
 out it. — E. Yoimg. 
 
 OBEDIENCE, Our, at Best Imperfect 
 
 Our obedience is, at best, but imperfect: and 
 were it perfect, yet, as it is our bounden duty to 
 God, it could not of right and justice challenge 
 reward from Him to whom it is due. What 
 title, what right, then, have they "that do 
 God's commandments" to eternal life? I 
 answer, a title by promise ; a stipulated, fede- 
 ral right. In every covenant there must be 
 conditions ; in the covenant made through the 
 mediation of Jesus Christ, between God and 
 man, the condition on the part of man is 
 obedience to Cjod's commands, and to this 
 obedience God, on His part, has been pleased 
 to annex the promise of eternal life ; and there- 
 fore St. Paul calls the Gospel, "the truth 
 which is after godliness ; in hope of eternal 
 life, which God, that cannot lie, promised." — 
 Bandinel. 
 
 OBEDIENCE, 
 
 The Alpha and Omega of Life. 
 
 This was St. Paul's first saying to Christ ; and 
 it is the first lesson to be minded by all His 
 disciples. And as it is the Alpha, so it is the 
 Omega also; it is both the first and last lesson 
 of Christianity. All is done when this is 
 done ; and till this lesson be learned, all that 
 we have done or learned signifies but very 
 little. When we have well gotten this, we 
 are " disciples indeed : " it is not the saying, 
 "Lord, Lord," but the doing the will of God, 
 which will give us ihat title. — Worthington. 
 
394 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 OBEDIENCE to Eulers. 
 One of the duties that are necessary to your 
 peace, and required of God, is your due sub- 
 jection to governors. . . . For God is the God 
 of order ; and as in natural effects He useth 
 natural means, so in politic government He 
 useth officers. . . . And as subordinate magis- 
 trates have no power but what is given them by 
 the supreme, so it is impossible that supreme 
 rulers on earth can have true authority but 
 what is given them by God, the universal 
 Sovereign ; even as impossible as for any 
 creature to be what it is, without a Creator ; 
 for of Him, and through Him, and to Him, 
 are all things. Even where you must not 
 obey a sinful command, yet you must be sub- 
 ject still. None are exempted from this duty, 
 for government is the ordinance of God. — ■ 
 Baxter, 
 
 If we inquire in what particular sense the 
 rulers of the world may be said to be "the 
 ordinance of God," and to derive their power 
 and authority from Him ; we shall find that 
 the state of the world requires that there 
 should be some rule, invested with power to 
 protect the innocent, and to defend the weak 
 from the violence of the oppressor ; and there- 
 fore government is agreeable to the will of 
 God. The power of the magistrate is a power 
 delegated from God, and therefore more espe- 
 cially to be regarded by those who pretend, in 
 a peculiar manner, to be the servants of God. 
 Being Christians should make us better, not 
 worse servants ; for we ought to obey from 
 the heart, as serving God, and not men. . . . 
 All our natural powers are ordained by God, 
 and He has divided to every man as seemeth 
 best to Him. The least power is His ordi- 
 nance as well as the greatest ; and the Scrip- 
 ture has commanded obedience to all governors, 
 and left us the laws and constitution of our 
 country to know who they are, and what they 
 are. — Bp. Sherlock. 
 
 OBEDIENCE, 
 
 The Condition of Spiritual Life. 
 
 Let us walk in the light, as God is in the 
 light; labouring to be holy, as God is also 
 holy, in all manner of conversation ... If 
 holy obedience be made the condition of the 
 promise, of pardon and life, as well as faith, 
 as we see it is, then none but an obedient 
 
 faith can be a performance of the condition of 
 the promise. — Bishop Brownrig. 
 
 If we will hear the voice of the Lord, we 
 must wash our garments and be holy ; if we 
 will be Christ's disciples, we must deny our- 
 selves, take up our cross, and follow Him ; we 
 cannot serve two masters ; if we seek Christ's 
 kingdom, we must also seek for the righteous- 
 ness thereof. — Bradford. 
 
 OBJECTS Desirable of Attainment. 
 
 1. Aim at the attainment of clear and accu- 
 rate habits of thought. Thinking is the exer- 
 cise that strengthens the mind, and without 
 which no progress can be made in mental cul- 
 tivation. A man may read, and hear, and 
 talk, — he may devour volumes, and listen to 
 lectures every night, — and yet, if he does not 
 think, he will make, after all, but little if any 
 improvement. His head will be full of some- 
 thing, but it will be a crowd of lumber, like the 
 articles in a broker's shop. He must think : he 
 must turn over subjects in his mind : he must 
 look at them on every side : he must trace the 
 connection between ideas ; and have everything 
 orderly arranged. A man may even think a 
 great deal, and not think clearly ; his mind 
 may be at work, and yet always in confusion ; 
 there may be no clear arrangement, and it is 
 quite possible to mistake muddiness for depth. 
 There are some men who appear very thought- 
 ful ; but from never aiming at accurate habits 
 of thought, they talk most unintelligibly. There 
 seems to be neither beginning, nor middle, nor 
 end in what they say — all is a confused jumble. 
 Now writing carefully is a good plan for ac- 
 quiring habits of clear and connected thought, 
 since a man is more likely to detect the dis- 
 order of his thoughts in writing than in talk- 
 ing. 
 
 2. Aim at independence of mind. There 
 are some men who go in leading-strings all 
 their days. They always follow in the paths 
 of others, without being able to give any rea- 
 son for their opinions. There is a proper 
 mental independence which all should main- 
 tain — self-respect and the stability of our cha- 
 racter require it. The man who pins his 
 opinions entirely on another's sleeve can have 
 no respect for his own judgment, and is likely 
 to be a changeling. When we consider care- 
 fully what appeals to our minds, and exercise 
 upon it our own reason, taking into respectful 
 consideration what others say upon it, and 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 595 
 
 then come to a conclusion of our own, we act 
 as intelligent beings should act, and only then. 
 This proper independence of mind is far re- 
 moved from presumptuous self-confidence, 
 than which there is nothing more severely to 
 be condemned. Presumption is the associate 
 of ignorance ; and it is hateful in the extreme 
 to hear some half-taught stripling delivering 
 his opinions with all the authority of an oracle. 
 This is not what we mean by mental inde- 
 pendence ; and it is hoped none will mistake 
 what has been said. We refer to a modest, 
 yet firm and independent exercise of judgment 
 upon subjects which the mind understands : in 
 short, we intend only the opposite of that 
 slavish habit which makes one man the mere 
 shadow of another. 
 
 3. Acquire habits of observation. This is 
 all-important. We live in a world of wonders ; 
 and a thousand objects appeal to our observa- 
 tion, and will repay it. How much is to be 
 learned by a proper use of our eyes and ears ! 
 I know no more striking instance of this than 
 that which we have in Gilbert White's "Na- 
 tural History of Selborne," a book which I 
 would recommend to all as deeply interesting, 
 in which several hundred closely-printed pages 
 are filled with the most curious and instructive 
 observations upon nature, made for the most 
 part in the little village of Selborne, where the 
 author spent the greater part of his days. Dr. 
 Franklin, too, whom we have already men- 
 tioned, was remarkable for this useful habit ; 
 and it is well said by Mrs. Barbauld, • * that he 
 would not cross a street without making some 
 obser^'ation beneficial to mankind." Who 
 that has read them can ever forget his essays ? 
 where a knowledge of men and things is dis- 
 covered which could only be the result of 
 close and extensive observation. Books may 
 teach us much ; but observation in some re- 
 spects may teach us more. That practical 
 knowledge so useful in the progress of life, — 
 that tact in business so desirable to possess, — 
 can be gained only in this way. Observation, 
 as a mode of study, is the cheapest and most 
 convenient of all. It may be carried on almost 
 anywhere and everywhere, because in nearly 
 all places in which we are there is something 
 to be learned, if we are disposed to receive 
 instruction. Observation is connected with 
 curiosity ; — the one sharpens the other, and 
 they produce a mutual influence. Now, when 
 curiosity prompts a wish to know more than 
 we do on any particular subject, and we have 
 the means of information in an intelligent 
 
 friend, we should never lose the opportunity of 
 making the needful inquiries. Let not a false 
 pride, lest we should betray ignorance, prevent 
 us from asking a question, when it can be an- 
 swered. How much knowledge do we often 
 lose, by wishing to appear wiser than we really 
 are. Mr. Locke, on being asked how he had 
 contrived to accumulate a mine of knowledge, 
 so rich, deep, and extensive, replied, "That 
 he attributed what little he knew to the not 
 having been ashamed to ask for information ; 
 and to the rule he had laid down, of conversing 
 with all descriptions of men on those topics 
 chiefly that formed their own professions and 
 pursuits ;" and it was also a maxim of the great 
 Sir William Jones never to neglect an oppor- 
 tunity of improvement. 
 
 4. Give attention to reading. Observation, 
 after all, must be limited : we can see and hear 
 but comparatively little : we must avail our- 
 selves therefore of the eyes and ears of others ; 
 and this is to be done through the medium of 
 books. There, the learned and the wise have 
 recorded the results of their observation for 
 our benefit. Those who have but little time 
 should be particularly careful in the selection 
 of what they read. It becomes them not only 
 to avoid what is positively injurious, but also 
 what will prove useless ; to seek and peruse 
 such books as instruct and inform the mind, 
 furnishing them with facts upon which they 
 may meditate themselves ; and as their ac- 
 quaintance with literature is in the very nature 
 of the case circumscribed, in the choice of 
 books to be studied to avail themselves of the 
 advice of the wise and judicious. Reading 
 should be pursued carefully, slowly, and with 
 a determination to understand. To derive be- 
 nefit from reading, we must remember and 
 apply the information we obtain ; but we shall 
 fail to do this unless we read with attention 
 and care. 
 
 5. Cultivate humility. Humility is the 
 attribute of great and noble minds, — and how 
 beautiful does it appear ! Sir Isaac Newton, 
 in the true spirit of humility, spoke of himself 
 at the close of life as a child who had spent his 
 time in gathering pebbles on the shore, while 
 the ocean lay untraversed ; and Mozart, just 
 before he died, said, "Now I begin to see 
 what might be done in music." These ex- 
 pressions were worthy of the men, and they 
 invest their genius with greater loveliness, be- 
 cause they throw over it the graceful mantle of 
 humility. They in fact knew much, and this 
 taught them how much more remained to be 
 
396 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 knowTi. They ascended to a high elevation 
 on the mountain of knowledge, but this only 
 gave them a better idea of the loftiness of the 
 summit. If the circle of light be large, the 
 boundary of darkness will be equally so ; and 
 the more we know, the more we shall be con- 
 vinced of our ignorance. — Rev. J. Stoughton. 
 
 OBSERVATION. 
 
 Particular matters of fact are the undoubted 
 foundations on which our civil and natural 
 knowledge is built : the benefit the understand- 
 ing makes of them is, to draw from them con- 
 clusions, which may be as standing rules of 
 knowledge, and consequently of practice. The 
 mind often makes not that benefit it should of 
 the information it receives from the accounts 
 of civil or natural historians, in being too for- 
 ward, or too slow, in making observations on 
 the particular facts recorded in them. — Locke. 
 
 OBSERVATION lUustrated. 
 
 A DERVISE was journeying alone in the desert, 
 when two merchants suddenly met him : "You 
 have lost a camel," said he to the merchants. 
 "Indeed we have," they replied. "Was he 
 not blind in his right eye, and lame in his left 
 leg ?" said the dervise. " He was," replied the 
 merchants. " Had he lost a front tooth ?" said 
 the dervise. ** He had," rejoined the mer- 
 chants. * ' And was he not loaded with honey 
 on one side, and wheat on the other ?" "Most 
 certainly he was," they replied ; " and as you 
 have seen him so lately, and marked him so 
 particularly, you can, in all probability, con- 
 duct us unto him." "My friends," said the 
 dervise, "I have never seen your camel, or 
 ever heard of him, but from you." " A pretty 
 story, truly !" said the merchants ; " but where 
 are the jewels which formed a part of his car- 
 go?" "I have neither seen your camel nor 
 yourjewels,"repeated the dervise. On this, they 
 seized his person, and forthwith hurried him 
 before the Cadi, where, on the strictest search, 
 nothing could be found upon him, nor could 
 any evidence whatever be adduced to convict 
 him, either of falsehood or of theft. They were 
 then about to proceed against him as a sorcerer, 
 when the dervise, with great calmness, thus ad- 
 dressed the Court : " I have been much amused 
 with your surprise, and own that there has been 
 some ground for your suspicions ; but I have 
 
 lived long, and alone ; and I can find ample 
 scope for observation, even in a desert. I knew 
 that I had crossed the track of a camel that 
 had strayed from its owner, because I saw no 
 mark of any human footstep on the same route ; 
 I knew that the animal was blind in one eye, 
 because it had cropped the herbage only on one 
 side of its path ; and I perceived that it was 
 lame in one leg, from the faint impression 
 which that particular foot had produced upon 
 the sand ; I concluded that the animal had lost 
 one tooth, because wherever it had grazed a 
 small tuft of herbage was left uninjured, in the 
 centre of its bite. As to that which formed 
 the burden of the beast, the busy ants informed 
 me that it was corn on the one side, and the 
 clustering flies that it was honey on the other.** 
 
 OBSTINACY, Jealous. 
 
 She told me. She and James had quarrell'd. 
 
 Why? 
 What cause of quarrel ? None, she said ; no 
 
 cause ; 
 James had no cause : but when I prest the cause 
 I learnt that James had flickering jealousies 
 Which anger'd her. Who anger'd James ? I 
 
 said. 
 But Katie snatch'd her eyes at once from mine. 
 And sketching, with her slender pointed foot, 
 Some figure like a wizard's pentagram 
 On garden gravel, let my query pass 
 Unclaim'd, in flushing silence, till I asked 
 If James were coming. " Coming every day,'^ 
 She answered, " ever longing to explain, 
 But evermore her father came across 
 With some long-winded tale, and broke him 
 
 short ; 
 And James departed vext with him and her." 
 How could I help her? " Would I — was it 
 
 wrong ? " 
 (Claspt hands and that petitionary grace 
 Of sweet seventeen subdued me ere she spoke) 
 " O would I take her father for one hour, 
 For one half hour, and let him talk to me ! " 
 And even while she spoke, I saw where James 
 Made towards us, like a wader in the surf, 
 Beyond the brook, waist-deep in meadow- 
 sweet. Tennyson. 
 
 OCCUPATION for the SorrowfxiL 
 
 Epidemics seize on the feeblest frame — the 
 gout attacks the weakest limb ; and thoughts 
 will revert to the most painful subject, and 
 dwell upon it till mind and body sink beneath 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 397 
 
 the torture. We may chain the limb — we 
 may bridle the tongue ; but who shall stay the 
 mutiny of thought ? Prayer and resolution 
 and constant occupation are the only weapons 
 which can be employed with any hope of con- 
 quest ; but the heart must have been schooled 
 by skilful teaching, or have suffered much, 
 before it will admit this truth. When our 
 spirits are still buoyant, though somewhat 
 lowered — when our hopes are still bright, 
 though somewhat dimmed, we dwell on our 
 woes, and talk of the luxury of grief; but 
 when sorrow upon sorrow has bowed our 
 spirit to the earth, and all its buoyancy is gone 
 — when the brightness of home is all depar- 
 ted — when our tears have all been shed, and 
 a woe has come upon us that no weeping can 
 assuage, then do we feel that grief is not a 
 luxury, that memory is not a joy ; and shrink- 
 ing with a maddening brain from the thoughts 
 of what has been, as the poor tortured wretch 
 still writhing in his agony shrinks from a fresh 
 infliction, we pray for power to endure ; yet, 
 feeling all the anguish of endurance, apply to 
 occupation which may leave us little time to 
 remember, if it gives us not a fresh pursuit on 
 which to spend our energies, instead of wast- 
 ing them in grief. With too little time allowed 
 to thought, the mind becomes inconsequent 
 and frivolous ; but with too much it preys upon 
 itself like ravening beasts, that will devour 
 their kind if not supplied with proper food. 
 Action and thought should go together ; and 
 humble fervent prayer guide each. — Anon. 
 
 OCCUPATIONS and Dispositions, 
 Variety of. 
 
 It is the great wisdom and providence of the 
 Almighty so to order the dispositions and 
 inclinations of men that they affect divers 
 and different works and pleasures ; some are 
 for manuary trades, others for intellectual 
 employments ; one is for the land, another for 
 the sea ; one for husbandry, another for mer- 
 chandise ; one is for architecture, another for 
 vestiary services ; one is for fishing, another 
 for pasturage ; and in the learned trades, one 
 is for the mistress of the sciences, divinity ; 
 another for the law, whether civil or municipal ; 
 a third is for the search of the secrets of nature, 
 and the skill and practice of physic ; and each 
 one of these divides itself into many differing 
 varieties. Neither is it otherwise in matter of 
 pleasures : one places his delight in following 
 
 his hawk and hound, another in the harmony 
 of music ; one makes his garden his paradise, 
 and enjoys the flourishing of his fair tulips, 
 another finds contentment in a choice library ; 
 one loves his bowl or his bow, another pleases 
 himself in the patient pastime of his angle. 
 For surely, if all men affected one and the 
 same trade of life, or pleasure of recreation, 
 it were not possible that they could live one by 
 another ; neither could there be any use of 
 commerce, whereby man's life is maintained ; 
 neither could it be avoided but that the envy 
 of the inevitable rivality would cut each other's 
 throats. It is good reason we should make a 
 right use of this gracious and provident dispen- 
 sation of the Almighty ; and therefore that we 
 should improve our several dispositions and 
 faculties to the advancing of the common 
 stock ; and withal, that we should neither en- 
 croach upon each other's profession nor be apt 
 to censure each other's recreation. — Bishop 
 Hall. 
 
 OCCUPATIONS, 
 
 Fondness of Men for their. 
 
 The German miner, who leads the most toil- 
 some life, and is more scantily rewarded than 
 any other labourer, speaks with a kind of 
 enthusiasm of his pursuit. He loves it because 
 it is totally different from anything else. The 
 life of a German waggoner should certainly be 
 considered a stupid and dreary one. To walk 
 slowly, step by step, by the side of a team, 
 day after day, on the same route, on which he 
 knows every innkeeper's face, and every rise 
 and descent of the road, cannot be believed to 
 have many attractions. Yet he speaks with 
 delight of his trade. In one of my pedestrian 
 journeys I met with a train of heavily-laden 
 waggons proceeding to Leipzig shortly before 
 the fair. I entered into a conversation with 
 the eldest of the waggoners, who, in informing 
 me of his course of life, told me of the several 
 diseases to which he was subject, and men- 
 tioned that he had remained at home for some 
 time in consequence of sickness. As these 
 men are generally wealthy, I evinced my asto- 
 nishment that he again exposed himself to the 
 inclemency of the weather, as his state of 
 health seemed to warrant no such exposure. 
 ** Ah," said the old man, jogging along on his 
 crooked legs, "a waggoner cannot remain at 
 home — we love our profession. " — Dr. Francis 
 Lieber. 
 
39S 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 OCEAN, A Solemn Joy in. 
 
 The dark pile of cloud shook with the voice 
 Of Zeus, who answer'd — "He shall be restored, 
 But not retum'd to earth. His cycle moves 
 Ascending ! " The deep sea the announce- 
 ment heard ; 
 And from beneath its ever-shifting thrones, 
 The murmuring of a solemn joy sent up. 
 
 Home. 
 
 OCEAN, its Beauty and Sublimity. 
 
 Beautiful, sublime, and glorious ; 
 
 Mild, majestic, foaming, free ; — 
 Over time itself victorious. 
 
 Image of eternity. 
 
 Epithet-exhausting Ocean ! 
 
 'Twere as easy to control 
 In the storm thy billowy motion, 
 
 As thy wonders to unrol. 
 
 Sun, and moon, and stars shine o'er thee, 
 See thy surface ebb and flow ; 
 
 Yet attempt not to explore thee 
 In thy soundless depths below. 
 
 Whether morning's splendours steep thee 
 With the rainbow's glowing grace, 
 
 Tempests rouse, or navies sweep thee, 
 'Tis but for a moment's space. 
 
 Earth, — her valleys, and her mountains, 
 
 Mortal man's behests obey ; 
 Thy unfathomable fountains 
 
 ScoflF his search, and scorn his swaj'. 
 
 Such art thou — stupendous Ocean ! 
 
 But, if overwhelmed by thee, 
 Can we think without emotion 
 
 What must thy Creator be ? 
 
 Barton. 
 
 OCEAN, its Immensity. 
 
 As a giant's slumber, loud and deep. 
 Thou speakest in the East and in the West 
 At once, and on thy heavily-laden breast 
 Fleets come and go, and shapes that have no 
 
 life 
 Or motion yet are moved and meet in strife. 
 The earth hath nought of this ; no chance nor 
 
 change 
 Ruffles its surface, and no spirits dare 
 Give answer to the tempest-waken air ; 
 But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range 
 At will, and wound its bosom as they go : 
 Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow ; 
 
 But in their stated rounds the seasons come. 
 And pass like visions to their viewless home. 
 And come again, and vanish : the young Spring 
 Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming, 
 And Winter always winds his sullen horn. 
 When the wild Autumn with a look forlorn 
 Dies in his stormy manhood ; and the skies 
 Weep, and flowers sicken when the Summer 
 
 flies. 
 Thou only, terrible Ocean, hast a power, 
 A will, a voice, and in thy wrathful hour. 
 When thou dost lift thine anger to the clouds, 
 A fearful and magnificent beauty shrouds 
 Thy broad green forehead. If thy waves be 
 
 driven 
 Backwards and forwards by the shifting wind, 
 How quickly dost thou thy great strength un- 
 bind, 
 And stretch thine arms, and war at once with 
 Heaven ! 
 Thou trackless and immeasurable Main ! 
 On thee no record ever lived again 
 To meet the hand that writ it : line nor lead 
 Hath ever fathomed thy profoundest deeps. 
 Where haply the huge monster swells and 
 
 sleeps. 
 King of his watery limit, who 'tis said 
 Can move the mighty ocean into storm — 
 Oh ! wonderful thou art, great element ; 
 And fearful in thy spleeny humours bent. 
 And lovely in repose : thy summer form 
 Is beautiful, and when thy silver waves 
 Make music in earth's dark and winding caves, 
 I love to wander on thy pebbled beach, 
 Marking the sunlight at the evening hour. 
 And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach— 
 "Eternity, Eternity, and Power." 
 
 OCEAN, The, 
 A Secret World of Wonders. 
 
 And thou, majestic main ! 
 A secret world of wonders in thyself, 
 Sound His stupendous praise, whose greater 
 
 voice 
 Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 OCEAN, The, her Grandeur. 
 Of all the sublime objects which Nature, in 
 her infinitely- varying appearances, is constantly 
 offering to our view, there is none which excites 
 in the mind such lofty ideas of her real majesty 
 and grandeur as the sea. Other objects in na- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 399 
 
 ture are capable of exciting these feelings, but 
 not to so great an extent ; a long chain of lofty 
 mountains, traversing the whole width of some 
 large continent, as those of South America, or 
 the mountains of the moon in Africa, or the 
 less gigantic piles of the Alpine or Pyrennean 
 scenery, will compel us to feel irresistibly the 
 vastness and magnificence of Nature ; but still 
 they are, comparatively speaking, easily tra- 
 velled over, their altitude taken, their extent 
 measured, till the eye becomes familiarized 
 with their bulk, and considers them, in refer- 
 ence to the whole size of the earth, merely as 
 insignificant mole-hills projecting from its sur- 
 face ; but the sea, stretched out in its mighty 
 expanse, gives us some notion of immensity, 
 at least more completely so than any other 
 object which Nature can offer. There are 
 depths and profundities in it which have never 
 been fathomed, and paths in it which have 
 never been tracked ; it is true, indeed, that man 
 can skim its surface, and traverse it to any ex- 
 tent and in every direction, but he can make 
 no durable impression upon the ungovernable 
 element, can never tread again the same path, 
 his bark can never travel again in the same 
 furrow, the waters close over it for ever, and 
 present again the same aspect as before, never 
 changed, except by their own motion, and 
 never acted upon, except by the agents of 
 Nature. 
 
 There is something magnificent and imposing 
 in the changelessness of the ocean ; age after 
 age it maintains the regularity of its tides, 
 never overstepping the barriers with which 
 Nature has enclosed it, and never yielding that 
 ground on which its waters first flowed, never 
 showing its all-hidden channels, or developing 
 those secrets which must for ever remain un- 
 told in the depths of its caverns and abysses ; 
 it still obeys the command of Deity, " Hither- 
 to shalt thou come and no further, and here 
 shall thy proud waves be stayed." Nor is 
 there in the whole range of Nature a grander 
 or more magnificent scene than the ocean in a 
 storm, when deep calls unto deep, and its liquid 
 moxmtains roll and break against each other, 
 when it dashes to pieces, in the wantonness of 
 its power, the strongest structures which man 
 can rear for the purpose of floating over its 
 billows ; then it is that the proudest and 
 bravest tremble and quail at the roaring and 
 thunder of its waters. If we look at it in a 
 calm, too, there is something almost as impos- 
 ing in its aspect ; stretched out in its sleeping 
 tranquillity, but looking fearfully deep, and its 
 
 silence seeming like that of the lion when 
 crouching for his prey. 
 
 And the treasures which it holds are well 
 worthy the mysteriousness and seclusion and 
 security of the caskeL There, amidst its in- 
 most recesses, amidst its caverns and hidden 
 depths, are contained secrets which can never 
 be divulged ; there the mighty monsters of the 
 deep, many of them unknown to us, play and 
 sport ; there the beautiful beds of pearl and 
 coral hide their bright treasures ; there the 
 tough and hardy sea-weed clings to its isolated 
 and solitary rock, fathoms and fathoms below 
 the surface of the water ; there, doubtless, 
 lies many a beautiful spot which, if it could be 
 elevated from beneath the superincumbent 
 weight of waters, would be found some beau- 
 tiful island, glittering with all the treasures of 
 the ocean — 
 
 Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
 The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear. 
 Yes — they waste all their beauty upon its lonely 
 and unseen caverns, where the light of day 
 scarcely sheds sufiicient radiance to create and 
 preserve colour. And oh, if the wave could 
 speak in any other language than that of its 
 own harsh thunder, how many tales of agony 
 and suffering might it unfold ! What myriads 
 of our fellow- creatures have been swallowed 
 up in its fathomless depths ! \Miat myriads of 
 human bones bestrew the floor of the ocean ! 
 But not for ever shall they be entombed there ; 
 the day will come when the deep shall be called 
 upon to "deliver up its dead," and disclose 
 the secrets it contains. — H, 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 Time for Enjojrment Never Passed. 
 
 " Old," in the popular sense of aged and de- 
 crepid as to body, denotes a state of things 
 which pertains to man only in his animal, 
 temporal relations. This kind of oldness 
 goes along with eating, drinking, and so 
 forth; the idea of it, therefore, should be 
 wholly detached from the mind when we 
 would think of a man in his highest or 
 spiritual reality. The soul that is in right 
 order concerns itself little about physical age, 
 — no more than about death : for youth and 
 life preoccupy its interest. Neither does it 
 feel old age to be an evil. Physical old age, 
 like mortality, is afflictive in proportion to 
 the want of inward strength to fall back upon. 
 ** It is painful," says one who has proved the 
 
400 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 value of such strength, "it is painful to grow 
 old, to lose by degrees the suppleness, strength, 
 and activity of the body ; to perceive each 
 day our organs becoming weaker ; but when 
 we feel that the soul, constantly exercised, be- 
 comes daily more reflective, more strong to 
 sustain, without yielding to the shock of 
 accidents, gaining upon the one hand what 
 we lose upon the other, then we are no longer 
 sensible of growing old," If the soul be not 
 young, youth as to birthdays has no advantage 
 over senility. To men who have no resource 
 in themselves for being happy, every age is 
 burdensome ; and were those who complain 
 of the shortness of life as bringing them so 
 soon to the weakness and torpidity of old age, 
 to live for seven hundred years, instead of 
 seventy, they would be none the better oft*. 
 People past their bodily prime are often heard 
 complaining of the decline and degeneracy of 
 things. Since they were young, they say, the 
 world has lost its old simplicities, beauty is 
 tarnished, and novelty at an end. What does 
 it amount to ? Simply, that they who utter 
 these dismal ditties have not cared to keep 
 alive the sympathies which keep a man along 
 with his age ; that they have not cultivated a 
 habit of genial observation, but have shut 
 themselves up in self and sophistication, under 
 the delusion that the pleasures of youth belong 
 only to the young in years. Foolish and 
 lamentable error ! If men have little or no 
 pleasure in their experience of the changes 
 which are brought by increase of years, it is 
 because they are good and wise enough to 
 find and contemplate the past in the present, 
 and thus induce a sweet and meditative con- 
 tinuity of earliest life. Dulness is not in 
 lapse of years, but in the unskilful use of them ; 
 the tedium of a long journey is not in the 
 miles, but in the complainer ; if time be 
 tiresome, it is because we do not spin amuse- 
 ment out of ourselves, as silkworms spin their 
 soul. With the man who has really lived, the 
 time is never i)ast for sublime pleasures. 
 Though many he enjoyed in his youth may no 
 longer be accessible, by reason of his failing 
 muscles, his capacity for the attainable is free 
 and buoyant to the last 
 
 My heart leaps up when I behold 
 
 The rainbow in the sky ! 
 So was it when I was a boy ; 
 So is it now I am a man ; 
 So be it when I shall grow old, 
 
 Or let me die ! Leo W. Grindon, 
 
 OLD Maid. 
 
 As on the naked plain th' unwedded vine 
 Nor lifts the head nor forms the generous wine, 
 But sinking with its weight its tallest shoot 
 Reflected, bends to meet the distant root ; 
 Unhonoured, sterile, and forlorn it stands, 
 Untill'd by lab'ring steers or rustic hands ; 
 But should a husband elm its aid extend. 
 Both lab'ring steers and rustic hinds attend ! 
 
 Catullus. 
 
 OLIVE, The, and the Laurel. 
 
 An Olive near a Laurel grew, 
 Their leafy honours pleas'd the view. 
 For wide their spreading branches made, 
 A seeming happy friendly shade ; 
 But oft appearances abuse, 
 And Envy soft Content pursues. 
 Insinuating to the breast, 
 You are the worst, and I the best. 
 Pride always follows Envy's dart, 
 And Rancour ulcerates the part. 
 Near neighbours call each other names, 
 The meek submits, the bold declaims. 
 — The Laurel, full of fire and spirit, 
 And rather partial to his merit. 
 Askance the peaceful Olive spied. 
 And inward swell'd with rage and pride ; 
 She thought that she was much disgrac'd. 
 To have the Ohve near her placed ; 
 And in these words, more vain than kind, 
 'Tis said that she disclosed her mind: — 
 
 ** 'Tis I the hero's temples bind 
 And crown whate'er of worth's design'd. 
 Do not all those that follow fame. 
 As their reward the laurel claim ? 
 Mars would refuse to aid a quarrel, 
 But for the promissory laurel. 
 The Muses, when they dance and sing 
 Around the Heliconian spring. 
 First with a sprig of laurel spread, 
 Must fillet up each virgin's head. 
 In this, 'tis very plain to see 
 How largely 'tis to honour me. 
 So near me, you, is downright murder ; 
 You poor tame-looking thing, grow fur- 
 ther, 
 Nor dare to rank with me aspire, 
 Whose soul with glory is on fire." 
 The gentle Olive waved her head. 
 And modestly in turn she said : — 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 401 
 
 " Hear me, thou fav'rite of Apollo ! 
 Whom all the bards and heroes follow : 
 I own great honours are your due, 
 And I am humble tree to you ; 
 Yet, when Peace crowns each happy land. 
 She holds the olive in her hand. 
 Nations behold the bloodless sign. 
 And blessings quite sincere are mine ; 
 Then strikes the bard the tuneful strings, 
 And sweet beneath the olive sings. 
 Yes, still thy glories I increase, 
 What's sought in war is pluck'd in peace : 
 Then let thy unjust hate subside. 
 And throw away insulting pride ; 
 Henceforward let us mutual join, 
 The olive with the laurel twine ; 
 Our fame will thence alike increase 
 Wit, learning, glory, honour, peace." 
 Scots Alagazine. 
 
 OMNIPOTENCE of the Creator. 
 The same Being that fashioned the insect, 
 whose existence is only discerned by a micro- 
 scrope, and gave that invisible speck a system 
 of ducts and other organs to perform its vital 
 functions, created the enormous mass of the 
 planet thirteen hundred times larger than our 
 earth, and launched it in its course round the 
 Sim, and the comet, wheeling with a velocity 
 that would carry it round our globe in less than 
 two minutes of time, and yet revolving through 
 so prodigious a space that it takes near six cen- 
 turies to encircle the sun ! — Lord Brougham. 
 
 OMNISCIENCE, God's. 
 
 God is infinite in knowledge. One day is 
 with him as a thousand years, and a thousand 
 years as one day. Such are the narrow limits 
 of the human mind that no man can know 
 much beyond the present moment of his ex- 
 istence ; therefore every fresh hour of time 
 brings him acquainted with somewhat of which 
 he was ignorant before. None can certainly 
 foresee what will take place, though but an 
 hour hence. When time has brought the oc- 
 currences to view, we know them ; but imtil 
 their arrival, we do not know the things which 
 are most interesting to us. Each day is teach- 
 ing us something, and presenting that to our 
 notice which we do not in the least expect. 
 Time is a river, the waves of which bring us 
 each moment into contact with scenes still 
 difi'erent from those which we have passed ; we 
 
 perceive ourselves to be approaching to some 
 things, and reluctantly receding from others ; 
 — the object which was at first indistinctly per- 
 ceived soon draws near, and is as quickly suc- 
 ceeded by others ; like travellers, to which 
 we are so often compared, we learn our progress 
 from the new scenes which open upon us, and 
 by losing those over which we have passed. 
 It is the same sun which directs our senses ; but 
 in his light new objects are continually arising : 
 we are in the same world, but there is still di- 
 versity. Did time present nothing to remind 
 us of its lapse, we should be greatly insensible 
 of it ; like the vessel which has no sight of the 
 shore, or a traveller in a wilderness of sand. 
 In this respect our nature is exactly opposed to 
 that of the infinite Jehovah. His knowledge 
 is infinite ; he sees the end from the beginning ; 
 he beholds all future events, all to which etei- 
 nity itself will give existence in the same clear 
 light, and with the same perfect understanding, 
 as those of the present moment : the present 
 and the future are one. Nothing will transpire 
 which was not fully expected ; nothing has any 
 novelty to excite surprise. He saw the world 
 and its inhabitants from eternity as clearly as 
 when they were actually brought into being. 
 The character, the pursuits, the casualties of 
 the last generations of mankind are no less 
 clearly known to him than those of the present. 
 The day of judgment, and its important results 
 respecting each individual, is beheld with as 
 certain knowledge as the events of the day whose 
 morning sun now shines. There is no action of 
 men or angels ; no thought which, while eter- 
 nity flows on, will cross the mind of men or 
 angels, but is already understood in a manner 
 so absolute that the occurrence will not in- 
 crease the certainty. Eternity itself is to him 
 a simple object of attention ; his view steadily 
 embraces it ; he fathoms its depths and com- 
 prehends its limits. Succession, by which our 
 minds become impressed with the notion of 
 time, has no relation to God, from whose view 
 nothing ever retires, or to which nothing ever 
 advances. One day is with him as a thousand 
 years.— 6". Young. 
 
 OPINION, Aberrations of. 
 
 The aberrations of opinion prove only that 
 the most bold, not the most virtuous, press 
 forward to announce their principles. These 
 principles cannot annihilate that secret and 
 universal opinion, that voice 01 conscience, 
 
4o: 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 without which the moral world would have 
 presented only a chaos. Consult those men 
 who have been instructed by the lessons of re- 
 ligion, and of wisdom and experience ; con- 
 sult those whom you would choose to resemble, 
 and their first precept will be that you descend 
 into yourself. If we interrogate Conscience in 
 good faith, she will enlighten us. The inward 
 monitor will surely awake. She makes herself 
 heard in the tumult of our vices, even against 
 our will. — Drury. 
 
 OPINION, Worthless, of the Mob. 
 
 That the voice of the common people is the 
 voice of God is as full of falsehood as 
 commonness. For who sees not that those 
 black-mouthed hounds, upon the mere scent 
 of opinion, as freely spend their mouths in 
 hunting counter, or like Actoeon's dogs, in 
 chasing an innocent man to death, as if they 
 followed the chase of truth itself, in a fresh 
 scent. Who observes not that the voice of the 
 people, yea of that people that voiced them- 
 selves the people of God, did prosecute the 
 God of all people, with one common voice, 
 " He is worthy to die." I will not, therefore, 
 ambitiously beg their voices for my prefer- 
 ment ; nor weigh my worth in that uneven 
 balance, in which a feather of opinion shall be 
 moment enough to turn the scales and make a 
 light piece go current, and a current piece 
 seem light. — Arthur Warwick. 
 
 OPINIONS, Wrong Founded. 
 
 When they come to model Heaven 
 i\nd calculate the stars, how they will wield 
 The mighty frame j how build, unbuild, 
 
 contrive. 
 To save appearances ; how gird the sphere 
 With centric and eccentric scribbled o'er, 
 Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb. — Milton. 
 
 OPPORTUNITY, to be Improved. 
 
 You do well to improve your opportunity ; to 
 speak in the rural phrase, this is your sowing 
 time, and the sheaves you look for can never be 
 yours, unless you make that use of it. The 
 colour of our whole life is generally such as 
 the three or four first years in which we are 
 our own masters make it. Then it is that we 
 
 may be said to shape our own destiny, and to 
 treasure up for ourselves a series of future 
 successes or disappointments. — Cowper. 
 
 OPPOSITION to Improvement. 
 
 In France, as elsewhere, every improvement 
 has had to struggle against vehement opposi- 
 tion. The proprietors of old machines look 
 with jealousy and dislike upon those who in- 
 troduce any changes likely to diminish the 
 value or supersede the use of those in which 
 their property is invested ; and these improve- 
 ments are most difficult of introduction when 
 they are either completely new or of foreign 
 origin ; as, in that case, the whole of the exist- 
 ing interests are against their introduction. In 
 a protected trade, and in the exact proportion 
 of the efficiency of protection, imperfect instru- 
 ments will be employed ; the motives to adopt 
 better modes are almost wholly destroyed, 
 and the interest of the existing manufacturers 
 is to combine against the intrusion of improved 
 methods of fabrication. The Jacquard loom, 
 the bar loom, and the machinery which adapts 
 the broad loom to riband weaving, would 
 never have been forced upon France but from 
 the improvement-creating pressure of foreign 
 competition. The Jacquard machinery sub- 
 jected its inventor to be almost hunted out of 
 society ; the introducer of the bar loom died 
 in an hospital ; and the late employment 
 of the common loom for riband weaving would 
 never have been sanctioned, had not the riband 
 trade absolutely departed from Lyons, and 
 forced the manufacturers there to new exer- 
 cises of ingenuity in order to win it back again ; 
 and in this, to a considerable extent, they have 
 succeeded. — Dr. Bowring. 
 
 OPTION, Freedom in, Withheld. 
 
 Wisely from man his Maker has withheld 
 Freedom of option, or to live or die ; 
 Else, quick to quarrel with a cloudy sky, 
 The human spirit, by caprice impell'd. 
 Or lur'd by fiends, who 'gainst their God 
 
 rebell'd. 
 Would spurn existence. Heaven's rich gift 
 
 belie. 
 And from the slander'd charms of Nature fly, 
 Leagued with her foes, by virtue to be quell'd. 
 
MOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 403 
 
 In changeful scenes, mortality's domain ! 
 Let piety prepare the mind elate 
 Bliss to enjoy, or sorrow to sustain, 
 Firm as her sightless bard, whose heavenly 
 
 strain 
 May reconcile the soul to lingering fate ! 
 *' They also serve, who only stand and wait." 
 W. Hayley. 
 
 ORDER, Nature's First Law. 
 
 It is humbling to the pride of human reason, 
 but it is not the less true, that the highest 
 acquirement ever made by the most exalted 
 genius of man has been only to trace a part, 
 and a very small part, of that order which the 
 Deity has established in his works. When we 
 endeavour to pry into the causes of this order, 
 we perceive the operation of powers which lie 
 far beyond the reach of our limited faculties. 
 They who have made the highest advances in 
 true science will be the first to confess how 
 limited these faculties are, and how small a 
 part they can comprehend of the wajrs of the 
 Almighty Creator. They wiU be the fii-st to 
 acknowledge that the highest acquirement of 
 human wisdom is to advance to that line which 
 is its legitimate boundary, and there contem- 
 plating the wondrous field which lies beyond 
 it, to bend in humble adoration before a wis- 
 dom which it cannot fathom, and a power 
 "which it cannot comprehend. — Abercrombie, 
 
 ORGANS, ExtemaL 
 
 How sweet to muse upon His skiU displayed 
 (Infinite skiU !) in all that He has made j 
 To trace in Nature's most minute design 
 The signature and stamp of Power Divine ; 
 Contrivance exquisite expressed with ease. 
 Where imassisted sight no beauty sees ; 
 The shapely limb and lubricated joint 
 Within the small dimensions of a point : 
 Muscle and nerve miraculously spun, 
 His mighty work who speaks, and it is done : 
 Th* invisible in things scarce seen revealed ; 
 To whom an atom is an ample field. 
 
 C(mper. 
 
 OURSELVES, Not Altogether Alone. 
 
 Nature, as well as Christianity, teaches us, 
 that we are not bom only for ourselves ; and, 
 therefore, as we ought to converse with the 
 best men to acquire virtue and knowledge, so 
 
 we must sometimes converse with others, that 
 we may impart them : and though we do not 
 find that our conversation does immediately 
 and visibly reform those we converse with, yet 
 it will not follow that it is altogether ineffec- 
 tual on them : for besides that the seeds of 
 virtue and knowledge, as well as those of 
 plants, may long seem to lie dead, even in those 
 soils wherein they will afterwards flourish and 
 fructify, there may be at present a good, though 
 not a conspicuous, effect of your discourse and 
 example. — Boyle. 
 
 PAINTER, his Limits. 
 A PAINTER that would draw a rose, though he 
 may flourish some likeness of it in figure and 
 colour, yet he can never paint the scent and 
 fragrancy ; or if he would draw a flame, he can- 
 not put a constant heat into his colours. All the 
 skill of cunning artisans and mechanics cannot 
 put a principle or life into a statue of their own 
 making. Neither are we able to inclose in 
 words and letters the life, soul, and essence of 
 any spiritual truths, — Cudworth, 
 
 PAINTING-, Apostrophe to. 
 
 Bless'd be the skill which thus enshrines the 
 
 great. 
 And rescues virtue from oblivious fate ! 
 Which seems to fix the falling stars of mind, 
 And still preserve their lustre to mankind ! 
 Immortal art ! whose touch embalms the brave. 
 Discomforts death, and triumphs o'er the 
 
 grave ! 
 In thee our heroes live, our beauties bloom. 
 Defy decay, and breathe beyond the tomb ! 
 Mirror divine ! which gives the soul to view. 
 Reflects the image, and retains it too ! 
 Recals to friendship's eye the fading face. 
 Revives each look, and rivals every grace. 
 In thee the banish'd lover finds relief. 
 His bliss in absence, and his balm in grief. 
 Affection, grateful, owns thy sacred power. 
 The father feels thee in affliction's hour ; 
 W^hen catching life ere some lov'd cherub flies. 
 To take its angel station in the skies. 
 The portrait soothes the loss it can't repair. 
 And sheds a comfort, even in despair. 
 How bursts the flood of sorrow past control ! 
 What sense of anguish rushes o'er the soul ! 
 When turning from the last sad rite that gave 
 His heart's best joy for ever to the grave. 
 The widow'd husband sees his sainted wife. 
 In picture warm, and smiling as in life : 
 
404 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Yet tho' 'tis madness on that form to dwell, 
 Now cold and mould'ring in its clammy cell ; 
 Tho' each soft trait that seems immortal there, 
 But deeper strikes the dagger of despair ; 
 Say, if for worlds he would the gift forego, 
 That mocks his eye, and bids the current flow? 
 No ; while he gazes with convulsive thrill, 
 And weeps and wonders at the semblance still, 
 He breathes a blessing on the pencil's aid, 
 That half restores the substance in the shade. 
 SirM, A. Shee, R.A. 
 
 PAPER, On. 
 
 Some wits of old (such wits of old there were), 
 Whose hints show'd meaning, whose allusions 
 
 care, 
 By one grave stroke to mark all human kind, 
 Call'd clear Blank Paper ev'ry infant mind ; 
 When still, as opening sense her dictates wrote, 
 Fair virtue put a seal, or vice a blot. 
 The thought was happy, pertinent, and true ; 
 Methinks a genius might the plan pursue. 
 I — can you pardon my presumption ? — I, 
 No wit, no genius, yet for once will try. 
 
 Various the papers' various wants produce, 
 The wants of fashion, elegance, and use. 
 Men are as various ; and (if right I scan) 
 Each sort of paper represents some man. 
 
 Pray note the fop, half powder and half lace, 
 Nice as a bandbox were his dwelling-place. 
 He's the Gilt Paper, which apart you store, 
 And lock from vulgar hands in Escrutoire. 
 
 Mechanics, farmers, servants, and so forth. 
 Are Copy Paper of inferior worth. 
 Less priz'd, more useful, for your desk decreed. 
 Free to all pens, and prompt at ev'ry need. 
 
 The wretch whom av'rice bids to pinch and 
 spare, 
 Starve, cheat, and pilfer, to enrich — an heir. 
 Is coarse Brown Paper, such as pedlars chuse 
 To wrap up wares, which better men will use. 
 
 Take next the miser's contrast, who destroys 
 Health, fame, and fortune, in a round of joys. 
 Will any paper match him ? Yes, throughout 
 He's a true Sinking Paper, past all doubt. 
 
 The retail politician's anxious thought 
 Deems this side always right, and that stark 
 
 naught. 
 He foams with censure, with applause he raves, 
 A dupe of rumours, and a tool of knaves. 
 He'll want no type his weakness to proclaim. 
 While such a thing as Fool's-Cap has a name. 
 
 The hasty gentleman, whose blood runs high. 
 Who picks a quarrel if you step awry. 
 
 Who can't a jest, or hint, or look, endure ; 
 
 What is he ? What — Touch Paper, to be sure. 
 
 What are our poets, take 'em as they fall. 
 
 Good, bad, rich, poor, much read, not read 
 at all ? 
 
 Them and their works in the same class you'll 
 find. 
 
 They are — the mere Waste Paper of mankind. 
 Observe the maiden, innocently sweet ! 
 
 She's fair White Paper, an unsully'd sheet, 
 
 On which the happy man whom fate ordains 
 
 May write his name, and take her for his pains- 
 One instance more, and only one I'll bring, 
 
 'Tis the great man who scorns a little thing, 
 
 Whose thoughts, whose deeds, whose maxims 
 are his own, 
 
 Form'd on the feelings of his heart alone ; 
 
 True genuine Royal Paper is his breast. 
 
 Of all the kinds most precious, purest, best. 
 Scots Magazine. 
 
 PARABLE, a Sententious Saying. 
 
 The word "parable" is sometimes used in 
 Scripture in a large and general sense, and 
 applied to short sententious sayings, maxims, 
 or aphorisms, expressed in a figurative, pro- 
 verbial, or even poetical manner. But in its 
 strict and appropriate meaning, especially as 
 applied to our Saviour's parables, it signifies 
 a short narrative of some event or fact, real or 
 fictitious, in which a continued comparison is 
 carried on between sensible and spiritual ob- 
 jects ; and under this similitude some impor- 
 tant doctrine, moral or religious, is conveyed 
 and enforced. — Bishop Porteus. 
 
 PARADISE, Description of. 
 
 Health floats amid the gentle atmosphere. 
 Glows in the fruits, and mantles on the stream ; 
 No s"torm deforms the beaming brow of heaven. 
 Nor scatters in the freshness of its pride 
 The foliage of the ever- verdant trees ; 
 But fruits are ever ripe, flowers ever fair. 
 And Autumn proudly bears her matron grace, 
 Kindling a flush on the fair cheek of Spring, 
 Whose virgin bloom, beneath the ruddy fruit. 
 Reflects its tint and flushes into love. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 PARENTAL Responsibility. 
 
 And what will parents be able to say to God 
 at the day of judgment, for all their neglect of 
 their children, in matter of instruction and 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 405 
 
 example, and restraint from evil ? How will 
 it make your ears tingle when God shall arise 
 terribly to judgment, and say to you. Behold 
 the children which I have given you ; they 
 were ignorant, and you instructed them not ; 
 they made themselves vile, and you restrained 
 them not. Why did you not have them in- 
 structed and trained up in piety and devotion ? 
 You have neglected this duty, and now your 
 ■children, whose souls you have ruined by your 
 neglect, will follow you to hell, to be an 
 addition to your torments there. Will not 
 your children themselves challenge you at that 
 day, and say to you, one by one, "Had you 
 been as careful to teach me the good know- 
 ledge of the Lord as I was capable of learning 
 it ; had you been as forward to instruct me in 
 my duty as I was ready to have hearkened to 
 it, it had not been with me as it is this day? 
 I had not now stood here trembling, in fearful 
 •expectation of the eternal doom which is just 
 ready to be passed upon me. " — Abp. Tillotson. 
 
 PARENTS, their Reward. 
 
 How pleasant it is for a father to sit at his 
 ■child's board. It is like the aged man re- 
 clining under the shadow of the oak which he 
 lias planted. — Scots Magazine. 
 
 PARENTS to be Honoured. 
 Children, honour your parents in your 
 "hearts ; bear them not only awe and respect, 
 t)ut kindness and affection : love their persons, 
 fear to do anything that may justly provoke 
 them ; highly esteem them as the instruments 
 under God of your being : for ' ' Ye shall fear 
 every man his mother and his father." How 
 cursed a thing it is to set light by parents, and 
 •even in our secretest thoughts to despise them. 
 God himself declares, ** Cursed be he that 
 setteth light by his father or his mother, and 
 all the people shall say, Amen." Be your con- 
 verse with them sweetened with respect and 
 regard, and so likewise your converse with 
 •others of them. Let humility crown your car- 
 riage towards them ; give ear unto their in- 
 structions, and carefully lay up their precepts 
 in your hearts ; in an especial manner those 
 that concern the welfare of your souls ; 
 '* Hearken unto thy father that begat thee, 
 .and despise not thy mother when she is old." 
 In obedience to God, who enjoins it, and for 
 conscience sake, obey all their lawful com- 
 
 mands, do such things as may bring joy and 
 comfort to them, and be careful to avoid what- 
 soever may grieve or afflict them : so shall you 
 have delight unto your souls. — Cradock. 
 
 It is certain whatever can be signified by 
 fear, and honour, and reverence, is the duty of 
 children : that is, so far as to think honourably 
 of them, to speak well of them, to conceal 
 their faults, to excuse them to others, and to 
 comport themselves with reverence and great 
 regard before them . . . Children must be sub- 
 ject to their parents without all malice or per- 
 verseness ; and in all simplicity, that is, in- 
 genuousness of words and manners. * ' Grieve 
 them in nothing ;" this is the surest measure. — 
 Bp.J. Taylor. 
 
 PARISH-BOY. 
 There was he pinch'd and pitied, thump'd 
 
 and fed. 
 And duly took his beatings and his bread ; 
 Patient in all control, in all abuse, 
 He found contempt and kicking have their use ; 
 Sad, silent, supple, bending to the blow, 
 A slave of slaves, the lowest of the low ; 
 His pliant soul gave way to all things base, 
 He knew no shame, he dreaded no disgrace. 
 It seem'd so well his passions he suppress'd. 
 No feeling stirred his ever torpid breast ; 
 Him might the meanest pauper bruise and 
 
 cheat, 
 He was a footstool for the beggars' feet ; 
 His were the legs that ran at all commands, 
 They used on all occasions Richard's hands. ' 
 His very soul was not his own ; he stole 
 As others order'd, and without a dole ; 
 In all disputes, on either part he lied. 
 And freely pledged his oath on either side ; 
 In all rebellions Richard join'd the rest ; 
 In all detections Richard first confess'd. 
 Base was his usage, vile his whole employ. 
 And all despis'd and fed the pliant boy. 
 At length, *"Tis time he should abroad be 
 
 sent," 
 Was whisper'd near him — and abroad he went. 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 PARTING. 
 
 And so, without more circumstance at all, 
 I hold it fit that we shake hands and part : 
 You, as your business and desire shall point 
 
 you;— 
 For every man hath business and desire, 
 Such as it is ; — and for my own poor part, 
 Look you, I'll go pray. Shakespeare. 
 
4o6 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 PARTING, Agony of. 
 In trembling arms the weeping, haggard king 
 Caught Psyche, who like some half-lifeless thing 
 Took all his kisses, and no word could say, 
 Until at last perforce he turned away ; 
 Because the longest agony has end, 
 And homeward thro' the twilight did they 
 wend. Win. Morris. 
 
 PARTING, its Hardship. 
 Art thou gone so ? my lord, my love, my friend 
 I must hear from thee every day i' the hour. 
 For in a minute there are many days : 
 Oh, by this count I shall be much in years 
 Ere I again behold my Romeo ! Shakespeare. 
 
 PARTING, Loth to. 
 'Tis almost morning ; I would have thee gone : 
 And yet no farther than a wanton's bird ; 
 Who lets it hop a little from her hand, 
 Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, 
 And with a silk thread plucks it back again. 
 So loving jealous of his liberty. Shakespeare. 
 
 PARTING of Friends. 
 Sweet Valentine, adieu ! 
 Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest 
 Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel : 
 Wish me partaker in thy happiness 
 When thou dost meet good hap ; and in thy 
 
 danger. 
 If ever danger do environ thee. 
 Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers. 
 For I will be thy bead's-man, Valentine. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 PARTING of Lovers. 
 That tide will stay me longer than I should. 
 Julia, farewell. — What ! gone without a word? 
 Ay ; so true love should do : it cannot speak : 
 For truth hath better deeds than words to 
 grace it. Shakespeare. 
 
 PARTING Song, A. 
 When will ye think of me, my friends ? 
 
 When will ye think of me ? — 
 When the last red light, the farewell of day. 
 From the rock and river is passing away. 
 When the air with a deep'ninghush is fraught. 
 And the heart grows burdened with tender 
 thought — 
 
 Then let it be I 
 
 When will ye think of me, kind friends ? 
 
 When will ye think of me ? — 
 When the rose of the rich midsummer time 
 Is filled with the hues of its glorious prime ; 
 When we gather its bloom, as in bright hours 
 
 fled. 
 From the walks where my footsteps no more 
 may tread — 
 
 Then let it be ! 
 
 When will ye think of me, sweet friends? 
 When will ye think of me ? 
 When the sudden tears o'erflow your eye 
 At the sound of some olden melody ; 
 When ye hear the voice of a mountain stream 
 When ye feel the charm of a poet's dream — 
 Then let it be ! 
 
 Thus let my memory be with you, friends ! 
 
 Thus ever think of me ! 
 Kindly and gently, but as of one 
 For whom 'tis well to be fled and gone ; 
 As of a bird from a chain unbound. 
 As of a wanderer whose home is found — 
 So let it be. Felicia Hemaiis. 
 
 PARTY Spirit, Evils of a. 
 
 "There is a difference," says Dr. Aikin, 
 * ' between taking a part, and becoming a party 
 man. The former denotes only such an occa- 
 sional or subordinate interference in party 
 affairs as is consistent not only with due atten- 
 tion to one's private concerns, but with a pre- 
 servation of the ordinary intercourse of society 
 and civility between neighbours and fellow 
 citizens, though of opposite opinions. The 
 latter, on the contrary, signifies such an attach- 
 ment to party as influences the whole cha- 
 racter, and gives the tone and colour to a man's 
 conduct through life. It is the ruling passion ; 
 and, like all other passions, scorns the control 
 of good sense and moderation. To point to 
 a single person, under the full dominion of it, 
 would be suflicient to warn you of its baneful 
 efficacy in poisoning the comforts of life and 
 debasing the moral character." 
 
 Among the effects of a party spirit may be 
 mentioned prejudice, animosity, malignity, and 
 strife. Political factions and religious divi- 
 sions have an obvious tendency to warp and 
 pervert the judgment. Everything is seen 
 through a dense and discoloured medium. 
 The passions bewilder and mislead the under- 
 standing, and the whole soul, despoiled of its 
 freedom, becomes the slave of a system or a 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 407 
 
 sect. Nor is it of much consequence, in res- 
 pect of moral qualities, whether those who are 
 associated be in precarious possession or in 
 eager pursuit of power and superiority. Pre- 
 judice springs up in most parties with a rapid 
 and luxuriant growth ; the soil and sultry 
 atmosphere are congenial to it. The preju- 
 dices of an individual may be tough and strong ; 
 but the prejudices of a party resemble the thick 
 wattled impervious mass of an American wood. 
 Whatever narrows and contracts the mind 
 impairs and blemishes the moral character. 
 Good and evil no longer appear just what they 
 really are in themselves, but what they are in 
 the showing of certain magic mirrors, employed 
 by the confederacy. ** He," says a fine writer, 
 "who drinks deep into the spirit of party, 
 minutely pencils all the shades of misrepre- 
 sentation ; his prejudice blackening, his par- 
 tiality whitening ; the one deforming what is 
 fair, the other beautifying what is foul ; the 
 one defacing temples, the other garnishing 
 sepulchres." 
 
 Another of the dire effects of this spirit is 
 animosity. Mental error and misapprehen- 
 sion are of little account, compared with acri- 
 mony and malignity. Every man has a right 
 to form and express his own opinion ; but, as I 
 have somewhere seen it remarked, the froth of 
 the head often becomes venom when it reaches 
 the heart. In the violence of parlies, this is 
 almost always the case. Placemen and patriots, 
 in opposing ranks, exhaust their quivers of 
 irony, sarcasm, and abuse, while the principals 
 on one side incur the charge of abetting tyranny 
 and oppression, and on the other of engender- 
 ing rebellion and anarchy. The rage and the 
 rancour of debate have sometimes drawn forth 
 such bitter and wounding personalities that 
 the disputants have left the senate-house to 
 decide the quarrel in the field. Nor is the 
 malignant influence produced by prejudice and 
 party spirit less apparent among theologians 
 than statesmen. In former days, it crowded 
 the prisons with heretics, and kindled the fires 
 of Smithfield to consume them. But without 
 going back to the period when attempts were 
 made to quench every rising spark of light 
 with blood and tears, enough may be found in 
 later times to illustrate our subject. The 
 learned and bigoted Dodwell confined salva- 
 tion to those who were episcopally baptized ; 
 and Dr. Hicks, another invincible nonjuring 
 clergyman of the same confederate band, stig- 
 matized the excellent prelates, Tillotson and 
 Burnet, as atheists and blasphemers. — R, 
 
 PASSING Away. 
 
 " Passing away" is written on the world, and all the 
 world contains. 
 
 It is v^n-itten on the rose, 
 
 In its glory's full array ; 
 Read what those buds disclose— 
 
 "Passing away." 
 
 It is written on the skies 
 
 Of the soft blue summer day ; 
 
 It is traced in sunset's dyes — 
 "Passing away." 
 
 It is written on the trees 
 
 As their young leaves glistening play ; 
 And on brighter things than these—* 
 
 "Passing away." 
 
 It is written on the brow 
 
 Where the spirit's ardent ray 
 
 Lives, bums, and triumphs now : 
 " Passing away." 
 
 It is written on the heart — 
 
 Alas ! that there decay 
 Should claim from love a part ! 
 
 "Passing away." 
 
 Friends, friends ! oh ! shall we meet 
 Where the spoiler finds no prey, 
 
 W^here loyely things and sweet 
 Pass not away ? 
 
 Shall we know each other's eyes, 
 With the thoughts that in them lay, 
 
 When they met beneath the skies 
 Which pass away ? 
 
 Oh ! if this may be so, 
 
 Speed, speed, thou closing day ! 
 How blest, from earth's vain show. 
 
 To pass away ! Hemans, 
 
 PASSION, the Sign of the Soul. 
 
 To be without passion is worse than a beast ; 
 to be without reason is to be less than a man. 
 Since I can be without neither, I am blessed in 
 that I have both. For if it be not against rea- 
 son to be passionate, I will not be passionate 
 against reason. I will both grieve and joy if 
 I have reason for it, but no joy nor grief above 
 reason. I will so joy at my good as not to 
 take evil by my joy : so grieve at any evil as 
 not to increase my evil by my grief. For it is 
 not a folly to have passion, but to want reason. 
 I would be neither senseless nor beastly. — 
 Arthur Wanvick. 
 
4o8 
 
 JSIOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 PASSIONS, Art of Governing. 
 The art of governing the passions is more 
 useful, and more important, than many things 
 in the search and pursuit of which we spend 
 our days. Without this art, riches and health, 
 and skill and knowledge, will give us little 
 satisfaction ; and whatsoever else we be, we 
 can be neither happy, nor wise, nor good. — 
 Jortin. 
 
 PASSIONS, Happily Subdued. 
 Happy is he who is engaged in controversy 
 with his own passions, and comes off superior ; 
 who makes it his endeavour that his follies 
 and weaknesses may die before himself, and 
 who daily meditates on mortality and immor- 
 tality. — Jortin, 
 
 PASSIONS, The. 
 
 The passions, like heavy bodies down steep 
 hills, once in motion, move themselves, and 
 know no ground but the bottom. — Fuller. 
 
 PASSIONS, the Proper Influence of. 
 
 If, in studying the nature of man, we consi- 
 dered him merely as an intellectual being, we 
 should, upon a survey of his wonderful works, 
 arrive at conclusions in no small degree flat- 
 tering to human vanity. When we consider, 
 for instance, how completely the whole earth 
 is subjected to his control — his cities rising 
 over its whole surface, resounding with the 
 bustle of his commerce — when we behold the 
 sea covered with his ships for traffic, or his 
 armaments for war — when we behold him 
 driving back the very ocean, in order that he 
 may build upon the ground which it yields hir» 
 his arsenals and his docks, or diving beneath 
 its profound depths and abysses, and bidding 
 it yield from its dark caverns its treasures of 
 coral and of pearl — or, when we see him con- 
 templating the revolutions of the celestial 
 bodies, calculating the distances of the planets, 
 the periods of their revolution, explaining the 
 various and wonderful phenomena of nature, 
 or the yet more wonderful phenomena of his 
 own mysterious mind, we are ready to exclaim 
 with the Psalmist, " Thou hast made him but 
 little lower than the angels," and to believe 
 that he is what he was ordained originally to 
 be — the lord of this lower creation. But these 
 
 are only the brighter parts of the picture. 
 When we contemplate his moral powers, we 
 then see how deeply he has fallen, and how 
 frail he is — when we see him carried away by 
 tempestuous passions — suffering them to sup- 
 plant sober judgment and calm reason — de- 
 grading the original greatness and glory of his 
 nature by conduct so unworthy of it — con- 
 tentedly wallowing and grovelling in pleasures 
 and gratifications, so much below the high 
 pursuits and ennobling objects for which he 
 was first destined, we see then what a wreck 
 he is, and forgetting everything by which he 
 might have been swollen into pride and vanity, 
 are ready to exclaim — "How art thou fallen, 
 thou son of the morning ! " 
 
 To endeavour to reinstate Reason on her 
 throne, and again to subdue the passions to her 
 control, which, if unchecked and unrestrained, 
 wrap the soul in continual tempests, ought to 
 be the aim of every man. When kept within 
 their proper limits, they are the proper sources 
 of our happiness. What were the world to us 
 with its ten thousand beautiful objects, unless 
 they could touch the secret chords of our souls, 
 and awaken the susceptibilities we possess of 
 admiring, of appreciating, of feeling them, — 
 unless joy could light up the present moment, 
 with its bright and glowing colours, or hope 
 could throw its radiant, though alas ! fading 
 and evanescent rainbow over the dark cloud 
 of the future, unless we could feel those vivid 
 emotions which always accompany those cir- 
 cumstances which tend to promote our happi- 
 ness, or unless we could experience those grate- 
 ful sympathies with the happiness of others 
 which often produce purer joy than that we 
 feel even at our own? If we were not the 
 creatures of feeling as well as of thought, we 
 should pass through life, as indeed some have 
 wished and endeavoured to do, scarcely supe- 
 rior to the inanimate objects which surround 
 us. But, on the other hand, while the pas- 
 sions, when under proper control, are calcu- 
 lated to bestow so much happiness, who knows 
 not that they may become the greatest tor- 
 mentors of life ? He who has taught his judg- 
 ment and his reason to hold the rule over his 
 feelings must be continually the victim of his 
 own wild and stormy passions. One moment, 
 from some trifling cause, he will be indulging 
 the most extravagant hopes, and the next, from 
 causes equally trifling, he will be sunk in the 
 very depths of despair ; while love and hatred, 
 and joy and sorrow, and fear and danger, and 
 the whole train of passions, will in rapid sue- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 409 
 
 cession assume the absolute sovereignty of the 
 soul. To see a human being thus the mere 
 sport of circumstances, without command over 
 himself, and suffering his mind, like some 
 vessel that has parted from her anchors, to 
 drive wildly before the storm, is indeed most 
 pitiable. 
 
 At the same time care must be taken, even in 
 the endeavour to curb our passions, and reduce 
 them within the limits of moderation, lest they 
 should be too far checked. The man who 
 cannot feel deeply when there is sufficient 
 cause, is equally removed from the true stan- 
 8 dard of nature with the man who feels too 
 much when there is an insufficient cause. Thus 
 the ancient Stoics, perceiving the innumerable 
 ills which result from ungoverned passions, 
 attempted to extirpate them entirely ; like some 
 foolish agriculturist, who instead of lopping off 
 only the wild and exuberant branches, should 
 cut down the tree altogether. That can never 
 be true philosophy which endeavours to banish 
 entirely from our bosoms the feelings which 
 Nature has herself implanted, or which tells us 
 not to feel, when all the sympathies within us 
 tell us that we ought. 
 
 The passions are Nature's own children, 
 and must not be expelled from the home which 
 they have in every human heart, merely because 
 they are sometimes wild and disorderly ; they 
 must be properly disciplined and tutored. Let 
 the Stoic boast that he can experience sufferings 
 himself without emotion ; that he can observe 
 those of others without pity ; that he is a 
 stranger to joy or grief; that he has neither 
 regret nor pleasure in the retrospect of the past, 
 neither hope nor fear in the anticipation of the 
 future ; let him boast that the fountain of feel- 
 ing is dried up ; that the branch of nature is 
 withered within him ; such an individual, so 
 far from being an object of envy, deserves not 
 even our admiration ; for instead of doing that 
 which it is the duty of every i^ian, but espe- 
 cially of every Christian to do, namely, to 
 check the mere excesses of the passions, he 
 has endeavoured to root out of his bosom 
 those feelings which the merciful God of Nature 
 himself bestowed. 
 
 "The passions," says the great Howe, in 
 his inimitable sermon on "The Vanity of Man 
 as Mortal," ** are not to be rooted up (because 
 they are of Nature's planting), but ought yet to 
 be so discreetly checked and depressed that 
 they grow not to that enormous tallness as to 
 ■overtop a man's intellectual stature and cast a 
 dark shadow over his soul." — H. 
 
 PASSIONS, The, 
 
 Should be Governed by Reason. 
 
 SOPHRON and Alexis had frequently heard 
 Euphronius mention the experiment of stilling 
 the waves with oil, made by his friend Dr. 
 Franklin. They were impatient to repeat it ; 
 and a brisk wind proving favourable to the 
 trial, they hastened, one evening, to a sheet of 
 water in the pleasure-grounds of Eugenio, near 
 Hart -hill. The oil was scattered upon the 
 pool, and spread itself instantly on all sides, 
 calming the whole surface of the water, and 
 reflecting the most beautiful colours. Elated 
 with success, the youths returned to Euphronius, 
 to inquire the cause of such a wonderful ap- 
 pearance. He informed them that the wind 
 blowing upon water which is covered with a 
 coat of oil, slides over the surface of it, and 
 produces no friction that can raise a wave. 
 "But this curious philosophical fact," said he, 
 * ' suggests a most important moral reflection. 
 When you suffer yourself to be ruffled by 
 passion your minds resemble the puddle in a 
 storm. But reason, if you hearken to her 
 voice, will then, like oil poured upon the 
 water, calm the turbulence within you, and re- 
 store you to serenity and peace. " 
 
 PASSIONS, 
 
 To be Kept Withia Bounds. 
 
 As rivers, when they overflow, drown those 
 grounds, and ruin those husbandmen, which, 
 whilst they flowed calmly betv/ixt their banks, 
 they fertilized and enriched ; so our passions, 
 when they grow exorbitant and unruly, destroy 
 those virtues, to which they may be very 
 serviceable whilst they keep within their 
 bounds. — Boyle. 
 
 PAST, The, and the Present. 
 Nothing is a greater reproach to the reason- 
 ing intellect of any age than a splenetic 
 censoriousness on the manners and characters 
 of our ancestors. It is but common justice for 
 us to bear in mind that in those times we 
 should have been as they were, as they in ours 
 would have resembled ourselves. Both are 
 but the same men, acting imder different cir- 
 cumstances, wearing different dresses, and pur- 
 suing different objects ; but neither inferior to 
 the other in talent, industry, or intellectual 
 worth. The more we study biography, we 
 shall perceive more evidence of this truth. 
 
410 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Disregarding what satire might, without 
 being cynical, lash in our own costumes, we 
 are too apt to look proudly back on those who 
 have gone before us, and to regale our self- 
 complacency with comparisons of their defi- 
 ciencies, and of our greater merit. The retro- 
 spect is pleasing, but it offers no just grounds 
 for exultation. We are superior, and we have 
 in many things better taste, and sounder 
 judgment, and wiser habits, than they pos- 
 sessed. And why? Because we have had 
 means of superiority by which they were not 
 assisted. But a merit which owes its origin 
 merely to our having followed, instead of pre- 
 ceded, in existence, gives us no right to depre- 
 ciate those over whom our only real advantage 
 has been the better fortune of a later chrono- 
 logy. We may, therefore, allow those who 
 have gone before us to have been amused 
 with what would weary or dissatisfy us, with- 
 out either sarcasms on their absurdities or 
 contemptuous wonder at their stately childish- 
 ness and pompous inanities. — Sharon Turner, 
 
 Those who have never experienced the 
 want of the luxuries and conveniences of 
 every description which London and other 
 great cities and towns of England now afford, 
 will not readily conceive how our ancestors 
 contrived to pass their lives in any degree of 
 comfort with their unpaved, unlighted, un- 
 drained streets — without water conveyed to 
 their doors by pipes or aqueducts — without 
 hackney-coaches, or other light vehicles for 
 travelling — without a general or twopenny 
 post — and a thousand other petty conveniences, 
 the privation of any one of which would 
 grievously disturb the temper and affect the 
 comforts of the present generation. — Quarterly 
 Review. 
 
 There are two great errors, into which we 
 easily slip when thinking of past times. One 
 lies in forgetting, in the excellence of what re- 
 mains, the large overbalance of worthlessness 
 that has been swept away. Ranging over the 
 wide tracts of antiquity, the situation of the 
 mind may be likened to that of a man in some 
 unpeopled part of America, who is attracted 
 to the burial-place of one of the primitive in- 
 habitants. It is conspicuous upon an eminence, 
 "a mount upon a mount ! " He digs upon it, 
 and finds that it contains the bones of a man 
 of mighty stature ; and he is tempted to give 
 way to a belief, that as there were giants in 
 those days, so that all men were giants. 
 
 But a second and wiser thought may suggest 
 to him that this tomb would never have forced 
 itself upon his notice if it had not contained a 
 body that was distinguished from others, that 
 of a man who had been selected as a chieftain 
 or ruler from the very reason that he surpassed 
 the rest of his tribe in stature, and who now 
 lies thus conspicuously inhumed upon the 
 mountain top, while the bones of his followers 
 are laid unobtrusively together in their barrows 
 upon the plain below. 
 
 The second habitual error is, that in this 
 comparison of ages we divide time merely into 
 past and present, and place these into the 
 balance to be weighed against each other, not 
 considering that the present is in our estima- 
 tion not more than a period of thirty years, or 
 half a century at most, and that the past is a 
 mighty accumulation of many such periods, 
 perhaps the whole of recorded time, or at least 
 the whole of that portion of it in which our own 
 country has been distinguished. — Coleridge. 
 
 PASTIMES of Our Forefathers. 
 
 Many of the sports and pastimes of our fore- 
 fathers are, in the retrospect, picturesque and 
 pleasant ; but attempt to practise them at the 
 present day, and the very villagers would laugh 
 at them as ridiculous child's play, and in fact 
 they are child's play. They were the amuse- 
 ments of a generation — children in intellectual 
 culture, though of a brawny growth of body — 
 they were the pastimes of beings whom, in the 
 race of real knowledge, our very clowns have 
 left behind. Nay, I question whether our 
 peasantry could witness, without an internal 
 feeling of contempt, what at one time were 
 the highest entertainments of the highest 
 classes — at which " lords, and dukes, and 
 noble captains " toiled day after day, and the 
 proudest and brightest dames sate witnesses, 
 not in impatience, but in pleasure. In vain 
 do we lament our Christmr.s sports, and the 
 old games of gentle and simple — they are 
 pleasant pictures in pleasant associations — 
 they are highly to be valued as relics and re- 
 membrances of the olden time — of the good 
 olden time — good to the good people who en- 
 joyed them — good possibly in themselves — but 
 
 Another race has been, and other palms are won. 
 Knowledge has run to and fro in the earth. It 
 has penetrated into the remotest hamlet — in 
 the obscurest nook : and though many a 
 goodly superstition and many a jocund folly 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 411 
 
 have fled before it, I trust, and I think I know, 
 that sufficient simplicity of heart and manner 
 remains, and is likely to remain, in what may 
 be called truly the country ; and instead of 
 ignorance and laughter, we have intelligence, 
 industry stimulated by higher views, and when- 
 ever there is occasion to display it, mirth and 
 good-fellowship. — Book of the Seasons. 
 
 PATH of Duty, The, 
 The Path of Safety. 
 A SHORT sentence, remarkable neither for 
 brilliance nor point, sometimes makes an in- 
 delible impression on the mind, without our 
 being able to assign any reason. I have the 
 happiness to be acquainted with a man of ex- 
 cellent character, whom I have often heard 
 say, "The path of duty is the path of safety ;" 
 and this maxim, from his lips, has a thousand 
 times recurred to my own thoughts, in circum- 
 stances of doubt and solicitude, when memory 
 furnished not a single idea or hint from all the 
 learned casuistry I had ever read. And, in- 
 deed, my friend's saying, if fairly examined, 
 will be foimd to contain a portable epitome of 
 morality — a plain practical directory of life and 
 conduct. Duty is a course of actions which 
 flows from the relations in which we stand to 
 God and man ; actions which we are bound to 
 perform, by natural, legal, or religious obliga- 
 tions. He who sincerely desires to know what 
 is right will not be long involved in dark and 
 perplexing uncertainty ; and the theory of 
 virtue and rectitude is usually best understood 
 by those who heartily apply themselves to the 
 practice. Cicero observes that those who 
 '* study morality to make a show of their learn- 
 ing, not to live according to its rules," usually 
 fall into many errors. On the contrary, a plain 
 illiterate man will seldom fall into any material 
 mistake, when his simple aim is to know and 
 to do what is just and proper. He is un- 
 acquainted with the writings of those subtle 
 casuists, who labour chiefly to show how near 
 men may approach sin without sinning, how 
 far they may venture on dubious ground, and 
 even sink, without being swallowed up and 
 lost ; but he is conversant with the sacred 
 Scriptures; and, as Mr. Locke asserts, "the 
 gospel contains so perfect a body of ethics 
 that reason may be excused from any further 
 inquiry, since she may find man's duty clearer 
 and easier in revelation than in herself." Here 
 then the plain man finds his moral philosophy 
 
 — a philosophy which serves not for popularity 
 or ostentation, but which, as one says, "ani- 
 mates and forms the mind, directs the life, 
 governs our actions, shows what we are to do 
 and what forbear, and, sitting at the helm, 
 guides our course over the sea of life." 
 
 But when the path in which we should go is 
 clearly marked and described, it must be con- 
 fessed we have many temptations to turn from 
 it, on the right hand and on the left. Custom, 
 novelty, pleasure, profit, preferment, honour, 
 and power, present their fascinating lures ; and 
 few possess firmness at all times successfully to 
 repel them, and effect a clear escape from their 
 attraction and influence. You hesitate as to 
 the doing of something which, to say the least, 
 has a very questionable aspect. Perhaps when 
 you should appeal to conscience, you rather 
 refer to custom, and in a low whisper or silent 
 soliloquy the issue comes forth. It is done by 
 respectable men ; good precedents must govern 
 us both in law and in life ; one cannot be too 
 nice in these times, and weigh every scruple ; 
 why, then, should I hesitate any longer, and 
 lose an opportunity which may never return ? 
 Of a different nature, and in an opposite direc- 
 tion, is the temptation presented by novelty. 
 Curiosity, which led our first parents to try the 
 fruit of the forbidden tree, often leads to the 
 same unhallowed effect in their offspring. You 
 begin to think mere prudence and plodding 
 can, after all, accomplish little ; but a measure, 
 or a movement which boldly strikes out ot the 
 beaten track may do wonders. Then Plea- 
 sure presents her primrose path of dalliance, 
 and Power his high road to distinction and 
 honour — steep indeed, but hung with glittering 
 pomps and prizes. And who is so sober, so 
 wise, and so magnanimous, as never to deviate 
 from his duty to gratify passion or pride ? Yet 
 every deviation is assuredly attended with pain, 
 loss, or injury of some kind, in the long run. 
 Many imagine that by fraud artfully veiled and 
 managed they can make or find a short and 
 easy way to wealth ; but, as Lord Bacon said, 
 " it is in life as in a journey, where the shortest 
 road is the dirtiest, and yet the better not much 
 about. ' ' We need only look into the biography 
 of Bacon to see his own remarks verified. 
 There is nothing, perhaps, in which people 
 are more completely deceived than in their 
 plans and contrivances to evade dangers and 
 troubles. The timid time-serving man, who 
 dares not do right, and the rash presumptuous 
 man, who dares to do wrong, strange as it may 
 seem, are influenced by kindred motives, 
 
4^ 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 differently modified according to constitutional 
 temperament and circumstances. They both 
 wish to escape the toils and perils, yet seize 
 the fruits and benefits of industry, enterprise, 
 and integrity ; but their very success, in a few 
 instances, is the cause of their general dis- . 
 appointment. I well knew a person some 
 years ago, who by great care accumulated con- 
 siderable property. He began to grow visibly 
 more and more fond of money, though he bore 
 the character of a very honest as well as pru- 
 dent man. Not long before his decease, it was 
 found that he had drawn the greater part of 
 his property from the public funds, and, lend- 
 ing it to a relation in business, on illegal in- 
 terest, it was all lost ; on hearing this fact 
 related, I could but repeat the maxim, Truly 
 the path of duty is the path of safety. 
 
 Every one knows that officious parasites and 
 hangers-on, who besiege and flatter the rich, 
 now and then feather their nests, and furnish 
 them with golden eggs, in a manner the most 
 adroit and skilful ; yet, if we closely investi- 
 gate cases, we shall find that twenty fail for one 
 who succeeds in this way. Seneca justly re- 
 marks that a man who watches the sick-bed of 
 a friend out of kindness is a ministering angel ; 
 but he who does it for a legacy is a vulture 
 waiting for the carcase. And here I shall re- 
 late an instance which came within my own 
 knowledge. "When I lived in the north of 
 England, one of my neighbours lavished in- 
 cessant assiduities and attentions upon a rich 
 old widow. The motive of all this obsequious- 
 ness was too obvious to escape notice, and too 
 mercenary to escape censure. Conjecture was 
 busy in guessing the magnitude of the sum 
 which would fall to the lot of my officious 
 neighbour, but the old dowager at last cut him 
 off with a mere trifle. This result occasioned 
 some surprise, till it was discovered that, by 
 one slight omission, he had lost the labour of 
 many years ; but while malignity triumphed in 
 the chagrin of the poor disappointed legacy- 
 hunter, I thought again and again on my 
 friend's favourite maxim — The path of duty is 
 the path of safety. 
 
 It is not fair, however, in pleading the cause 
 of virtue itself, to say more than facts will sup- 
 port. A course of inflexible integrity and 
 well doing may have its pains, but it has no 
 penalties. A good man may lose his property 
 and his friends, but keeps his principles entire 
 and his conscience untouched. As regards this 
 life, he has the decided advantage, on the whole, 
 compared with the man of the world ; but 
 
 viewed with reference to a future life, it is im- 
 possible to conceive a greater contrast. The 
 one is always advancing towards his ultimate 
 object, happiness, even when dangers beset 
 and trials agitate him ; the other is constantly 
 tending to the gulf of ruin, though at times 
 flushed with the pleasure of indulgence or the 
 pride of success. "Doubts and difficulties," 
 said the late Dr. Price, "have often perplexed 
 me, and thrown a cloud over truths which, in 
 the course of my life, are my support and con- 
 solation. There are, however, many truths, 
 the conviction of which I never lose. One 
 conviction in particular remains with me amidst 
 all fluctuations of temper and spirits— I mean 
 my belief of this maxim, He who walketh up- 
 rightly walketh surely. There has not been a 
 moment in which I have found it possible to 
 doubt whether the wisest and best cause I can 
 take is to practise virtue and avoid guilt. 
 Low spirits only give new force to this convic- 
 tion, and cause it to make a deeper impres- 
 sion. — Rusticus. 
 
 PATHOLOGY a Progressive Study. 
 
 I TRUST that I have sufficient love of science 
 to lead me to desire nothing so much as the 
 attainment of truth ; and that I am not so 
 vain as to believe that none of my views can 
 be erroneous. Indeed, one principal result of 
 my labours has been to convince me that life 
 is not long enough for these difficult researches ; 
 that the utmost which can be accomplished by 
 the zeal and industry of an individual is to 
 make such progress in the study of pathology 
 as may enable those who come after him to 
 carry their inquiries further ; and that the 
 expectations of any one who aims at higher 
 objects than these must terminate in disap- 
 pointment. — Dr. Jenner. 
 
 PATIENCE, 
 
 The Guardian of Faith, &c. 
 
 Patience is the guardian of faith, the pre- 
 sei'ver of peace, the cherisher of love, the 
 teacher of humility : Patience governs the 
 flesh, strengthens the spirit, sweetens the tem- 
 per, stifles anger, extinguishes envy, subdues 
 pride ; she bridles the tongue, refrains the 
 hand, tramples upon temptations, endures per- 
 secutions, consummates martyrdom : Patience 
 produces unity in the church, loyalty in the 
 state, harmony in families and societies ; she 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 413 
 
 comforts the poor and moderates the rich ; she 
 makes us humble in prosperity, cheerful in 
 adversity, unmoved by calumny and reproach ; 
 she teaches us to forgive those who have in- 
 jured us, and to be the first in asking forgive- 
 ness of those w^hom we have injured ; she 
 delights the faithful, and invites the unbeliev- 
 ing ; she adorns the woman, and approves the 
 man ; is loved in a child, praised in a young 
 man, admired in an old man ; she is beautiful 
 in either sex and every age. — Bishop Home. 
 
 PATRIOT, a True One. 
 Is he not in reality the truest patriot who fills 
 up his station in private life well ; he who 
 loves and promotes peace both public and 
 private, who, knowing that his country's pros- 
 perity depends much more on its virtues than 
 its arms, resolves that his individual endea- 
 vours shall not be wanting to promote this 
 desirable end ? And is he not the greatest 
 hero who is able to despise public honours for 
 the sake of private usefulness, he who has 
 learnt to subdue his own inclinations, to deny 
 himself those gratifications which are inconsis- 
 tent with virtue and piety, who has conquered 
 his passions and brought them low even as a 
 child that is weaned ; is not such a man greater 
 than he that taketh a city, sheddeth blood as it 
 were water, or calls for the thundering applause 
 of assembled multitudes ? But if persons in 
 general held these sentiments, if utility were 
 substituted for show, and religious usefulness 
 for worldly activity, how very little our public 
 men would have to do ! Truly they would be 
 driven to turn their swords into ploughshares, 
 and study the Gospel instead of the statutes. — 
 Taylor. 
 
 PATRIOTISM, Maxims Concerning. 
 
 Every man, by consulting his own heart, 
 may easily know whether he is, or is not, a 
 patriot; but it is not so easy for the bystan- 
 der. 
 
 Being loud and vehement, either against 
 a court or for a court, is no proof of patriotism. 
 
 A man whose passion for money runs 
 high bids fair for being no patriot ; and he 
 likewise whose appetite is keen for power. 
 
 A native than a foreigner, a married man 
 than a bachelor, a believer than an infidel, 
 have a better chance for being patriots. 
 
 It is impossible an epicure should be a pa- 
 triot. 
 
 It is impossible a man who is false to his 
 friends and neighbours should be true to the 
 public. 
 
 Every knave is a thorough knave, and a 
 thorough knave is a knave throughout. 
 
 A man who has no sense of God or con- 
 science, would you make such a one a guardian 
 to your child ? If not, why a guardian to the 
 state ? 
 
 The love of praise and esteem may do 
 something, but to make a true patriot there 
 must be an inward sense of duty and con- 
 science. 
 
 Plonesty, like other things, grows from 
 its proper feed, good principles, early laid in 
 the mind. 
 
 To be a good patriot, a man must con- 
 sider his countrymen as God's creatures, and 
 himself as accountable for his acting towards 
 them. 
 
 We are not to think every clamorous 
 haranguer, or every spirited repiner against a 
 court, is therefore a good patriot. 
 
 A man rages, rails, and raves ; I suspect 
 his patriotism. 
 
 The factious man is apt to mistake him- 
 self for a patriot. — Bishop Berkeley. 
 
 PATRIOTISM, Modem. 
 
 The man who would aspire to fame, 
 And gain a patriot's lofty name, 
 Nor rope nor pillory must fear. 
 Nor banishment, nor loss of ear ; 
 At ministers and kings must rail, 
 Yet cringe to felons 'scaped from jail ; 
 For liberty must loudly bawl. 
 In language law would treason call ; 
 Abuse the Scots, and so cement 
 Them closer to the government ; 
 Call ev'ry statesman knave or fool. 
 And ev'ry moderate man a tool. 
 
 Sure these are blest and virtuous days. 
 When vice is the straight road to praise ! 
 When rogues with public favour meet, 
 And 'tis so popular — to cheat ! 
 
 But see that motley ragged crew. 
 Behold them passing in review : 
 Good Heav'ns ! what joy they all express 
 For Liberty ! — An act of grace 
 From jails, where long they lay confined, 
 Has set them free to plague mankind ; 
 Or Tyburn's suftbcated sons 
 Have rose to life, like 'Zekiel's bones ! 
 
414 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 But, friends, this noise is all in vain— 
 Ye rise but to be hang'd again ! 
 No wonder tho' this rabble rout 
 
 For should roar, huzza, and shout; 
 
 'Tis fellow-feeling makes them bawl — 
 In him their vices centre all ; 
 And thus the dirty, ragged elves, 
 In praising him, but praise themselves. 
 
 Milo. 
 
 PEACE and Pride Cannot Co-Exist. 
 
 There can be no peace where pride reigns. 
 . . . The peaceable man, therefore, must have 
 a mind clear of all lusts and inordinate affec- 
 tions, but especially of pride, the devil's 
 sin, which made war in heaven, and does 
 the like on earth, and will for ever foment 
 the discord, and fill up the misery of hell. — 
 Waterland. 
 
 PEACE, Apostrophe to. 
 
 Hail, meek-eyed Peace ! of soft and modest 
 
 mien, 
 How fair thy form, but ah ! how seldom seen ! 
 Where hast thou wandered, since the orient 
 
 hour 
 Thy steps were turned from Eden's smiling 
 
 bowers 
 In this rough clime, where raging passions 
 
 dwell. 
 In vain we seek thy still, sequestered cell ; 
 In other regions, thy secure retreat, 
 Far distant thou hast fixed thy chosen seat ; 
 Yet design'st, at times, to charm the human 
 
 race. 
 And woo them, friendly, to thy fond embrace. 
 Haste, heavenly stranger ! from the realms 
 
 above, 
 Where sweet resound the choral songs of love. 
 The nations, still to hostile feuds a prey, 
 Languish and sicken at thy long delay. 
 
 See where she comes, on purple pinions 
 borne, 
 Mild as the effulgence of the balmy morn. 
 Where'er she treads reviving nature blooms ; 
 The arid waste a livelier look assumes ; 
 Hate and revenge, with all their dread alarms. 
 And savage war, suspend their murderous arms, 
 The sons of industry each art employ. 
 And wonted foes dissolve in mutual joy. 
 
 But while the lovely Power, with all her 
 train. 
 Yet timid treads the late ensanguined plain. 
 
 To Gallia's realm her jealous eye she turns, 
 Where low-born pride in secret fury bums ; 
 Sudden she hears the deep-toned voice of War, 
 And sees fell Discord mount her iron car ; 
 Scared at the scene, too soon, alas ! she flies, 
 And speeds for safety to her native skies. 
 
 W. Peebles, 
 
 PEACE, Found in God only. 
 
 All desire rest, peace, and pleasure ; but no- 
 where shall we find it but in "yielding our- 
 selves unto God." And that it is to be found 
 in this way, our Saviour has told His dis- 
 ciples : "take my yoke upon you, and learn 
 of me ; for I am meek and lowly in heart, and 
 ye shall find rest to your souls." In taking 
 Christ's yoke upon us, in bearing His burthen, 
 in a sincere, free, and entire obedience to His 
 laws, in learning of Him, who was meek and 
 lowly in heart, a pliable and obedient frame 
 and temper of spirit, we shall undoubtedly 
 find the sweetest ease and tranquillity of mind. 
 The resigned soul is prepared to " taste and 
 see how good the Lord is." — Worthmgton. 
 
 PEACE, Comprehends all Blessings. 
 
 Peace and grace comprehend all temporal 
 and spiritual blessings, and therefore are to be 
 the subject of our daily prayers. Peace is 
 used in Scripture for all earthly blessings, be- 
 cause it is the mother and nurse of them all ; 
 it is the most comprehensive benefit on earth, 
 and the type of Heaven. God is the author of 
 peace, and the lover of concord : He keeps us 
 in peace, and loves us when we live in peace 
 together ; He makes us to have peace from 
 without, and delights when we have concord 
 within. . . . Peace of conscience cannot be to 
 the wicked ; for " there is no peace, saith my 
 God, to the wicked," since it is the fruit of 
 holy purposes and good works. Let us, then, 
 pray unto Him, that by making us truly holy. 
 He will give unto us that peace which the 
 world cannot give ; for peace of conscience 
 cannot be bought with all the world's riches, 
 nor given by the greatest mortal prince ; it is 
 a gift that makes the poorest and most 
 miserable person to be happy in his lowest 
 estate, and none but God can give it ; and if 
 we be His "servants," He will not deny it 
 unto us . . . for when we taste the fruit, 
 and find the comfort and happiness of holi- 
 ness and obedience, it will confirm our pur- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 415 
 
 poses of persevering ; yea, none who hath 
 tasted of the ravishing delights of this inward 
 and Divine peace will ever part with it for the 
 beast-like pleasures of sin. — Dean Comber. 
 
 PEACE, From Christ only. 
 
 WouLDST thou have peace ? None but 
 Christ can give it thee : He will give it to 
 none but the penitent, none but the faithful ; 
 Oh, spend thyself into the sighs and tears of 
 true repentance, and then raise thy humbled 
 soul to a lively confidence in thy all-sufficient 
 Saviour ; set thy Lord, Jesus Christ, betwixt 
 God and thy sins. By His stripes we are 
 healed ; by His wounds ours are staunched ; 
 by His death we are quickened ; by His 
 righteousness we are discharged ; the work of 
 his righteousness is our peace. Oh, safe and 
 blessed condition of believers ! — Bp. Hall. 
 
 PEACE, in Nature. 
 
 Spring and summer, autumn and winter, 
 give place peaceably to each other. The 
 several quarters of the wind fulfil their 
 work in their seasons, without offending one 
 another. The ever-flowing fountains, made 
 both for pleasure and health, never fail to 
 reach out their breasts to support the life of 
 men. Even the smallest creatures live to- 
 gether in peace and concord with each other. 
 All these has the great Creator and Lord of 
 all commanded to observe love and unity, 
 being good to all, but especially to us, who 
 flee imto His mercy through our Lord Jesus 
 Christ . . . Take heed, beloved, that His 
 many blessings be not to us condemnation, 
 except we shall walk worthy of Him, doing 
 with one consent what is good and pleasing 
 in His sight . . . Have we not all one 
 God and one Christ ? Is not one Spirit of 
 Grace poured out among us all ? Have we 
 not one calling in Christ? Why, then, do 
 we rend and tear in pieces the members of 
 Christ ? — St. Clement, 
 
 PEACE, in the Land. 
 
 As for the land, great Time did bum 
 The bloody fields to deep, green grass, 
 And from the minds of men did pass 
 The memory of that time of woe, 
 And at tliis day all things are so 
 
 As first I said — a land it is 
 Where men may dwell in rest and bliss 
 If so they will — who yet will not. 
 Because their hasty hearts are hot 
 With foolish hate, and longing vain 
 The sire and dam of grief and pain. 
 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 PEACE of the Country Life. 
 
 And so betwixt seed-time and harvesting, 
 With little fear his life must pass away, 
 And for the rest, he, from the self-same day 
 That the god left him, seemed to have some 
 
 share 
 In that same god-head he had harboured there : 
 In all things grew his wisdom and his wealth. 
 And folk beholding the fair state and health 
 Wherein his land was, said that now at last 
 A fragment of the Golden Age was cast 
 Over the place, for there was no debate. 
 And men forgot the very name of hate. 
 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 PEACE, the Reward of a Good Life. 
 
 We read that in certain climates of the world 
 the gales that spring from the land carry a 
 refreshing smell out to sea, and assure the 
 watchful pilot that he is approaching to a 
 desirable and fruitful coast, when as yet he 
 cannot discern it with his eyes. And in like 
 manner it fares with those who have steadily 
 and religiously pursued the course which heaven 
 pointed out to them. We shall sometimes 
 find, by their conversation towards the end of 
 their days, that they are filled with hope, and 
 peace, and joy ; which, like those refreshing 
 gales and reviving odours to the seaman, are 
 breathed forth from Paradise upon their souls ; 
 and give them to understand with certainty 
 that God is bringing them into their d«sired 
 haven. — Townson. 
 
 PEACE, the Song of the Angels. 
 
 " Peace" was the song the angels sung 
 When Jesus sought this vale of tears. 
 
 And sweet the heavenly prelude rung. 
 To calm the wondering shepherds' fears. 
 
 ** Peace" was the prayer the Saviour breathed, 
 When from our world His steps withdrew ; 
 
 The gift He to His friends bequeathed, 
 With Calvary and the Cross in view. 
 
4i6 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 And ye, whose souls have felt His love, 
 Guard day and night this rich bequest ; 
 
 The watchword of the host above — 
 The passport to their realms of rest. 
 
 Sigotirney. 
 
 PEACE, to Live in, a Divine Command. 
 
 Living peaceably implies not merely some few 
 transitory performances, proceeding from casual 
 humour, or the like ; but a constant, stable, 
 and well-settled condition of being, a continual 
 cessation from injury, and promptitude to do 
 good offices. . . . We are but several streams 
 issuing from one primitive source ; one blood 
 flows in all our veins ; one nourishment re- 
 pairs our decayed bodies ; we are co-habitants 
 of the same earth, and fellow-citizens of the 
 same great commonwealth ; and he that hates 
 another detests his own most lively picture ; 
 he that harms another injures his own nature ; 
 he that denies relief to another staves a mem- 
 ber of his own body, and withers a branch of 
 his own tree. How like a paradise the world 
 would be, flourishing in joy and rest, if men 
 M'ould cheerfully conspire in affection, and 
 helpfully contribute to each other's content. . . 
 Holy Scripture itself in that one term of 
 ** peace" most usually comprehends all joy and 
 contents, all felicity and prosperity ; so that the 
 heavenly consort of angels, when they agree 
 most highly to bless and to wish the great- 
 est happiness to mankind, could not better 
 express their sense than by saying, "Be on 
 earth peace, and good-will among men." — 
 /. Barrow, 
 
 PEAHL, Origin of. 
 
 As fables say, a drop of rain 
 Fell from a cloud into main : 
 ** Amid these waves how small am I ! 
 I here for ever lost shall lie," 
 It said. An oyster, opening wide 
 Her mouth, imbib'd it with the tide. 
 Condensing there for many a year, 
 Lt grew into a pearly sphere. 
 Then by a skilful diver caught, 
 To Persia's king the pearl was brought ; 
 And now exalted to a gem, 
 This drop adorns his diadem : 
 Thus by its fall an envy'd height 
 It gain'd, and rose from darkness into light. 
 From the Persian, 
 
 PEASANT, his Home. 
 Sublimely seated on yon airy ridge. 
 High peering o'er the woods, the village church 
 Lifts to the clouds its venerable tower. 
 The peasant thence, exulting, looks on all 
 The boundless prospect ; but his raptur'd eye 
 In all the goodly picture sees no spot 
 So dear to him as that beloved vale. 
 Where his cot, straw-roofd, borders on the 
 
 stream 
 Of his own wand'ring Tamar. Priz'd by him 
 Is his abode of bliss. The morning gale 
 Steals through his leaf-hung lattice, breathing 
 
 round 
 The odours of the garden ; and how sweet. 
 How cool, how all-reviving is the breeze 
 To him of fragrant evening. 'Tis the hour 
 Of grateful, welcome rest. Relaxing then 
 On the oak bench before his cottage-door. 
 Surrounded by his children, pleas'd he looks 
 On the rich harvests waving round ; the fields 
 Strew'd with the odorous hay, the orchards hung 
 With crops of fairest promise ; or his eye 
 Rests on the sun irradiating all 
 The glowing west with its celestial hues ; 
 And as the twilight slowly, solemnly 
 Approaches, lulling Nature to repose, 
 * 'And light and sound are ebbing from the earth," 
 Poor were the treasures of the radiant Ind, 
 To purchase raptures exquisite as his. 
 
 Carrington. 
 
 PEDANTRY. 
 
 Pedantry consists in the use of words un- 
 suited to the time, place, and company. The 
 language of the market would be in the schools 
 as pedantic, though it would not be reprobated 
 by that name, as the language of the schools 
 in the market. The man of the world, who 
 insists that no other terms but such as occur in 
 common conversation should be employed in a 
 scientific disquisition, and with no greater pre- 
 cision, is as truly a pedant as the man of letters, 
 who, either over-rating the acquirements of his 
 auditors or misled by his own familiarity 
 with technical and scholastic terms, converses 
 at the wine table with his mind fixed on the 
 museum or the laboratory. — Coleridge, 
 
 PEN, Ink, and Paper. 
 
 Paper 'yclad in white, 
 
 And Pen with hat and feather, 
 With Ink well bottled tight. 
 
 Once took a walk together. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 417 
 
 The moon conspicuous show'd 
 
 The coat which Paper wore, 
 And so he led the road, 
 
 And always kept before. 
 
 Said Pen to Paper : *' Why 
 
 Dost thou precedence take ? 
 To trace thy progeny, 
 
 Thou'rt but a dung-hill rake ! " 
 
 ■** Let me be what I will, 
 
 Or whence you will descended ; 
 
 What were thy goose-cap quill, 
 Unless by me befriended ? 
 
 ** A wild-goose chase you run 
 
 Upon my milky way ; 
 And when all's said and done, 
 
 'Tis odds you nothing say. 
 
 ** How oft have I been torn, 
 
 Or put to vilest use ? 
 The meanest critics scorn ; 
 
 Thy errors, my abuse. 
 
 ** Talk'st thou to me of birth ? 
 
 Look back upon thy own : 
 The silliest thing on earth 
 
 Boasts thee to be her son." 
 
 **From me," says Pen, "you draw 
 The worth which you inherit ; 
 
 In poetry or law, 
 
 'Tis I that stamp your merit ! " 
 
 Here interrupted Ink — 
 
 ** Why, how now, whence this quarrel? 
 Could either of you think. 
 
 Did I not fill the barrel ? 
 
 *' Do you not wet your lip, 
 
 Sir Pen, without my fountain ? 
 
 Both Helicon and Hip- 
 
 Pocrene in use surmounting. 
 
 "Then let us all unite. 
 
 Useless without each other ; 
 One were not worth a mite. 
 
 Without his friend and brother ! " 
 
 Northcote. 
 
 PEN of the Writer, 
 
 " And out of Zebulon they that handle the pen of 
 the writer." — yudges v. 14. 
 
 In China penmanship and the art of compo- 
 sition are inseparable, and the man who 
 can put his thoughts in choice language and 
 a perspicuous arrangement is also able to 
 adorn the same in elegant characters. Every 
 
 scholar values himself not less upon his exten- 
 sive reading or the style of his composition 
 than upon the graceful management of the 
 pencil. In this country these qualifications are 
 often kept asunder; a man may have read 
 much without being able to express himself in 
 writing with propriety, or he may be able to 
 clothe his ideas in a beautiful phraseology, 
 without being able at the same time to set them 
 down upon paper in a graceful hand-writing. 
 In China the learned man takes his pencil, 
 which he handles with the greatest freedom, 
 and in a few minutes his thoughts are invested 
 in graphic symbols, interwoven with quota- 
 tions from classic authorities. He uses a kind 
 of running-hand in making this draft, that the 
 current of his reflections may not be impeded. 
 After this draft has been read and revised, he 
 takes a fresh pencil and writes it out in fair 
 characters, that the penmanship, learning, and 
 skill in the arrangement of words may all com- 
 bine to give value and beauty to his production. 
 
 The Japanese, who imitate the Chinese in 
 many things, and in past times drew all their 
 literature from thence, set a great value upon 
 rapidity and grace' in the use of the pencil. 
 Their characters have the nature of an alpha- 
 bet, but they were derived from Chinese sym- 
 bols, and so are susceptible of the same kind 
 of finished execution. Their running-hand is 
 a perpetual flourish, and so difficult to read, 
 from the eccentric playfulness with which it is 
 executed, that a native has to pore over it for a 
 time before he can follow the sense. All lite- 
 rary men, like the Chinese, can write a fine 
 hand, and even those who have imbibed only 
 the first principles are adepts in the use of the 
 pencil. 
 
 The individual of whom the writer of this 
 paper obtained a knowledge of the Japanese 
 language was the son of a small native mer- 
 chant, and had received only a common educa- 
 tion, yet he wielded the pencil very prettily, 
 and was versed in all the niceties of fine writing. 
 His scholarship, and his outward appearance, 
 which was very mean, did not agree together, 
 and it often seemed a matter of surprise to the 
 writer and his friend how he could have 
 mastered so much literary knowledge amidst 
 the humble duties of traffic and the labours of 
 seamanship. It would redound to our credit 
 and our comfort if, while we are labouring to 
 write Latin, Greek, and English with idio- 
 matic grace and grammatical purity, we were 
 to spend an hour now and then in improving 
 our penmanship. — G. T. L. 
 
 E E 
 
4i8 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 PEN, Origin of a. 
 
 Love begg'd and pray'd old Time to stay, 
 
 While he and Psyche toy'd together ; 
 Love held his wings — Time tore away, 
 
 But in the scuffle dropt a feather. 
 Love seized the prize, and with his dart 
 
 Adroitly work'd to trim and shape it, 
 *' O, Psyche ! though 'tis pain to part, 
 
 This charm shall make us half escape it. 
 
 ** Time need not fear to fly too slow, 
 When he this youthful loss discovers ; 
 
 A pen's the only plume I know. 
 
 That wings her pace for absent lovers." 
 Hon. R. Spencer. 
 
 PERFECTION, 
 The End of the Christian Life. 
 Miserable is the situation of a Christian who 
 does not look forward and press forward to 
 the promised rest. He must be progressive ; 
 he must "go on" from the beginning of 
 knowledge to the "perfection" of it. He 
 ought to knew more of God every day ; other- 
 wise he may think of Him less, till he totally 
 forgets Him; and then he is in danger of 
 falling into that state, out of which men cannot 
 be renewed unto repentance. ... So long as 
 the soul is in a growing state, the blessing of 
 Heaven continues with it, and the grace of God 
 brings it on to farther improvement ; but if it 
 is out of culture, thorns and briars get pos- 
 session of it, and its end is to be "burned." 
 When thorns and briars shall be planted in 
 Paradise, then such careless Christians may 
 expect to be admitted into Heaven. — Jones of 
 Nayland. 
 
 PERSEVERANCE, its Resistless Force. 
 
 All the performances of human art, at which 
 we look with praise or wonder, are instances 
 of the resistless force of perseverance ; it is by 
 this that the quarry becomes a pyramid, and 
 that distant countries are united by canals. If 
 a man was to compare the effect of a single 
 stroke of a pickaxe, or of one impression of 
 the spade, with the general design and last 
 result, he would be overwhelmed by the sense 
 of their disproportion ; yet those petty opera- 
 tions, incessantly continued, in time surmount 
 the greatest difficulties, and mountains are 
 levelled, and oceans bounded, by the slender 
 force of human beings. — Johnson. 
 
 PERSEVERANCE, its Reward. 
 
 I RECOLLECT, in Queen's County, to have seen | 
 a Mr. Clerk, who had been a working carpen- : 
 ter, and when making a bench for the sessions i 
 justices at the Court-house, was laughed at for 
 taking peculiar pains in planing and smoothing 
 the seat of it. He smilingly observed that 
 he did so to make it easy for himself, as he 
 was resolved he would never die till he had a 
 right to sit thereupon, and he kept his word. 
 He was an industrious man — honest, respect- 
 able, and kind-hearted. He succeeded in all 
 his efforts to accumulate an independence ; he 
 did accumulate it, and uprightly. His cha- 
 racter kept pace with the increase of his pro- 
 perty, and he lived to sit as a magistrate on 
 that very bench which he sawed and planed. — 
 Sir Jonah Barrington. 
 
 PERSONAL PIETY, 
 
 Characteristic Principles of. 
 
 Genuine vital godliness is of such importance 
 as to claim our chief attention. Without it, 
 we can neither have solid compact in life, nor 
 peace in death, nor a portion of bliss beyond 
 the grave. And yet, do we not see numbers 
 around us who are absolutely indifferent to all 
 religion? Is it not evident that their hopes 
 and fears, their joys and sorrows, their cares 
 and desires, are wholly confined to the things of 
 this life ? Judging from their conduct, might 
 we not warrantably ask. Are these people 
 Atheists? Do they really expect to die like 
 beasts, be entirely blotted out of the book of 
 life, and covered with the dark veil of eternal 
 oblivion ? It is impossible not to be deeply 
 affected with such views of the melancholy fact 
 which is continually before our eyes. There 
 are other persons who pay some attention to 
 religion, yet appear satisfied with speculative 
 notions and outward forms. They wear the 
 garb of a Christian profession, and nominally 
 rank with the followers of Jesus, but give 
 proof the most palpable of being in the gall of 
 bitterness and the bond of iniquity. By what 
 criterion, then, may the reality of religion be 
 known? What is its essence, apart from 
 notions and creeds, forms and decencies ? 
 
 The characteristic principle of personal 
 piety is holy love. By this term is meant the 
 affection which moves and actuates, which 
 marks and distinguishes the real Christian. 
 The eternal mind is eternity ; the spiritual 
 mind is love. Every heart renewed by the 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 419 
 
 power of divine grace warms and expands 
 with pure and devout feeling. Is it asked 
 what are the objects of this affection ? I reply, 
 the eternal God, his incarnate Son, the Saviour 
 of men, and every one who serves and honours 
 him. Jehovah has poured some beams of his 
 radiance and benignity over the visible face of 
 Nature, and the display of his divine excel- 
 lences in all things around us awakens in the 
 new heart emotions of wonder and pleasure. 
 But the glory of God, in the person and work 
 of his only begotten Son, is by far the most 
 marvellous and attractive manifestation that is 
 exhibited to our view. "God was in Christ 
 reconciling the world unto himself, not im- 
 puting their trespasses unto them ; and hath 
 committed to us the word of reconciliation." 
 To the mighty and merciful Redeemer, every 
 sincere Christian can, at times, if not always, 
 with mixed feelings of humility and adoration, 
 turn his eyes and exclaim, "Lord, thou know- 
 est all things ; thou knowest that I love thee." 
 It is a high complacency in his attributes and 
 perfections, his offices and characters, his laws, 
 institutions, and promises. The image of God 
 in his people, also, draws forth this affection. 
 ** We know," said St. John, " that we have 
 passed from death unto life, because we love 
 the brethren." A tender, sincere, ardent re- 
 gard to the living members of Jesus Christ, is 
 an essential part of personal religion, which is 
 more prominent, and of course more easily 
 perceived than any other. What are gifts 
 without this grace? Knowledge, eloquence, 
 zeal, influence, credit, fame? A specious 
 show, an empty sound, a momentary flash, a 
 vapour, a shadow, a delusion. 
 
 This principle of personal religion is in its 
 very nature progressive. An opinion, or a 
 system of opinions, may lie dormant in the 
 mind : holy love is a powerful operative prin- 
 ciple which commands every faculty, and per- 
 vades every feeling. The' apostle Paul ex- 
 presses a tender solicitude that his brethren 
 might be rooted and grounded in love. This 
 language suggests the idea of a plant which, 
 when once its seed has expanded in the earth, 
 and its fibres adhere to the soil, proves itself 
 alive by growth, by rising above the ground, 
 by shooting out branches, by bearing abun- 
 dance of rich ripe fruit. This love is a sacred 
 leaven which works and spreads. Being shed 
 abroad in the heart by the Holy Ghost, which 
 is given us, it imbues and transforms all our 
 powers, passions, motives, and thoughts. Iii 
 a word, it is a heaven-enkindled flame, which 
 
 rises towards its original .source, and raises the 
 soul above the toys and trifles of time — the 
 beggarly elements of sin and sense. 
 
 " Herein," says the apostle John, "is our 
 love made perfect, that we may have boldness 
 in the day of judgment." But how is this holy 
 and excellent grace progressively advanced to 
 perfection ? This is a most interesting and all- 
 important inquiry. 
 
 By a believing and intimate acquaintance 
 with the love of God. The attachment which 
 we feel to a fellow creature grows as we gain a 
 fuller knowledge of those amiable qualities 
 which first produced it. The attributes of our 
 gracious God need only be known to be ad- 
 mired ; but they cannot be truly and savingly 
 known except by divine truth, and the divine 
 unction which is from above. The Gospel 
 reveals God, opens the plans of his wisdom, 
 the purposes of his love, and the provisions of 
 his mercy to us. "In this was manifested the 
 love of God towards us, because that God sent 
 his only begotten Son into the world, that we 
 might live through him. Herein is love : not 
 that we loved God, but that he loved us, and 
 sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins." 
 This is the sacred ground over which we have 
 to expatiate. The doctrines of the Gospel 
 present God under the most engaging and en- 
 dearing characters ; and the teaching' and in- 
 fluence of the Holy Spirit enable us to perceive 
 and apprehend them. ' ' We have known and 
 believed the love that God hath to us." In 
 fact, nothing more than spiritual discernment 
 and genuine faith are required to fill the heart 
 with devout gratitude and divine complacence. 
 We see God's goodness displayed, we believe 
 that he has loved us, and the soul warms and 
 glows with affection ; nor is there anything 
 enthusiastic in all this, for the mind of man is 
 made to respond to the movements of kindness. 
 The same believing view of a gracious covenant 
 God produces and promotes brotherly affec- 
 tion : for, as Bishop Hail quaintly but empha- 
 tically expresses it, "Charity and Faith make 
 up one perfect pair of compasses, which can 
 take the tnie latitude of the Christian heart ; 
 Faith is the one foot pitched immoveably in the 
 centre, while Charity walks about in a perfect 
 centre of beneficence. " 
 
 Holy love is progressively advanced to 
 perfection by a close and constant habit of 
 communion with God. The nearer any object 
 approaches the sun, the more of his light and 
 heat are imbibed. " God is loye, and he that 
 dwelleth in God dwelleth in love, and God in 
 
420 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 him." It has been observed that one of the 
 elements of the true sublime is simplicity ; and 
 this observation is finely exemplified in the 
 language just recited. God is love ! — vi^hat 
 babe can mistake the meaning? what hoary 
 sage can grasp the full import of these three 
 words ? He who resides in love and benevo- 
 lence, as the atmosphere which he breathes — 
 as the element which suits and sustains his new 
 nature, resides in the presence of God, and 
 God makes his abode with him. Hence the 
 believer derives the lovely features of the Di- 
 vine image, and the first fruits of celestial 
 bliss. Likeness is the greatest endearment of 
 love, and the most natural foundation of com- 
 placency ; and the soul which resembles God 
 is infinitely happy when it enjoys the eternal 
 fruition of his love." The gross and sensual 
 man of the world sneers at the use of such 
 terms, for he is a stranger to the ideas conveyed 
 by them ; he knows not what pleasure there 
 can be in subjects from which his mind recoils : 
 but the Christian finds his delight in approach- 
 ing to God, in meditating on his favour, and 
 launching forth into the depths of his mercy. 
 In the present world, the measures and move- 
 ments of holy love regulate the degrees and 
 exercises of hope. The sincerity and fervour 
 of affection lead to confidence in God ; for 
 hereby we know that we are of the truth, and 
 assure our hearts before him. If our regard 
 to the Great Father of Spirits and the Re- 
 deemer of men be so small as to be scarcely 
 perceptible, it is no wonder if our hope should 
 also languish. Perfect love casteth out fear, 
 and all the tremours and torments which ac- 
 company it. Christian, wouldst thou advance 
 in the divine life? Keep near to the source 
 of light, and love, and blessedness. Let it be 
 thy aim and desire to hold intimate fellowship 
 with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ ; 
 and may your love abound still more and more 
 in knowledge, and in all judgment ; that you 
 may discern and approve all things which are 
 excellent ; that you may be sincere, and with- 
 out offence, till the day of Jesus Christ. — 
 Anon. 
 
 PERSPICUITY, Three Canons of. 
 
 The three canons of perspicuity : The word 
 that is necessary, the quantity that is necessary, 
 and the manner that is necessary. — CatheralL 
 
 PESTILENCE Engenders Selfish Fear. 
 
 So with joined hands we swore, and Nicholas 
 
 said, 
 *' To-night, fair friends, be ye apparelled 
 To leave this land, bring all the arms ye can 
 And such men as ye trust, my own good man 
 Guards the small postern looking towards St. 
 
 Bride, 
 And good it were ye should not be espied. 
 Since mayhap freely ye should not go hence, 
 Thou Rolf, in special, for this pestilence 
 Makes all men hard and cruel, nor are they 
 Willing that folk should 'scape if they must 
 
 stay : 
 Be wise ; I bid you for a while farewell. 
 Leave ye this stronghold when St. Peter's bell 
 Strikes midnight ; all will surely then be still, 
 And I will bide you at King Tryggoe's hill. 
 Outside the city gates." 
 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY, a Connecting Link. 
 
 It is the principal thing that natural philoso- 
 phy ought to do, and it is indeed the end of 
 that science, that by a regular chain of reason- 
 ing we proceed from effects to their causes, 
 till we at length arrive at the very first cause 
 of all things : that we not only explain the 
 mechanism of the world, but that we may be 
 thereby enabled to answer the following que- 
 ries, with others of a like nature : Whence it 
 is that the sun and the planets gravitate mutu- 
 ally towards one another, while the spaces 
 between them are void of matter ? How it 
 comes to pass that Nature performs nothing 
 in vain ? Whence proceeds the admirable 
 beauty of the universe ? To what end were 
 the comets made ? And whence is it that they 
 move in orbits so very eccentric, from and to 
 all parts of the heavens ; whereas the courses 
 of the planets have the same direction, towards 
 the same parts, in concentric orbits ? Again, 
 what hinders the eun and fixed stars from 
 rushing mutually against each other? How it 
 happens that the bodies of animals are framed 
 with such exquisite art and wisdom, and for 
 what purposes their different parts are de- 
 signed ? Whether it be possible that the eye 
 could be framed without any acquaintance 
 with optics, or the ear without any knowledge 
 of sounds ? Whence it is that the motions of 
 the body obey the direction of the will ; and 
 what it is that we term instinct in animals ? 
 Whether, from a right solution of these queries, 
 it does not appear that there is a Being, incor 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 421 
 
 poieal, self-existent, intelligent, and omnipre- 
 sent, who in infinite space, or as it were, in his 
 own sensory, beholds accurately, and discerns 
 thoroughly, all things themselves, and by being 
 ever present, comprehends them all within 
 Himself. — Sir Isaac Newtoti. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY, 
 
 Ancient and Modem, Compared. 
 
 The end which the great Lord Bacon proposed 
 to himself was the multiplying of human en- 
 joyments and the mitigating of human suffer- 
 ings. The ancient philosophy disdained to be 
 useful, and was content to be stationary. It 
 dealt largely in theories of moral perfection, 
 which were so sublime that they never could be 
 more than theories ; in attempts to solve in- 
 soluble enigmas, in exhortations to the attain- 
 ment of unattainable frames of mind. It could 
 not condescend to the humble office of minister- 
 ing to the comforts of human beings. All the 
 schools regarded that office as degrading ; 
 some censured it as immoral. Once, indeed, 
 Posidonius, a distinguished writer of the age 
 of Cicero and Csesar, so far forgot himself as 
 to enumerate among the humbler blessings 
 which mankind owed to philosophy, the dis- 
 covery of the principle of the arch, and the 
 introduction of the use of metals. This eulogy 
 was considered as an affront, and was taken 
 up with spirit. Seneca vehemently disclaims 
 these insulting compliments. Philosophy, ac- 
 cording to him, has nothing to do with teach- 
 ing men to rear arched roofs over their heads. 
 "The true philosopher does not care whether 
 he has an arched roof or any roof. Philosophy 
 has nothing to do with teaching men the uses 
 of metals. She teaches us to be independent 
 of all material substances, of all mechanical 
 contrivances." He labours to clear Demo- 
 critus from the disgraceful imputation of having 
 made the first arch, and Anacharsis from the 
 charge of having contrived the potters' wheel. 
 The business of these philosophers was to de- 
 claim in praise of poverty with two millions 
 sterling out at usury ; to meditate epigrammatic 
 conceits about the evil of luxury, in gardens 
 which moved the envy of sovereigns ; to rant 
 about liberty, while fawning on the insolent 
 and pampered freedman of a tyrant ; to cele- 
 brate the divine beauty of virtue with the same 
 pen, which had just before written a defence 
 of the murder of a mother by a son. 
 
 From the cant of this philosophy— a philo- 
 sophy meanly proud of its own unprofitableness, 
 —it is delightful to turn to the lessons of the 
 great English teacher. The philosophy which 
 he taught was essentially new. Its object was 
 the good of mankind, in the sense in which the 
 mass of mankind always have understood, and 
 always will understand the word, good. The 
 aim of the Platonic philosophy was to exalt 
 man into a god. The aim of the Baconian 
 philosophy was to provide man with what he 
 requires while he continues to be a man. The 
 aim of the Platonic philosopher was to raise us 
 far above vulgar wants. The aim of the Ba- 
 conian philosophy was to supply our vulgar 
 wants. The former aim was noble ; but the 
 latter was attainable. Ask the follower of 
 Bacon what the new philosophy, as it was 
 called in the time of Charles the Second, has 
 effected for mankind, and his answer is ready. 
 It has lengthened life ; it has mitigated pain ; 
 it has extinguished diseases ; it has increased 
 the fertility of the soil ; it has given new se- 
 curities to the mariner ; it has furnished new 
 arms to the warrior ; it has spanned great 
 rivers and estuaries with bridges of form un- 
 known to our fathers ; it has guided the thun- 
 derbolt innocuously from heaven to earth ; it 
 has lighted up the night with the splendour of 
 the day ; it has extended the range of the hu- 
 man vision ; it has multipled the power of the 
 human muscles ; it has accelerated motion ; it 
 has annihilated distance ; it has facilitated in- 
 tercourse, correspondence, all friendly offices, 
 all despatch of business ; it has enabled man 
 to descend to the depths of the sea ; to soar 
 into the air, to penetrate securely into the nox- 
 ious recesses of the earth, to traverse the land 
 on cars which whirl along without horses, and 
 the ocean in ships which sail against the wind. 
 These are but a part of its fruits, and of its 
 first fruit. For it is a philosophy which never 
 rests, which has never attained it, which is 
 never perfect. Its law is progress. A point 
 which was yesterday invisible is its goal to-day, 
 and will be its starting-post to-morrow. — 
 Edinburgh Review. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY Another and Better. 
 
 There is a philosophy far more satisfactory to 
 the inquiring mind than that which would ex- 
 plain everything by lines and number, and by 
 the mechanical principles, or the laws of 
 matter and motion. These may, indeed, be 
 
422 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 used in the way of conjecture and hypothesis, 
 to account for the general order of the universe ; 
 but the knowledge of motion is not the know- 
 ledge of the creation. Any system of physics, 
 in which the various means prepared to pre- 
 serve the world are regarded as the original 
 causes of the several parts of Nature is a devia- 
 tion from truth ; since it refers the origin and 
 formation of everything to such causes as can 
 produce nothing, and dries up our hearts by 
 substituting an imaginary mechanism for the 
 intention and will of the Almighty. — Bascley. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY, Begins in Wonder. 
 In wonder all philosophy began ; in wonder it 
 ends ; and admiration fills up the interspace. 
 But the first wonder is the offspring of igno- 
 rance ; the last is the parent of adoration. — 
 Coleridge. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY, 
 
 Its True Tendency is Truth.. 
 
 The philosopher knows the value of truth, 
 searches for it, meditates upon it, or communi- 
 cates it to others. The wise man exhibits it in 
 his life and actions. Truth, wisdom, reason, 
 virtue, nature, are terms which equally desig- 
 nate what is useful to mankind. The uniform 
 tendency of truth is to enlighten man — the 
 most enlightened are the most reasonable — the 
 most reasonable feel more deeply than others 
 the real interests and motives they have to be 
 virtuous. Without the study of nature, man 
 can never know the relation he bears, nor the 
 duties he owes to himself and others — deprived 
 of this knowledge, he can have neither firm 
 principles nor true happiness. The most en- 
 lightened are the most interested in bei-ng the 
 best men — great talents should lead to great 
 virtues. He who does evil is blind — he who 
 is unregulated is deprived of reason — his con- 
 duct proves that he mistakes his own nature, 
 is ignorant of what is due to himself and others, 
 of the value of self-esteem, and of the esteem 
 of those around him — he is not an enlightened 
 man. If he be insensible to the offices of bene- 
 volence, to the approbation and kindness of 
 his associates, he differs in nothing from brutes 
 — if he do not see that his vices lead to his 
 own destruction, he is not an intelligent being, 
 whose great aim is self-preservation — if he do . 
 not know and appreciate the inestimable ad- 
 
 vantages of society, and the means to render it 
 useful and agreeable, he is a madman, and not 
 a friend to wisdom. — M. du Marsais. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY, Mental, 
 Abuses to which it is Liable. 
 As there is nothing good which is not liable 
 to abuse, such is the perversion of man's 
 faculties and feelings, it may be presumed 
 that mental philosophy, if studied improperly 
 or with an improper bias, may have an effect 
 upon the mind very different from its proper 
 and legitimate influence. This effect we 
 shall now endeavour to point out. 
 
 The mind, it must be remembered, pro- 
 ceeds to the study of mental philosophy under 
 circumstances very different to those under 
 which it pursues any merely physical investi- 
 gation ; in the latter case, the objects are all 
 external and unconnected with itself, so that it 
 can observe and reason with calmness, and de- 
 cide without passion ; the only object is to add 
 to the treasures of science and to elicit truth ; 
 and whether the investigation terminates satis- 
 factorily or not, the mind is not affected by it ; 
 or, at any rate, the worst that can happen is 
 but the overthrow of some preconceived 
 notions, or the explosion of some favourite 
 hypothesis. 
 
 But in the pursuit of mental philosophy the 
 mind is employed upon its own analysis ; 
 itself is the object of investigation ; it brings 
 its powers, feelings, thoughts, and passions to 
 its own tribunal, and not only so, but, if we 
 may continue our metaphor, it gives evidence 
 in its own favour, advocates its own cause, 
 and sits in judgment upon its own merits. Is 
 it probable, therefore, that under these circum- 
 stances, the mind will always be inclined to 
 reason dispassionately? On the contrary, is 
 there not a danger, interested as it is in its 
 own decisions, lest it should estimate its 
 powers and capabilities too highly ? Man is a 
 proud being, although there is so much more 
 in him that ought to engender feelings of 
 shame rather than those of pride ; he loves 
 self-flattery, and although mental philosophy 
 is intended to teach him the knowledge of his 
 own frailties, with every other branch of self- 
 knowledge, yet, considering his previous pre- 
 possessions, some apprehension maybe reason- 
 ably entertained lest it should fail in doing 
 this, unless our philosophical pursuits be con- 
 ducted with a keen remembrance of higher 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 423 
 
 truths than it is capable of unfolding, and with 
 a subserviency to still higher purposes than 
 those with which it stands connected. 
 
 We are all naturally so unwilling to own our- 
 selves as fallen as we really are — our pride, 
 just as when reduced from circumstances of 
 affluence to poverty, would so willingly con- 
 ceal our indigence, that I think this inference 
 may fairly be drawn, especially when we con- 
 sider how few in the school of philosophy 
 have learned, with all their attainments, the 
 necessary lessons of self-abasement and 
 humility ; how few have been willing to say 
 with that one philosopher of old, that all 
 they really knew was the knowledge of their 
 own ignorance ? 
 
 When we consider the powers of the 
 mind attested by what it has performed ; the 
 sciences and the arts which, I was going to 
 say, it has created ; its systems of philosophy, 
 some of them so abstract and profound ; its 
 wonderful discoveries in all the branches of 
 physics, by which man has been enabled to 
 measure the greatest distances in that mighty 
 system of which he forms so insignificant a 
 part ; to traverse the ocean and even explore 
 its depths, by which he has been enabled, as it 
 were, to unlock the hidden treasures of Nature 
 and reveal some of her most profound secrets, 
 when we consider its poetry, by which it has 
 produced worlds of fiction, unsubstantial 
 indeed, but almost extensive as those of 
 reality ; its eloquence, and all the other fine 
 arts ; the cities it has built ; the monuments 
 of all pomp, and power, and greatness, which 
 it has reared : we are but too apt to overrate 
 the energies of the agent which has effected all 
 these wonders, and in the complacent admira- 
 tion of what it has already done, and in the 
 exulting hope of what it may yet do, to forget 
 what it has left undone, and what we may be 
 assured it can never do : we forget that the 
 various and clashing symptoms of philosophy, 
 of which it boasts so much, all prove man's 
 weakness and errors, since only one (supposing 
 for the sake of argument that he has discovered 
 that one) can be true ; or if they prove his 
 strength of mind at all, prove only his in- 
 genuity in fabricating false hypotheses. We 
 forget that the sciences and arts, of which he 
 also boasts, are at any rate many of them only 
 remedies for natural defects — defects which, in 
 our admiration of the remedies for them, we 
 are so willing to overlook. We forget too, 
 lastly, that the memorials of his pride, the 
 productions of his genius and skill, are as 
 
 short-lived as they are sometimes magnificent ; 
 that time crumbles almost as fast as we can 
 raise, and is daily and hourly dissipating those 
 dreams of permanent and enduring greatness 
 in which we are so fond of indulging. 
 
 But in a moral point of view, mental philo- 
 sophy, if not properly cultivated, may have a 
 much worse tendency ; there, as in the esti- 
 mate which we form of our intellectual 
 powers, pride is as unwilling (nay more so, 
 just in proportion as virtue is more valuable 
 than intellect) that we should believe ourselves 
 so weak as we are: it is the most mortifying 
 avowal which the pride of philosophy has to 
 make, that the heart of man is radically 
 wicked ; that he is naturally incapable of 
 virtue ; that he is only the wreck of what he 
 once was. We have indeed, just sufficient 
 keenness of moral perception left to make us 
 perceive and acknowledge the loveliness of 
 virtue and the deformity of vice ; but this is 
 all we can do : philosophy cannot change our 
 disinclination for the one or our appetency 
 for the other ; the only thing to be feared is 
 lest it should persuade us that it can do so. 
 There is something so coldly beautiful in the 
 very portraiture which philosophy gives us of 
 virtue (however inefficient to influence our 
 practice) that it is no wonder many should be 
 deluded into the hope that it is capable of 
 more than it really is. The testimony of ages, 
 however, and the abortive attempts of so many 
 philosophers, prove how ineffectual it is to 
 teach the practice of virtue. The painter may 
 paint well, but cannot give animation to the 
 canvas ; and however lovely philosophers may 
 represent virtue, they cannot induce mankind, 
 while they admire its beauties, to transfer them 
 to themselves. — H. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY, Mental, 
 Its Application to the Laws of Criticism. 
 When we see a painting or a statue, the sen- 
 sations we derive from it are either pleasurable 
 or disgusting, in proportion as its several parts 
 are, to use an artist's term, in keeping with 
 nature ; or at least this ought to be the only 
 criterion by which to determine its merits or 
 defects. If we feel disgusted at viewing the 
 production of an artist, either the work itself 
 is not in harmony with nature, or we ourselves 
 do not know what is harmony with nature. It 
 is this knowledge alone which can give the 
 artist the power of bestowing upon his work 
 
424 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 those qualities which it ought to possess, or the 
 spectator the faculty of judging of those quali- 
 ties correctly. Thus, for the painter to paint 
 well, and for the spectator to judge correctly, 
 they must both have this in common — the 
 knowledge of what ought to enter into the 
 composition of a fine painting — although it is 
 by no means necessary that the latter should 
 be able to illustrate on the canvas those prin- 
 ciples which it is, however, as necessary for 
 him to be acquainted with as the artist. 
 
 Precisely in this situation does the critic 
 stand with regard to the author upon whose 
 merits he takes upon him to decide. The 
 author must have the genius to create, and the 
 judgment necessary to guide him in creating, 
 so that he may not transgress the laws which 
 nature has prescribed, nor overstep the proper 
 bounds she has assigned ; while the critic must 
 also have the same judgment, in order that he 
 may be enabled to decide whether those laws 
 have been preserved or broken. "What is cri- 
 ticism, then, in the highest sense of the term 
 (for we do not now speak of mere verbal 
 criticism)? Nothing but the art of deter- 
 mining correctly what is and what is not 
 accordant with nature ; an art which depends, 
 therefore, upon the knowledge of the most 
 Natural series of thought and feeling. This, 
 then, is learned by studying the principles of 
 mind ; this it is the province of mental philo- 
 sophy to teach ; and consequently criticism, in 
 the highest sense of the term, is nothing more 
 than the application of some of the truths of 
 mental philosophy. 
 
 When we consider the duties of criticism, 
 we are too apt to restrict it to the art of deter- 
 mining the correctness or incorrectness of ex- 
 pressions — the art by which words and syllables 
 and sounds are tried and examined — which has 
 reference principally to the delicacies of lan- 
 guage ; we seldom think of the high principles 
 upon which it proceeds — that it draws its rules 
 and data from the sublimest of the sciences — 
 that it is the arbiter of thought, not merely of 
 language. It is this very circumstance which 
 has given us so many incompetent critics, be- 
 cause they have not considered the art of 
 criticism to be so important or profound as it 
 really is. The legitimate objects of criticism 
 are, indeed, of no mean or trivial nature. 
 "What is it, for instance, that can determine 
 when the poet restrains himself within the 
 bounds of nature, and when he does not ? 
 When he well employs the liberties which the 
 very nature of his art allows him, and when he 
 
 does not? What is it that determines the 
 bounds and limits of poetry ? What can decide 
 whether its metaphor and imagery, bold and 
 original as it may sometimes be, is still in har- 
 mony with nature or not ? For even fiction 
 itself, wide and extensive as is the latitude 
 which it allows, still has limits beyond which 
 the poet must not proceed ; or if he dares to do 
 so, it will only be (like the painter described 
 in the commencement of Horace's "Art of 
 Poetry") to draw down upon himself well- 
 merited derision and censure. What, then,, 
 can discriminate between the claims so justljr 
 due to nature and propriety, and those privi- 
 leges which fiction affords? What can dis-^ 
 tinguish between those fine lines, which, like 
 the colours of the rainbow, seem to blend and 
 melt away into each other ? Nothing but art 
 acquaintance with those natural successions of 
 thought and feeling which make us recognize 
 what is and what is not in harmony with nature. 
 Or, to give another example, what can deter- 
 mine when the historian is maintaining that 
 gravity which becomes one who is writing for 
 the instruction of mankind, and recording the 
 disasters or triumphs of the world, and whem 
 he ventures upon ground which is forbidden 
 him as an historian? What is that which 
 assigns to the philosopher his proper office— 
 which immediately discerns, and immediately 
 condemns, any departure from that sobriety 
 and dignity which ought so completely to dis- 
 tinguish him from the poet? What can do- 
 all this, but the knowledge of the principles, 
 and feelings upon which our minds act, which, 
 like a touch stone, enable us to separate the 
 congruous from the incongruous ; that which 
 is in harmony with nature from that which is 
 the reverse? Every critic must possess this- 
 knowledge ; but surely none can know it so- 
 well as he who has gained it from the fountaim 
 head, the philosophy of the human mind. — H.. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY, Natural, 
 The True Scientific Inquirer into. 
 H I s mind should always be awake to devotional 
 feeling ; and in contemplating the variety and 
 beauty of the external world, and developing 
 its scientific wonders, he will always refer to 
 that Infinite Wisdom through whose beneficence 
 he is permitted to enjoy knowledge. In 
 becoming wiser, he will become better ; he will 
 rise at once in the scale of intellectual and! 
 moral existence : his increased sagacity will be 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 425 
 
 subservient to a more exalted faith ; and, in 
 proportion as the veil becomes thinner through 
 which he sees the causes of things, he will 
 admire more the brightness of the Divine 
 light by which they are rendered perceptible. 
 — Sir Humphry Davy, 
 
 PHILOSOPHY, No Medium in. 
 
 A LITTLE philosophy inclineth men's minds 
 to atheism, but a depth in it brings them about 
 to religion ; for while the mind of man looketh 
 upon second causes scattered, it may some- 
 times rest in them and go no further ; but 
 when it beholdeth the chain of them con- 
 federate and linked together, it must needs fly 
 to Providence and Deity. — Lord Bacon. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY, 
 
 Only so when it Diminishes Misery. 
 
 Philosophy can add to our happiness in no 
 other manner than by diminishing our misery ; 
 it should not pretend to increase stock, but 
 make us economists of what we are possessed 
 of. The great source of calamity lies in regret 
 or anticipation ; he, therefore, is most wise who 
 thinks of the present alone, regardless of the 
 past or future. This is impossible to a man of 
 pleasure ; it is difficult to the man of business, 
 and is, in some degree, attainable by the philo- 
 sopher. Happy, were we all bom philoso- 
 phers, all bom with a talent of thus dissipating 
 our own cares by spreading them upon all 
 mankind, — Goldsmith. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY, 
 
 Well Understood, a Noble Science. 
 
 Many persons have been injured by the im- 
 posing name of philosophy. Philosophy, 
 when it is employed in promoting good morals, 
 in cultivating liberal arts, in strengthening 
 social union, in contemplating the works of 
 creation, and thus leading man to acknowledge 
 and adore the Supreme Being, is a noble science: 
 it is noble, because true ; and true, because 
 consistent and corresponding with the nature of 
 man and with the relations he bears to his 
 fellow-creatures and to his Maker. But that 
 which assumes the name of philosophy, and 
 under this mask injures morals, dissuades from 
 mental improvement, disunites society, dis- 
 
 cerns not the wisdom of God, either in the 
 earth or the heavens, and discourages men 
 from paying the tribute of gratitude to their 
 universal Father, — such a system of doctrines is 
 detestable, because false ; and false, because 
 contrary to the nature of man and his several 
 relations to society and God. Real philosophy 
 we should cherish and love ; it is the friend of 
 man, being the source of wisdom, the origin of 
 many comforts, and the handmaid of religion. 
 That which comes under its borrowed name, 
 which puts on a semblance of what in fact it is 
 not, and which if we are compelled to call 
 philosophy, we must, if we would speak pro- 
 perly, term false philosophy ; that is the evil 
 against which we are to guard, that the credu- 
 lous and innocent may not be betrayed by the 
 deceits, the forgeries, and enchantments of this 
 visored impostor. — Bp. Huntingford. 
 
 PHRENOLOGY, 
 
 Wonderful Improvement in the Science of. 
 
 The great discoveries of Gall and Spurzheim 
 have been introduced among us for some years. 
 These acute and profound German philoso- 
 phers have taught us that all the faculties, 
 passions, virtues, and vices of every man, may 
 be traced in protuberances or visible bumps on 
 his skull. A noble science in very deed ! 
 which, if duly estimated and applied, can 
 scarcely fail to change the aspect and destiny 
 of the world. Most of the learning and la- 
 bours of former days, will, it may be presumed, 
 be swept away as useless lumber. We have 
 now a short, sure, easy, and royal road to the 
 knowledge of man — that microcosm, or world 
 in miniature, so often investigated, but, few 
 want of a conducting clue, as yet so little 
 known. The great advantage of this science 
 is, the facility and precision with which all the 
 powers and propensities of the mind can be 
 marked out, arranged, and classified, by the 
 eye, the hand, and the ordinary instmments of 
 mensuration. Who, in these days, need toil 
 through the tedious volumes of Locke, Reid, 
 and Stewart, when the purposes they proposed 
 to accomplish can be attained by the easy task 
 of feeling and measuring the skull? "The 
 discoveries," says Mr. Combe, ** of the revolu- 
 tion of the globe and the circulation of the 
 blood were splendid displays of genius in their 
 authors, and interesting and beneficial to man- 
 kind ; but their results, compared with the 
 consequences which must inevitably follow 
 
426 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 from Dr. Gall's discovery of the functions of 
 brain (embracing, as it does, the true theory 
 of the animal, moral, and intellectual consti- 
 tution of man), sink into relative insignifi- 
 cance." 
 
 We are aware it may be said that such a 
 multitude of faculties have no distinct and se- 
 parable existence in the human mind ; that the 
 most learned phrenologists differ respecting the 
 number, nature, and operation of these facul- 
 ties ; that the prominences of the skull can, 
 with no propriety or intelligible meaning, be 
 called organs ; that the supposition of the 
 bumps having any direct connection with the 
 medullary substance of the brain is entirely 
 gratuitous, and unsupported by evidence ; and 
 that moral changes in the heart and conduct 
 frequently occur without any alteration on the 
 surface of the head. These difficulties, it must 
 be owned, have been felt by the friends of the 
 science ; but surely they are not insurmoun- 
 table. My present business, however, is not 
 to prepare a formal answer to objections. 
 
 The only desideratum now of consequence 
 refers to the best method of developing the 
 faculties. On this subject we have something 
 to tell the initiated, which we are persuaded 
 will create a higher rapture than that which 
 fired the famous Archimedes in the cooling 
 bath at Syracuse. It reflects no dishonour on 
 the fathers of phrenology that they have fallen 
 into some mistakes, or that they have not dis- 
 closed all the bearings and blessings of this 
 admirable science at once. These great men 
 have divided the human cranium into thirty- 
 six sections, but it has been recently found in 
 fact that there are only thirty-two, correspond- 
 ing with the points of the compass. It has 
 also been demonstrated that the movements 
 of the minds of man, and of the external 
 atmosphere, are adjusted to each otlier by a 
 law of natural sympathy, as clearly evident 
 and as fixed in its nature as the law of gravity. 
 I can better conceive than describe, the power- 
 ful and thrilling emotions of delight, wonder, 
 and astonishment, with which the statement 
 here given will be read. What a blaze of light 
 now breaks upon this most interesting science ! 
 In order then to develope the faculties and 
 passions of the human soul, it will be neces- 
 sary, in the first place, to study the theory of 
 the winds, and precisely to ascertain from what 
 quarters, and at what seasons, they blow. Does 
 the reader ask how this is to be effected ? No- 
 thing can be more easy. Let him procure a 
 good weathercock, and fix it in a conspicuous 
 
 place, attached to a circular plate of thirty- 
 two points, exactly corresponding to the like 
 number of organs in the cranium. This cheap 
 and manageable apparatus will enable any 
 man to develope or repress whatever faculties 
 he pleases. To an adept, the process is just 
 seeing and feeling, and no more. He has 
 only to observe the direction of the wind, and 
 then touch the corresponding bump, and the 
 whole business is done ! Suppose, for instance, 
 one should wish to become a great architect. 
 It were a foolish waste of time and toil to | 
 pore over the pages of Vitruvius, to study 
 elevations and designs, or master the orders of 
 ancient architecture, and the gothic style of 
 the middle ages. A plainer and shorter course 
 is before him. He has but to develope the 
 organ of constructiveness, which the weather- 
 cock will assist him to do, and he may forth- 
 with rival Inigo Jones or Christopher Wren. 
 Suppose another should want to be a first-rate 
 poet. He will require, in a state of energy 
 and excitement, the organ of ideality, and must 
 wait for the Favonian breeze, and nothing 
 more can be needed to rank him with Homer, 
 and Virgil, and Milton. He will be able to 
 soar without mounting Pegasus, and sing with- 
 out invoking the aid of the Muses. Or should 
 the organ of tune, in the head, be adjusted 
 like the -^olian harp, to catch the gale, one 
 might have a Handel, or a Mozart, for every 
 village church in the kingdom. 
 
 But the benefits of our glorious science, in a 
 moral view, are much greater than in mere 
 matters of intellect and taste. The ethical 
 systems of Greece and Rome, or the more re- 
 fined and elaborate treatises of modern times, 
 can be well spared, and should be instantly 
 superseded to make way for a plan, which, 
 besides the recommendation of its matchless 
 simplicity, promises to be infinitely more effi- 
 cient. Would any one attain the four cardinal 
 virtues, let him adjust the proper sections and 
 organs of his head to an exact agreement with 
 the four cardinal points of the compass, and he 
 may dispense with the precepts of Seneca and 
 the offices of Cicero. After the chief lines are 
 drawn, by proceeding in the same manner the 
 subordinate parts may be added, till the whole 
 moral character be complete. We shall not 
 then have to sort out single actions and frag- 
 ments, without one finished piece, one portrait 
 of moral excellency. 
 
 Who does a kindness is not therefore kind — 
 Perhaps prosperity becalmed his breast- 
 Perhaps the wind just shifted from the east. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 427 
 
 Nor can I forbear to notice the advantages 
 which this improvement in the science will 
 secure to all judicial proceedings. Every one 
 knows how difficult and yet important it is to 
 prosecute criminals with any good effect. In- 
 stead of employing counsellers to hunt after 
 facts, to compare testimonies, and confound 
 judgment with their puzzling distinctions and 
 everlasting wrangles, one good craniologist, by 
 an examination of skulls made at the proper 
 season, indicated by the state of the atmo- 
 sphere, might soon dispose of all the criminal 
 cases of the metropolis. Thus the administra- 
 tion of justice will be brought into a tangible 
 form, and rendered easy, certain, and salutary. 
 
 It is possible there may be persons so ignor- 
 ant and prejudiced as to treat all this as an 
 airy and idle theory more worthy of ridicule 
 than of reasoning. Every advance which true 
 philosophy has made hath been met by a host 
 of objections and cavils. We are far from 
 wishing to obtrude upon the world those loose 
 fantastic hypotheses, which only serve to amuse 
 men of a speculative turn. But the sympathy 
 which subsists between man and the atmo- 
 spheric elements which surround him, may be 
 safely referred to the sober method of induction 
 and proof recommended by Lord Bacon. 
 
 Nor will we contend that the primary idea 
 of this beautiful theory is altogether original, 
 though the application is so. The mystic 
 numbers of Pythagoras, the analogies and 
 harmonies of Kepler, the magnetic agencies of 
 Mesmer, and the spiritual correspondences of 
 Baron Swedenborg, seem sufficient to attest 
 that a few sublime and choice spirits have had 
 glimpses of the true system of man and nature. 
 It now remains to be seen whether the time at 
 which we live be far enough advanced to be 
 capable of profiting liy the grand discovery I 
 have laid before you ; or whether the flood of 
 light thus suddenly poured forth may dazzle 
 and blind those it was intended to illumine. 
 You, I am sure, will give me credit for my 
 motives, whatever the consequence may be. 
 I have not involved the secret in dark symbols 
 or cabalistical terms ; I have frankly disclosed 
 the outline of the new system in plain intel- 
 ligible language ; and fearlessly make my ap- 
 peal to all men of sense, candour, and free 
 inquiry. If the fastidious public in general 
 should pour contempt on the whole scheme, I 
 shall look with confidence to sages and philo- 
 sophers ; and if these should, by any unac- 
 countable negligence, leave it to sink into 
 temporary oblivion, I can still rejoice in the 
 
 assured persuasion that it will be duly appre- 
 ciated and applied in some future happy age. 
 —H. 
 
 PHYSIC, a Mere Substitute. 
 
 Physic, for the most part, is nothing else but 
 the substitute for exercise or temperance. — 
 Addison. 
 
 PHYSICIAN, his Learning. 
 
 Every physitian ought to know first learning, 
 and then practise ; that is to say, first to learn 
 grammar to understand what he doth read in 
 Latin, then to have logick to discusse or dif- 
 fine by argumentation the truth from the false- 
 hoode, and so e converse. And then to have a 
 rhetorick, or an eloquent tongue, the which 
 should bee placable to the hearers of his words. 
 And also to have geometry to ponder and 
 waie the dregs or portions, the which ought to 
 bee ministred. Arithmetick is necessarie to bee 
 had concerning numeration : but above all 
 things, next to grammar, a physitian must have 
 surely his astronomy, to know how, when, and 
 at what time, every medicine ought to be 
 ministered ; and then finally to know Natural 
 Philosophy, the which consisteth in the know- 
 ledge of naturall things. And all these things 
 had, then is a man apt to studie phisick by spe- 
 culation, and speculation obtained, then boldlie 
 a man may practise phisick. — Avenzoar. 
 
 PHYSICIAN, 
 
 His Vocation Inglorious, not Ignoble. 
 
 Me they sent 
 To wait on pain, and silent arts to urge, 
 Inglorious, not ignoble ; if my cares 
 To such as languish on a grievous bed, 
 Ease, and the sweet forgetfulness of ill. 
 Conciliate. Akenside. 
 
 PHYSICIAN, the Choice of a. 
 
 To choose a physician well, one should be 
 half a physician one's self ; but as this is not 
 the case with many, the best plan which a 
 mother of a family can adopt is to select a man 
 whose education has been suitable to his pro- 
 fession ; — whose habits oi liie are such as to 
 prove that he continues to acquire both theore- 
 tical and practical knowledge ; — who is neither 
 a bigot in old opinions nor an enthusiast in 
 
428 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 new ; and, for many reasons, not the fashion- 
 able doctor of the day. A little attention in 
 making the necessary inquiries will suffice to 
 ascertain the requisites here specified ; to which 
 should be added what are usually found in 
 medical men of real worth — those qualities 
 which may serve to render him an agreeable 
 companion ; for the family physician should 
 always be the family friend. — Lady Mount- 
 casheL 
 
 PHYSICIANS, their Pliancy. 
 
 Physicians are, some of them, so pleasing 
 and conformable to the humour of the patient, 
 as they press not the true cure of the disease ; 
 and some other are so regular in proceeding 
 according to art for the disease, as they respect 
 not sufficiently the condition of the patient. 
 Take one of a middle temper, or if it may not 
 be found in one man, combine two of either 
 sort ; and forget not to call as Avell the best 
 acquainted with your body, as the best reported 
 of for his faculty. — Bacon. 
 
 PHYSICIAN, why Respected. 
 
 I USED to wonder why people should be so 
 fond of the company of their physician, till I 
 recollected that he is the only person with 
 whom one dares talk continually of one's-self, 
 without interruption, contradiction, or censure. 
 — Mrs. H. More, 
 
 PIETY and Policy. 
 
 Piety and policy are like Martha and Mary- 
 sisters. Martha fails if Mary help not ; and 
 Mary suffers if Martha be idle. Happy is i 
 that kingdom where Martha complains of 
 Mary; but most happy where Mary complies 
 with Martha. Where piety and policy go 
 hand in hand, there war shall be just, and 
 peace honourable. — Quarks, 
 
 PIETY at Home. 
 We are too apt to judge of mankind, both 
 favourably and unfavourably, from external 
 appearances. Professors of religion are par- 
 ticularly liable to fall into this enor. While 
 a man mantains a fair character abroad— 
 is punctual in his attendance on religious or- 
 
 dinances — subscribes generously to the local in- 
 stitutions of his neighbourhood, and to those 
 of a more general nature — while he can speak 
 at Bible and missionary anniversaries, and 
 lead the services at a prayer meeting — all 
 speak well of him; he is a most excellent 
 man — an eminent Christian — they extol his 
 amiable disposition — his- steady attendance in 
 the sanctuary — his extensive liberality — his 
 sensible and eloquent addresses— the supe- 
 riority of his gifts and the spirituality of his, 
 devotion. But let some unexpected dispen- 
 sation of Providence reduce him from the high 
 station he occupied — let him become a bank- 
 rupt, no matter though his misfortune might 
 have been wholly unlocked for by himself, and 
 the result of circumstances he could not control 
 — what is the result? Every mouth is opened 
 against him — his sauvity of manners is set 
 down to the score of duplicity — his regularity 
 in the sanctuary to a well- cloaked pretension — 
 his generosity is censured as profuseness — he is 
 told that he should have been just before he 
 was generous — his zeal for public institutions 
 is stated to have been the result of a wish to 
 promote his worldly interests — and his ardent 
 prayers as the perfection of hypocrisy. Every 
 petty slander which the malevolence or envy 
 of his enemies can rake up, during his whole 
 life, is retailed by those who ought to sympa- 
 thise in his sorrows and sustain him under his 
 trials — and he is at once unchristianized in the 
 estimation of what is termed the religious; 
 world. Yet probably, could he be seen at 
 home, it would be found that the pure flame of 
 personal religion never burnt with more bril- 
 liancy — that it was never less checked in its 
 aspirations by an earthly atmosphere — and 
 that in his piety at home was exhibited the 
 superiority of religious principle to support the 
 mind, not only under pecuniary loss, but under 
 the more distressing calamity of being called 
 to ''endure evil speaking and all uncharitable- 
 ness. " 
 
 Nothing is more difficult than to decide on a 
 man's real character from what we see of him 
 in public. If he be a hypocrite, he is then 
 upon the watch ; he knows that all eyes are 
 on him, that every action is noticed, every 
 word and look observed, and he carefully 
 guards against the slightest impropriety. He 
 is in a state of perpetual apprehension of dis- 
 covery, and is consequently armed at all points 
 to prevent detection. If he be a genuine 
 Christian, a consciousness of his integrity and 
 sincerity frequently renders him less careful in 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 429 
 
 maintaining the same rigorous system, and 
 hence he is sometimes suspected of being a 
 deceiver, his very openness being the reason 
 why those who judge only from external 
 appearances consider him insincere. 
 
 One of the surest criteria by which to judge 
 of the piety of a professor, is by his character 
 at home. If v/e would see the operation of 
 Christian principle, it must be in the domestic 
 circle. There the natural impulses of the heart 
 show themselves without restraint ; the real 
 temper and disposition are displayed, the con- 
 versation unfettered, and a man and a Christian 
 is really what he appears in his own family. 
 It may be laid down almost as a general rule 
 in religious professions, that where there is most 
 pretension there is least vital godliness. Real 
 religion is unobtrusive and retiring ; it sheds 
 blessings in its progress, like the woodland 
 rivulet, without courting observation ; regard- 
 ing the opinion of men less than the approba- 
 tion of God, and more anxious to be ushered 
 into His presence at the last day, with the 
 welcome, "Well done, good and faithful ser- 
 vant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord," 
 than to be elevated to a high place in the esti- 
 mation of Christians on earth. 
 
 Experience and observation will soon con- 
 vince an acute inspector that these opinions 
 are founded on true data. I know a man, 
 who not only makes great pretensions to reli- 
 gion, but who seeks opportunities to exercise 
 his gifts as an itinerant preacher — he will talk 
 of the happiness he enjoys in thus delivering 
 the glad tidings of salvation to a few poor 
 cottagers — and the usual phrases which pass 
 current among a certain class as the language 
 of pure and undefiled religion are ever on his 
 tongue ; and yet I know that he is a tyrant 
 in his house — that his wife is one of the most 
 unhappy of women — that his children fear him, 
 without any mingling of affection — that his ser- 
 vants detest him — and that they have imbibed 
 a rooted aversion to religion from his example. 
 Yet this man is regarded as a model of sin- 
 gular piety by those who only know him in 
 public. Nor is this an isolated case — there 
 are many instances in which the children of 
 professing parents, on arriving at maturity, 
 plunge into every species of dissipation and 
 vice, mainly from the influence which the in- 
 consistent conduct of their parents has had 
 upon the formation of their characters. I was 
 acquainted with such an instance — the children, 
 from their earliest years, imbibed the most in- 
 correct ideas of religion ; and a most decided 
 
 antipathy to evangelical truth ; circumstances 
 threw them in the way of sceptical companions, 
 and they became confirmed deists. 
 
 Real religion produces a general renovation 
 of the nature and a corresponding consistency 
 of conduct. "The grace of God which 
 bringeth salvation teaches, us that denying un- 
 godliness and worldly lusts, we should live 
 soberly, righteously, and godly in this present 
 world ; looking for that blessed hope, and the 
 glorious appearing of the great God and our 
 Saviour Jesus Christ ; who gave himself for us, 
 that he might redeem us from all iniquity, 
 and purify unto himself a peculiar people, zeal- 
 ous of good works." Innumerable are the 
 precepts given in the word of God upon the 
 subject of domestic religion ; and many are 
 the promises connected with obedience to those 
 commands. Thus we find God saying of 
 Abraham, *'I know him, that he will command 
 his children and his household after him, and 
 they shall keep the way of the Lord, to do 
 justice and judgment ; that the Lord may bring 
 upon Abraham that which he had spoken of 
 him." A life of consistent piety, in which 
 parental discipline has been mingled with an 
 earnest desire to imbue the mind with the 
 knowledge of the gospel and supreme love for 
 the Saviour, accompanied by sincere, frequent, 
 and fervent supplication at the throne of grace, 
 generally acts favourably on the young, and 
 they become early devoted to the service of the 
 Redeemer. I know of no sight more interesting 
 than that of a Christian family, whose mem- 
 bers dwell in that harmony and affection 
 which is often used as a similitude in the sacred 
 writings to designate the communion 01 
 saints. Happy will it be for our churches 
 when the principles of the gospel, with all 
 theis. hallowed and sanctifying influences, shall 
 pervade all the families of the Christian world ; 
 when conformity to the maxims, the pleasures, 
 and sentiments of this world shall be weak- 
 ened, and a sincere desire be displayed to ex- 
 hibit Christianity in all its native majesty and 
 attractive loveliness. How few are there but 
 must lament, on a scrutiny of their past con- 
 duct, that they have much to condemn in them- 
 selves for the negligence which their children 
 and dependants show to evangelical religion ; 
 and how solicitous ought they to be to fulfil 
 the apostolic injunctions — " Finally, brethren, 
 whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things 
 are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatso- 
 ever things are pure, whatsoever things are 
 lovely, whatsoever things are of good report ; 
 
430 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 if there be any virtue, and if there be any 
 praise, think on these things. Those things 
 which ye have both learned, and received, and 
 heard, and seen in me, do : and the God of 
 peace shall be with you." 
 
 What then is piety at home? It consists 
 not in merely insisting on an attendance on 
 public worship, nor even in the erection of a 
 family altar, nor the reproval of open trans- 
 gression ; but in an exhibition of the Christian 
 character, which speaks to the heart ; a luxu- 
 riant production of "the fruit of the spirit, 
 which is love, joy, peace, long suffering, gentle- 
 ness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance." 
 Such are the excellences which, in efficient 
 operation, afford illustrative evidence of the 
 existence of piety at home. — Alpha. 
 
 PIETY, the Best Support of Patriotism. 
 
 "Omnes omnium caritates patria una complexa est." 
 — Cicero. 
 
 An ingenious essayist, in his little work on the 
 Internal Evidence of Christianity, has affirmed 
 that patriotism is not inculcated by our holy 
 religion. If by patriotism be meant the harsh 
 and haughty spirit which led the Greeks to call 
 all other nations barbarians, or the Romans to 
 urge their restless career of conquest and do- 
 mination, in contempt of right and justice, the 
 assertion is true ; but a rational and well- 
 regulated attachment to our country finds its 
 strongest support and cement in the principles 
 and spirit of Christianity. Let it be remem- 
 bered that the Gospel, even by the acknowledg- 
 ment of Bolingbroke, an infidel, "is one con- 
 tinued lesson of the purest morality." It 
 inculcates relative duties of every kind, in the 
 plainest language, and with an authority of the 
 greatest possible weight. Men may personify 
 their country, and then bow down to worship 
 it, while their conduct evinces a palpable dere- 
 liction of the claims of justice in their ordinary 
 dealings, or of fidelity in the connections of do- 
 mestic life. But is it conceivable that a pro- 
 fligate can be a real patriot ? Can a man love 
 his country, when his heart is devoid of affection 
 to his own family and his warmest friends? 
 The thing is morally impossible. He may 
 talk in lofty strains, may reprobate public 
 abuses with indignant severity, and introduce 
 plausible theories and projects for the general 
 good, but some selfish aim is assuredly at the 
 bottom. 
 
 Genuine piety warms and expands the heart 
 with lively emotions of gratitude and zeal. 
 Religion is the very element of mental energy 
 and moral grandeur. There is a natural alli- 
 ance between all kinds of sublimity. No great 
 passion was ever generated and sustained by a 
 succession of petty and perishing objects, or a 
 pursuit of low and frivolous gratifications. He 
 who feels his obligations to God for the mercies 
 he enjoys, and glows with a holy zeal in the 
 cause of religion, has shaken off the chilling 
 apathy, on which all good qualities wither as 
 plants in a frost. The ardent feeling thus pro- 
 duced readily flows into patriotic channels. 
 A Christian, who is grateful to God for the 
 blessings of his lot, cannot be indifferent to the 
 land in which he enjoys them. A thousand 
 tender and endearing associations give an in- 
 terest to it, which other lands do not, and can- 
 not possess. He may leave ambitious men to 
 contend for posts of political power or laurels 
 of martial fame, but he yields to none in real 
 concern to advance the prosperity of his native 
 soil. Not that he wishes his own country 
 aggrandized by the oppression of her neigh- 
 bours ; yet her welfare lies near his heart. 
 Piety is the root of that noble disinterestedness 
 without which no true patriot can exist. Sir 
 Robert Walpole, a noted prime minister, was 
 wont to say, "that every man had his price." 
 If this court maxim were universally true, po- 
 litical virtue would be a nonentity. We cannot, 
 however, admit it ; but the unbending integrity 
 which spurns every sort of bribe is confessedly 
 very rare. A disinterested spirit grows out of 
 principles which have a deep root of strength, 
 and a lofty reach of elevation. He who puts 
 his trust, and seeks both his honour and happi- 
 ness in God, has little cause either to fear or 
 flatter men. They cannot offer him a treasure 
 or title, which wiU bear a comparison with the 
 heavenly riches and dignities provided for him 
 in reversion. "The principles of Christianity," 
 says Montesquieu, " deeply engraven upon the 
 heart, would be infinitely more powerful than 
 the false honour of monarchies, the humane 
 virtues of republics, and the servile fear of de- 
 spotic states." 
 
 Piety raises and fortifies the mind for trying 
 occasions and painful events. When our coun- 
 try is threatened by dangers and pressed by 
 difficulties, who are the best bulwarks of its 
 defence ? Not the sons of dissipation and 
 folly, not the smooth-tongued sycophants of a 
 court, nor sceptics and blasphemers, from the 
 school of infidelity ; but the man whose moral 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 431 
 
 conduct is animated and sustained by the doc- 
 trines and consolations of religion. These are 
 the friends of order, of peace, of moderation, 
 of equity. They bear the burdens which the 
 exigencies of the State impose with most pa- 
 tience ; discharge the duties which the dark 
 crisis demands, with most energy and alacrity. 
 Patriotism is evinced by firmness and con- 
 sistency, in opposing corruption in every form, 
 however speciously veiled or powerfully de- 
 fended ; by a readiness to make sacrifices for 
 the general good ; by a patient perseverance 
 in opinions and measures which are right in 
 themselves, and likely to be ultimately useful, 
 though not in accordance with the popular cry. 
 The smiling placeman wishes all things to con- 
 tinue as they are, for as his nest is made easy, 
 he only wants it made safe ; the factious dema- 
 gogue eagerly seeks innovation, for if his radical 
 reforming schemes should split the vessel of 
 State into fragments, he hopes to profit by the 
 wreck. He alone is the true friend and lover 
 of his country who, while he bears his faithful 
 testimony against existing abuses, is anxiously 
 solicitous to guard the fundamental principles 
 of the constitution from violence and injury. 
 
 It is no uncommon thing to hear men of loose 
 habits commiserate the state of the nation, and 
 affect great zeal for its honour and happiness. 
 They give us high-sounding words, but where 
 are their generous, heroic deeds ? What emolu- 
 ments do they relinquish ? what voluntary 
 sacrifices do they make? None at all. A 
 genuine patriot perseveres in his plans, his 
 measures, his efforts, when satisfied that they 
 are just and reasonable, amidst all the quibbles 
 and cavils of sophistry, all the clamours and 
 storms of prejudice, and all the manoeuvres 
 and machinations of sordid interest. Neither 
 promises nor threatenings, reasoning nor 
 ridicule, can shake the firmness of his purpose, 
 nor stain the purity of his conduct. 
 
 But these strong attributes of character can 
 find no sure basis, without religion. The fear 
 of God only can effectually subdue the fear of 
 man ; and he is unquestionably best prepared 
 to make sacrifices for the public good who 
 has been habituated to offer the most costly 
 gifts at the shrine of conscience. We behold 
 true patriotism and true piety admirably 
 united in the character of Nehemiah. He 
 could find no pleasure in filling an office of 
 high honour under the mighty monarch of 
 Persia, while the land of his fathers' sepulchres 
 lay desolate. He prays to God, and peti- 
 tions the king, for liberty to revisit Judea and 
 
 rebuild Jerusalem. He commences, prose- 
 cutes, and, amidst great discoui-agements, 
 finishes the arduous work. Prudent, courage- 
 ous, indefatigable, neither false friends could 
 divert, nor open inveterate foes dismay him. 
 And while he displays a spirit in the highest 
 degree disinterested and generous, condemn- 
 ing the extortions which had been practised by 
 former governors, we venerate the motive, as 
 he exclaims, " So did not I, because of the 
 fear of God." The most sublime and exalted 
 patriotism can be expected only where the 
 princfples of religion have taken strong hold of 
 the heart. There truth and justice, humanity 
 and benevolence, have a congenial soil in 
 which to strike root and yield their precious 
 and permanent produce. Every Christian is 
 not called to study politics, but every one who 
 from his rank or circumstances is so called 
 has manifest vantage ground. He can mark, 
 on one hand, the claims and limits of lawful 
 authority, and on the other the rights and 
 privileges of citizens and subjects, with a clear 
 discerning eye, and a firm, im.partial hand. 
 He values his own principles too highly to 
 barter them for power, or bind them to a 
 faction ; he loves his country too well to wish 
 her enriched and garnished with the spoils of 
 another, fully assured that all wrong uni- 
 formly tends to ruin. An appeal to history 
 would prove that rational and enlightened 
 patriotism has prevailed in every country, in 
 proportion as the precepts and spirit of 
 Christianity have guided, pervaded, and in- 
 fluenced the mass of the people. Those who 
 rule, and those who are ruled, mutually affect 
 each other, by a species of action and reaction 
 more or less conspicuous ; and the plastic 
 power of religion may with sufficient clear- 
 ness be perceived by any one skilled to 
 analyze moral and political matters, and trace 
 effects up to their causes. Happy is that 
 country where patriotism is sustained and 
 sanctified by piety j where authority respects 
 and guards freedom, and freedom reveres and 
 loves legitimate authority ; where truth and 
 mercy meet together, righteousness and peace 
 embrace each other. — Ton. 
 
 PIETY, The Mind Impressed With. 
 
 It is impossible for the mind which is not 
 totally destitute of piety, to behold the sublime, 
 the awful, the amazing works of creation and 
 providence ; the heavens with their luminaries. 
 
432 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 the mountains, the ocean, the storm, the earth- 
 quake, and the volcano; the circuit of the 
 seasons and the revolutions of empires ; with- 
 out marking in them all the mighty hand of 
 God, and feeling strong emotions of reverence 
 towards the Author of these stupendous works. 
 —Ihvight. 
 
 PITY for Sell 
 Sirs, ye are old, and ye have seen perchance 
 Some little child for very gladness dance 
 Over a scarcely noticed worthless thing, 
 Worth more to him than ransom of a king, 
 Did not a pang of more than pity take 
 Your heart thereat, not for the youngling's 
 
 sake, 
 But for your own, for man that passes by, 
 So like to God, so like the beasts that die. 
 Lo, sirs, my pity for myself is such, 
 When like an image that my hand can touch 
 My old self grows unto myself grown old. 
 
 W. Morris. 
 
 PLACEMAN, his Triple Servitude. 
 Men in great place are thrice servants ; ser- 
 vants of the sovereign or state, servants of 
 fame, and servants of business ; so as they 
 have no freedom, neither in their persons nor 
 in their actions, nor in their times. It is a 
 strange desire to seek power and to lose liberty ; 
 or to seek power over others, and to lose power 
 over a man's self. The rising into place is 
 laborious, and by pains men come to greater 
 pains ; and it is sometimes base, and by indig- 
 nities, men come to dignities. The standing 
 is slippery, and the regress is either a downfall, 
 or at least an eclipse, which is a melancholy 
 thing. Certainly great persons had need to 
 borrow other men's opinions to think them- 
 selves happy ; for if they judge by their own 
 feehng, they cannot find it ; but if they think 
 of themselves what other men think of them, 
 and that other men would fain be as they are, 
 then they are happy as it were by report, when 
 perhaps they find the contrary within ; for they 
 are the first that find their own griefs, though 
 the last that find their own hxM^.— Bacon. 
 
 PLACES Known in Youth. 
 A MELANCHOLY joy, in truth, it is. 
 When half a life has fled, to see once more 
 Places long loved ; — to mark how Nature's face 
 Remains unchanged ; — how little art has 
 wrought 
 
 Of transformation in insensate things, 
 
 While human forms familiar — men who lived, 
 
 Thought, felt, rejoiced, and sorrow'd, hoped 
 
 and fear'd. 
 Hated and loved, in time's relentless flight, 
 Have been by generations swept away. 
 Like shadows from the earth. But sadder still, 
 Methinks, the alteration wrought by age 
 In those who yet remain. Moultrie, 
 
 PLAIN Man, Unappreciated. 
 
 Because I cannot flatter, and speak fair, 
 Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, 
 Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, 
 I must be held a rancorous enemy. 
 Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm, 
 But thus his simple truth must be abus'd 
 By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks ? 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 PLANETARY System. 
 
 This beautiful system of sun, planets, and 
 comets can have its origin in no other way 
 than by the purpose and commands of an in- 
 telligent and powerful Being. He governs all 
 things, not as the sovereign of this world, but 
 as the Lord of the Universe. He is not only 
 God, but Lord or Governor. We know him 
 only by his properties and attributes — by the 
 wise and admirable structure of things around 
 us. We admire Him on account of his per- 
 fections — we venerate and worship Him on 
 account of His government. — Sir Isaac Newton. 
 
 PLANETS, Firm, Unremitting. 
 
 With what an awful world-revolving pow'r 
 Were first th' unwieldy Planets launched along 
 Th' inimitable void ! There to remain 
 Amidst the flux of many thousand years, 
 That oft have swept the toiling race of men. 
 And all their laboured monuments away. 
 Firm, unremitting, matchless in their course ; 
 To the kind-tempered change of night and day. 
 And of the seasons ever stealing round. 
 Minutely faithful. Such th' all-perfect Hand, 
 That poised, impels, and rules the steady whole. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 433 
 
 PLAINNESS Wears WelL 
 
 While others fish with craft for great opinion, 
 I with great truth catch mere simplicity ; 
 Whilst some with cunning gild their copper 
 
 crowns, 
 With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 PLANTS, Noxious, Useful. 
 
 Every production of Nature is good in its 
 kind ; and if anything is found to be noxious, 
 it is because we do not make a proper use of 
 it. Hence it happens that what preserves the 
 life of one animal occasions the death of 
 another ; and the same plant which in certain 
 circumstances is regarded as poisonous, in 
 others is highly useful and salutary. Hem- 
 lock, for example, was formerly considered as 
 a deadly poison ; but it is now employed in 
 many cases as a medicine with considerable 
 success, and without producing any bad con- 
 sequences. The number and diversity of 
 vegetables growing upon the earth is prodi- 
 gious, and we must not imagine they were all 
 created for the use of man ; some are designed 
 for beasts, some to exhale grateful odours, and 
 others are useful in many of the diseases to 
 which the animal economy is subjected. The 
 same thing holds good with regard to many 
 living creatures, which, though very dangerous 
 to man, are useful to other animals, as afford- 
 ing food or medicaments. Many birds feed 
 upon insects which are considered as noxious : 
 domestic fowls are fond of spiders ; peacocks 
 and storks will feed upon serpents. Some of 
 the most efficacious medicines are composed of 
 the most poisonous herbs. The number of 
 plants and animals of a poisonous or venomous 
 nature is very considerable, compared with 
 that of those which are evidently useful and 
 beneficial ; and both men and animals have a 
 natural repugnancy and aversion for everything 
 which is hurtful or prejudicial to their nature. 
 — Sturm. 
 
 PLANTS, Rapid Growth of. 
 
 Who can understand or explain the extraordi- 
 nary activity which pervades the entire vascular 
 system of the plant when circumstances are 
 favourable to its growth ? A stalk of wheat 
 has been observed to shoot up three inches in 
 as many days, of barley six inches in the same 
 
 time, and a vine twig two feet, or eight inches 
 a day. Cucumbei-s have been known to ac- 
 quire a length of twenty-four inches in six 
 days, and in the Botanic Gardens at Brussels, 
 bamboo, five inches in diameter, increased in 
 height nine feet in twenty-seven days, some- 
 times making a progress of six or eight inches 
 in a day. In our climate we meet with few illus- 
 trations of the rapidity with which plants are 
 capable of springing up in the most favoiir- 
 able circumstances ; and the above examples 
 probably give us only an imperfect idea of the 
 velocity with which the bamboo, the palm, the 
 tree-fern, and other vascular plants may grow 
 in their native soil and climate. And with 
 what numerous and complicated chemical 
 changes is the production of every grain of the 
 substance of these plants attended — how 
 rapidly must the food be selected and absorbed 
 from the air and from the soil — how quickly 
 transformed and assimilated. The long period 
 of time during which, year after year, these 
 changes may proceed in the same living vessels, 
 or in the same tree, is no less wonderful. Oaks 
 have lived to an age of one thousand five 
 hundred to two thousand years, yew-trees to 
 three thousand years, and other species are 
 mentioned as having flourished from four 
 thousand five hundred to six thousand years ; 
 while even a rose-tree (rosa ronana) now 
 living is quoted by Sprengel as being already 
 upwards of one thousand years old. The 
 rapidity of the growth of a plant and the length 
 of its life are equally affected by circumstances. 
 On a knowledge of these circumstances and of 
 the means of controlling or of producing them 
 the enlightened practice of agiiculture is almost 
 entirely dependent. — yohnston. 
 
 PLEASED, Doubly so by Anticipation. 
 
 The expectation of being pleased which pre- 
 vails so much in young persons, is one great 
 source of their enjoyments. All are felt before- 
 hand, and their hopes are not easily given up ; 
 the conviction that they shall be pleased makes 
 a strong impression on the imagination, which 
 often last long enough to make them really so, 
 when otherwise they would have found little 
 reason for it. This illusion cannot, nor is it 
 desirable that it should, be preserved, but the 
 disposition to be pleased may yet remain, and 
 there is hardly anything of so much import- 
 ance to the happiness of life. — Bawdier. 
 
 F F 
 
434 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 PLEASUBE, a Bubble. 
 
 What is Pleasure ? 'Tis a bubble, 
 Fill'd with empty froth and wind ; 
 
 Leading on to care and trouble, 
 Leaving many a sting behind. 
 
 What is Hope? Ah, 'tis a syren, 
 Who enamours to destroy ; 
 
 Cunning wiles her form environ, 
 Mischief revels in her eye. 
 
 What is Reason ? 'Tis a taper. 
 Passion's gust too oft puts out ; 
 
 'Tis a thin and wand'ring vapour, 
 Blov^n by storms of thought about. 
 
 What is Fortune ? She's a gipsy. 
 Who delights in odd mistakes ; 
 
 Oft I think the jade is tipsy, 
 Such a blundering she makes. 
 
 What is Love ? An idle meteor, . 
 
 Passing round the cheated heart ; 
 Dancing o'er each conscious feature, 
 
 Spreading wide th' amusive smart. 
 
 What is Friendship ? 'Tis a cov'ring, 
 
 And put on to safer cheat ; 
 O'er its victim kite-like hov'ring. 
 
 While its looks are soft and sweet. 
 
 L. S. Temple. 
 
 PLEASURE, Degrees of. 
 
 One reason why God hath scattered up and 
 down several degrees of pleasure and pain in 
 all the things that environ and affect us, and 
 blended them together in almost all that our 
 thoughts and senses have to do with is, that 
 we, finding imperfection, dissatisfaction, and 
 want of complete happiness in all the enjoy- 
 ments which the creatures can afford us, might 
 be led to seek it in the enjoyment of Him with 
 whom *' there is fulness of joy, and at whose 
 right hand are pleasures for evermore." — 
 Locke, 
 
 PLEASURES, Unlawful. 
 
 People should be guarded against temptation 
 to unlawful pleasures by furnishing them the 
 means of innocent ones. In every community 
 there must be pleasures, relaxations, and means 
 of agreeable excitement ; and if innocent are 
 not furnished, resort will be had to criminal. 
 Man was made to enjoy as well as labour, and 
 the state of society should be adapted to this 
 principle of human nature. — Dr. Channing. 
 
 PLEASURES, Unlawfulness of. 
 Would you judge of the lawfulness or unlaw- 
 fulness of pleasures, take this rule : — Whatever 
 weakens your reason, impairs the tenderness of 
 your conscience, obscures your sense of God, 
 or takes off tJ*^ relish of spiritual things j in 
 short, whatever increases the strength and 
 authority of your body over your mind, that 
 thing is sin to you, however innocent it may 
 be in itself. — Southey. 
 
 PLEIADES, Music of. 
 
 Oh ! then there was a burst of glorious sounds, 
 Such as I never heard and could not hear 
 With Avaking sense and live : nor can I tell. 
 Nor could man comprehend by any force 
 Of words, the beauty, the sublimity, 
 Of that o'erwhelming chorus ; for, at once 
 From every star there issued forth a voice 
 That might have sounded to the uttermost 
 
 ends 
 Of space — majestic, awful : yet inspiring 
 Joy, tenderness, devotion, rapture, — all 
 That melts the spirit down in bliss, or lifts. 
 Expands, and glorifies, as if it felt 
 The presence of the actual Deity. 
 At once the mighty spheres sent up their song 
 In various and magnificent harmony ; 
 Each twinkling star among the countless host 
 Chanted exultingly, with tone distinct 
 As if alone it sang ; yet all commixed 
 In wondrous chorus : and the sun above 
 Poured out its voice as if the infinitude 
 Of space were filled with deep melodious thun- 
 der. 
 
 PLELADES, 
 Poetic Fiction about the. 
 
 The poetic fiction respecting the Pleiades 
 
 depends upon that often-quoted verse of Ovid : 
 
 Quae septera dici, sex tamen esse solent. 
 
 (Which seven are called, though only six ap- 
 pear) 
 
 from which it is supposed that one of these 
 stars has disappeared from the cluster ; the 
 asterism of the Pleiades bears some resem- 
 blance to a lyre. 
 
 And who were they, the lovely seven. 
 With shape of earth, and home in hea- 
 ven? 
 Daughters of King Atlas they, 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 435 
 
 Six were brides in sky and sea, 
 To some crowned divinity ; 
 But his youngest, loveliest one, 
 Was as yet unwooed, unwon. 
 
 This lovely Pleiad (Cyrene) becomes the 
 bride of an earthly prince, and each day is 
 passed in the sweetest intercourse — 
 
 Till the night 
 Called on her starry host for light ; 
 And that bright lyre arose on high, 
 With its fair watchers to the sky. 
 Borne by music on their way, 
 Every chord a living ray, 
 Sinking on a song-like breeze 
 The lyre of the Pleiades. 
 With its seven fair sisters bent 
 O'er their starry instrument. 
 Each a star upon her brow. 
 Somewhat dim in daylight's glow. 
 That clasped the flashing coronet 
 On their midnight tresses set. 
 
 This bright, this half immortal bride, who 
 had left her glorious sphere, is deserted by 
 Prince Cyris. 
 
 They parted as all lovers part. 
 
 She with her wronged, her breaking heart, 
 
 But he rejoicing he is free. 
 
 PLOUGHMAN, his Content. 
 
 Sweet then the ploughman's slumbers, hale 
 
 and young. 
 When the last topic dies upon his tongue ; 
 Sweet then the bliss his transient dreams in- 
 spire. 
 Till chilblains wake him, or the snapping fire. 
 He starts, and, ever thoughtful of his team, 
 Along the glittering snow a feeble gleam 
 Shoots from his lantern as he yawning goes 
 To add fresh comforts to his night's repose ; 
 Diffusing fragrance as their food he moves, 
 And pats the jolly sides of those he loves. 
 Thus, full replenished, perfect ease possessed. 
 From night till noon, alternate food and rest, 
 No rightful cheer withheld, no sleep debarred. 
 Their each day's labour brings its sure reward. 
 
 Bloomfield. 
 
 POACHER, The. 
 There is certainly no part of our judicial 
 code which bears so unequivocally the stamp 
 of aristocratical and feudal tyranny as the 
 Game Laws. In a variety of ways their 
 
 penalties fall exclusively on the poor ; and, in 
 an equal variety, the wealthier orders of 
 society render them subservient to their luxury 
 and idleness. But we need not here declaim 
 against them ; everybody knows and ac- 
 knowledges that they ought to be amended. 
 There is scarcely a session of Parliament, in 
 which even the country gentlemen, for whose 
 special benefit they were framed, have not 
 something to say on the subject in the style of 
 regret ; though, at the same time, nine out of 
 every ten cases which come before a court of 
 justice in the country are sure to be, in some 
 way or other, connected with their own in- 
 flexible maintenance of their manorial rights. 
 To waive, however, the consideration of the 
 deep and weighty matters of statutory enact- 
 ments, we are now only about to relate an 
 anecdote or two which, if our readers think 
 fit, they may consider as partial illustrations oi 
 the effects and operation of the present system. 
 There is a dirty, slovenly, ragged-looking 
 man, almost constantly to be seen in and 
 
 about the neighbourhood of C . He 
 
 seems to have little or no business of any kind, 
 and he walks hither and thither with a sort of 
 slipshod, shuffling gait, and an air of satisfied 
 indolence that would not be amiss in Regent- 
 street or the park. You would not guess that 
 he had any possible avocation, except, perhaps, 
 some such surmise should arise from the 
 glimpse of two enormous greasy pockets, 
 which visibly extend from the midmost to the 
 nethermost extremities of a nondescript sort of 
 garment — a something between a jacket and a 
 great-coat — which covers about two-thirds of 
 his exterior, and whose dingy hue announces 
 that it has long, if not honourably, held its 
 office. Below this garment descend a pair of 
 dusky, loose, half-imgartered hose ; and below 
 these again are a pair of similarly dusky, 
 cracked, weather-beaten shoes. In fact, he 
 would have served Morland for a good study ; 
 his hat would have been after Morland's own 
 heart, for the crown is spherical, and the 
 broad rim drawn down close over his eyes, 
 and broken into a most picturesque variety oi 
 angles. His countenance corresponds well 
 with his costume ; — never was careless, seli- 
 indulgent slovenliness more distinctly legible 
 on any features ; never, too, would any man 
 have been more irreversibly set down for a 
 sot, if a shrewd waggish pair of eyes had not 
 glanced brightly in their lucid moments, and 
 a cunning curl of the nose and lip effectually 
 redeemed him from the imputation of stupidity. 
 
436 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 The lucid moments of Luke Randall are 
 however, like ** angels' visits, few and far 
 between," at least so the world says, for he 
 reverses the usual order of such things ; in the 
 day-time he is seldom sober, but the clouds 
 clear off towards night, when nobody gives 
 him credit for it. His habits, indeed, are 
 quite in opposition to the maxims of the 
 world, for he saunters and lounges, and 
 drinks and slumbers, away the daylight, and 
 begins his work when darkness is the signal for 
 rest to others. 
 
 But it is only of late years that Luke has fol- 
 lowed his present pursuits, or appeared in his 
 present character. It is not very long since 
 he was altogether a different man. He set out 
 in life as a farmer's servant ; he was a steady, 
 industrious, clever lad, perhaps a little over- 
 fond of a holiday, but there was no reasonable 
 ground of complaint against him, and he was 
 decidedly the favourite, and sometimes the 
 factotum, of his master. Indeed he was so 
 handy, so obliging, and so much au jait at 
 almost everything that came in his way, that 
 if any job were to be done which required 
 readiness, or cleverness, or was out of the 
 usual course of business, Luke was always 
 applied to, and always was found to perform 
 it to satisfaction. Indeed, unluckily, it was 
 these very good qualities which led to his un- 
 fortunate transformation. 
 
 It happened that the farm on which he 
 worked belonged to a gentleman who was 
 even unusually tenacious as to the preservation 
 of his game. The gentleman had several 
 keepers, who were always on the look-out : 
 he would allow none of his neighbours or 
 tenants to shoot upon his manor, and he 
 made several severe examples of unfortunate 
 poachers. By these means the game was very 
 effectually preserved ; indeed too much so, for 
 it rapidly increased, and soon became a serious 
 injury and annoyance to the farmers who 
 rented his lands. Among the rest, Luke's 
 master suffered some very considerable losses. 
 Day by day came a fresh account of mischief 
 done by the hares and rabbits. They com- 
 pletely destroyed a crop of barley, then one of 
 winter wheat, and then another of turnips. 
 The winter proved hard ; from the fields they 
 came into his garden, and no green thing 
 escaped them. They came in such numbers 
 that they threatened absolute devastation to 
 whatever fell in their way. The farmer at 
 first grumbled, and when the matter grew 
 worse he complained to his landlord. He 
 
 got, however, no more than a vague promise 
 of redress. The gentleman and his immediate 
 friends did indeed frequently shoot a few birds, 
 or a hare or two, but their exertions were by 
 no means enough to make any sensible altera- 
 tion in the evil ; and he was all the while so 
 jealous of his wild favourites that, like the 
 dog in the manger, he would suffer no one to 
 interfere with those he could not consume him- 
 self. Indeed, the mischief increased rather 
 than diminished ; and, to add to the misfor- 
 tune, after a while, the landlord began to re- 
 sent his tenant's impertinence, as he considered 
 it, in presuming to dictate to him respecting 
 his game. 
 
 But in this state things could not long con- 
 tinue. The farmer bore it as well as he could 
 for some time ; but he could not forget that 
 his landlord would not remit the rent because 
 the hares had eaten his corn ; his grumblings 
 increased ; and at last his patience altogether 
 failed him. In this extremity he called 
 Luke aside, and after having, in no very gentle 
 terms, vituperated all the races of hares, 
 partridges, and pheasants, and together with 
 them heartily included his landlord in his male- 
 dictions — "My lad," said he, *'in spite of 
 him, we will do something to get rid of these 
 abominable vermin. I do not see why he has 
 a right to all the wild things of the earth ; nor 
 why I should not have a share of them, when 
 they feed on my property," With a round 
 oath, therefore, he vowed to be even with his 
 landlord ; and he forthwith pulled out a toler- 
 able handful of silver, and giving it to Luke, 
 " There now, take this," said he, ** and go down 
 to the town for some nets, and a pretty smart 
 stock of wire, and you shall set them some 
 springes, and all that you catch, boy, shall be 
 your own. You may take them to the Eagle, 
 
 at C , and I warrant that you will get 
 
 a good price, and find it a profitable business. " 
 
 Luke smiled, and thanked his master for the 
 money, promising to do his best ; and no more 
 question about the moral impropriety of* his 
 undertaking came into his mind than when of 
 yore he had set about catching moles or spar- 
 rows in order to receive a farthing a head for 
 them of the overseers. With glee and a gay 
 heart, therefore, he entered upon his new voca- 
 tion. His success soon added to his satisfac- 
 tion ; three hares and two pheasants were the 
 result of his first night's enterprise. He took 
 them down to the Eagle the first suitable 
 opportunity : the innkeeper bought them very 
 readily, and gave him half-a-crown a piece for 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 437 
 
 the hares, and as much for the pheasants. Luke 
 was delighted ; never in his life before had he 
 ever got so much money so easily. He turned 
 it over and over, and looked at it again and 
 again, as if to be certain that there was no 
 magic — that it was all real solid silver ; and 
 when he was at last satisfied that such was 
 truly the case, he seemed to have suddenly 
 lighted upon one of the mines of Mexico or 
 Peru ; unexpected and exhaustless wealth in 
 dazzling profusion seemed to sparkle and glitter 
 before his eyes. Visions of future grandeur 
 and enjoyment rapidly succeeded each other in 
 his imagination ; in fact, he was in a dream, 
 and he dreamed of nothing but hares and 
 pheasants, that, like Aladdin's lamp, were to 
 procure all he could hope or desire, at his very 
 bidding. In these ecstatic visions, however, 
 it may well be conceived that his threshing, 
 and carting, and ploughing, bore no part ; 
 they indeed escaped his recollection most com- 
 pletely, and, alas ! neither in his sleeping nor 
 waking fantasies ever returned to it again. 
 
 From this time forward Luke was a changed 
 man. His former avocations, his regular 
 duties, he first slighted, then neglected, and 
 finally abandoned. His nights were now cons- 
 tantly spent in watching for his prey : when 
 the day dawned he was sleepy and unable to 
 work ; and as soon as he was a little recovered 
 from his fatigue, he was thinking and contriv- 
 ing nothing, but how the ill-got booty should 
 be disposed of. With his trade itself, it was 
 true, he had hitherto been very successful ; 
 many nights had proved much more profitable 
 than that first one which had turned his head, 
 and in the course of a month or two he found 
 he had gained a very considerable sum. Upon 
 the whole, however, all was not pure gain ; 
 and besides, he knew not why, a something of 
 •disatisfaction mingled with his meditations. 
 This, too, in spite of himself, gained ground, 
 and ere long, Luke one day sat down, and, in 
 a fit of the vapours, ruminated upon his affairs ; 
 and then, after some few reflections, he sighed, 
 and half-doubted whether the balance was 
 really in his favour. His money, it was true, 
 lay bright and brilliant before him ; but he 
 counted the sum, and he knew that it was less 
 than it might have been. His new employ- 
 ment had brought with it new expenses. The 
 long dark rainy nights, and the bitter piercing 
 frosty ones, had been very dull and dreary in 
 the open fields, or under the skirts of the wood ; 
 the pelting storms, the drifting snow, the icy 
 winds howling among the hills and trees, had 
 
 sometimes, too, lent their aid to the local 
 superstitious legends, as well as being of them- 
 selves chilly and comfortless. Luke had found 
 it indispensably necessary to fence them out 
 with some cheering cordial, that would at once 
 both warm his blood and raise his spirits. 
 Against his loneliness, loo, he was tempted to 
 provide, by taking a companion. The com- 
 panion of course shared the profits, though 
 Luke was certain that he did not nmch increase 
 the total amount ; but thus, after this division, 
 and the deduction of the price of the cordials, 
 Luke found himself considerably minus with 
 respect to the net proceeds. Besides this defi- 
 ciency, too, the use of the cordials had esta- 
 blished a propensity towards them which was 
 likely to be a yet more insurmountable obstacle 
 in Luke's road to wealth. It was a constant 
 sinking fund, an ever-yawning gulf, in which 
 all his gains in a moment disappeared. As 
 bad, if not worse, than this, was the disincli- 
 nation he felt towards every kind of regular 
 and useful labour. The exertions it required 
 were inexpressibly more painful than they used 
 to be, and at the same time he found the mo- 
 tive for them decrease. He knew that he 
 could get more by poaching in a single night 
 than by a whole week's work ; could it, there- 
 fore, be doubted which he would choose ? 
 
 This last fatal disposition to indolence, how- 
 ever, soon produced a sad era in poor Luke's 
 unfortunate career. It was true that his master 
 had first initiated him into his unlawful trade, 
 but his master had not calculated upon the 
 lengths to which he might carry it ; and when 
 he found it growing so far out of bounds, though 
 not a man of any very strict principle, he began 
 to see his error, and expostulated with his 
 servant. But the warning and reproof came 
 too late J Luke had already gone too far to 
 recede. For a time, the farmer was a little 
 uneasy with respect to his own share in the 
 concern ; but Luke soon involved himself so 
 completely that he was sensible that he had 
 little to fear from him. The accusation of a 
 confirmed and notorious poacher could not be 
 apprehended as likely to weigh against a res- 
 pectable farmer. In the meanwhile, too, Luke's 
 negligence and idleness grew so insupportable 
 and annoying that the farmer was irritated to 
 risk anything that he might say of him ; and 
 he at last fairly dismissed him from his service, 
 threatening never to give him such a character 
 as would get him another place. Luke mur- 
 mured, but in vain ; the farmer was resolute, 
 and the servant he had himself corrupted was 
 
433 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 turned away to shift for himself as best he 
 could. 
 
 This was the first of Luke's misfortunes ; yet 
 it did not affect him much, for his means of 
 getting his living were much the same as before, 
 and his character he now but little regarded. 
 But another soon followed. Now that he was 
 out of place, and had no ostensible employ- 
 ment, the gamekeepers began to look rather 
 more closely after him. He was not fully 
 aware of their design, and was therefore the 
 more easily detected. One night, in his usual 
 haunt, he was fairly caught ; and his nets and 
 wires being found upon him, there was no 
 deficiency of evidence. The next morning he 
 was examined, and afterwards was sentenced 
 to three months' imprisonment in the county 
 jail. Poor Luke's fate was now sealed. Per- 
 haps few or none ever issued wiser or better 
 from a jail. Even the treadmill failed to 
 reconcile him to industry and labour ; besides, 
 his chances of honourable employment were 
 now in a great measure cut off. Nobody would 
 take into service a man who had but just come 
 from prison : thus, of necessity, he was almost 
 forced to return to his old habits ; and his old 
 habits brought back his old indulgences, till, 
 at last, he settled down into the drunkard and 
 poacher which he is at present. — Aiion. 
 
 Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak 
 
 o'ertops 
 Wide- waving seas of birth and hazel copse. 
 Leaving between deserted isles of land. 
 Where stunted heath is patched with ruddy 
 
 sand ; 
 And lonely on the waste the yew is seen. 
 Or straggling hollies spread a brigliter green. 
 Here, little worn, and winding dark and steep, 
 Our scarce-marked path descends yon dingle 
 
 deep : 
 Follow — but heedful, cautious of a trip, — 
 In earthly mire philosophy may slip. 
 Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream. 
 Till, guided by the charcoal's smothering steam, 
 We reach the frail yet barricaded door 
 Of hovel formed for poorest of the poor ; 
 No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke receives. 
 The walls are wattles, and the covering leaves ; 
 For, if such hut, our forest statutes say, 
 Rise in the progress of one night and day, 
 (Though placed where still the Conqueror's 
 
 hests o'erawe. 
 And his sun's stirrup shines the badge of law, ) 
 The builder claims the uneviable boon. 
 To tenant dwelling, framed as slight and soon 
 
 As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native frore 
 On the bleak coast of frost-barred Labrador. 
 Approach, and through th' unlatticed win- 
 dow peep — 
 Nay, shrink not back, the inmate is asleep ; 
 Sunk mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun 
 Stoop to the west, the plunderer's toils are 
 
 done. 
 Loaded and primed, and prompt for desperate 
 
 hand, 
 Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand, 
 While round the hut are in disorder laid 
 The tools and booty of his lawless trade ; 
 For force or fraud, resistance or escape, 
 The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and the crape. 
 His pilfered powder in yon nook he hoards, 
 And the filched lead the church's roof affords — 
 (Hence shall the rector's congregation fret. 
 That while his sermon's dry, his walls are wet. ) 
 The fish-spear barbed, the sweeping net are 
 
 there. 
 Doe-hides, and pheasant plumes, and skins of 
 
 hare. 
 Cordage for toils, and wiring for the snare. 
 Bartered for game from chase or warren won, 
 Yon cask holds "moonlight," run when moon 
 
 was none ; 
 And late-snatched spoils lie stowed in hutch 
 
 apart, 
 To wait th' associate higgler's evening cart. 
 Sir W. Scott, 
 
 POET, his Natural Inspiration. 
 
 It is the poet only who could not have ob- 
 served how the owl, in quest of prey, 
 
 . with sleepy wing 
 Swims o'er the corn-field studious ; 
 
 it is only the poet who would have noted, 
 
 . the grazing ox 
 His dewy supper from the savoury herb 
 Audibly gathering ; 
 
 and the redbreast, when in the winter "the 
 household bird, with the red stomacher," as 
 an elder poet calls him. 
 
 Sits budge, a feathery bunch : 
 it is the poet only who would have described 
 the sea as 
 
 Raking with harsh recoil the pebbly steep ; 
 
 it is the poet who would say of himself when 
 he has ascended the downs, 
 
 It shall not grieve me if the gust be free. 
 And to withstand its overbearing gale 
 I lean upon the tide of air unseen : 
 
 I who, looking at a churchyard, would speak of 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 439 
 
 . . youth and age 
 And sexes mingle in the populous soil, 
 Till it o'erlooks with swoln and ridgy brow 
 The smoother crop below : 
 
 and who, in thinking of a church, could bring 
 forward with a charm of novelty, the oldest 
 and most familiar of all its moral illustrations : — 
 
 Say, ancient edifice, thyself with years 
 Grown gray, how long upon the hill has stood 
 Thy weather-braving tower, and silent mark'd 
 The human leaf inconstant bud and fall ? 
 The generations of deciduous man. 
 How often hast thou seen them pass away ? 
 Dr. Sandon. 
 
 POETICAL Talent, Nature of. 
 
 Lectorem delectando pariterque monendo. — Horace. 
 To say what is pleasing and instructive too. — Anon. 
 
 Poetry is the child of enthusiasm. There is 
 a power in the harmonious association of 
 sounds, capable of making the most pathetic 
 appeals to the fancy, and of soothing the pas- 
 sions of the most barbarous savages. From 
 the observations that modern writers have made 
 in respect to the manners and customs of 
 America (where alone we are enabled to study 
 mankind in the infant state of society), we are 
 inclined to pronounce that man is born a poet. 
 All the rites and ceremonies of religion have, 
 from the earliest ages, been highly indebted to 
 this art ; and the cultivation of poetical talent 
 has been always considered of the highest im- 
 portance. 
 
 It is not to nature alone that we are indebted 
 for this attainment ; she has indeed conferred 
 on some a favourable distinction and greater 
 endowments in this respect, but much has been 
 left to the industry of man. There are certain 
 rules and instructions to be observed which 
 may inspire and promote true genius, correct 
 that redundancy which is so often prevalent in 
 the works of natural but uncultivated minds, 
 and bring more forcibly to their notice those 
 beauties which are peculiarly worthy of ob- 
 servation, by strongly contrasting them with 
 the principal faults that are sedulously to be 
 avoided. 
 
 Everything that regards the study of poeti- 
 cal composition merits the greatest attention, 
 not only because it is of the highest importance 
 to the improvement of our intellectual powers, 
 but that it materially assists us in arranging 
 and expressing our thoughts with accuracy, and 
 enables us to clothe our indistinct conceptions 
 in purer language and more elegant construc- 
 tion. There are few subjects on which there 
 
 exists a wider difference of opinion than on 
 the nature of poetical talent ; few which pre- 
 sent a more difficult task to the critic to explain 
 with precision. 
 
 We are inclined to pronounce it to be a clear 
 perception of whatever constitutes the beauti- 
 ful and sublime in nature ; a lively sensation 
 and keen relish of the external ornaments of 
 natural objects presented to the vision, united 
 with a distinct conception of their individual 
 and abstract parts : which teaches us to express 
 the pleasurable excitements we enjoy with 
 enthusiasm tempered by reason — for simplicity 
 constitutes the greatest charm of poetry. It is 
 this principally which has rendered the repu- 
 tation of the poets of antiquity so lasting, so 
 universal amongst all nations capable of appre- 
 ciating their merits. 
 
 The most striking difference between the 
 writers of Greece and Rome, and those of 
 England, modern Italy, France, Germany, 
 &c. (for the same observation may, with equal 
 justice apply to all) is this : — the former having 
 a new field, an untrodden soil to cultivate, 
 abound in original fancy, unrivalled simplicity, 
 and more lofty conceptions ; but amongst the 
 latter, although the exertions of genius are 
 more feeble, a greater correctness of style, and 
 a more studied and artful arrangement, in 
 point of regularity and accuracy, are conspi- 
 cuous. 
 
 Cicevo, who may justly be esteemed the great- 
 est writer in antiquity, speaking of the beauties 
 of style and poetical harmony, says — "lUud 
 autem ne quis admiretur, quonam modo hi.ec 
 vulgus imperitorum in audiendo, notet ; cum 
 in omni genere, turn in hoc ipso, magna quoe- 
 dam est vis, incredibilisque naturoe. Omnes 
 enim tacitu quodam sensu, sine uUa arte aut 
 ratione quae sint in artibus de rationibus recta 
 et prava dijudicant ; idque cum faciunt in pic- 
 turis, et in signis, et in aliis operibus, ad 
 quonam intelligentiam a natura minus habeat 
 instrumenti, tum malto ostendunt magis in 
 verborum numerorum, vocumquejudicio, quod 
 ea sunt in communibus infixa sensibus ; neque 
 earum rerum quemquam funditus natura voluit 
 esse expertum." 
 
 It appears, therefore, to be essential to man 
 to enjoy this power of discernment. And 
 although in some the glimmerings of poetical 
 talent may be so feeble as to prohibit the lively 
 enjoyment of the refinement of beauty, yet 
 some weak and confused impression of a plea- 
 surable nature will strike the dullest of man- 
 kind, when the beauties and sublimities of 
 
440 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 nature are in a manner presented to their view 
 by lively and enthusiastic description ; and 
 this can only be produced by poetical talent. 
 These various causes tend to induce a belief 
 that the sympathy vi^hich is awakened in our 
 bosoms by the perusal of the best poetical 
 writers may be in a great measure attributed 
 to some hidden vein of poesy which is innate 
 in man, and which vibrates responsive to the 
 harmony of composition ; the seeds of refine- 
 ment, indeed, are more deeply implanted in 
 some breasts, and require greater care and 
 higher cultivation to bring them to maturity, 
 and hence arises that great inequality of genius 
 amongst men. There have still been found 
 some writers who have endeavoured to attri- 
 bute this inequality to external circumstances, 
 and have affirmed that however bountiful 
 Nature may have been in bestowing her gifts, 
 unless refined society and knowledge of man- 
 kind be added, nothing truly grand, sublime, 
 or heroic, can result. In opposition to this 
 doctrine, I would recall to mind the eulogy of 
 Quintilian, on the poor, despised, expatriated 
 Homer, who undoubtedly was excluded from 
 all these advantages. " Homer," he observes, 
 "extended the limits of human genius to their 
 utmost stretch, and possessed such complete 
 ideas of all the various styles of writing and 
 composition that he alone is a perfect model 
 of all the different beauties that can enter into 
 any work of imagination." The same re- 
 mark may, with some qualifications, be applied 
 to most of the ancient Grecian authors, and to 
 many of the writers of the Augustan age. It 
 is impossible, therefore, to devote too much 
 attention to the acquirement of a thorough 
 knowledge of the ancient poets ; their sole 
 aim was the instruction of their fellow men ; 
 and it is needless to assert how much they 
 contributed, in the early ages of the world 
 towards polishing mankind, constituting them 
 into states and societies, and uniting them in 
 one common interest. And to show in a more 
 conspicuous manner the reverence in which 
 poetical talent was held, the responses of the 
 oracles were invariably given in verse, and 
 the laws of the illustrious Solon, made for the 
 most polished and most enlightened nation of 
 antiquity, were for the most part poetical. 
 
 The nature and design of poetry is to render 
 us wiser and happier ; not as some Midases 
 have observed, to please the imagination only 
 and corrupt the heart ; but since the beauty of 
 language and harmony of numbers are con- 
 fessedly more likely to arrest the attention and 
 
 captivate the soul, they are used merely as 
 canals to convey moral and religious truths to 
 the mind and heart. Were amusement the 
 only aim of poetry, it would, with all its beau- 
 ties, be of little intrinsic value ; but when we 
 find that the most illustrious philosophers have 
 not scrupled to employ it for the same end, 
 we are almost inclined to anathematize its ene- 
 mies, as Sir Philip Sidney has done, and wish 
 that they may lose their mistresses for lack of 
 a sonnet, and may be condemned to early ob- 
 livion, unhonoured by a distich. 
 
 To prove our assertions, we need only men- 
 tion the celebrated, the sublime song of Moses 
 and the children of Israel, on Pharaoh and his 
 host being overthrown in the Red Sea. The 
 poetry of the Hebrews, indeed, had a more 
 noble origin, and was accordingly carried to a 
 greater perfection than among the surrounding 
 nations. Aristotle has affirmed that the most 
 elevated geniuses choose the most sublime and 
 most difficult subjects — the praises of the gods 
 and the panegyrics of heroes ; whilst inferior 
 geniuses alone condescend to ridicule and 
 satii-e, for " ut pictura poesis ; " both in poetry 
 and painting, it is far easier to expose the 
 defects of Nature than to imitate her perfections. 
 The mention of the poetry of the Hebrews 
 reminds us of the learned treatise of the Illus- 
 trious Dr. Lowth, " De Sacra Poesi Hebrae- 
 orum," a work strongly recommended by Blair 
 to all who wish to become thoroughly ac- 
 quainted with the subject. ** It is a work," 
 he adds, "exceedingly valuable, both for the 
 elegance of its composition and the justness of 
 the criticism which it contains." That many of 
 the sacred writings were composed in verse, has 
 despite the defective state of our knowledge of 
 the Hebrew language, been proved far beyond 
 the doubts of the most inveterate sceptic ; nay, 
 many of the triumphal songs possess such gran- 
 deur, such sublimity, such almost divinity, 
 that wisdom itself seems to have dictated them. 
 There shines, in all its majesty, the true poetry 
 which excites virtuous affection only, which, as 
 a learned writer observes, "leads us to the 
 true God ; which pleases without seducing us ; 
 which instructs without disgusting us ; " and, 
 we may add, which is always agreeable, yet 
 always useful, ennobled by its sublime expres- 
 sions, by its animated figures, and yet more by 
 the glorious truths it announces, which alone 
 renders it worthy the name of "the divine 
 language." 
 
 But it is by no means our intention here to 
 enter into a detailed account of the various styles 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 441 
 
 and orders of poety, but merely to analyse the 
 general principles, so far as they are directly 
 connected with this subject. It is an established 
 fact, that animated descriptions and poetical 
 compositions have frequently been capable of 
 drawing the attention of mankind, when cool 
 reasoning and plain discourse have utterly failed 
 of their object. This, then, was the only vehi- 
 cle which could be used by the generals and 
 legislators of old ; and hence the poet Tyrtasus, 
 who was contemptuously persecuted by the 
 Spartan nation, by the haughty Athenians, 
 though ridiculed for his many deformities, and 
 his utter ignorance of military affairs, animated 
 the Lacedemonians with martial songs when 
 they were upon the point of raising the siege of 
 Ithone, and inspired their breasts with such 
 heroic ardour that they defeated the Messe- 
 iiians, and concluded the campaign with success. 
 Amongst the Goths and Vandals, the kings 
 and generals were usually bards and scalds ; 
 and from their Runic songs alone we have de- 
 rived all information respecting the mythology 
 and general history of the ancient Northern 
 tribes ; and in their Norse productions we may 
 trace the germs of all the poetical beauties 
 which have astonished or delighted the human 
 race. 
 
 Poetical talent is perhaps no less admirable 
 in pointing out the excellency of writers, the 
 strength and boldness of their metaphors, the 
 loftiness and majesty of their ideas and images, 
 the harmony and magnificence of their expres- 
 sions, and in making a just distinction between 
 the natural, the graceful, and the sublime, than 
 in the original display of these several essen- 
 tials. No one, it has been observed, can judge 
 of the concealed niceties and secret delicacies 
 which constitute the greatest excellences of 
 poetry, except a poet. Persons who but im- 
 peifectly understand these rules of criticism, 
 and who do not posses a true taste for purity 
 of diction and harmony of numbers, the rhythm 
 of the Greeks, are prone to mistake the ex- 
 travagances of an irregular and wild fancy, the 
 ■undigested crudities of a Shelley, the ridiculous 
 affectations of a Hunt, or the eccentric fancies 
 of a Wordsworth or a Coleridge, for beauties 
 and ornaments, not remembering that it an 
 author is incapable of maintaining, he does not 
 deserve the name of a poet — 
 
 Descriptas servare vices, operumque colores 
 Cur ego si nequeo, ignoroque poeta salutor? 
 
 Horace. 
 
 Great care, therefore, ought to be taken to 
 acquire a time judgment of the beauties of poetr)-. 
 
 which, by its allurements and charms, slides 
 insensibly into the very soul ; and when once 
 it has obtained possession of the fancy, it 
 quickly persuades the heart. 
 
 What has been observed by a celebrated 
 critic of Horace is peculiarly worthy the atten- 
 tion of every moral and ethical writer, to what- 
 ever nation he may belong : — ** We may justly 
 say of Horace," he observes, "that, of all 
 poets, he has extracted the most from phi- 
 losophy, and amassed in his odes more maxims 
 of morality and philosophical truths than any 
 Roman poet whatever." ** I must transcribe 
 the greater part of Horace," he adds, ** were I 
 to collect all the momentous principles of mo- 
 rality diffused through his works, in which his 
 chief intention is to improve reason, and purify 
 the heart from every vicious passion, to give us 
 useful rules for our behaviour, not only under 
 adversity, but likewise in prosperous circum- 
 stances, which are more dangerous to virtue 
 than afflictions, and to establish a perfect tran- 
 quillity in our minds, by rescuing us from 
 the tyranny of ambition and of fear." 
 
 It is in producing these effects that poetical 
 talent is most eminently displayed ; and for 
 this purpose an ordinary and familiar style is 
 too low and mean ; the mind is elevated by the 
 grandeur and beauty of the object which charms 
 it ; and, according to the illustrious Rollin, 
 *' the most noble thoughts and expressions are 
 explored, the boldest figures collected, and the 
 most lively images and comparisons multiplied," 
 which may add dignity to the subject we wish 
 to eulogize. From these sentiments arise the 
 enthusiasm of the poets, the fruitfulness of in- 
 vention, the nobleness of sentiments and ideas, 
 the sallies of imagination, the magnificence and 
 boldness of terms, and the love of what is 
 grand, sublime, and beautiful. Previous to 
 concluding this subject, we cannot refrain from 
 expressing the great obligations we feel to Dr. 
 Blair for his admirable Lectures on Taste ; to 
 him we owe the expansion of the first blossoms 
 of intellect, and to him alone our gratitude is 
 due for having first awakened in us the spirit 
 of critical research. We must confess that, in 
 our opinion, more useful knowledge is con- 
 tained in the work just cited than in all the 
 ponderous volumes of elaborate criticism with 
 which the press has teemed for the last century. 
 Mr, Knight's Essays are likewise well worthy 
 the attentive perusal of the aspiring poet, to 
 whom we also earnestly recommend the ob- 
 sei-vation of M. De La Motte : — " Un poete 
 n'auroit plus qu' a exprimer avec force toutes 
 
442 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 les pensees qui lui veindroient successivement ; 
 
 He goes to the river side, — 
 
 il se tiendroit dispense d'en examiner le rap- 
 
 Not hook nor line hath he : 
 
 port, et de se faire un plan, dont toutes les 
 
 He stands in the meadows wide, — 
 
 parties se pretassent mutuellement des beautes. 
 
 Nor gun nor scythe to see ; 
 
 11 n'y auroit ni commencement, ni milieu, ni 
 
 With none has he to do. 
 
 fin, dans son ouvrage : et cependant I'auteur 
 
 And none to seek him. 
 
 se croiroit d'autant plus sublime, qu'il seroit, 
 
 Nor men below, nor spirits dim. 
 
 moins raisonable. " 
 
 What he knows nobody wants ; 
 
 We must by no means suppose that, by being 
 
 What he knows, he hides, not vaunts. 
 
 freed from the strict formality of prose treatises, 
 
 Knowledge this man prizes best 
 
 we may revel in all the luxuries of poetical 
 
 Seems fantastic to the rest ; 
 
 talent. We must remember that method and 
 
 Pondering shadows, colours, clouds, 
 
 order are essentially requisite ; and that al- 
 
 Grass buds, and caterpillars' shrouds, 
 
 though ease and gracefulness may constitute 
 
 Boughs on which the wild bees settle. 
 
 the principal charms of poetry, a too loose 
 
 Tints that spot the violet's petal, 
 
 and rambling style is highly objectionable. — 
 
 Why nature loves the number five. 
 
 Sigma. 
 
 And why the star-form she repeats ;— 
 
 
 
 Lover of all things alive. 
 
 
 Wonderer at all he meets, 
 
 POET, Not to be Envied. 
 
 Wonderer chiefly at himself, — 
 
 Envy not the poet's name. 
 
 Who can tell him what he is ; 
 
 Darken not his dawn of fame ; 
 
 Or how meet in human elf 
 
 'Tis the guerdon of a mind 
 
 Coming and past eternities ? . . . 
 
 'Bove the thralls of earthly kind : 
 
 And such I knew a forest seer. 
 
 'Tis the haven for a soul 
 
 A minstrel of the natural year, 
 
 Where the storms of genius roll ; 
 
 Foreteller of the vernal ides, 
 
 It often lights him to his doom — 
 
 Wise harbinger of spheres and tides, 
 
 A halo round an earthly tomb ? 
 
 A lover true, who knew by heart 
 
 The whirling brain and heated brow, — 
 
 Each joy the mountain dales impart ; 
 
 Ideas that torture while they grow ; 
 
 It seem'd that nature could nut raise 
 
 The soaring fancy over-fraught. 
 
 A plant in any secret place. 
 
 The burning agonies of thought ; 
 
 In quaking bog, on snowy hill. 
 
 The sleepless and racking head, 
 
 Beneath the grass that shades the rill. 
 
 The airy terrors round him spread ; 
 
 Under the snow, beneath the rocks. 
 
 Or freezing smile of apathy. 
 
 In damp fields known to bird and fox. 
 
 Or scowl of green-eyed jealousy ; 
 
 But he would come in the very hour 
 
 Or haggard want, whose lean hands wave 
 
 It open'd in its virgin bower, 
 
 Unto a cold, uncover'd grave : 
 
 As if a sunbeam show'd the place. 
 
 Oh ! these must win a poet's name ! 
 
 And tell its long descended race. 
 
 Then darken not his dawn of fame. 
 
 It seem'd as if the breezes brought him. 
 
 R. Montgomery. 
 
 It seem'd as if the sparrows taught him 
 
 
 As if by secret sight he knew 
 
 
 
 Where in far fields the orchis grew. 
 
 POET, The. 
 
 There are many events in the field. 
 
 For this present, hard 
 
 Which are not shown to common eyes, 
 
 Is the fortune of the bard 
 
 But all her shows did Nature yield 
 
 Born out of time ; 
 
 To please and win this pilgrim wise. 
 
 All his accomplishment, 
 
 He saw the partridge drum in the woods. 
 
 From nature's utmost treasure spent, 
 
 He heard the woodcock's evening hymn, 
 
 Booteth not him. 
 
 He found the tawny thrush's brood. 
 
 When the pine tosses its cones 
 
 And the shy hawk did wait for him. 
 
 To the song of its waterfall tones, 
 
 What others did at distance hear 
 
 He speeds to the woodland walks, 
 
 And guess'd within the thicket's gloom, 
 
 To birds and trees he talks : 
 
 Was shown to this philosopher. 
 
 Cassar of his leafy Rome, 
 
 And at his bidding seem'd to come. 
 
 There the poet is at home. 
 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 443 
 
 POETRY. 
 The intellect coloured by the feelings. — Pro- 
 fessor Wilson. 
 
 "Beloved indeed," says dear old genLil 
 Dibdin, "is the poetry of our own country." 
 It expresses all the great changes England has 
 undergone. It tells of its manners and cus- 
 toms, of its thoughts and feelings, of its hopes 
 and fears, of its inner and outward life. One 
 cannot read it without gaining an insight into 
 the every-day experience of our forefathers. 
 Whatever is keenly felt is sure to manifest it- 
 self in language of touching verse. And thus 
 it has been in times gone by ; the real life of 
 the people, of the prince and the peasant, has 
 found an utterance in the poetry of our gifted 
 bards. Indeed, more of true history may be 
 learnt from even the slight and almost despised 
 ballad sung about the streets, than from the 
 more dignified and solemn narrative of the 
 historian He takes generally what is called a 
 deep and philosophical view of events and 
 men and manners, but one little song sung by 
 a few strolling minstrels before the houses of 
 the rich or poor tells us more of what England 
 was, and what were England's feelings, than 
 all this pomp and parade of philosophic learn- 
 ing. Just indeed as one may know a man for 
 years, and never, notwithstanding admiration 
 for his intellect and accomplishments, get one 
 glimpse of his heart, and yet in some unfore- 
 seen moment of sudden joy or sorrow learn for 
 the first time the deep tenderness of his heart ; 
 so with the poetry of any land ; it opens up 
 the unselfish soul of a nation ; it shows that 
 there is the freshness of spring, when all seems 
 sear and withered with frost and snow and sleet 
 and winter ; it reveals the love of the holy and 
 the best, and brings down to earth, as it were, 
 heaven in its purity and sweetness, and divine, 
 untainted loveliness and glory. 
 
 And also, poetry reveals the darker doings 
 of mankind, opens up the terrible passions of 
 mankind, shows human nature as it too often 
 is, thoroughly regardless of the pure, and the 
 beautiful, and the good. Yet, this is but ex- 
 ceptional, its spirit is rather to breathe sweet 
 and loving accents, to gather together earth's 
 beauties, to depict scenes of fairest loveliness, 
 to tell of holiest sacrifices, to bring down as it 
 were the very glories of a world beyond to a 
 world which knows sorrow and pain and sick- 
 ness and death. — Beeton. 
 
 The present life is not wholly prosaic, pre- 
 cise, tame, and finite. To the gifted eye it 
 
 abounds in the poetic. The affections which 
 spread beyond ourselves and stretch far into 
 futurity ; the workings of mighty passions, 
 which seem to arm the soul with an almost 
 superhuman energy ; the innocent and irre- 
 pressible joy of infancy ; the bloom, and 
 buoyancy, and dazzling hopes of youth ; the 
 throbbings of the heart when it first wakes to 
 love, and dreams of happiness too vast for 
 earth ; woman, with her beauty, and grace, 
 and gentleness, and fulness of feeling, and 
 depth of affection, and her blushes of purity, 
 and the tones and looks which only a mother's 
 heart can inspire ; these are all poetical. It is 
 indeed good to feel that life is not wholly 
 usurped by cares for subsistence and physical 
 gratifications, but admits, in measures which 
 may be indefinitely enlarged, sentiments and 
 delights worthy of a higher being. The power 
 of poetry to refine our views of life and happi- 
 ness is more and more needed as society ad- 
 vances. — Dr. Channmz. 
 
 POETRY, a Kingdom of Content. 
 
 Tiiou say'st that Poetry descended is 
 From Poverty : thou tak'st thy mark amiss. 
 In spite of weal or woe, or want of help, 
 " It is a kingdom of content itself." 
 
 Taylor (the Water Poet). 
 
 POETRY Combines and Associates. 
 
 It is the delight of poetry to combine and as- 
 sociate ; of philosophy to separate and dis- 
 tinguish. The one resembles a skilful anatom- 
 ist, who lays open everything that occurs, and 
 examines the smallest particulars of its make ; 
 the other a judicious painter, who conceals 
 what would offend the eye, and embellishes 
 every subject he undei'takes to represent. — 
 Robert Hall. 
 
 POETRY, 
 
 In a People Indicative of Purity. 
 
 The poetic era is that in which a nation is 
 veiy highly advanced in luxuiy and civil re- 
 finement ; when the arts and the sciences have 
 nearly approached perfection ; when true phi- 
 losophy and pure taste conspire to direct the 
 imagination, and to permit the passions their | 
 full glow, adding delicacy to their warmth, and 
 avoiding all that is vapid and distorted. 
 
444 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 The space between these two eras is filled 
 up with all the modifications of false taste, of 
 fashion, of conceit, of imitation, and of folly; 
 with here and there, indeed, the production of 
 some bright genius, which shines amidst the 
 rubbish, like a speck of gold in the surround- 
 ing earth. This state is farthest from nature ; 
 the other two approach her more nearly : the 
 first, because the people themselves are in a 
 state of unsophisticated nature ; the other, be- 
 cause when man has run the whole round of 
 his inventions, pure taste will lead him back to 
 nature, as far more true to beauty than any 
 deviation which he can possibly imagine. 
 
 It is to this latter era that our nation seems 
 at present rapidly approaching. Soundness in 
 philosophy, and purity in taste, more distinctly 
 mark the literature of the day than at any 
 former period. Mere fashion has little in- 
 fluence, and genuine beauty has most admirers ; 
 feeling and simple loveliness have established 
 their claims on the heart, and most men judge 
 for themselves, comparatively uninfluenced by 
 any charm of name or of reputation. The 
 sparkling of wit, the depth of sweet and 
 solemn feeling, and the echo of the loveliest 
 chord of the human bosom, have each conspired 
 to delight, amuse, and enchant the spirit. 
 Even the minor compositions for the harp and 
 the piano possess a glow and a swelling of 
 imagination, which, touched by the finger of 
 friendship and of loveliness, sink into the 
 heart, and lead it captive to the combined effect 
 of the music and the verse ! — James Edi/iestojt. 
 
 POETRY, The, of Real Life. 
 
 In real life, with all its sorrows, and pains, 
 and sordid anxieties, all is not "vanity and 
 vexation of spirit under the sun," to him who 
 can honestly and innocently enjoy the com- 
 monest blessings of Providence. Who can 
 behold this beautiful world, and imagine for a 
 moment that it was designed to be the abode 
 of miserable beings? The earth, arrayed in 
 verdure, adorned with flowers, diversified with 
 hill and dale, forest and glade, fountains and 
 running streams, engirdled with the ocean, 
 over-canopied with heaven; this earth, so 
 smiling and fruitful, so commodious and mag- 
 nificent, is altogether worthy of its Maker ; 
 and not only a fit habitation for man, created 
 in the image of God, but a place which angels 
 might delight lo visit on embassies of love. 
 
 All Nature, through all her forms of ex- 
 istence, calls on man to rejoice with her in the 
 goodness of the universal Parent. The stars 
 in their courses, the sun in his circuit, and the 
 moon through her changes, by day and by 
 night display his glory ; the seasons in succes- 
 sion, the land and the waters, reciprocally dis- 
 tribute his bounty. Every plant in its growth 
 is pleasing to the eye, or wholesome for food ; 
 every animal in health is happy in the exercise 
 of its ordinary functions ; life itself is enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 Yet in the heart of man there is something 
 which disqualifies him from the full fruition of 
 the blessings thus abundantly dealt 'around 
 him ; something which has introduced disorder 
 into his mind, and disease into his frame ; 
 darkening and bewildering his intellect ; cor- 
 rupting and inflaming his passions ; and hurry- 
 ing him, by a fatality of impulse, to that excess 
 in every indulgence which turns aliment into 
 poison ; and from the perversion of the social 
 feelings produces strife, misery, and confusion, 
 to families, to nations, to the world. That 
 enemy, that destroyer, what is it ? Sin ! Yet 
 so mysteriously and mercifully does God, in 
 his providence, out of evil educe good, that 
 much of the felicity of life as it is, arises out of 
 the misery with which it is beset on every 
 hand . — Afotttgomeiy. 
 
 POETRY, True Intention of. 
 
 The three intentions of poetry : Increase of 
 good, increase of understanding, and increase 
 of happiness. — Gather all. 
 
 POETS Must be Born Such. 
 
 They say of poets they must be bom such ; so 
 must mathematicians, so must great generals, 
 and so indeed must all other denominations of 
 men, or it is not possible they should excel. But 
 with whatever faculties we are born, and to 
 whatever studies our genius may direct us, 
 studies they must still be. I am persuaded 
 that Milton did not write his " Paradise Lost," 
 nor Homer his " Iliad," nor Newton his 
 "Principia," without immense labour. Nature 
 gave them a bias towards their respective pur- 
 suits, and that strong propensity, I suppose, 
 is what we mean by genius. The rest they gave 
 themselves. — Coivper. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 44"> 
 
 POETS, of Nature. 
 
 Oh, many are the poets that are sown 
 
 By nature ; men endowed with highest gifts, 
 
 The vision and the faculty divine ; 
 
 Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse. 
 
 Which, in the docile season of their youth, 
 
 It was denied them to acquire, through lack 
 
 Of culture and the inspiring aid of books ; 
 
 Or, haply, by a temper too severe. 
 
 Or a nice backwardness, afraid of shame. 
 
 Wordsworlh. 
 
 POETS Portion, The. 
 
 What is a mine — a treasury — a dower — 
 A magic talisman of mighty power ? 
 A poet's wide possession of the earth : 
 He has th' enjoyment of a flower's birth 
 Before its budding — ere the first red streaks — 
 And winter cannot rob him of their cheeks. 
 Look if his dawn be not ere other men's 
 Twenty bright flushes — ere another kens 
 The first of sunlight is abroad, he sees 
 Its gold election of the topmost trees. 
 And opes the splendid fissures of the mom. 
 When do his fruits delay? When doth his 
 
 com 
 Linger for harvesting ? Before the leaf 
 Is commonly abroad, in its piled sheaf 
 The flagging poppies lose their ardent flame. 
 No sweet is there, no pleasure you can name, 
 But he will sip it first — before the lees : — 
 'Tis his to taste rich honey ere the bees 
 Are busy with the brooms : he may forestal 
 June's rosy advent for his coronal. 
 Before expectance buds upon the bough. 
 Turning his thoughts to bloom upon his brow. 
 Oh ! blest to see the flower in its seed. 
 Before its leafy presence ; for, indeed. 
 Leaves are but wings on which the summer 
 
 flies, 
 And each thing, perishable, fades and dies, 
 Except in thought ; but his rich thinkings be 
 Like overflows of immortality — 
 So that what there is steep'd shall perish 
 
 never, 
 But live and bloom, and be a joy for ever ! 
 
 AthetUBiim. 
 
 POET'S Song, The. 
 
 The rain had fallen, the poet arose, 
 
 He pass'd by the town and out of the street, 
 
 A light wind blew from the gates of the sun. 
 And waves of shadow went over the wheat, 
 
 And he sat him down in a lonely place. 
 
 And chanted a melody loud and sweet, 
 That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud. 
 And the lark drop down at his feet. 
 
 The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee. 
 
 The snake slipt under a spray, 
 The wild hawk stood with the down on his 
 beak, 
 And stared, vdth his foot on the prey, 
 And the nightingale thought, "I have sung 
 many songs. 
 But never a one so gay, 
 For he sings of what the world will be 
 When the years have died away." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 POLITENESS, Christian, 
 
 Christianity is designed to refine and to 
 soften ; to take away the heart of stone, and 
 to give us hearts of flesh ; to polish off the 
 nideness and arrogances of our manners and 
 tempers ; and to make us blameless and harm- 
 less, the sons of God, without rebuke. Lord 
 Chatham, in one of his letters to his nephew, 
 finely says, "Politeness is benevolence in little 
 things." Religion should make us the most 
 polite creatures in the world ; and what per- 
 sons of rank do from education, we should do 
 from principle ; yielding our own desires and 
 claims to become all things to all men, if by 
 any means we may gain some ; and be not 
 only sincere, but without offence, until the day 
 of Christ— ya;/. 
 
 POLITENESS, True, 
 
 Aims at the Good of Society. 
 
 Politeness is too frequently considered to be 
 a mere attention to bowing and scraping, to 
 the use of complimentary expressions, and an 
 observance of what is fashionable in the world ; 
 but this is a very mistaken notion of true 
 politeness. 
 
 True politeness, like true benevolence, the 
 source from which it flows, aims at the real 
 good of mankind, and sincerely endeavours to 
 make all easy and happy, not only by 
 considerable services, but by all those little 
 attentions which contribute to it. In this 
 it differs essentially from that artificial polite- 
 ness which too often assumes its place, and 
 which consists in an endeavour not to make 
 others happy, but to satisfy the vanity of those 
 
446 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 who practise it, by gaining the good opinion 
 and favour of others at the expense of truth 
 and goodness, or even by the destruction of 
 happiness, if that should be necessary to attain 
 the object. Politeness is always necessary to 
 complete the happiness of society in every 
 situation, from the accidental meeting of 
 strangers to the most intimate connections of 
 families and friends ; but it must be the genuine 
 expression of good feeling, or it cannot be con- 
 stant and universal. True benevolence in- 
 spires a sincere desire to promote the happiness 
 of others. True delicacy enables us to enter 
 into their feelings ; it has a quick sense of what 
 may give pleasure or pain, and teaches us to 
 pursue the one and avoid the other. A refined 
 understanding points out the surest means of 
 doing this, in the different circumstances in 
 which we may be placed, and of suiting our 
 conduct to the characters of the individuals 
 with whom we may be connected. This 
 earnest desire to promote the happiness of all, 
 which is essential to true politeness, should 
 always be carefully distinguished from that 
 desire of pleasing, in which self-love is, in fact, 
 the object ; for though this may sometimes 
 appear to produce the same effects with the 
 other, it is by no means sufficient fully to supply 
 its place. It is, however, impossible, nor is it 
 necessary, to enter into a particular detail of 
 the conduct which sincere politeness would 
 inspire on every occasion. 
 
 It needs no artifice or disguise ; its objects 
 are not sinister, nor its views selfish. It seeks 
 the good of all, endeavours to express what 
 it really feels, and to appear only such as it 
 truly is. — S. 
 
 POOR and Rich. 
 
 Their Relative Positions. 
 
 The question whether the rich support the 
 poor, or the poor the rich, has been frequently 
 agitated by those who are not aware that while 
 each does his duty in his station, each is, re- 
 ciprocally, a support and a blessing to the 
 other. All are parts of one harmonious 
 whole ; every part contributing to the general 
 mass of happiness, if man would but endeavour 
 to repay his debt of gratitude to his Creator, 
 and by a willing habit of usefulness promote 
 the happiness of himself and his fellow- 
 creatures. In this way the higher classes of 
 society may, by superiority of power and 
 
 education, do more service to the other parts 
 of the community than what they receive ; the 
 welfare of the poor being then, in truth, more 
 promoted and assured by the gradations of wealth 
 and rank than it ever could have been by a per- 
 fect equality of condition, even if that equality 
 had not been in its nature chimerical and im- 
 practicable ; or (if practicable) had not been 
 hostile and fatal to the industry and energy of 
 mankind. Rank, power, wealth, influence, 
 constitute no exemption from activity or atten- 
 tion to duty, but lay a weight of real accu- 
 mulated responsibility on the possessor. If the 
 poor are idle and vicious, they are reduced to 
 subsist on the benevolence of the rich ; and if 
 the rich (I except those to whom health and 
 ability, and not the will, is wanting) are 
 selfish, indolent, and neglectful of the con- 
 ditions on which they hold superiority of rank 
 and fortune, they sink into a situation worse 
 than that of being gratuitously maintained by 
 the poor. They become paupers of an elevated 
 and distinguished class ; in no way personally 
 contributing to the general stock, but subsisting 
 upon the labour of the industrious cottager; 
 and whenever Providence thinks fit to remove 
 such characters, whether in high or in low 
 life, whether rich or poor, the community is 
 relieved from a useless burden. — Sir Thomas 
 Bernard. 
 
 POOR, their Oppression. 
 
 O WHAT avails it, missionary, to come to me, a 
 man condemned to residence in this foetid place, 
 where every sense bestowed upon me for my 
 delight becomes a torment, and where every 
 minute of my numbered days is new mire 
 added to the heap under which I lie oppressed ! 
 But give me my first glimpse of Heaven, 
 through a little of its light and air ; give me 
 pure water ; help me to be clean ; lighten this 
 heavy atmosphere and heavy life, in which our 
 spirits sink, and we become the indifferent 
 and callous creatures you too often see us ; 
 gently and kindly take the bodies of those who 
 die among us out of the small room where we 
 grow to be so familiar with the awful change 
 that even its sanctity is lost to us ; and, teacher, 
 then I will hear — none know better than you, 
 how willingly — of Him whose thoughts were 
 so much with the poor, and who had compas- 
 sion for all human sorrow ! — Dickens, 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 447 
 
 POOR, their Temptations. 
 Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor ; 
 Hold, there is forty ducats : let me have 
 A dram of poison ; such soon-speeding gear 
 As will disperse itself through all the veins, 
 That the life-weary taker may fall dead ; 
 And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath 
 As violently as hasty powder fir'd 
 Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 POPERY. 
 
 " A HEAP of unmeaning ceremonies, adapted 
 to fascinate the imagination, and engage the 
 senses ; implicit faith in human authority, 
 combined with the utter neglect of Divine 
 teaching ; ignorance the most profound, joined 
 to dogmatism the most presumptuous ; a vigi- 
 lant exclusion of biblical knowledge, together 
 with a total extinction of free inquiry ; present 
 the spectacle of religion lying in state, sur- 
 rounded with the silent pomp of death." To 
 this description it may be added, that it is 
 as active in evil as it is dead to good. — S. 
 Smith. 
 
 POPERY, 
 
 Destructive to tlia Rights of Man. 
 
 Popery ! the very name, like the spell of some 
 potent magician, awakens in the mind of every 
 enlightened Protestant an idea of all that is 
 destructive to the natural rights of man, and 
 to his most sacred and eternal interests. Wher- 
 ever, or at whatever period he contemplates it, 
 whether as it exists now, with its present cur- 
 tailed power, or as it existed in the very height 
 of its strength and greatness, when the whole 
 of Europe lay deeply shadowed in its gloom, 
 he beholds the same melancholy effects of the 
 same baneful system. A religion, the practices 
 of which are as dishonourable to God as deba- 
 sing to man. Liberty, that divine flame, dim- 
 med, if not extinct — Science and art — all that 
 can elevate the intellect or ameliorate the 
 condition of man on the decline. Wherever 
 Popery exists, the spirit of man can never soar ; 
 whenever it attempts it, it is checked in its 
 mid-flight, languishes, and drops the wing over 
 the noisome exhalations of this — no fabled 
 Avernus ; or, to change our figure — its powers 
 and energies lie blighted and withered beneath 
 its shade, like the sterile springings of vegeta- 
 tion beneath the pestilential vapours and em- 
 poisoned influence of the Upas-tree. 
 
 But the influence of Popery, blessed be God, 
 is daily becoming more and more circum- 
 scribed, and the once mighty circle of its magic 
 and enchantments is daily and hourly contract- 
 ing. To a superficial observer, this may not, 
 perhaps, appear to be the case ; and he may 
 adduce the late strong efforts of the Roman 
 Catholics as direct evidence to the contrary. 
 But the struggle in death is always strong. 
 The waves of ebb-tide, though they often flow, 
 not with less clamour and vehemence than 
 those of flood, are yet perceptibly receding, 
 and every moment losing ground. And it is 
 even so with the late turbulent attacks from 
 the advocates of Popery. 
 
 It is true, indeed, that the Roman Catholics 
 have acquired of late years a small numerical 
 increase, especially in this our own glorious 
 land of Protestantism. But it is to this very 
 circumstance that their present danger is to be 
 attributed. Flushed with their success, they 
 have resorted, with the most fatal infatuation, 
 to those very means which, like the nightly 
 labours of Penelope, will infallibly counteract 
 all their past efforts. They have entered the 
 open lists of controversy in open day, than 
 which nothing can be more injudicious — they 
 have employed the press, too, to give currency 
 to their opinions — the press, which the wisest 
 and the most politic of their party have ever 
 declared to be the most fatal engine that can 
 be brought against them. No, if the Catholics 
 wish for success, they must not seek this 
 publicity ; they must fight, as indeed they have 
 ever fought when to any purpose, in darkness, 
 in silence, and ambuscade. Nothing can be 
 more ill-judged or ill-timed than their present 
 zeal, and we predict that Popery will ere long 
 have to explain to its professed defenders. — 
 Anon. 
 
 POPERY, 
 Effects of on a Nation's Intellect' 
 
 A SUPINE indolence, and a profound ignorance 
 upon all subjects most dear to man in his 
 social state, are the necessary results of Popery. 
 Agriculture and every branch of rural economy 
 sink into a state of deplorable degradation. 
 Such is yet nearly the condition of the most 
 beautiful provinces of Naples, Rome, Spain, 
 and Portugal, where misery, fanaticism, im- 
 morality, and all the kindred vices which 
 naturally spring up amongst people in such 
 circumstances, are deeply engendered. 
 
 On the contrary, what activity, what per- 
 
448 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 fection in rural economy and management 
 strikes the observation of the beholder, amidst 
 the cold and inhospitable fields of Scotland, 
 in Great Britain, and in Holland ! There a 
 new creation seems to have sprung up under 
 the hand of man ; because they labour for them- 
 selves, industry is powerful, because it is free, 
 and directed by an education suitable to the 
 condition of the people. 
 
 The contrast between the indubitable effects 
 of the two religions is most evident throughout 
 Germany and in Switzerland, where the terri- 
 torial lines of the respective states, crossing 
 each other frequently, cause the traveller to 
 pass in a moment from a Catholic to a Pro- 
 testant country. Who has not been struck 
 with the unthriftiness which almost universally 
 prevails in Roman Catholic countries, con- 
 trasting so strongly with the great prosperity of 
 countries in the North ; with Holland and 
 with England ? No one can be ignorant to 
 what an odious and revolting excess mendicity 
 exists in most Papal communities ; how sen- 
 sibly it increases as you approach the centre of 
 Catholicity, until finally it reaches its acme in 
 Rome itself. In short, whoever has seen many 
 Catholic and Protestant cities, must have re- 
 marked the immense difference between them 
 in this respect. When the traveller meets 
 with miserable hamlets, covered with straw, 
 the peasants dejected, debased, and almost 
 forced to beggary, he runs little risk of being 
 deceived in concluding that he is in a Catho- 
 lic state : if, on the contrary, he beholds neat 
 and smiling dwellings, affording the appear- 
 ance of ease and industry, fields well culti- 
 vated, and the cultivation widely extended, it 
 is highly probable that he is amongst Pro- 
 testants. 
 
 If we pass from the culture of the earth to 
 that of the mind, Switzerland presents the same 
 contrariety between the two religions. How 
 many men of science and literature do we 
 claim who have been turned out from the 
 schools of Geneva? Berne, Lucerne, Basle, 
 Zurich, and S chaff hausen, have their literary 
 annals filled with names deservedly known to 
 fame ; whilst Catholic Switzerland has not 
 produced one single man eminent in any de- 
 partment of science. 
 
 We may remark, further, that the journals 
 and periodicals of Protestant countries are much 
 more grave and intellectual than similar publi- 
 cations in Spain or Italy, or those of France 
 previous to 1 789. 
 
 Compare, too, the universities of England, 
 
 Holland, Scotland, and Germany, with those 
 of Italy and Spain, and we advance no para- 
 dox when we assert that there is more real 
 learning in one such university as Gottenburg, 
 Helmstadt, Halle, or Jena, than in all the 
 universities of Spain united. The difference 
 between the Catholic and the Protestant uni- 
 versities in Germany is so striking that a 
 stranger travelling in that country, and passing 
 from the former into the latter, would think 
 that he had in one hour passed over four 
 hundred leagues, or lived through a space of 
 four hundred years. He who passes from 
 Salamanca to Cambridge passes at once from 
 the era of Scotus to that of Newton. Appro- 
 priately does a writer, once a Roman Catholic, 
 remark, "The spirit which made Galileo re- 
 cant upon his knees his discoveries in astro- 
 nomy still compels Popish professors to teach 
 the Copernican system as an hypothesis. 
 Astronomy must ask the inquisitor's leave to 
 see with her own eyes. Geography was long 
 compelled to shrink before them. Divines 
 were made the judges of Columbus' plan of 
 discovery, as well as appointed to allot a 
 species to the Americans. A spectre monk 
 haunts the geologist in the lowest cavities of 
 the earth ; and one of flesh and blood watches 
 the philosopher on its surface. Anatomy is 
 suspected and watched closely whenever it 
 takes up the scalpel ; and medicine has many 
 a pang to endure, whilst endeavouring to ex- 
 punge inoculation and the use of bark from 
 the catalogue of mortal sins." Popery, in 
 short, chains down the human mind wherever 
 it gains an ascendant influence. — R. 
 
 POPISH Jugglery. 
 
 A POOR man having heard a discourse from a 
 Catholic priest on the seven devils which had 
 been ejected from Mary Magdalene, shortly 
 afterwards fancied himself to be possessed of 
 an equal number of these fiendish beings. In 
 his trouble he applied to the priest, who, 
 taking advantage of the man's ignorance, told 
 him that it would be necessary to combat with 
 these spirits singly ; and on a day appointed, 
 the poor man came with money in hand, with- 
 out which, the father had forewarned him, no 
 evil spirit could be dislodged. The priest then 
 bound a chain, connected with an electrical 
 machine in an adjoining chamber, round his 
 body, lest, as he said, the devil should fly away 
 with him ; and having warned him that the 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 449 
 
 shock would be terrible when the evil spirit 
 went out of him, he left him devoutly praying 
 before an image of the Madonna ; and after a 
 time gave him a pretty smart shock, at which 
 the poor wretch fell insensible on the floor from 
 terror. As soon as he recovered, however, he 
 protested that he had seen the devil fly away 
 out of his mouth, breathing blue flames and 
 sulphur, and that he felt himself greatly re- 
 lieved. Seven electrical shocks, at due in- 
 tervals, having extracted seven sums of money 
 from him, together with the seven devils, the 
 man was cured, and a great miracle was con- 
 sidered to have been performed. — Rome in the 
 Nineteenth Century. 
 
 POPULATION, 
 
 Improved, Advantages of. 
 
 In the Sanitary Report Mr. Chad wick esta- 
 blishes the very important fact that pecuniary 
 interest even is connected with the highest phy- 
 sical and moral improvement of the lowest of 
 the labouring classes. Mr. Smith, of Dean- 
 ston, having effected some important improve- 
 ments in the economy of his factory, found the 
 advantage of such arrangements. "The im- 
 proved health of the workpeople was attended 
 by more energy and better labour ; by less of 
 lassitude and waste from relaxed attention ; by 
 fewer interruptions from sickness, and fewer 
 spare hands to ensure the completion of work. " 
 Mr. Chadwick adduces another gratifying in- 
 stance of the same kind, where improved tene- 
 ments had been erected and superior provisions 
 made for education ; and the proprietor acknow- 
 ledged that, "although he made the improve- 
 ments from motives of a desire to improve the 
 condition of his workpeople, or what might be 
 termed the satisfaction derived from the im- 
 provements as a "hobby," he was surprised 
 by a pecuniary gain found in the superior order 
 and efficiency of his establishment, in the regu- 
 larity and trustworthiness of his workpeople, 
 which gave even pecuniary compensation for 
 the outlay of capital and labour bestowed upon 
 them. He stated that he would not for 7,000/. 
 change the entire set of workpeople on whom 
 care had been bestowed, for the promiscuous 
 assemblage of workpeople engaged in the same 
 description of manufactures. " 
 
 POSSESSION, Not Appreciated. 
 
 It so falls out 
 That what we have we prize not to the worth 
 "Whiles we enjoy it ; but being lack'd and lost. 
 Why then we rack the value ; then we find 
 The virtue that possession would not show us 
 Whiles it was ours. Shakespeare. 
 
 POVERTY, a Bitter Good. 
 Want is a bitter and a hateful good, 
 Because its virtues are not understood ; 
 Yet many things, impossible to thought. 
 Have been by need to full perfection brought ; 
 The daring of the soul proceeds from thence. 
 Sharpness of wit, and active diligence. 
 Prudence at once, and fortitude it gives, 
 And, if in patience taken, mends our lives ; 
 For e'en that indigence that brings me low, 
 Makes me myself, and God above, to know. 
 A good which none would challenge, few would 
 
 choose, 
 A fair profession which mankind refuse. 
 If we from wealth to poverty descend. 
 Want gives to know the flatterer from the 
 
 friend. 
 Want is the scorn of every wealthy fool, 
 And wit in rags is turned to ridicule. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 POVERTY, Want, and Sin. 
 See ye not that woman pale ! 
 There are bloodhounds on her trail ! 
 Bloodhounds too, all gaunt and lean, 
 For the soul their scent is keen, — 
 Want and Sin, and Sin is last, — 
 They have followed far and fast ; 
 Want gave tongue, and, at her howl. 
 Sin awakened with a growl. 
 Ah, poor girl ! she had a right 
 To a blessing from the light, 
 Title-deeds to sky and earth 
 God gave to her at her birth. 
 But, before they were enjoyed, 
 Poverty had made them void. 
 And had drunk the sunshine up 
 From all Nature's ample cup. 
 Leaving her a first-born's share 
 In the dregs of darkness there. 
 Often on the sidewalk bleak 
 Hungry, all alone, and weak. 
 She has seen, in night and storm. 
 Rooms o'erflow with firelight warm, 
 
 G Cr 
 
450 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Which, outside the window-glass, 
 Doubled all the cold, alas ! 
 Till each ray that on her fell 
 Stabbed her like an icicle, 
 And she almost loved the wail 
 Of the bloodhounds on her trail. 
 Till the floor becomes her bier, 
 She shall feel their pantings near, 
 Close upon her very heels, 
 Spite of all the din of wheels ; 
 Shivering on her pallet poor, 
 She shall hear them at the door 
 "Whine and scratch to be let in, 
 Sister bloodhounds, Want and Sin. 
 
 Lowell. 
 
 POWER, Assumption of. 
 
 The world is grown so bad 
 That wrens may prey where eagles dare not 
 
 perch : 
 Since every Jack becomes a gentleman. 
 There's many a gentle person made a Jack. 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 POWER of God. 
 
 Were every falt'ring tongue of man. 
 Almighty Father ! silent in thy praise, 
 Thy works themselves would raise agen'ral voice, 
 E'en in the depth of solitary woods 
 By human foot untrod ; — proclaim thy power, 
 And to the choir celestial Thee resound, 
 Th' eternal cause, support, and end of all ! 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 POWER of Resignation. 
 Fenelon, Archbishop of Cambray, author of 
 "Telemachus," when his illustrious pupil the 
 Duke of Burgundy lay dead in his coffin, on 
 coming into the room where the nobles of his 
 court stood weeping around the corpse — fixing 
 his eyes upon it, broke out, at length, in terms 
 to this effect : — "There lies my beloved prince, 
 for who my affection was equal to the tenderest 
 parent, and all my earthly happiness lies dead 
 with him. But, if the turning of a straw 
 would call him back to life, I would not, for 
 ten thousand worlds, be the turner of that 
 straw, in opposition to the will of God." 
 
 POWER, WeU Used. 
 
 You see how all conditions, how all minds. 
 As well of glib and slippery creatures as 
 Of grave and austere quality, tender down 
 
 Their services to Lord Timon : his large fortune, 
 Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, 
 Subdues and properties to his love and tend- 
 ance 
 All sorts of hearts. Shakespeare. 
 
 PRAIRIE, A. 
 The first view of a prairie will probably excite 
 more surprise in the mind of a traveller in the 
 United States than the grandest objects of na- 
 ture. Riding day after day through forests, in 
 which the cleared land is not of sufficient extent 
 to interrupt the general aspect of wood, he 
 breaks at once upon the view of a fine open 
 country — he beholds extensive plains of the 
 most soft and beautiful verdure, covered with 
 flowers of every scent and hue. Occasionally on 
 the prairie, and often in the centre, are clumps of 
 fine trees, especially of the oak and black wal- 
 nut, so charmingly disposed, that the traveller 
 can hardly believe that they have not been 
 placed by the hand of man. The views of 
 tracts of country of this description are in 
 many places far more extensive than are to be 
 met with in any country whose land has been 
 laid out in this way artificially, with a view to 
 its beauty, and to increase its value to its 
 possessor. The prospect from the high grounds 
 that often surround the prairies, comprehending 
 verdant lawns, large forests, through which 
 vast rivers are rolling their mighty masses ' of 
 water, and fine hills in the distance, with 
 cottages, cattle, horses, and deer, is altogether 
 as fine as can be conceived anywhere. — 
 Stewart. 
 
 PRAIRIES, The. 
 
 These are the gardens of the desert, these 
 The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful, 
 For which the speech of England has no 
 
 name — 
 The prairies. I behold them for the first. 
 And my heart swells, while the dilated sight 
 Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo ! they 
 
 stretch 
 In airy undulations, far away. 
 As if the ocean in his gentlest swell, 
 Stood still, with all his rounded billows fix'd, 
 And motionless for ever — Motionless ? — 
 No — they are all unchain'd again. The clouds 
 Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath. 
 The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye : 
 Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase 
 The sunny ridges. Breezes of the south ! 
 
 i 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 451 
 
 Who toss the golden and the flame- like flowers, 
 And pass the prairie-hawk that, poised on 
 
 high, 
 Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not — ye have 
 
 play'd 
 Among the palms of Mexico and vines 
 Of Texas, and have crisp'd the limpid brooks 
 That from the fountains of Sonora glide 
 Into the calm Pacific — have ye fann'd 
 A nobler or a lovelier scene than this ? 
 Man hath no part in all this glorious work : 
 The hand that built the firmament hath heaved 
 And smoothed these verdant swells, and sown 
 
 their slopes 
 With herbage, planted them with island groves, 
 And hedged them round with forests. Fitting 
 
 floor 
 For this magnificent temple of the sky — 
 With flowers whose glory and whose multi- 
 tude 
 Rival the constellations ! The great heavens 
 Seem to stoop down upon the scene in love, — 
 A nearer vault, and of a tenderer blue. 
 Than that which bends above the eastern hills. 
 As o'er the verdant waste I guide my steed, 
 Among the high, rank grass that sweeps his 
 
 sides. 
 The hollow beating of his footstep seems 
 A sacrilegious sound. I think of those 
 Upon whose xest he tramples. Are they 
 
 here — 
 The dead of other days ? — and did the dust 
 Of these fair solitudes once stir with life 
 And bum with passion? Let the mighty 
 
 mounds 
 That overlook the rivers, or that rise 
 In the dim forest, crowded with old oaks, 
 Answer. A race that long has pass'd away, 
 Built them ; — a disciplined and populous race 
 Heap'd, with long toil, the earth, while yet 
 
 the Greek 
 Was hewing the Pentelicus to forms 
 Of symmetry, and rearing on its rock 
 The glittering Parthenon. These ample fields 
 Nourish'd their harvests ; here their herds 
 
 were fed. 
 When haply by their stalls the bison low'd 
 And bow'd his maned shoulder to the yoke. 
 All day this desert murmured with their toils, 
 Till twilight blnsh'd, and lovers walked and 
 
 woo'd 
 In a forgotten language, and old tunes, 
 From instruments of unremembered form, 
 Gave the soft winds a voice. The red man 
 
 came — 
 The roaming hunter-tribes, warlike and fierce, 
 
 And the mound-builders vanisli'd from the 
 
 earth. 
 The solitudes of centuries untold 
 Has settled where they dwelt. The prairie 
 
 wolf 
 Hunts in their meadows, and his fresh-dug den 
 Yawns by my path. The gopher mines the 
 
 ground 
 Where stood their swarming cities. All is 
 
 gone — 
 All — save the piles of earth that hold their 
 
 bones — 
 The platforms where they worshipp'd unknown 
 
 gods — 
 The barriers which they builded from the soil 
 To keep the foe at bay — till o'er the walls 
 The wild beleaguerers broke, and one by one 
 The strongholds of the plain were forced, and 
 
 heaped 
 With corpses. The brown vultures of the wood 
 Flock'd to those vast, uncover'd sepulchres. 
 And sat, unscared and silent, at their feast. 
 Haply some solitary fugitive, 
 Lurking in marsh and forest, till the sense 
 Of desolation and of fear became 
 Bitterer than death, yielded himself to die. 
 Man's better nature triumph'd. Kindly words 
 Welcomed and soothed him ; the rude con- 
 querors 
 Seated the captive with their chiefs ; he chose 
 A bride among their maidens, and at length 
 Seem'd to forget, — yet ne'er forgot, — the wife 
 Of his first love, and her sweet little ones 
 Butcher'd, amid their shrieks, with all his race. 
 
 Thus change the forms of being. Thus arise 
 Races of living things, glorious in strength. 
 And perish, as the quickening breath of God 
 Fills them, or is withdrawn. The red man, 
 
 too, 
 Has left the blooming wilds he ranged so long. 
 And, nearer to the Rocky Mountains, sought 
 A wider hunting-ground. The beaver builds 
 No longer by these streams, but far away. 
 On waters whose blue surface ne'er gave back 
 The white man's face — among Missouri's 
 
 springs. 
 And pools whose issues swell the Oregon, 
 He rears his little Venice. In these plains 
 The bison feeds no more. Twice twenty 
 
 leagues 
 Beyond remotest smoke of hunter's camp, 
 Roams the majestic brute, in herds that shake 
 The earth with thundering steps — ^yet here I 
 
 meet 
 His ancient footprints stamp'd beside the pool. 
 
452 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Still this great solitude is quick with life. 
 Myriads of insects, gaudy as the flowers 
 They flutter over, gentle quadrupeds, 
 And birds, that scarce have learned the fear of 
 
 man. 
 Are here, and sliding reptiles of the ground, 
 Startlingly beautiful. The graceful deer 
 Bounds to the wood at my approach. The 
 
 bee, 
 A more adventurous colonist than man, 
 With whom he came across the eastern deep, 
 Fills the savannas with his murmurings, 
 And hides his sweets, as in the golden age. 
 Within the hollow oak. I listen long 
 To his domestic hum, and think I hear 
 The sound of that advancing multitude 
 Which soon shall fill these deserts. From the 
 
 ground 
 Comes up the laugh of children, the soft voice 
 Of maidens, and the sweet and solemn hymn 
 Of Sabbath worshippers. The low of herds 
 Blends with the rustling of the heavy grain 
 Over the dark-brown furrows. All at once 
 A fresher wind sweeps by, and breaks my 
 
 dream 
 And I am in the wilderness alone. 
 
 W, C. Bryant. 
 
 PBAISE, How to Appreciate. 
 
 The most sincere praise can give little plea- 
 sure when it cannot be considered as some sort 
 of proof of praiseworthiness. It is by no means 
 sufficient that, from ignorance or mistake, 
 esteem and admiration should, in some way or 
 other, be bestowed upon us. If we are con- 
 scious that we do not deserve to be so favour- 
 ably thought of, and that, if the truth were 
 known, we should be regarded with very dif- 
 ferent sentiments, our satisfaction is far from 
 being complete. The man who applauds us 
 either for actions which we did not perform, or 
 for motives which had no sort of influence 
 upon our conduct, applauds not us, but an- 
 other person. We can derive no sort of satis- 
 faction from his praises. To us they should be 
 more mortifying than any censure, and should 
 perpetually call to our minds the most humbling 
 of all reflections, the reflection of what we 
 ought to be, but what we are not. A woman 
 who paints could derive, one should imagine, 
 but little gratification from compliments paid 
 to her complexion. These, we should expect, 
 ought rather to put her in mind of the senti- 
 ments which her real complexion would excite, 
 and mortify her the more by the contrast. To 
 
 be pleased with such groundless applause is a 
 proof of the most superficial levity and weak- 
 ness. 
 
 As ignorant and groundless praise can give 
 no solid joy, no satisfaction that will bear any 
 serious examination ; so, on the contrary, it 
 often gives real comfort to reflect that, though 
 no praise should actually be bestowed upon us, 
 our conduct, however, has been such as to de- 
 serve it, and has been in every respect suitable 
 to those measures and rules by which praise 
 and approbation are naturally and commonly 
 bestowed. We are pleased, not only with 
 praise, but with having done what is praise- 
 worthy. We are pleased to think that we have 
 rendered ourselves the natural objects of ap- 
 probation, though no approbation should ever 
 actually be bestowed upon us ; and we are 
 mortified to reflect that we have justly merited 
 the blame of those we live with, though that 
 sentiment should never actually be exerted 
 against us. — Dr. Adam Smith. 
 
 PRAISE, Injudicious. 
 It is a bad practice to praise any one too 
 highly for doing that which every virtuously 
 disposed mind ought to do continually. He 
 who is immoderately surprised with another 
 for being compassionate, forbearing, forgiving, 
 generous, and pious, shows that compassion, 
 forbearance, forgiveness, generosity, and piety 
 are qualities with which he is not familiar. An 
 honest mind will never be surprised at his 
 neighbour, because he did not pick his pocket ; 
 nor will a kind-hearted man be astonished that 
 his friend behaved to him in a friendly manner. 
 Those who are given to flatter others unneces- 
 sarily for the possession of valuable qualities, 
 may learn a useful lesson from the following 
 tale. 
 
 A certain monarch, having performed an act 
 of common-place generosity, was loudly ap- 
 plauded by his numerous flatterers, who pro- 
 claimed the action far and wide, as a proof 
 that their royal master was one of the best of 
 men, and most generous of princes. One of 
 the sycophants was applauding the king to a 
 thoughtful old man, who thus reproved him : 
 *' If the king be really so good a man, and so 
 generous a prince as you describe him to be, 
 you had better hold your tongue, lest, by 
 praising him so highly for a common-place 
 virtue, you lead people to suppose that it is a 
 rare occurrence for virtue to be possessed by 
 a king." — Anon. 
 
 I 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 453 
 
 PRAISE or Censure. 
 
 Speak not in high commendation of any man 
 to his face, nor censure any man behind his 
 back ; but if thou knowest anything good of 
 him, tell it unto others ; if anything ill, tell it 
 privately and prudently to himself. — Burkitt. 
 
 PRAISE, Should be Sparingly Used. 
 
 I WILL not much commend others to them- 
 selves, I will not at all commend myself to 
 others. So to praise any to their faces is a kind 
 of flattery, but to praise myself to any is the 
 height of folly. He that boasts his own 
 praises speaks ill of himself, and much dero- 
 gates from his true deserts. It is worthy of 
 blame to affect commendation. — Arthur War- 
 wick. 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Prayer reminds us we are frail dependent 
 creatures, far from God by nature, immersed 
 in sorrow, and in the same species of sorrow 
 alienation of heart, and distance from Him 
 whom to be near is life, and joy, and peace, 
 and strength. Oh, how dear to our hearts 
 should be the term prayer ! What should 
 we do in this land, this wilderness of sin 
 and sorrow, without prayer? and in one 
 sense how easy is it ! The great and glorious 
 God who became incarnate, though now re- 
 moved for a time from our outward eyes, is not 
 removed from the sighs and wishes, the hopes 
 and fears of our desponding or rejoicing 
 minds. 
 
 It is difficult in this world, sometimes, to find 
 access to the great and the renowned ; but 
 there is a door ever open to the least and 
 lowest of the human race ; there is a door 
 which leads Him who is the fountain of all 
 honour, to the King eternal, immortal, invisi- 
 ble ; and the poor slave, the poor depressed 
 sinner, taught by grace to know his remedy, 
 finds a ready access to Him. He has only to 
 lift up the sighing of a contrite heart, or the 
 wish of a rejoicing and grateful spirit, to 
 find that promise realized, that the high and 
 lofty One who inhabiteth eternity takes up his 
 abode likewise with him who is poor in heart, 
 and of a contrite spirit. — Rev, G. T. Noel. 
 
 PRAYER, Agony of. 
 
 God ! do not let my loved one die, 
 
 But rather wait, until the time 
 That I am grown in purity 
 
 Enough to enter thy pure clime ; 
 Then take me — I will gladly go, 
 So that my love remain below. 
 
 O let her stay — she is by birth 
 
 What I, thro' death, must learn to be ; 
 
 We need her more on our poor earth 
 
 Than thou canst need in heaven with thee ; 
 
 She hath her wings already ; — I 
 
 Must burst this earth-shell ere I fly. 
 
 Then, God take me — we shall be near, 
 More near than ever — each to each. 
 
 Her angels' ears will find more clear 
 My heavenly, than my earthly speech ; 
 
 And still, as I draw nigh to thee, 
 
 Her soul and mine shall closer be. 
 
 Lowell. 
 
 PRAYER, Duty of. 
 
 Ere the morning's busy ray 
 
 Call you to your work away ; 
 
 Ere the silent evening close 
 
 Your wearied eyes in sweet repose. 
 
 To lift your heart and voice in prayer 
 
 Be your first and latest care. 
 
 He, to whom the prayer is due. 
 
 From Heaven His throne shall smile on you ; 
 
 Angels sent by Him shall tend 
 
 Your daily labour to befriend, 
 
 And their nightly vigils keep 
 
 To guard you in the hour of sleep. 
 
 When through the peaceful parish swells 
 The music of the Sabbath -bells, 
 Duly tread the sacred road 
 Which leads you to the house of God ; 
 The blessing of the Lamb is there, 
 And ** God is in the midst of her." 
 
 And oh ! where'er your days be past ; 
 And oh ! howe'er your lot be cast, 
 Still think on Him whose eye surveys. 
 Whose hand is over all your ways. 
 
 Abroad, at home, in weal, in woe. 
 That service, which to heaven you owe, 
 That bounden service duly pay. 
 And God shall be your strength alway. 
 
 He only to the heart can give 
 Peace and true pleasure while you live ; 
 He only, when you yield your breath. 
 Can guide you through the vale of death. 
 
454 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 He can, he will, from out the dust 
 Raise the blest spirits of the just ; 
 Heal every wound, hush every fear ; 
 From every eye wipe every tear ; 
 And place them where distress is o'er, 
 And pleasures dwell for evermore. 
 
 Mant. 
 
 PRAYER, 
 
 Causeth the Water of Life to Flow. 
 
 Much precious fruit falls into our laps before 
 we by prayer shake the tree. Now, if the 
 water of life do flow in such streams upon 
 us when we pray not, how pleasantly will they 
 flow when they are drawn by the attractive 
 power of prayer ! If the Lord is found when 
 we seek not, opens when we knock not, an- 
 swers when we call not : how much more will 
 he open and answer when we knock and call ! 
 If the greatest blessing be vouchsafed before 
 we have hearts to pray, how confident may we 
 be that prayer will obtain the less ! — Clarkson. 
 
 PRAYER, Constant in. 
 
 Let us be constant in our religious offices. 
 Nay, let us take every opportunity that our 
 affairs will allow of raising our minds to God, 
 and thanking Him for His infinite love and 
 goodness to us ; of imploring the continual 
 influence of His grace and Holy Spirit, and 
 reinforcing our vow and purposes of persevering 
 in his service. By this means we shall come 
 to lead spiritual lives indeed. Our souls will 
 be perpetual fountains of good thoughts. And 
 while we live here our conversation will be in 
 heaven ; for God and Christ and the things 
 above will have our hearts, though the world 
 hath our bodies. — Archbishop Sharp. 
 
 PRAYER, Heard of God. 
 
 Even in his best estate what can man do by 
 himself, or how can he bring forth fruit unto 
 holiness, except by the help of God's Holy 
 Spirit, given for the sake of him that died for 
 us, and in return to prayer ? But can lost men 
 pray, the slaves of passion and of sin? Shall 
 they with foul lips utter the foul thoughts of a 
 foul heart to that God in whose sight the hea- 
 vens are not clean, and who charges the angels 
 with folly? And what but foul thoughts have 
 they to offer ? Can blessing and cursing pro- 
 
 ceed out of the same mouth, — the sensual 
 thought and the pure prayer ? Can they com- 
 mune with their own hearts in their chambers, 
 and be still when the heart is not still, when 
 the passions are loud and strong? — H. J. 
 Rose. 
 
 The Lord hears, and will not forsake ! 
 What can be so encouraging to us to pray con- 
 stantly as this language of God ? And O, that 
 we heard, indeed. His fatherly voice ! "I 
 am always ready to forgive, to receive, to help, 
 to teach, to do you good ! Use me as a Father, 
 and I will treat you as my children ! What 
 can I say, loved by me with the very same 
 love wherewith I loved my well-beloved Son ! 
 I will behold you in Him, and be always well 
 pleased with you for his sake ! " Nourish 
 these views of God's fatherly love, as still with 
 you, and engaged to bless you for ever .... 
 Be not weary in praying ; always coming before 
 God, and placing him before you as your re- 
 conciled Father in Jesus ; and you will find he 
 will never be weary of doing you good. — 
 J. Milner. 
 
 No blessing can be obtained from God but 
 through faith in the atonement of His Son ; not 
 a prayer must be offered but in the name and 
 through the mediation of Jesus Christ. To 
 Him must we look in all our addresses to the 
 throne of grace, and to the Father through 
 Him. Yes, towards Him, as our incarnate 
 God, must we direct our supplications, if we 
 would obtain answers of peace unto our souls. 
 If we come to God in this way, we then have 
 an express assurance from God himself that 
 "we shall in no wise be cast out ;" on the con- 
 trary, '*the Lord Jesus Christ himself will con- 
 fer upon us whatsoever we ask, that the Father 
 be glorified in the Son." So indispensable is 
 it that we look towards that Temple in which 
 dwelleth "all the fulness of the Godhead 
 bodily ; " and so certain is the success of prayer 
 when so directed. — Simeon. 
 
 PRAYER, HypocriticaL 
 
 Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his face ; 
 His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in 
 
 jest ; 
 His words come from his mouth, ours from our 
 
 breast : 
 He prays but faintly, and would be denied ; 
 We pray with heart and soul, and all beside. 
 Shakespeare. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 455 
 
 PRAYER is an Angel Upward Sent. 
 What is it to pray but the sending of angels 
 upward? God's heavenly inspirations and our 
 holy desires are as so many angels of inter- 
 course and commerce between God and us . . . 
 It is the first thing wherewith a righteous life 
 beginneth, and the last wherewith it doth end 
 . . . So much of our lives is celestial and divine 
 as we spend in the exercise of prayer. — Hooker. 
 
 PRAYER, its Absorbing Influence. 
 When holy and devout religious men 
 Are at their beads, 'lis much to draw them 
 
 thence, 
 So sweet is zealous contemplation. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 PRAYER, Morning. 
 
 Let secret prayer by yourself alone be con- 
 stantly performed, before the work of the day 
 be undertaken. It is much better to go from 
 prayer to business than from business to 
 prayer, in regard of the mind's freedom from 
 distracting thoughts. Because, also, if the 
 world gets the start of religion in the morning, 
 it is hard for religion to overtake the world 
 all the day after. — Burldtt. 
 
 PRAYER, Necessity of. 
 
 I PRAY thee, leave me to myself to-night. 
 For I have need of many orisons 
 To move the heavens to smile upon my state, 
 Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of 
 sin. Shakespeare. 
 
 PRAYER, Never Useless. 
 
 We are not to conclude that prayers are lost 
 and useless, because unsuccessful. There may 
 be many reasons why we do not obtain 
 that which we pray for. Our prayers may ob- 
 tain for us other blessings than that which we 
 desired, and perhaps greater and better ; the 
 piety and faith that are expressed in our 
 prayers, whatever error we may have fallen 
 into respecting the subject of them, must be 
 acceptable to our heavenly Father, and tend 
 to procure for us higher degrees of His favour, 
 itself the greatest of all blessings, according to 
 the Psalmist, *' Thy loving-kindness is better 
 than life itself."— C>^^^«. 
 
 PRAYER, Nightly, of Jeremy Taylor, 
 
 For himself and his friends, was for God's 
 merciful deliverance and preservation — 
 
 ** From the violence and rule of passion, 
 from a servile will, and a commanding lust ; 
 from pride and vanity; from false opinion and 
 ignorant confidence ; 
 
 *' From improvidence and prodigality; from 
 envy and the spirit of slander ; from sensuality ; 
 from presumption and from despair ; 
 
 ** From a state of temptation and hardened 
 spirit ; from delaying of repentance and per- 
 severing in sin ; from unthankfulness and 
 irreligion, and from seducing others ; 
 
 "From all infatuation of soul, folly, and 
 madness ; from wilfulness, self-love, and vain 
 ambition ; from a vicious life and an unpro- 
 vided death." 
 
 PRAYER of Faith. 
 
 God having established this intercourse, (with 
 His people, ) has engaged His truth and good- 
 ness in it, that if they call on Him, they shall 
 be heard and answered. If they prepare the 
 heart to call. He will incline His ear to* hear. 
 Our Saviour hath assured us that we may 
 build upon His goodness, upon the affection of 
 a Father in Him ; *' He will give good things 
 to them that ask Him ; " ** He will give the 
 Holy Spirit to them that ask Him," as being 
 the good, indeed the highest of gifts, and the 
 sum of all good things; and that for which 
 His children are most earnest supplicants. — 
 Abp. Leighton. 
 
 God's ordinary promise is to every one of 
 His children "the earnest of the Spirit." 
 Without this you cannot even say that "Jesus 
 is the Lord ; " without this, you cannot offer a 
 single acceptable prayer. . . . "Ask and you 
 shall have." The fondest father may deny a 
 wanton child, who asks for bread only to play 
 with, or to cast beneath his feet, but never yet 
 denied the starving child, whose very life 
 depended on his father's answer. God may, 
 and assuredly does deny gifts — sought only to 
 gratify the ambition or the vanity of the pos- 
 sessor ; but He never has and never will deny 
 those gifts of knowledge, and love, and faith, 
 and patience, and zeal and holiness, which are 
 as needful to the spiritual life of the soul as 
 the air we breathe, or the bread with which 
 We are nourished, are to the natural life of the 
 body.— j^ Blunt. 
 
456 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Say you, " I want faith ! " Ask it of God, 
 who, while He commands thee to do what He 
 gives thee the ability to perform, assures thee 
 He will give it. "God is glorious and I am 
 sinful ; how can I speak to Him ? He is in- 
 finitely great and glorious, and fearful in holi- 
 ness, and I am polluted and vile ; what can I 
 do ! Follow the counsel He condescendeth 
 to give you. "Take with you words, and 
 ttim unto the Lord : say unto Him, Take away 
 all iniquity, and receive us graciously ; so will 
 werender the calves of our lips." — J, W. Peers. 
 
 PRAYER of George III. 
 
 " Keep me, O Lord, from silly and unguarded friends, 
 and from secret and designing enemies, and give me 
 those things that are best for me, through Jesus Christ 
 our Lord." 
 
 From foes that would the land devour ; 
 From guilty pride, and lust of power ; 
 From wild sedition's lawless hour ; 
 From yoke of slavery : 
 
 From blinded zeal by faction led ! 
 From giddy change by fancy bred ; 
 From poisonous error's serpent head ; 
 Good Lord, preserve us free ! 
 
 Defend, O God, with guardian hand, 
 The laws and ruler of our land. 
 And grant our Church Thy grace to stand 
 In faith and unity ! 
 
 The Spirit's help of Thee we crave, 
 That Thou, whose blood was shed to save, 
 May'st, at thy second coming, have 
 
 A flock to welcome Thee ! Heber, 
 
 PRAYER of the Church. 
 This is a great comfort for us to know that all 
 the Church and congregation of Christ doth 
 pray for us ; and that all the treasures of God's 
 riches, that is to say, Christ himself, the king- 
 dom of heaven, the holy gospel, the sacraments, 
 and the prayers of all godly men, be common 
 to us all. For whensoever any godly man re- 
 quireth anything of God, he also requireth the 
 same thing for us ; for no man ought to pray 
 for himself alone. And this is a great con- 
 solation for all Christian people ; for the Scrip- 
 ture saith that the prayer of one just man may do 
 much with God ; and, therefore, when many 
 just and godly men do make their supplications 
 unto God with one accord, we may be sure 
 that their prayers are heard.— ^/^. O'anmer. 
 
 PRAYER, Power of. 
 
 There is an eye that never sleeps. 
 
 Beneath the wing of night ; 
 There is an ear that never shuts, 
 
 When sink the beams of light. 
 There is an arm that never tires. 
 
 When human strength gives way ; 
 There is a love that never fails, 
 
 When earthly loves decay. 
 That eye is fix'd on seraph throngs ; 
 That ear is filled with angels' songs ; 
 That arm upholds the world on high j 
 That love is throned beyond the sky. 
 But there's a power which man can wield 
 
 When mortal aid is vain ; — 
 That eye, that arm, that love to reach. 
 
 That listening ear to gain. 
 That power is Prayer, which soars on high, 
 And feeds on bliss beyond the sky ! 
 
 Montgomery. 
 
 PRAYER, the Breath of Divine Life, 
 
 Prayer is the first breath of Divine life ; it is 
 the pulse of the believing soul ; — by prayer 
 "we draw water with joy from the wells of 
 salvation ;" by prayer faith puts forth its energy, 
 in apprehending the promised blessings, and 
 receiving from the Redeemer's fulness ; in 
 leaning on His almighty arm, and making His 
 name our strong tower ; and in overcoming the 
 world, the flesh, and the devil. — T. Scott. 
 
 PRAYER, the Issue of a Quiet Mind. 
 
 Prayer is the peace of our spirit, the stillness 
 of our thoughts, the evenness of recollection, 
 the seat of meditation, the rest of our cares, and 
 the calm of our tempest : prayer is the issue of 
 a quiet mind, of untroubled thoughts ; it is the 
 daughter of Charity and the sister of Meekness* 
 — Jeremy Taylor. 
 
 PRAYER to be Continual. 
 
 How natural is it, in our condition, to apply 
 ourselves to God ! What reason have we to glory 
 only in Christ, in the power of His Word, and 
 in the might of His Spirit ! If we look up to 
 God continually, and depend upon Him, vi^e 
 shall continually derive light and strength from 
 Him. If we pray continually, we shall thrive- 
 and flourish more and more ; and the meaner 
 and lower we are in our own eyes, the more 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 457 
 
 shall we be exalted and enriched by God. 
 Who can look upon himself as "tied and 
 bound in the chains of sin," and not beg 
 earnestly, **0 let the pitifulness of Thy great 
 mercy loose us?" . . . Who can reflect upon the 
 temptations of the world, the deceitfulness of his 
 heart, and the natural bent of his inclinations, 
 and not pray heartily that God would preserve 
 him by His power through faith unto salva- 
 tion? — R. Lucas. 
 
 PRAYER wiU be Heard. 
 
 We have assurance that we shall be heard in 
 what we pray, because we pray to that God 
 that heareth prayer, and is the rewarder of all 
 that come unto Him ; and in His name, to 
 whom God denieth nothing ; and, therefore, 
 howsoever we are not always answered at the 
 present, or in the same kind that we desire, 
 yet, sooner or later, we are sure to receive even 
 above that we are able to ask or think, if we 
 continue to sue unto Him according to His will. 
 — Abp. Usher. 
 
 PRAYER 
 Winds up the Soul to Heaven. 
 Prayer winds up the soul from the earth, 
 raises it above those things which intemperance 
 feeds on, acquaints it with the transcending 
 sweetness of Divine comforts, the love and 
 loveliness of Jesus Christ ; and these most 
 powerfully wean the soul from the low creep- 
 ing pleasures that the world gapes after and 
 swallows with such greediness. He that is ad- 
 mitted to nearest intimacy with the king, and is 
 called daily to his presence, not only in the view 
 and company of others, but likewise in secret, 
 will he be so mad as to sit down and drink with 
 the kitchen-boys, or the common guards, so far 
 below what he may enjoy? Surely not. 
 
 Prayer being our near communion with the 
 great God, certainly sublimates the soul, and 
 makes it look down upon the base ways of the 
 world with disdain, and despise the truly be- 
 sotting pleasures of it. Yea, the Lord doth 
 sometimes fill those souls that converse much 
 with him, with such beatific delights, such 
 inebriating sweetness, as I may call it, that it 
 is, in a happy manner, drunk with these ; and 
 the more there is of this, the more is the soul 
 above base intemperance in the use of the de- 
 lights of the world. Whereas common drunken- 
 ness makes a man less than a man, this makes 
 
 him more than a man : that sinks him below 
 himself, makes him a beast ; this raises him 
 above himself, and makes him an angel. — 
 Leighton. 
 
 PREACHER'S Defects. 
 
 The defects of a preacher are soon spied. Let 
 a preacher be endued with ten virtues, and 
 have but one fault, that one fault will eclipse 
 and darken all his virtues and gifts, so evil is 
 the world in these times. Dr. Justus Jonas 
 hath all the good qualities that a man may 
 have ; yet by reason that he only often 
 hummeth and spitteth, therefore the people 
 cannot bear with that good and honest 
 man. — Luther. 
 
 PREACHINa, Design of. 
 
 As an ordinance of Christ, preaching appears 
 to be graced and blessed in a superior degree. 
 The continuance of his ambassadors is a 
 pledge of peace oh the part of the King of 
 kings ; a mark of truth challenging universal 
 examination ; but more particularly, the means 
 by which it is to spread from man to man. 
 
 It may, however, be supposed that, as the 
 Bible now is perfected, it would be better that 
 men should not only read it by themselves, 
 but that they should read it without the inter- 
 vention of other men. "Surely (it maybe 
 argued) the word of God should by itself come 
 fully on the heart, as the beams of the sun 
 upon the earth ; surely, in coming through so 
 faulty a medium as the human mind. Divine 
 truth must be dimmed and distorted." But 
 observe, not only does preaching not preclude 
 reading, but is expressly designed to lead to 
 it. The preacher has just to press the grapes 
 and give the cup into the hearer's hand. He 
 has not to dictate ; he has not even primarily 
 to inform ; but he has to arouse, to impel, to 
 awaken. The apostles both spoke and wrote ; 
 and if you compare one of St. Paul's speeches 
 with one of his epistles, the difference in the 
 style, the connection in the aim, will be visible 
 at once. And thus at present the preacher's 
 address is made, not in the way of giving per- 
 fect and infallible instruction ; not as a sub- 
 stitute for the gospel ; not even as an unerring 
 guide to the gospel, but as a call to reflection 
 upon the gospel. He is, in reference to the 
 gospel, not to think for his hearers, but to ex- 
 cite them to think for themselves ; and this 
 by appealing to their judgments, warming 
 
458 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 their affections, and principally by touching 
 their consciences. True ; the principle of 
 conscience is in every heart ; but the pendu- 
 lum often requires a touch from without to 
 make it do its office. To give this touch re- 
 quires no inspiration ; although, having been 
 given it does require on the hearer's part sin- 
 cere prayer, and careful study of the Scriptures, 
 that the effect maybe permanent. — C.L Yorke. 
 
 PREACHING, its Influence. 
 
 Two inestimable advantages Christianity has 
 given us : first, the Sabbath, the jubilee of the 
 whole world, whose light dawns welcome alike 
 into the closet of the philosoper, into the 
 garret of toil, and into prison cells ; and 
 everywhere suggests, even to the vile, a thought 
 of the dignity of spiritual being. Let it stand 
 for evermore a temple, which new love, new 
 faith, new sight, shall restore to more than its 
 first splendour to mankind. And secondly, 
 the institution of preaching, — the speech of 
 man to men, essentially the most flexible of 
 all organs, of all forms. What hinders that 
 now, everywhere, in pulpits, in lecture-rooms, 
 in houses, in fields, wherever the invitation 
 of men or your own occasions lead you, you 
 speak the very truth, as your life and con- 
 science teach it, and cheer the fainting, waiting 
 hearts of men with new hope and new revela- 
 tion ? I look for the teacher that shall follow 
 so far those shining laws that he shall see 
 them come full circle ; shall see their rounding, 
 complete grace ; shall see the world to be the 
 mirror of the soul ; shall see the identity of 
 the law of gravitation with purity of heart ; 
 and shall show that the Ought, that Duty, 
 is one thing with Science, with Beauty, and 
 with Joy. — R. W. Emerson, 
 
 PREACHING, Simplicity in. 
 
 Dr. Erasmus Albert was called Mark of 
 Brandenburg. He desired Luther to set down 
 a method of preaching before the prince 
 elector. Luther said, "Let all your preaching 
 be in the most simple and plainest manner ; 
 look not to the prince, but to the plain, simple, 
 gross, unlearned people, of which cloth the 
 prince also himself is made. If I," said 
 Luther, *• in my preaching, should have regard 
 to Philip Melancthon and other learned doctors, 
 then should I do but little good. I preach in 
 
 the simplest manner to the unskilful, and that 
 giveth content to all. Hebrew, Greek, and 
 Latin, I spare until we learned ones come 
 together."— Zz^/'/^^r'j Table Talk. 
 
 PRECEPTS, Chinese. 
 
 Respecting the Mind. — Let not corrupt 
 thoughts arise. Be not over anxious and 
 grieved. Envy not those who have, nor des- 
 pise those who have not. Complain not of 
 heaven, and blame not men. Think not of old 
 evils, speculate not on distant things. 
 
 The Body. — Love not beauty without 
 bounds. Be not greatly intoxicated. Stand 
 not in dangerous places. Do not give way to 
 anger. Do not associate with worthless 
 characters. Do not enrage men who love to 
 strike. 
 
 Happiness. — Do not abuse the good things 
 of Providence. Do not love extravagance. Be 
 not over anxious about being completely pro- 
 vided for. Think not of things which are above 
 your station. Do not deteriorate the grain. 
 Do not destroy life. 
 
 Things in general. — Do not neglect the re- 
 lations and duties of life. Do not practise 
 corrupt things. Do not oppose the commands 
 of your parents or teachers. Do not speak 
 much. Provoke not a guest to angei*. Be- 
 tween two parties do not speak swords here 
 and flatteries there. Do not stir up troubles. 
 Do not cut and carve the poor. Do not de- 
 ceive and oppress the orphan and widow. Do 
 not wrongfully accuse any one. Do not learn 
 unprofitable things. 
 
 Wealth. — Be not ashamed of bad food and 
 coarse clothing. Do not buy useless things. 
 Be not over fond of feasts. Do not learn to 
 imitate the rich and great. 
 
 Words. — Do not talk of men's domestic 
 affairs. Do not tell secrets. Do not conceal 
 the errors of worthless men. Do not injure a 
 person's parents. Do not put a stop to any 
 good affair. Do not bring up other men's con- 
 cerns (in conversation). Do not laugh at 
 men's appearance. Do not blame a man for 
 the faults of his relatives. Be not fond of 
 ridiculing any one. Do not make up stories to 
 injure men. Be not proud of your wealth. 
 Do not complain of your poverty. Do not 
 speak with a fierce aspect. Do not despise 
 men's poverty. Do not interrupt men in con- 
 versation. Do not lie. Do not help and abet 
 others to do iniquity. Do not recite corrupt 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 459 
 
 composition. Do not speak of gambling or 
 licentiousness. Do not say anything that has 
 a beiiinninc: but no end. 
 
 PREFERMENT hath Divers Play. 
 
 Preferment, like a game at boules, 
 To feede our hope, hath divers play : 
 Heere quick it runns, there soft it roules ; 
 The betters make and show the waye 
 On upper ground, so great allies 
 Doe many cast on their desire ; 
 Some up are thrust and forced to rise, 
 When those are stopt that would aspire. 
 
 Some whose heate and zeal exceed, 
 Thrive well by rubbs that curb their haste. 
 And some that languish in their speed 
 Are cherished by some favour's blaste : 
 Some rest in others cutting out 
 The same by whom themselves are made ; 
 Some fetch a compass far about, 
 And secretly the marke invade. 
 
 Some get by knocks, and so advance, 
 Their fortune by a boysterous aime ; 
 And some, who have the sweetest chance, 
 Their en'mies hit, and win the game. 
 The fairest casts are those that owe 
 No thanks to fortune's giddy sway ; 
 Such honest men good bowlers are 
 Whose own true biass cuts the way. 
 
 Harleian MSS. 
 
 PREFERMENT, Slave to. 
 
 But write him down a slave, who humbly 
 
 proud, 
 With presents begs preferment from the crowd : 
 That early suppliant, 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. " Dryden. 
 
 The Sisyphus is he, whom noise 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. Dryden. 
 
 PREJUDICE 
 
 is a Continual False Medium. 
 
 Prejudice may be considered as a continual 
 
 false medium of viewing things, for prejudiced 
 
 persons not only never speak well, but also 
 never think well, of those whom they dislike, 
 and the whole character and conduct is con- 
 sidered with an eye to that particular thing 
 which offends them. — Butler. 
 
 PREJUDICE 
 Naught but a Crooked WiU. 
 
 Thus men go wrong, with an ingenious 
 
 skill ; 
 Bend the straight rule to their own crooked 
 
 will: 
 And with a clear and shining lamp supplied, 
 First put it out, then take it for a guide, 
 Halting on crutches of unequal size, 
 One leg by truth supported, one by lies ; 
 They sidle to the goal with awkward pace, 
 Secure of nothing— but to lose the race. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 PREPARATION for Another World. 
 
 Were any other event of far inferior moment 
 ascertained by evidence which made but a dis- 
 tant approach to that which attests the certainty 
 of a life to come, had we equal assurance that 
 after a very limited, though uncertain period 
 we should be called to emigrate into a distant 
 land, whence we were never to return, the in- 
 telligence would fill every breast with solici- 
 tude ; it would become the theme of every 
 tongue, and we should avail ourselves with the 
 utmost eagerness of all the means of informa- 
 tion respecting the prospects which awaited us 
 in that unknown country. Much of our atten- 
 tion would be occupied in preparing for our 
 departure ; we should cease to consider the 
 place we now inhabit as our home, and nothing 
 would be considered as of moment but as it 
 bore upon our future destination. 
 
 How strange is it, then, that with the cer- 
 tainty we all possess of shortly entering into 
 another world we avert our eyes as much as 
 possible from the prospect, that we seldom per- 
 mit it to penetrate us, and that the moment 
 the recollection recurs we hasten to dismiss it, 
 as an unwelcome intrusion ! Is it not sur- 
 prising that the volume we profess to recognize 
 as the record of immortality, and the sole de- 
 pository of whatever information it is possible 
 to obtain respecting the portion which awaits 
 I us, should be consigned to neglect, and rarely. 
 
460 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 if ever, consulted with the serious intention of 
 ascertaining our future condition ? — Robert 
 Hall, 
 
 PRESENTIMENTS. 
 
 On this dark and mysterious region, it would 
 be difficult, perhaps dangerous, to enter ; yet 
 we may venture to affirm that such a region 
 does exist somewhere in the mental or moral 
 world, though unexplored, and beyond the 
 reach of metaphysical research. Few persons 
 can have lived long, and been attentive to 
 their own impressions, without tracing some in- 
 stances in which the mind seems to have been 
 touched by an invisible hand, or recollecting 
 some trains of thought which have originated 
 in no sensible or perceptible cause. Many of 
 these will, no doubt, be termed the reveries of 
 the imagination ; and, perhaps, very properly 
 so, seeing they are the progeny of some va- 
 grant thought, freely indulged, and ramified 
 into an endless diversity of forms. But there 
 is a class of thoughts, or state of mind, which, 
 strictly speaking, is not voluntary ; a state in 
 which the mental faculties appear to be wholly 
 passive, while ideas the most unlikely and 
 unwelcome are impressed, with a power not 
 easily resisted. This is not only the case where 
 guilt forces itself upon the recollection, as in 
 the instance of Joseph's brethren, but in others 
 where no immediate guilt attaches ; and even 
 where the highest moral good was to be effected. 
 Of this description, no doubt, were the preter- 
 natural dreams and inspirations of the ancient 
 patriarchs and prophets, the ordinary opera- 
 tion of whose faculties appears to have been 
 suspended during the reception of Divine com- 
 munications, which they had otherwise been 
 unable to sustain. 
 
 But there are other mysterious but very 
 inferior intimations to be accounted for, now 
 that the age of inspiration has ceased ; and 
 every mental operation is to be referred to 
 some ascertained cause, independent of any 
 supernatural agency ; if, indeed, every such 
 l>henomenon is capable of being accounted 
 for, in the total absence of such an agency — 
 meaning by the term anything short of what 
 is properly miraculous, but something that 
 implies the actual existence of a foreign and 
 invisible influence. Premonitory dreams are 
 clearly of this description ; and though some 
 of these may be nothing more than the fleet- 
 ing shadows, or wanderings, of our waking 
 thoughts, yet there are others, which, having 
 
 no such precursors, cannot be so accounted 
 for. There are thoughts which spring up like 
 a sudden light, or are injected without any pre- 
 meditation, and appear like strangers that have 
 intruded unawares. The following authentic 
 statement, relating neither to visions nor 
 dreams, but to something like a mysterious pre- 
 sentiment during a state of mental vigilance, 
 will better explain the nature of the present 
 inquiry : — 
 
 About twelve years ago, the writer of this 
 article, who is far enough removed from every 
 feeling of superstition, was on a visit to a 
 medical relation in Lincolnshire. During his 
 stay, it so happened that his friend was called 
 out late one evening, to attend a patient about 
 two miles distant ; and, instead of waiting to 
 saddle his horse, he went immediately on foot, 
 and was absent little more than two hours. 
 The writer, having agreed to sit up alone till 
 his return, spent the silent hours of the night 
 very agreeably in reading. Before the time 
 had fully expired, and while in the act of 
 reading on a subject totally foreign from the 
 occasion, a thought suddenly rushed upon his 
 mind which he made every effort to repress, 
 but it still returned with accumulated force and 
 violence, producing a firm conviction that his 
 relative was in imminent danger from the 
 attack of a highwayman, and that he was 
 fleeing for his life. Reluctantly laying aside 
 his book, he was at length compelled to act 
 under this impression ; for by this time it was 
 imagined that the sound of his footsteps was 
 distinctly heard at a great distance. Advan- 
 cing towards the front door, with a candle in 
 one hand, and the other laid on the spring 
 lock, to open it in an instant, if required, he 
 there stood watching, and listening in deep 
 silence, and with trembling expectation. In a 
 few minutes his relation reached the door in 
 violent haste, sprang in, and threw himself on 
 the sofa in a state of complete exhaustion. 
 When a little recovered, he confirmed all the 
 anticipations which had been so painfully felt : 
 he had been pursued by a footpad, after visit- 
 ing his patient ; had to run nearly a mile with 
 the villain at his heels, and escaped only by 
 the swiftness of his flight; for he had been 
 pursued till nearly within sight of his own 
 door. On comparing the fact with the premo- 
 nition, the astonishment on both sides was of 
 course considerable. 
 
 Many similar instances of this kind of fore- 
 sight have, no doubt, existed ; but how are 
 they accounted for ? Such a man as the inge- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 461 
 
 nious Mr. Robinson, of Cambridge, who was 
 anxious to divest everything of mystery, would 
 have resolved the whole into a simple coinci- 
 dence, and would have said that the presage 
 would never have been regarded, had it not 
 been followed with a corresponding event j 
 and therefore it was the accidental connection 
 only that rendered the former deserving of 
 attention. It appears, however, to be highly 
 sceptical and unsatisfactory to resolve all pre- 
 monitions, and their correspondences, into a 
 mere coincidence ; and on this supposition 
 there are no presages — no premonitions of any 
 kind existing. 
 
 The sacred writers are evidently more in the 
 habit of tracing things to a Divine original 
 than we are, and less scrupulous of imputing 
 to a supernatural agency what we commonly 
 ascribe to second causes. If we wake, it is 
 because *' the Lord visits us, and wakeneth us 
 morning by morning ;" and if we sleep, it is 
 *'He that giveth his beloved sleep." And 
 though the phenomenon of waking and sleep- 
 ing does not necessarily imply the direct inter- 
 position of a Divine agency, it does imply the 
 agency of some mysterious cause with which 
 we are unacquainted ; for it cannot be ac- 
 counted for, on any known principle, why we 
 should awake from our slumbers in the stillness 
 of the morning, while all nature is at rest 
 around us, and the senses have all retired 
 from the post of observation. The agency by 
 which this is effected being invisible, and to us 
 inscrutable, it is ascribed in the Scriptures 
 to a Divine visitation. 
 
 The existence of Satanic influence is not 
 doubted, any more than that which is Divine ; 
 and as the former comprehends the agency of 
 subordinate beings as principals, so the latter 
 includes the agency of all that is virtuous and 
 good. Who, then, can doubt but holy and 
 happy spirits may be permitted to have access 
 to our minds, in subserviency to the designs of 
 an infinitely wise and holy Providence ? and as 
 Satan filled the covetous heart of Ananias, so 
 some friendly spirit may be allowed to occupy 
 the generous breast with salutary feelings and 
 monitions. It enters, indeed, very essentially 
 into the Divine economy, to render every part 
 of the material and intelligent system mutually 
 subservient to each other, and it is therefore 
 not irrational to suppose that there is an inti- 
 mate though unperceived iutercourse between 
 the visible and invisible world ; and if our 
 forefathers believed too much in reference to 
 this subject, it is pretty evident that we have 
 
 admitted too little. And if the conjecture of 
 our immortal poet be well foimded, that 
 
 Myriads of happy spirits walk the earth 
 Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep ; 
 
 it is not to be imagined that they are mere 
 spectators of the drama, but are sent with 
 some high commission from the throne of the 
 Eternal. — Paulinns. 
 
 PRESS, Liberty of the. 
 
 The contrast between England and Spain in 
 reference to the liberty of the press will 
 strikingly appear by the following anecdote : — 
 ** A priest," says Mr, Inglis, " with whom I 
 was acquainted in Madrid, telling me one day 
 that he had thoughts of going to London or 
 Paris to print an English and Spanish grammar, 
 and a German and Spanish grammar, which 
 he had written, I asked him why he did not 
 print them in Madrid, since they were intended 
 for his own countrymen, especially as they 
 could contain nothing political. His answer 
 was "that nothing was so difficult as to obtain 
 a licence to publish a book, even although it 
 contained no allusion to politics ; and the 
 better the book the more difficult it is to ob- 
 tain a licence, and the more dangerous to 
 publish, because Government does not wish to 
 encourage writing or even thinking upon any 
 subject, and the publication of a good book 
 sets men a-thinking." 
 
 The publication of religious books, except in 
 favour of the Roman Catholic superstition, is 
 wholly out of the question, and that for a very 
 obvious reason, that " good books will set men 
 a-thinking," and reflection would soon lead to 
 the discovery of the absurdity and mischievous- 
 ness of the popish system. * ' Destroy the 
 press, or the press will destroy us," was the 
 saying of a celebrated cardinal a few centuries 
 ago. On this maxim the Spanish priests still 
 act, perpetuating the gloom and misery of that 
 unhappy nation. 
 
 PRIDE. 
 
 There is no vice more insupportable and more 
 universally hated than pride. It is a kind of 
 poison which corrupts all the good qualities of 
 a man ; and whatever merit he may otherwise 
 possess, this single fault is sufficient to render 
 him odious and contemptible ; so that by 
 pleasing himself too much he displeases every 
 
462 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 PRIDE, Arguments Against. 
 Remember what thou wert before thy birth ! 
 Nothing. What wert thou for many years 
 after ?— Weakness. What in all thy life ?— A 
 great sinner. What in all thy excellences?— 
 A mere debtor to God, to thy parents, to the 
 earth, to all the creatures. But we may, if we 
 please, use the method of the Platonists, who 
 reduce all the causes and arguments for humi- 
 lity which we can take from ourselves to these 
 seven heads, i. The spirit of man is light and 
 troublesome. 2. His body is brutish and 
 sickly. 3. He is constant in his folly and 
 error, and inconsistent in his manners and good 
 purposes. 4. His labours are vain, intricate, 
 and endless. 5. His fortune is changeable, 
 but seldom pleasing, never perfect. 6. His 
 wisdom comes not till he be ready to die, that 
 is, till he be past using it. 7. His death is 
 certain, always ready at the door, but never 
 far off. Upon these or the like meditations, 
 if we dwell, or frequently retire to them, we 
 shall see nothing more reasonable than to be 
 humble, and nothing more foolish than to be 
 proud. — Jeremy Taylor, 
 
 PRIDE, a Root of Bitterness. 
 
 Of all the roots of bitterness in human nature, 
 from which moral evil grows, there is none 
 more luxuriant and prolific than pride. It 
 diffuses a poison which operates in ten 
 thousand ways, very little suspected. Pride 
 warps and misleads the understanding, agi- 
 tates and inflames the passions, taints and 
 hardens the heart. If it appears hostile to 
 vices of one kind, the reason obviously is, 
 that it may form a strict alliance with vices of 
 another kind, less gross indeed, but more dan- 
 gerous. The pride of birth, of riches, of learn- 
 ing, and of taste, may be seen putting forth its 
 arrogant claims and pretensions in numberless 
 forms, and some of them most offensive and 
 disgusting ; for many scruple not to affirm that 
 advantages, either personal or adventitious, 
 may be safely allowed to elate the mind. 
 
 There is a manner of speaking on this subject 
 current in certain circles of society, confessedly 
 at variance with all the principles of revealed 
 religion. Those who are conversant with the 
 word of God cannot fail to be struck with the 
 contrast of its language and the ordinary lan- 
 guage prevalent among us. In passing from 
 one region to the other, moral good and evil, 
 
 commendation and censure, seem absolutely to 
 have changed places. Through the organs of 
 public intelligence, we continually hear war- 
 riors, statesmen, merchants, and scholars, with 
 the whole servile herd of admirers and imi- 
 tators, declare themselves proud of their great 
 achievements or brilliant prospects. One 
 glories in his personal qualities, another in his 
 family connections and alliances, a third in the 
 opinions and ensigns of his party, and a fourth 
 in the aggregate trophies and triumphs of the 
 nation. Nor is this style of egotism confined 
 to the walks of literature or the arena of 
 political debate ; but it is sedulously taught in 
 the nursery. As young people are making 
 their entrance into life they are instructed to take 
 pride in distinguishing themselves and surpass- 
 ing their fellows. The tendency of such lessons 
 in early life is but too evident. The threaten- 
 ings and judgments levelled against arrogance 
 meet us in almost every page of the inspired 
 books. But without expatiating on these em- 
 phatic passages of the Sacred Volume, or 
 tracing the consequences of the disposition in 
 question to its last dread issue, it may suffice to 
 touch on the present miseries which grow out 
 of pride. Every one acquainted with human 
 nature and human life knows that this is the 
 origin of more woes than ever issued from the 
 fabled box of Pandora. The hourly vexations 
 which pride undergoes is far more than an 
 equivalent for the short intoxications of pleasure 
 which it snatches. The man who eagerly 
 pushes forward to some lofty eminence of 
 wealth, power, or fame, is committed to a 
 contest with rivals, equally haughty, assuming, 
 impetuous, and impatient. The race of ambi- 
 tion is prompted and maintained by baneful and 
 inflammatory stimulants, and when the highest 
 prize is won, which rarely happens, Envy with 
 her furies blasts the possession. Disappointment 
 and success are fated to feel an almost equal 
 weight of misery, though differing in the circum- 
 stances and modes of infliction. How truly has 
 the wise king of Israel said, "Pride goeth before 
 destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall." 
 With such a herald and such a train, peace 
 can have no alliance, moral purity no asylum. 
 Let pride then be subdued, and more than 
 half the miseries of human life will be removed. 
 Propitious change ! how lovely looks the scene 
 of nature, over which it diffuses a new charm. 
 The elements and warring winds of strife have 
 subsided, the spirit of revenge is exorcised, the 
 demon of cruelty is expelled. Thrice happy 
 they in whom pride, and the passions engen- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 463 
 
 dered by it, have yielded to humility and all 
 the graces of genuine personal religion. 
 
 It is true, indeed, the high-minded and re- 
 sentful would deem it a very languid and insipid 
 sort of happiness to have all their swelling pre- 
 tensions taken down, and all their impetuous 
 passions brought under strict control. Life, 
 in their estimation, would scarcely be worth 
 having, without the strong and feverish excite- 
 ment which ambition supplies ; and they prefer 
 the bare storm-beaten mountain to the fertile 
 and peaceful vale. Such men can never possess 
 any real, solid, enduring felicity, till their 
 minds have undergone a thorough change. 
 The ideas, principles, and habits are wanting 
 which qualify a rational and responsible being 
 to enjoy peace and permanent pleasure. Tow- 
 ering imaginations, tantalizing hopes, arrogant, 
 inflated aims, and fierce, ungoverned passions 
 are sure to make any man wretched ; if he had 
 no future world to fear, he would have the in- 
 struments and agents of torture in himself. On 
 the contrary, humility easily finds a place of 
 repose, and can extract healing balm from the 
 bitterest products of the wilderness. "When 
 we glance towards the regions of immortality, 
 the contrast is still more striking. " For God 
 resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the 
 humble. " — Riisticiis. 
 
 PRIDE, as a Word, Misapplied. 
 
 Whoever has paid attention to the manners 
 of the day, must have perceived a remarkable 
 innovation in the use of moral terms, in which 
 we have receded more and more from the spirit 
 of Christianity. Of this the term to denote a 
 lofty sentiment of personal superiority supplies 
 an obvious instance. In the current language 
 of the times, pride is scarcely ever used but in 
 a favourable sense. It will, perhaps, be thought 
 the mere change of a, term is of little conse- 
 quence ; but be it remembered that any re- 
 markable innovation in the use of moral terms 
 betrays a proportionable change in the ideas 
 and feelings they are intended to denote. As 
 pride has been transferred from the list of vices 
 to that of virtues, so humility, as a natural 
 consequence, has been excluded, and is rarely 
 suffered to enter into the praise of a character 
 we wish to commend, although it was the 
 leading feature in that of the Saviour of the 
 world, and is still the leading characteristic of 
 his religion ; while there is no vice, on the 
 contrary, against which the denunciations are 
 
 so frequent as pride. Our conduct in this 
 instance is certainly rather extraordinary, both 
 in what we have embraced and in what we 
 have rejected ; and it will surely be confessed 
 we are somewhat unfortunate in having selected 
 that one as the particular object of approba- 
 tion which God had already selected as the 
 especial mark at which he aims the thunder- 
 bolts of his vengeance. — R. Hall. 
 
 PRIDE, Debaseth. 
 
 When one ascends from the ground to an 
 higher room, I observe with what contempt 
 he insults and tramples on the stairs by which 
 he riseth, and how he first and most dirtieth 
 that step by which he first stepped from the 
 dirt. Which putteth me in mind of the prac- 
 tice of the aspiring ambitious, who, to get up 
 to their wished height of honour, bedirt with 
 scorn and neglect those by whose shoulders 
 they were first mounted and exalted. I hate 
 that ambition which inforceth ingratitude ; 
 which, being the basest of vices, cannot but 
 soil and disgrace a man graced with such 
 honours. I am not preferred with honour if 
 debased with ingratitude. — Arthur Wanvick. 
 
 PRIDE, Human. 
 
 Yon strutting mortal seems to have forgot 
 In how few hours that haughty flesh may rot ! 
 To-day he drives thee from him by his swell ; 
 Next week, perhaps, he'll do it by his smell. 
 Exalt our station high as Nature can ; 
 Much will be much ; pride was not made for 
 
 man. 
 The real difference in mortals' fate 
 Is, that his Highness stinks in greater state. 
 
 PRIDE, Ingrafted in our Nature. 
 
 Pride is a corruption that seems almost 
 originally ingrafted in our nature ; it exerts 
 itself in our first years, and without continual 
 endeavours to suppress it, it influences our 
 last. Other vices tyrannise over particular 
 ages and triumph in particular countries. 
 Rage is the failing of youth, and avarice of age ; 
 revenge is the predominant passion of one 
 country, and inconstancy the characteristic of 
 another ; but pride is the native of every country, 
 infects every climate, and corrupts every nation. 
 
464 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 It ranges equally through the gardens of the 
 East and the deserts of the South, and reigns no 
 less in the cavern of the savage than in the 
 palace of the epicure. It mingles with all 
 other vices, and without constant and anxious 
 care will mingle also with our virtues. — 
 Dr. Johnson. 
 
 PRIEST, A Secular. 
 
 Langland, in his "Pierce Ploughman," in- 
 troduces an ignorant secular priest, in the 
 character of Sloth, saying — 
 **I cannot parfitly my paternoster, as the 
 
 prieste it singeth ; 
 But I can rhyme of Robyn Hode, and Randall, 
 
 Erie of Chester, 
 Tho' of oure lorde and our ladye, I can 
 
 nothynge at alle." 
 
 PRIMROSE, The. 
 
 Though storms may break the primrose on its 
 
 stalk. 
 Though frosts may blight the freshness of its 
 
 bloom. 
 Yet spring's awakening breath will woo the 
 
 earth 
 To feed with kindliest dews its favourite 
 
 flower, 
 That blooms in mossy banks and darksome 
 
 glens. 
 Lighting the greensward with its sunny smile. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 PRINCE, Description of a. 
 By his side unhelmed, but armed, stood one 
 I deemed none other than the prince, his son ; 
 For in a coat of England was he clad, 
 And on his head a coronet he had. 
 Tall was he, slim, made apt for feats of war, 
 A splendid lord, yea, he seemed prouder far 
 Than was his sire ; yet his eyes therewithal 
 With languid, careless glance seemed wont to 
 
 fall 
 On things about, as tho' he deemed that nought 
 Could fail, unbidden, to do all his thought. 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 PRINCE, his Court. 
 He that too much admires the glory of a 
 prince's court, and drawn up thither by his 
 ambition, thinks high places to be the highest 
 
 happiness, let him view the foggy mists, the 
 moist vapours, and light exhalations drawn up 
 from the earth by the attractive power of the 
 glorious sunbeams : which when they are at 
 highest, either spend themselves there in por- 
 tending meteors, to others' terror and their 
 own consumption ; and either by resolution are 
 turned into rain, or by congelation into hail or 
 snow, which sink lower into the earth at their 
 fall than they were at their ascending. For 
 my part, I may admire such a glowing coal, I 
 will not with the satyr kiss it. As I think it 
 not the least and last praise to please princes, 
 so, I know it is not the least danger of times 
 to live with them, ** procul a Jove, procul a 
 fulmine." He presumes too much of his own 
 brightness that thinks to shine clear near the 
 sun ; where, if his light be his own, it must be 
 obscured by comparison : if borrowed from the 
 sun, then is it not his, but another's glory. A 
 candle in the night's obscurity shows brighter 
 than a torch at noon-day. And Caesar thought 
 it a greater glory to be the first man in some 
 obscure town than the second man in Rome, 
 the head city of the world. — Arthur Warwick. 
 
 PRINCIPLE of Right. 
 
 If I have any one principle firmly fixed on my 
 mind, it is never to shun present inconvenience 
 where it will produce permanent satisfaction. 
 As for the applause of the world, I have often 
 expressed my contempt of it in itself. — Thos. 
 Young, M.D. 
 
 PRINTING. 
 
 Almighty God, in his merciful providence, 
 seeing both what lacked in the Church, and 
 how also to remedy the same, for the advance- 
 ment of his glory, gave the understanding of 
 this excellent art or science of printing, whereby 
 three singular advantages at one time came 
 into the world : first, the price of all books is 
 diminished ; secondly, the speedy help of 
 reading more furthered ; and, thirdly, the 
 number of all good authors enlarged. — 
 Johti Fox. 
 
 PRINTING, First Effects of. 
 
 One of the first effects of printing was to make 
 proud men look upon learning as disgraced, 
 by being thus brought within the reach of the 
 common people. Till that time, learning, 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 465 
 
 such as it was, had been confined to courts and 
 convents, the low birth of the clergy being 
 overlooked, because they were privileged by 
 their order. But when laymen in humble life 
 were enabled to procure books, the pride of 
 aristocracy took an absurd course, insomuch 
 that in one it was deemed derogatory for a 
 nobleman if he could read or write. Even 
 scholars themselves complained that the repu- 
 tation of learning and the respect due to it and 
 its rewards were lowered when it was thrown 
 open to all men ; and it was seriously proposed 
 to prohibit the printing of any book that could 
 be afforded for sale below the price of three 
 soldi. This base and invidious feeling was 
 perhaps never so directly avowed in other 
 countries as in Italy, the land where literature 
 was first restored ; and yet in this more liberal 
 island ignorance was for some generations con- 
 sidered to be a mark of distinction by which a 
 man of gentle birth chose, not unfrequently, 
 to make it apparent that he was no more 
 obliged to live by the toil of his brain than by 
 the sweat of his brow. The same changes in 
 society which rendered it no longer possible 
 for this class of men to pass their lives in idle- 
 ness, have completely put an end to this bar- 
 barous pride. It is as obsolete as the fashion 
 of long finger-nails, which in some parts of the 
 East are still the distinctive mark of those who 
 labour not with their hands. All classes are 
 not brought within the reach of your current 
 literature — that literature which, like a moral 
 atmosphere, is, as it were, the medium of in- 
 tellectual life, and on the quality of which, 
 according as it may be salubrious or noxious, 
 the health of the public mind depends. — 
 C. Knight. 
 
 PRINTING, The Art of. 
 
 Fair Wisdom long had lain immur'd in night, 
 Or shed a partial, feeble, glimm'ring light ; 
 In schools and colleges it shot a ray, 
 "While all the world besides in darkness lay. 
 The noble writings of the bard and sage, 
 Form'd to instruct and charm an ign'rant age. 
 Were, like some stream, confin'd to one poor 
 
 place. 
 Which, like the sea, should bless the human 
 
 race ; 
 Copies were then transcrib'd, and rated high. 
 Science and wit were scarce, for few could buy. 
 
 At length arose the useful Typic Art, 
 To cultivate the manners, head, and heart, 
 
 To shoot, like Sol's bright beams, from pole 
 
 to pole. 
 And pour its lustre on the darken'd soul. 
 
 In happy times, like these, when all are free 
 To eat fair fruit from Wisdom's sacred tree. 
 To drink deep draughts of science from her 
 
 streams. 
 Gain Virtue's prize, or cherish Folly's dreams, 
 How weak, how mad, the latter to prefer. 
 And turn to Vice a rank idolater ! 
 
 In Learning's temples, where her flags are 
 
 plac'd. 
 Like bumish'd arms in arsenals, with taste ; 
 Where the collective wisdom of all times. 
 Like the sim's rays, within a focus shines ; 
 Where sacred penmen move the harden'd heart, 
 And classic writers hurl Wit's pointed dart ; 
 The human mind to Wisdom's hill may rise. 
 Spurn the dull earth, and soar above the skies, 
 Deduce great truths, view Nature's mystic plan. 
 And learn the wondrous ways of God to man. 
 These heartfelt blessings to the Press we 
 
 owe. 
 And which its offspring, books, to all bestow. 
 If white-rob'd Wisdom then, so kind and fair. 
 And meek-ey'd Virtue deign to ask our care. 
 Let's gain their smiles, and live upon their 
 
 looks. 
 Hate Vice and Folly, and peruse good books ! 
 
 Scotsman. 
 
 PROCRASTINATION is Dawdling. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott, writing to a friend who 
 had obtained a situation, gave him this excel- 
 lent advice: — ** You must be aware of stum- 
 bling over a propensity which easUy besets 
 you from the habit of not having your time 
 fully employed; I mean what the women 
 very expressively call dawdling. Your motto 
 must be Hoc age. Do instantly whatever is to 
 be done, and take the hoiu^ of recreation after 
 business, and never before it. When a regi- 
 ment is under march, the rear is often thrown 
 into confusion because the front do not move 
 steadily and without interruption. It is the 
 same thing with business. If that which is 
 first in hand is not instantly, steadily, and regu- 
 larly dispatched, other things accumulate be- 
 hind, till affairs begin to press all at once, and 
 no human brain can stand the confusion. 
 Pray mind this : this is a habit of mind which 
 is very apt to beset men of intellect and talent, 
 especially when then: time is not regularly filled 
 up, and left at their own arrangement. But it 
 is like the ivy round the oak, and ends by 
 
 H H 
 
466 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 limiting, if it does not destroy, the power of 
 manly and necessary exertion. I must love a 
 man so well, to whom I offer such a word of 
 advice, that I will not apologise for it, but 
 expect to hear you are become as regular as a 
 Dutch clock, — hours, quarters, minutes, all 
 marked and appropriated. This is a gi-eat 
 cast in life, and must be played with all skill 
 and caution." 
 
 PROCRASTINATION, 
 
 The Thief of Time. 
 
 Let us not linger here then, until fate 
 Make longing unavailing, hope too late, 
 And turn to lamentations all our prayers ; 
 But with to-morrow cast aside your cares. 
 And, stout of heart, make ready for the strife 
 'Twixt this short time of dreaming and real life. 
 Win. Morris. 
 
 PRODIGALITY, its Fearful Tendencies. 
 
 The notion of Aristotle, that every virtue is a 
 medium between opposite vices, will not stand 
 a rigid scrutiny, or bear to be applied in all 
 cases ; but it furnishes a convenient and easy 
 mode of illustrating and enforcing many moral 
 topics, in a way adapted to popular use. Let 
 us, for instance, name generosity, as placed at 
 an equal distance from parsimony on the one 
 hand and prodigality on the other. The for- 
 mer of these extremes is the more despicable, 
 but the latter more dangerous, because far 
 more common. The inveterate miser is hated, 
 satirized, and shunned ; the reckless spend- 
 thrift, while his means last, is flattered and fol- 
 lowed. Ah ! it may be asked, ** By whom is 
 his profusion furnished, but by wretches who 
 consider him as subservient to their purposes ? 
 Syrens who entice him to shipwreck ; Cyclops 
 that are gaping to devour him !" I am afraid 
 this is not a strictly correct representation. 
 The world in general is disposed to show too 
 much indulgence towards those who pursue a 
 course of wild and wanton extravagance, and 
 no one alive to the interests of virtue can doubt 
 its injurious tendency. Young people are often 
 emboldened to launch out into every kind of 
 excess, by the apologies they have made for 
 habits of gaiety and profusion. Nay, the worst 
 vices are not seldom spoken of as the rank pro- 
 duce of a good soil— as the irregular and luxuri- 
 ant growth of a generous disposition. 
 To talk of extravagance curing itself, or vir- 
 
 tue eventually springing out of the hot-bed of 
 vice, is to talk sheer noAsense. We must not 
 look for effects diametrically contrary to the 
 causes by which they are produced. When a 
 juvenile prodigal enters the ways of dissipation 
 and folly, his plans extend, and his projects 
 multiply with the excitement of his passions. 
 Surrounded by libertines and courtezans, syco- 
 phants and sharpers, should his own wit or 
 courage fail, he will not long want the aid of 
 those who will prompt and participate in his 
 criminal intrigues and revels. 
 
 Nothing were more easy than to demonstrate 
 the crimes and miseries which flow from 
 prodigality ; but the thing most desirable, 
 though confessedly very difficult, is to devise 
 some effectual method for preventing or check- 
 ing them. Sumptuary laws against extravagant 
 expense in dress or diet have never abated the 
 evil. Our legislators, as Blackstone has ob- 
 served, have several times changed their 
 sentiments on this subject. Formerly, a great 
 many penal laws were in existence to restrain 
 excess in apparel; and, as to excess in diet, 
 there still remains one ancient statute unre- 
 pealed, which ordains that no man shall be 
 served at dinner or supper with more than two 
 courses. But acts of parliament never did, and 
 indeed never can, put down luxury. 
 
 To guard against this evil, young people 
 should be early taught to confine their expenses 
 within the limits of sobriety and discretion. 
 The danger of a boundless profusion ought to 
 be rendered as conspicuous and palpable as the 
 disgrace and stigma attached to niggardliness. 
 The endless train of moral evils which follow 
 prodigality should be distinctly pointed out, 
 and pourtrayed in all their native and hideous 
 colours. Artificial wants are far more urgent 
 and clamorous than those which are simple and 
 natural. When such created and still in- 
 creasing wants cannot be supplied by fair and 
 honourable means, recourse is had to fraud, 
 deceit, and every sort of villany. One dark 
 contrivance and daring attempt makes way for 
 another, till all the barriers of justice and con- 
 science are laid prostrate in the dust. Nor is 
 the degradation of character all ; the misery 
 and wretchedness which form the portion of 
 prodigals ought to be fully disclosed to youth. 
 How often is the wasteful spendthrift, when 
 reduced to penury, instantly forsaken by all 
 the perfidious friends who fed on his bounty ! 
 How often is he tempted to try unlawful ex- 
 pedients to repair his broken fortunes, till at 
 length, perhaps, he dies in a dungeon or on a 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 467 
 
 gallows ! Or if a course of fraud and ruffian 
 violence is not pursued, some returning sense 
 of lost honour and blasted hope overwhelms 
 him with intolerable anguish. Those who 
 speak so lightly of young men seeing the world 
 and sowing their wild oats, seldom tell them 
 the price to be paid for the spectacle or 
 the produce to be reaped from their seed. 
 "When," says Dr. D wight, "the dreams of 
 greatness are over, and the riot of pleasure has 
 ceased, the change to want and degradation is 
 oiten too sudden, and almost always too great, 
 to be borne with equanimity. In the earlier 
 moments of desperation, it is not uncommon 
 to see the prodigal betake himself for refuge 
 from the load of humiliation and despair, to 
 poison, the pistol, or the halter. Among those 
 who become suicides, in the possession of their 
 reason, a more numerous list is nowhere found 
 than that which is composed of ruined prodi- 
 gals." 
 
 It is true, indeed, that young people may be 
 held under too strict and rigid a restraint ; but 
 this not the common error of our times. Some 
 portion of self-control is essential to temper- 
 ance, and temperance is the basis of all the vir- 
 tues which give value, dignity, and lustre to 
 the character. But the best precepts and ad- 
 monitions will seldom avail without the aid 
 of good examples. Let, then, parents and 
 teachers recommend prudence and industry, 
 moderation and cheerfulness, sobriety and cir- 
 cumspection, to their rising charge, not merely 
 by lessons from their lips, but also by the 
 uniform tenour of their lives and conduct. — 
 Rusticus. 
 
 PROFESSION, A, 
 
 Made Great by Enthusiasm. 
 
 Those who have arrived at any very eminent 
 degree of excellence in the practice of an art 
 or profession, have commonly been actuated 
 by a species of enthusiasm in their pursuit of 
 it. They have kept one object in view amidst 
 all the vicissitudes of time and fortune. — 
 Knox, 
 
 PROFESSION, a Man Debtor to his. 
 I HOLD every man a debtor to his profession ; 
 from the which as men of course do seek to 
 receive countenance and profit, so ought they 
 of duty to endeavour themselves, by way of 
 amends, to be a help and ornament thereunto. 
 This is performed, in some degree, by the 
 
 honest and liberal practice of a profession ; 
 where men shall carry a respect not to descend 
 into any course that is corrupt and unworthy 
 thereof, and preserve themselves free from the 
 abuses wherewith the same profession is noted 
 to be infected : but much more is this perfor- 
 med, if a man be able to visit and strengthen 
 the roots and foundation of the science itself ; 
 thereby not only gracing it in reputation and 
 dignity, but also amplifying it in profession 
 and substance. — Bacon. 
 
 PROFIT of True Riches. 
 
 The day of this life is to the wicked the day 
 of their pleasures ; and now their riches are 
 profitable to serve their sinful minds : but 
 when the day of death cometh, " the day of 
 God's wrath," — a day which shall have no 
 light but from avenging flames, — will riches 
 keep them from their fury ? Nay, in this day 
 "riches profit not;" and these, which have 
 been the profit which men have sought for 
 through all their lives, are of no profit to 
 deliver them. The comfort which is to be 
 had in death must be the comfort of righteous- 
 ness, the comfort of a godly life : for these 
 riches alone are profitable to deliver from 
 God's wrath ; their profit never dieth. — 
 Jermin. 
 
 PROGRESSIVENESS, The, 
 
 And Final Perfection of our Nature. 
 
 It is delightful to contemplate the following 
 passage in a private letter from that eminent 
 philosopher. Sir Humphry Davy, to one of 
 his early friends : — " We can trace back our 
 existence almost to a point. Former time 
 presents us with trains of thoughts gradually 
 diminishing to nothing. But our ideas of futu- 
 rity are perpetually expanding. Our desires 
 and our hopes, even when modified by our 
 fears, seem to grasp at immensity. This alone 
 would be sufficient to prove the progressive- 
 ness of our nature, and that this little earth is 
 but a point from which we start towards a 
 perfection of being." 
 
 PROMPTITUDE 
 
 Is the Flower of Time. 
 
 Commit the beginning of an action to Argus 
 
 with his hundred eyes, and the prosecution to 
 
 Briareus with his hundred hands. This sage 
 
468 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 maxim, which I have somewhere read, forcibly 
 inculcates the necessity of that promptitude, 
 without which opportunity, the flower of time, 
 is generally lost. Haste and delay are almost 
 equally subject to confusion and disappoint- 
 ment ; both miscalculate and grasp at shadows. 
 Promptitude finds the true medium between 
 precipitation and tardiness. It is foolish to 
 pluck fruit ere it is ripe, or let it hang till it is 
 rotten ; to begin an undertaking before the 
 plan is matured, or, having settled the plan, 
 wait till the season of putting it in execution is 
 irrecoverably past. Promptitude, which is the 
 result of warmth and vigour, guided by a dis- 
 criminating judgment, is of great use both in 
 the engagements of business and the duties of 
 benevolence. A lingering, dilatory man just 
 sees the value of occasions when they are gone 
 beyond his reach ; yet, as his efforts are ill- 
 timed, his expressions of regret are misplaced, 
 for he blames his fate when he should brand 
 his own folly. **Yes," exclaims he, **I am 
 always unfortunate ; some unexpected barrier 
 ever thwarts my wishes — some deadly blight 
 ever withers my hopes. At the very point 
 where others succeed, I am sure to fail ; they 
 rejoice and triumph, while I continue to mourn 
 and murmur in vain. " It should be recollected, 
 as Lord Bacon observes, "that the helmet of 
 Pluto and the ring of Gyges, which render the 
 wearer invisible, are secrecy in council and 
 celerity in execution." He who is thus armed 
 and equipped surmounts obstacles, eludes 
 dangers, outstrips rivals, and defeats enemies. 
 Having entered the mart of business and 
 accomplished his purpose, he returns and 
 meets the children of procrastination at the 
 gate. Nor is a prompt disposition of less im- 
 portance in the exercises of benevolence. ' * Bis 
 dat, qui cito dat " — He gives twice, who gives 
 quickly. " Say not to thy neighbour. Go, and 
 come again to-morrow, and I will give, — when 
 thou hast it by thee. " It may be necessary to 
 subject the irascible passions to a cooling pro- 
 cess before we give them vent ; but this is 
 rarely the case with regard to the warm emo- 
 tions of charity. We are commanded by the 
 highest authority, "To be ready to distribute, 
 and willing to communicate ; " but it is the 
 happy effect of alacrity in well-doing which 
 we here principally mean to illustrate. Prompt 
 benefactions in the career of philanthropy are 
 like prompt payments in the course of business, 
 peculiarly acceptable. The following fact will 
 speak more than volumes of abstract reasoning 
 on this point :— The benevolent Dr. Wilson, 
 
 having heard of a clergyman with a large family 
 under heavy affliction, gave a friend fifty pounds, 
 and desired him to deliver it in the most deli- 
 cate manner, as from a person unknown. The 
 friend replied, "I will wait upon him to-morrow 
 morning." "You will oblige me," said the 
 generous prelate, "by calling immediately. 
 Think, sir, of how much importance a good 
 night's rest may be to that poor man." Such 
 actions, coming from the heart, go directly to 
 the heart, and link soul to soul in sympathy 
 and attachment. But promptitude in the affairs 
 of business, the exercises of benevolence, and 
 the offices of friendship and religion, is a qua- 
 lity which requires light and heat, discrimina- 
 tion of judgment, and sensibility of heart, duly 
 combined. It is not enough to have a good 
 end in view, and a clear perception of the 
 means necessary for its attainment, if the im- 
 pulsive and elastic springs of action are want- 
 ing. A man of torpid character may profess 
 to have fixed his purpose and arranged his 
 plan, and to wait only for some propitious 
 opening and favourable turn which will pre- 
 clude hazard and spare labour ; but he should 
 recollect, to use a saying of Cornelius Winter, 
 " It is important to distinguish between wait- 
 ing and loitering." Sometimes, where indo- 
 lence is not the predominant vice of the mind, 
 nearly the same effect springs from timidity. 
 In either case, when a decisive step is to be 
 taken, a lion is perceived in the way ; the dread 
 of some possible ill-consequence occasions hesi- 
 tation and suspense, till the opportunity is lost. 
 It has been well said that "fear is a good 
 sentinel, but a bad commander." On the 
 other hand, we must also allow that energy 
 and courage are frequently found where there 
 is a very obvious want of judgment to temper 
 and govern them. A man of this cast cannot 
 time his measures, cannot steer between Scylla 
 and Charybdis, or hit the medium between 
 fool-hardihood and faint-heartedness. We 
 often find in society two persons, whose 
 qualities of discernment, coolness, and caution, 
 life, vigour, and spirit, if they could be amal- 
 gamated, would just make one prompt, de- 
 cided, efficient man. But, unhappily, they 
 thwart and repel one another, and each is con- 
 firmed in the habit to which he is constitution- 
 ally disposed by his dislike of its opposite. 
 Self-love makes the rash man vain of his bold 
 efforts, and the negligent of his wary councils ; 
 when the one acts without thinking, and the 
 other thinks without acting, at the proper time. 
 — Rusticus. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 469 
 
 b 
 
 PROSPERITY, Caution in. 
 
 Ming Tsong, an emperor of China cele- 
 brated for his wisdom and prudence, was ac- 
 customed to say, " A state is to be governed 
 with the care and constant attention that is re- 
 quired of a person managing a horse. I have 
 often," said he, ** travelled on horseback over 
 very rough and mountainous countries, and 
 never got any hurt, always taking care to keep 
 a steady rein ; but in the smoothest plains, 
 thinking the same precautions useless, and 
 letting loose the reins, my horse has stumbled 
 and put me in danger. Thus it is with govern- 
 ment ; for when it is in the most flourishing 
 condition the prince ought never to abate 
 anything of his usual vigilance." And thus 
 also, extending the application of this familiar 
 but striking illustration to all mankind, we 
 would say, it is with the private affairs of men 
 of all stations, from the great lord to the 
 labouring husbandman, from the wealthy mer- 
 chant to the poor mechanic ; and let every one 
 keep a steady reiri when all seems fair and 
 even with him. He is pretty sure to do so in 
 the presence of danger and difficulty, when his 
 iaculties and energies are all kept awake, and 
 generally strengthened in proportion to the 
 ■difficulty to be overcome. Indeed, let any man 
 take a review of his past life, and he will 
 find almost invariably that where he has most 
 failed will be when he allowed himself to be 
 lulled into security, when he suspected no 
 crosses, and was prepared with no caution, 
 when in easy confidence he had dropped the 
 reins on the neck of his horse, who seemed to 
 tread on a smooth sward or a Macadamized 
 road — but tripped and fell ! To take another 
 illustration, it is the same with *' ships that go 
 <lown to the great deep." It is not generally 
 while the storm is raging, tremendous though 
 that storm may be, it is not while sailing along 
 the perilous shore, or tracking her way through 
 labyrinths of unknown islands, or the ice- 
 mazes of the polar regions, that the ship is 
 most liable to wreck or founder. No ! the 
 catalogue of shipwrecks and maritime cala- 
 mities is swelled for the most part by such as 
 were carelessly scudding over summer seas, 
 with all sails set, and all hands on board 
 joyful and confident, — by such as were sailing 
 through channels and straits so familiar to 
 them that the lead was left idle at the main- 
 chains, and no precaution deemed necessary ; 
 iby such as from the furthermost regions of the 
 earth were within sight of their own country, 
 
 by such, even, as the Royal George, were 
 tranquilly anchored in their own ports, with 
 all the crew given up to the enjoyment of that 
 festivity or repose which nothing seemed likely 
 to trouble. — Anon. 
 
 PROSPERITY, False Appearances of. 
 
 But if we should look under the skirt of the 
 prosperous and prevailing tyrant, we should 
 find, even in the days of his joys, such allojrs 
 and abatements of his pleasure, as may serve 
 to represent him presently miserable, besides 
 his final infelicities. For I have seen a young 
 and healthful person warm and ruddy under a 
 poor and thin garment, when at the same time 
 an old rich person hath been cold and paralytic 
 under a load of sables and the skins of foxes. 
 It is the body that makes the clothes warm, 
 not the clothes the body ; and the spirit of a 
 man makes felicity and content, not any spoils 
 of a rich fortune wrapped about a sickly and an 
 uneasy soul. Apollodorus was a traitor and 
 a tyrant, and the world wondered to see a bad 
 man have so good a fortune, but knew not 
 that he nourished scorpions in his breast, and 
 that his liver and his heart were eaten up with 
 spectres and images of death ; his thoughts 
 were full of interruptions, his dreams of illu- 
 sions ; his fancy was abused with real troubles 
 and fantastic images, imagining that he saw 
 the Scythians fla)dng him alive, his daughters 
 like pillars of fire dancing round about a caul- 
 dron, in which himself was boiling, and that 
 his heart accused itself to be the cause of all 
 these evils. And although all tyrants have not 
 imaginative and fantastic consciences, yet all 
 tyrants shall die and come to judgment ; and 
 such a man is not to be feared, not at all to 
 be envied. And, in the mean time, can he be 
 said to escape who hath an unquiet conscience, 
 who is already designed for hell— he whom 
 God hates, and the people curse, and who 
 hath an evil name, and against whom all good 
 men pray, and many desire to fight, and all 
 wish him destroyed, and some contrive to do 
 it ? Is this man a blessed man ? Is that man 
 prosperous who hath stolen a rich robe, and is 
 in fear to have his throat cut for it, and is fain 
 to defend it with the greatest difficulty and the 
 greatest danger? Does not he drink more 
 sweetly that takes his beverage in an earthem 
 vessel than he that looks and searches into his 
 golden chalices for fear of poison, and looks 
 pale at every sudden noise, and sleeps in 
 armour, and trusts nobody, and does not trust 
 
470 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 God for his safety, but does greater wickedness 
 only to escape awhile unpunished for his former 
 crimes? Auro bibitur venemwi. No man 
 goes about to poison a poor man's pitcher, nor 
 lays plots to forage his little garden, made for 
 the hospital of two beehives and the feasting 
 of a few Pythagorean herb-eaters. — Jeremy 
 Taylor. 
 
 PROSPERITY, Insurance of. 
 
 The three things that will insure prosperity : 
 Appropriate exertion, feasible exertion, and un- 
 common exertion. — Gather all. 
 
 PROVERBS, Arabic, 
 And Proverbial Expressions. 
 
 Sometimes the tongue cuts off the head. 
 
 If your friend be honey, do not eat him 
 altogether. 
 
 The provisions suffer when the cat and the 
 mouse live on good terms. 
 
 Shave your own chin when the beard of 
 your son is grown. 
 
 When you pass through the country of the 
 one-eyed, make yourself one-eyed. 
 
 If you are so unhappy as to have a foolish 
 friend, be yourself wise. 
 
 When there are many captains the ship sinks. 
 
 If you cannot master the whole, yet do not 
 forsake the whole. 
 
 When things tire you at the head, take 
 them by the tail. 
 
 When you have spoken the word, it reigns 
 over you ; but while it is not spoken, you reign 
 over it. 
 
 When you are an anvil, have patience ; when 
 you are a hammer, beat straight. 
 
 When the counsellor grows rusty, the coun- 
 sel will be polished. 
 
 Time will teach him that has no teacher. 
 
 He that passes through the onions, or their 
 peel, will smell of them. 
 
 He that cannot understand at a glance will 
 not understand by much explanation. 
 
 He who makes himself bran, the fowls will 
 scrape him. 
 
 Suckling becomes bitterness by weaning. 
 
 He that sleeps without supper gets up 
 without debt. 
 
 Though the will be idle, yet be not you idle. 
 
 He builds a minaret, and destroys a city. 
 
 He has sold the vineyard and bought a wine- 
 press. 
 
 The fig-tree looking on the fig-tree will 
 be made fruitful. 
 
 Three things evince the character of the 
 mind, — books, presents, messengers. 
 
 Borrowed dresses give no warmth. 
 
 He is waiTO towards his friend only to bum 
 him. 
 
 Every man leaps over a low wall. 
 
 The mother of the dumb knows the lan- 
 guage of the dumb. 
 
 The mother of the murdered sleeps, but the 
 mother of the murderer does not sleep. 
 
 Need developes the mind. 
 
 The best friends are those who stimulate 
 each other to good. 
 
 The best companions, when you sit, are 
 good books. 
 
 The best visits are the shortest. 
 
 Take the thief before he takes you. 
 
 The carpenters have sinned, and the tailors 
 are hung. 
 
 To be weaned is a difficult task for an adult. 
 
 Ride not on the saddle of thy neighbour. 
 
 Silence is often an answer. 
 
 I like the head of a dog better than the tail 
 of a lion. 
 
 Slipping may happen even in July. 
 
 He plucks out the tooth of the dog, and 
 barks himself. 
 
 He was absent two years, and came back — 
 with two yellow boots. 
 
 The dninkenness of youth is stronger than 
 the drunkenness of wine. 
 
 Sciences are locks, and inquiry the key to 
 them. 
 
 Take counsel of him who is greater, and 
 of him who is less, than yourself, and then 
 recur to your own judgment. 
 
 The worst kind of men are those who do- 
 not care when men see them doing wrong. 
 
 Close the window through which an ill-wind 
 enters to you. 
 
 The owner of the house knows best what is 
 in it. 
 
 The mules went to ask horns, and returned 
 without ears. 
 
 In adversity the real principles of men appear. 
 
 Honour yourself, and you will be honoured ; 
 despise yourself, and you will be despised. 
 
 An hour's patience will procure a long period 
 of rest. 
 
 PROVIDENCE, Doth all in Beauty. 
 As the great Author of the universe created 
 nothing in vain, surely he must be an uncon- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 471 
 
 scious observer of nature that does not discover 
 in every walk, and everywhere, the goodness of 
 an all-wise Providence, in clothing the fields 
 with verdure, and the earth with beauties in- 
 numerable, for the support of animated nature, 
 all tending to the advancement of our thoughts 
 to that Being who created them. — Ashford. 
 
 PROVIDENCE, 
 His Decrees Inscrutable. 
 The decrees of Providence are inscrutable. In 
 spite of man's short-sighted endeavours to dis- 
 pose of events according to his own wishes and 
 his own purposes, there is an Intelligence be- 
 yond his reason, which holds the scales of 
 justice, and promotes his well-being, in spite 
 of his puny efforts. — Morier, 
 
 PROVIDENCE, 
 His Wisdom in Variety. 
 
 What inextricable confusion must the world 
 for ever have been in but for the variety which 
 we find to obtain in the faces, the voices, and 
 the handwritings of men ! No security of 
 person, no certainty of possession, no justice 
 between man and man, no distinction between 
 good and bad, friends and foes, father and 
 child, husband and wife, male and female. 
 All would have been exposed to malice, fraud, 
 forgery, and lust. But now every man's face 
 can distinguish him in the light, his voice in 
 the dark, and his handwriting can speak for 
 him though absent, and be his witness to all 
 generations. Did this happen by chance, or 
 is it not a manifest as well as an admirable 
 indication of a Divine superintendence? — 
 Home. 
 
 PROVIDENCE, 
 Our Actual Dependence on. 
 We are too apt to forget our actual dependence 
 on Providence for the circumstances of every 
 instant. The most trivial events may deter- 
 mine our state in the world. Turning up one 
 street instead of another may bring us in com- 
 pany with a person whom we should not 
 otherwise have met ; and this may lead to a 
 train of other events which may determine the 
 happiness or misery of our lives. — Cecil. 
 
 PROVIDENCE, Trust in. 
 
 Park relates that after travelling upon a hot 
 and sultry day through a desert country, he 
 threw himself upon the ground, worn out with 
 fatigue, and feeling himself as one lost and 
 cast out from the world, and as if even Provi- 
 dence had forgotten him. As he lay he turned 
 to one side, and a little flower caught his eye 
 which was blooming with extreme beauty in 
 the midst of so much barrenness ; the sight 
 brought comfort immediately to his mind, and 
 he said to himself, '* That God, who has 
 planted this little flower in such a place, and 
 provided for its sustenance, will not forget 
 
 What can I do for thee ! 
 
 Omnipotent ! — Eternal ! — Infinite ! 
 Is not the thought aspiring blasphemy. 
 
 Needing forgiveness to be granted it ? 
 Who can conceive thy limitless domain ? 
 Would thought exploring stretch her wings 
 
 for flight 
 To yon far star upon the verge of sight, 
 (A sun immense, supplying worlds with 
 light,) 
 Thence must she stretch her wings and fly 
 again! 
 
 And if, ten thousand stms pass'd by, she gaze 
 
 Amaz'd upon the measureless expanse. 
 She will perceive innumerous fresh rays — 
 New suns around whose bright founts 
 planets dance. 
 Receiving warmth and gladness from their 
 beams ; 
 
 All clad with fruits and flowers, along 
 
 whose fields 
 Man wanders, and where life its joyance 
 yields 
 Of soft sensation, and the exquisite streams 
 Which gush in real joys, or play in dreams. 
 
 Thy space is infinite ! yet boundless space 
 Possesses not a vacancy — no place 
 
 But fill'd with wonders of thy mighty hand. 
 And righteously thou sendest weal or woe ; 
 For thou each deed, and word, and thought 
 
 dost know, 
 Or slightest movement, through thy vast 
 
 command : 
 Then surely all my wants are known to thee, 
 Eternal Ruler of Infinity ! 
 
 Oh ! 'tis a thought of comfort, that the mind 
 Of high Archangel, which has left behind, 
 
472 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 At distance so extreme, man's boasted 
 powers, 
 Rises not nearer to thy topless throne, 
 Than doth the little insect, which, unknown, 
 
 Invisible to man, in smallest flowers 
 Finds a vast world ; and there in reckless 
 
 play 
 Sports its existence of a summer's day. 
 
 Then need I fear that in this boundless mass 
 Of matter, I, an atom, shall be lost ? 
 
 No !— the eternal knowledge will not pass 
 Even the smallest ; each a price has cost 
 
 Of agony to ransom it : and though, 
 
 Scatter'd by death and Time, but dust it be. 
 It never can be lost ; for surely He 
 
 Hath ever known it, and will ever know. 
 
 James Edmeston. 
 
 PROVIDENCE, 
 
 Wisdom and Beneficence of. 
 
 There is hardly a circumstance connected with 
 our existence which, when examined with a 
 little attention, does not yield abundant evi- 
 dence of the wisdom and beneficence which 
 preside over the universe. We have only to 
 turn up the soil at our feet to find in it in- 
 numerable seeds useful to man ; we have only 
 to look around us upon the surface of the 
 earth to see it stocked with a variety of animals, 
 conducive not only to our subsistence, but to 
 our convenience and recreation. The sea also, 
 and the air, have their population at our com- 
 mand ; and the more deeply we investigate the 
 laws by which the whole system of vegetable 
 and animal life is governed, the more clearly 
 we shall perceive their complete and exclusive 
 adaptation to the planet on which they carry 
 on their operations. — Quarterly Review. 
 
 PRUDENCE is Cheerfiilness. 
 
 The great end of prudence is to give cheerful- 
 ness to those hours which splendour cannot 
 gild and acclamation cannot exhilarate. Those 
 soft intervals of unbended amusement in which 
 a man shrinks to his natural dimensions, and 
 throws aside the ornaments and disguises which 
 he feels, in privacy, to be useless incumbrances, 
 and to lose all effect when they become familiar. 
 To be happy at home is the ultimate result of 
 all ambition, the end to which every enterprise 
 and labour tends, and of which every desire 
 
 prompts the execution. It is, indeed, at home 
 that every man must be known by those who 
 would make a just estimate of his virtue or 
 felicity ; for smiles and embroidery are alike 
 occasional, and the mind is often dressed for 
 show in painted honour and fictitious bene- 
 volence. — Johnson. 
 
 PSALMODY, an Acceptable Sacrifice. 
 What thought can enter into the heart of 
 man more comfortable and delicious than this, 
 that the great Master of all things, the most 
 wise and mighty King of heaven and earth, 
 hath entertained a gracious regard, hath ex- 
 pressed a real kindness towards us ? that we 
 are in a capacity to honour, to please, to pre- 
 sent an acceptable sacrifice to Him who can 
 render us perfectly happy? that we are ad- 
 mitted to the practice of that wherein the 
 supreme joy of Paradise consists ? For praise 
 and thanksgiving are the most delectable busi- 
 ness of heaven ; and God grant they may be 
 our greatest delight, our most frequent employ- 
 ment upon earth. — Barrow. 
 
 PSALMODY is of Old. 
 
 The singing of psalms and hymns is in strict 
 cimformity with primitive custom, as this was 
 founded on our Lord's example ; who, after 
 the solemn institution of the Christian paschal 
 feast, or Lord's Supper, "sung an hymn" 
 with His apostles, previous to their going out 
 to the Mount of Olives. The apostles followed 
 the same practice ; and St. James directs them 
 whenever they were " merry " to " sing 
 psalms." . . . The Divine harmony, like cha- 
 rity, shall * ' never fail. " Even when ' ' learning 
 shall cease and knowledge vanish away," cha- 
 rity shall remain; for "God" himself "is 
 love !" and blessing, and honour, and glory, 
 and praise, shall be eternal, as He is, " that 
 liveth for ever and ever !" — Pruen. 
 
 PSALMODY, the Voi9e of the Heart 
 
 Here the apostle quickens our backwardness, 
 and stirs us up to a due sense of the Divine 
 favour and goodness. And this is to be done, 
 both outwardly with the voice, by " singing 
 unto the Lord ;" and inwardly with the heart, 
 by heartily rejoicing in God, who is "the 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 473 
 
 strength of our salvation." It is by His power 
 that our salvation is effected, and upon His 
 mercy alone all our hopes of it are founded ; 
 and therefore both our heart and tongue are to 
 become the instruments of His praise. — Hole. 
 
 PUBLIC Credit, 
 
 How Secured in tlie Sixteenth Century. 
 
 At last, after much toil and many mortifica- 
 tions, Gresham got his government to agree to 
 a plan of punctual payment, which would keep 
 up their credit and save them from the heavy 
 fee-penny in future. " If this be followed up," 
 said he, "I do not doubt but in two years to 
 bring the king's majesty wholly out of debt : 
 which I pray God to send me life to see ! " To 
 accomplish this blessed end, he proposed that 
 the government should pay him weekly 1,200/. 
 or 1,300/., to be secretly received by one indi- 
 vidual, so that it might be kept secret, and he 
 might trust therein. Having this money punc- 
 tually paid, he would take up at Antwerp, 
 everyday, 200/. or 300/. by exchange. "And 
 thus doing," he continues, "it shall not be 
 perceived, nor shall it be an occasion to make 
 the exchange fall, for that the money shall be 
 taken up in my name. And so by these means, 
 in working by dehberation and time, the mer- 
 chants' turn also shall be served. As also this 
 should bring all merchants out of suspicion, 
 who do nothing to payment of the king's debts, 
 and will not stick to say that ere the payment 
 of the king's debts be made, it will bring down 
 the exchange to I3J-. 3^., which I trust never 
 to see that day. So that by this you may per- 
 ceive, if that I do take up every day but 200/. 
 sterling, it will amovmt in one year to 72,000/. ; 
 and the king's majesty oweth here at this pre- 
 sent 108,000/., with the interest money that 
 has prolonged afore this time. So that by 
 these means, in two years, things will be com- 
 passed accordingly to my purpose set forth ; 
 as also by this means you shall neither trouble 
 merchant-adventurer, nor stapler, nor mer- 
 chant-stranger." {Strype.) But as a supple- 
 ment to this thing, Gresham, in the same 
 letter to the Duke of Northumberland, pas- 
 sionately recommended a measure which must 
 have troubled the merchants, and which can 
 only be considered as a gross error in public 
 economy. This recommendation was to seize 
 instantly all the lead in the kingdom, to make 
 a staple of it, and prohibit the exportation of 
 any lead for five years to come. This, thought 
 
 and said Gresham, would make the price of 
 the commodity rise at Antwerp, and the king 
 might feed that market with lead as it was 
 needed from time to time, and at his own 
 price. It was a suggestion worthy of a Turkish 
 pasha, yet it has been applauded by a recent 
 biographer; and Gresham (whose ignorance is 
 more excusable) dwelt upon it with a sort of 
 rapture, telling the Duke of Northumberland 
 that by these combined means, or by the daily 
 payment of 200/. and the seizure and monopoly 
 of all lead, he would keep the money of England 
 within the realm, and extricate the king from 
 the debts in which his father and the Duke of 
 Somerset had involved him ; and that his grace 
 would do his majesty such service as never 
 duke did in England, to the renown of his 
 house for ever. Northumberland, high-handed 
 as he was, shrank from the daring and unpo- 
 pular step of seizing and monopolizing the lead ; 
 but he adopted Gresham's advice as to the 
 payments of the money, and Sir Edmund 
 Peckham, treasurer of the mint, had orders to 
 pay weekly to Thomas Gresham 1,052/. &f. 4//. 
 This, however, lasted for only eight weeks, or 
 rather less, and then, according to the council- 
 book, Gresham was given to understand that 
 the payment (stated here not at 1,052/. 8s. 4//., 
 but at 1,200/.) which he was wont to receive 
 weekly was stopped, because that manner of 
 exchange was not profitable for the king's 
 majesty. Yet, by means which have not (all) 
 been very clearly shown, Gresham succeeded 
 in raising the rate of exchange in favour of En- 
 gland, and in making the poimd sterling, which 
 had passed there for i6j., rise on the Bourse or 
 exchange of Antwerp to 19^-. &/. This he 
 brought about in less than nine months after 
 writing the letter to the Duke of Northumber- 
 land recommending his grace to seize the lead- 
 He congratulated himself on his great success ; 
 but still the greatest benefit he saw in it was 
 that this rising of the exchange would occasion 
 all our gold and silver to remain within the 
 realm. Yet some of the means which he says 
 himself he recommended, and adopted for the 
 obtaining of this desirable end, are as objec- 
 tionable in principle, and almost as tyrannical as 
 the lead project could have been. Twice during 
 the remainder of the short reign of Edward VI. 
 the English merchant-fleet bound for Antwerp, 
 which always sailed at fixed periods of the 
 year, was detained in port when on the point 
 of sailing, and the proprietors of the merchan- 
 dise compelled to engage on their arrival at 
 Antwerp, to furnish the state with certain 
 
474 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 sums of money, to be repaid within three 
 months in London, at a rate of exchange 
 which the government itself fixed, and which 
 it made as high as it possibly could. By this 
 most irregular and oppressive process, a loan 
 of 40,000/. was obtained of the merchant- 
 adventurers in 1552 ; and hi 1 55 3 it should ap- 
 pear that the lords of the council were "through 
 with the staplers for 25,000/,, and with the 
 merchant-adventurers for 36,164/. 16^-. 2>d. ;" 
 while by the same compulsory processes the 
 exchange-value of the pound sterling was raised 
 at Antwerp. — Life oj Sir T. Gresham. 
 
 PUBLIC Instruction. 
 
 When the city of Leyden, in common with 
 all the Low Countries, had fought through the 
 bloodiest, and perhaps the noblest struggle for 
 liberty on record, the great and good William 
 of Orange offered her immunity from taxes, 
 that she might recover from her bitter suffer- 
 ings, and be rewarded for the important ser- 
 vices which she had rendered the sacred cause. 
 Leyden, however, declined the offer, and asked 
 for nothing but the privilege of erecting a 
 university within her walls, as the best reward 
 for more than human endurance and perseve- 
 rance. This simple fact is a precious gem to 
 the student of history ; for if the protection of 
 the arts and sciences reflect great honour upon 
 a monarch, though it be for vanity's sake, the 
 fostering care with which communities or re- 
 publics watch over the cultivation of know- 
 ledge and the other ennobling pursuits of man 
 sheds a still greater lustre upon themselves. 
 Nowhere, in the whole range of history, does 
 man appear in a more dignified character than 
 when a republic founds a new seminary of 
 learning, or extends her liberal aid towards the 
 support of a scientific institution, in whose 
 prosperity she takes a just and fruitful pride. It 
 is by the exertion of the people themselves, by 
 the fruits of their own labour, by the free grant 
 of their own means, that these schools for the 
 cultivation of knowledge and the education of 
 their sons are erected. Nothing but their 
 fullest conviction of the happy, purifying, and 
 nvigorating effect which the diffusion of sci- 
 ences and the training of the youthful mind 
 exercise upon society, can induce them to esta- 
 blish or protect these nurseries of civilization. 
 It is a voluntary tribute by a whole community 
 to the superiority of letters and sciences to the 
 great cause of learning. — Lieber. 
 
 PUBLIC Schools, of Dubious Merit. 
 
 The most plausible argument in favour of 
 public schools, and one on which their ad- 
 vocates lay the most stress, is the early insight 
 they give the youthful mind into the real 
 business of life. A lad, they say, becomes 
 inured to endurance ; and in his collision with 
 crafty, rough, and uncongenial tempers, is 
 better prepared for jostling with the same 
 species of dispositions on his entrance into the 
 world. If education, indeed, were only de- 
 signed to arm the mind with worldly wisdom, 
 and the highest object of existence were merely 
 the art of bustling through it, with no nobler 
 object than personal advantage and aggrandize- 
 ment, the argument would be unanswerable ; 
 but who shall conscientiously advise the early 
 initiation of the young and unsuspecting heart 
 in the cold and selfish lessons of cautious ma- 
 turity, or the premature acquisition of habits of 
 brutal ferocity, as necessary safeguards for its 
 own protection ? Education is surely intended 
 to enlarge and exalt the mind. It has no re- 
 ference to scraping together this world's goods. 
 A wise man would endeavour to make his son 
 virtuous, and leave all other considerations to 
 their own casuality. He is as likely to main- 
 tain his grade in society when armed with 
 sound principles as if he were invested with all 
 the cunning of a mercenary ; and should he be 
 jostled aside in the "busy bustle of this world's 
 traffic," he has at least the consoling reflection 
 that he has acted with uprightness and honour ; 
 for mere craft is a sorry substitute for integrity, 
 and is not always the exalter of a man's for- 
 tune. — Anon. 
 
 PUBLIC Servants. 
 
 In an ofiicial admonition addressed by the 
 Emperor of China to the officers of his govern- 
 ment is this remarkable passage — " He who 
 sincerely serves his country leaves the fragrance 
 of a good name to a hundred ages ; he who 
 does not, leaves a name that stinks for tens of 
 thousands of years." 
 
 PUBLIC Worship. 
 
 As the poor embossed deer that is closely pur- 
 sued faints and melts with the heat of the chase, 
 and hasteth to the known river where it was 
 wont to quench its thirst, to find both safety 
 and refreshment there ; so doth the holy, 
 amorous soul reach and breathe after God ; he 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 475 
 
 thirsteth after the water brooks, the streams of 
 His ordinances, wherein God doth pour out 
 His grace, and His Spirit, to refresh the 
 longing desires of this holy impatience. — Bp. 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Desire is the life in prayer : and if you indeed 
 desire what you pray for, you will also labour 
 for what you desire ; and if you find it otherwise 
 with yourselves, your coming to church is but 
 like the Pharisee going up to the temple to 
 pray. If your heart be not present, neither 
 will God ; and then there is a sound of men 
 and women between a pair of dead walls, from 
 whence, because neither God nor our souls are 
 present, you must needs go home without a 
 blessing. . . . Solemn prayers and the sacra- 
 ments, and the assemblies of the faithful, and 
 fasting days, and acts of external worship, are 
 the solenmities and rites of religion ; but the 
 religion of a Christian is in the heart and spirit 
 . . . The heart is the "court" of the great 
 King.— ^/. J. Taylor. 
 
 What a happiness were it, if, every time 
 you come to His solemn worship, some of your 
 strongest sins did receive a new wound, and 
 some of your weakest graces a new strength ! 
 — Abp. Leighton. 
 
 Come, pure Devotion ! — bright and holy 
 flame, — 
 Kindle each spark of love this breast contains. 
 And fill with light this darkened soul of mine ; 
 Give me the willing heart, and let the knee 
 Bend low before the footstool of my God. 
 
 //. C. 
 
 PUNNING. 
 
 His chatter 
 Was one continual clitter-clatter. — Swift. 
 
 " He who will make a pun," said Dr. Johnson, 
 "would pick a pocket." This was one of 
 those sweeping dicta in which the Doctor was 
 so fond of indulging, and which had no better 
 foundation than his own morose antipathies. 
 Though a great and a good man, he had many 
 infirmities, and this was one of them — to de- 
 preciate or anathematise everything counter to 
 his own peculiar disposition, pursuits, and pre- 
 judices. No one will support him in his extra- 
 vagant position, for it would be equally true 
 and equally rational to assert that a man who 
 can make a saw could paint a picture, or indeed 
 do anything else totally beyond the reach of 
 
 analogy. That the Doctor was no transgressor 
 in the way of pun-making will be readily ima- 
 gined, for the mere idea of his gigantic and 
 unwieldy intellect employing itself upon one 
 of those airy conceits has something of cari- 
 cature about it — it suggests to the fancy an 
 elephant playing at cup and ball. 
 
 But without coinciding in this denunciation, 
 it may be with truth asserted that, of all the 
 habits to which young men are prone, (putting 
 vices out of the question,) punning, as a habit, 
 is the most idle and profitless, if not the most 
 prejudicial. Yet none is more prevalent. Wits 
 pun, and dunces imagine that by punning they 
 become wits ; but the reasoning by which 
 they arrive at this conclusion is as thoroughly 
 divested of logic as the assertion of the 
 learned Doctor. Puns do not constitute wit, 
 though where genuine they are indications or 
 evidences of its existence. But the brilliant 
 flashes of the man of genius are elicited natu- 
 rally by the subject under discussion, are 
 appropriate to the occasion, and adapted to 
 the company. He never stumbles upon the 
 ridiculous, for his mind intuitively distinguishes 
 the sunbeam, and is never deluded by those 
 ignis fatuii which so frequently allure his imi- 
 tator into the slough of absurdity ; the preten- 
 der, on the contrary, is ever straining and 
 toiling to produce that which must be sponta- 
 neous or have no existence ; and in the vain 
 attempt violates sense, sound, and orthography; 
 and this, perhaps, at all times, on all subjects, 
 and in all companies. Can anything be more 
 irrational ? 
 
 But painful as it may be to behold a young 
 man, who would otherwise receive credit for 
 possessing good sense, labouring with so 
 much assiduity to prove himself a blockhead, 
 this infectious propensity has consequences 
 still more serious. The mind, habituated, to 
 dwell on the surface of things, becomes at 
 length incapable of steady application to severe 
 or useful study. However interesting and 
 however important the subject before it, instead 
 of being absorbed in the argument, wading in 
 its depths, or borne along by its current, it is 
 ever rambling aside after some butterfly of a 
 pun, which the turn of a sentence has presented 
 to its view. It is, too, no less the bane of 
 conversation than of study. Conversation, 
 while it is the most natural, is perhaps the 
 most pleasing source of improvement The 
 varied knowledge, views, and modes of think- 
 ing which characterise each indi\ndual are 
 concentrated into a focus ; arguments are 
 
476 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 placed in a new or a stronger point of view ; 
 the natural light and shade of a subject are 
 developed ; and thus opinion is corrected or 
 confirmed. There is no man, however great 
 his abilities and attainments, who may not at 
 all times profit by conversational intercourse 
 with sensible and rational men, however in- 
 ferior to himself in capacity and acquire- 
 ments. 
 
 The paths and pursuits of human life are 
 necessarily so diversified, its experience de- 
 rived from so great a variety of sources, that 
 that mind must indeed be afilicted with more 
 than ordinary sterility which cannot be ren- 
 dered tributary to his already acquired fund of 
 information. To the youthful and the inexpe- 
 rienced, then (taking it for granted that his 
 company is well chosen) how replete is it with 
 instruction ; but if its course is to be con- 
 stantly interrupted by attempts which, if unsuc- 
 cessful, as nine times in ten they will be, are 
 productive only of exposure to the individual, 
 and of annoyance to his companions, and 
 whose highest achievement, if effective, is 
 to produce an idle laugh, its result cannot 
 possibly be improvement. 
 
 Would that young men would cease their silly 
 and fruitless attempts to acquire that which 
 when possessed is only valuable as an indica- 
 tion of higher and more sterling qualities, 
 which, if not conferred by nature, no efforts 
 can attain to, and if so conferred can need none 
 to develope it. Would that they would learn 
 that impertinence is not importance, nor for- 
 wardness talent ; that joking is not necessarily 
 humour, nor talking conversation. — N. 
 
 PURE, The, in Heart. 
 
 The Bible resembles an extensive and highly- 
 cultivated garden, where there is a vast variety 
 and profusion of fruits and flowers : some of 
 which are more essential or more splendid 
 than others ; but there is not a blade suffered 
 to grow in it which has not its use and beauty 
 in the system. Salvation for sinnners is the 
 grand truth presented everywhere, and in all 
 points of light ; but ** the pure in heart " sees 
 a thousand traits of the Divine character, of 
 himself, and of the world— some striking and 
 bold ; others cast, as it were, into the shade, 
 and designed to be searched for and examined; 
 some direct, others by way of intimation and 
 inference. — Cecil. 
 
 PURITY of Life, its Reward. 
 
 It is infinitely presumptuous for a man to 
 hope to inherit that estate to which he can 
 show no title. The reasonableness of our hopes 
 of heaven depends upon the sure right and 
 claim that we have to it ; and prove this we 
 cannot, but only by the obedience and purity 
 of our lives and their strict conformity to the 
 excellent precepts of the Gospel. — Dean South. 
 
 QUIET, The, of a Hospital. 
 
 She stirred — the place seem'd new and strange 
 
 as death. 
 The white strait bed, with others strait and 
 
 white. 
 Like graves dug side by side, at measur'd 
 
 lengths. 
 And quiet people walking in and out 
 With wonderful low voices and soft steps. 
 And apparitional equal care for each 
 Astonish'd her with order, silence, law : 
 And when a gentle hand held out a cup. 
 She took it as you do at sacrament. 
 Half awed, half melted — not being used, in- 
 deed. 
 To so much love as makes the form of love 
 And courtesy of manners. Delicate drinks 
 And rare white bread, to which some dying 
 
 eyes 
 Were tui-n'd in observation. O my God, 
 How sick we must be ere we make men 
 
 just ! 
 I think it frets the saints in heaven to see 
 How many desolate creatures on the earth 
 Have learnt the simple dues of fellowship 
 And social comfort in a hospital, 
 As Marian did. She lay there, stunn'd, half 
 
 tranced. 
 And wish'd at intervals of growing sense. 
 She might be sicker yet, if sickness made 
 The world so marvellous kind, the air so 
 
 hush'd, 
 And all her wake-time quiet as a sleep : 
 For now she understood (as such things were) 
 How sickness ended very oft in heaven, 
 Among the unspoken raptures. Yet more 
 
 sick. 
 And surelier happy. Then she dropp'd her 
 
 lids, 
 And folding up her hands as flowers at night, 
 Would lose no moment of the blessed time. 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. ^77 
 
 RAINBOW, a Lovely Refraction. 
 
 And as thy faithful promise speaks. 
 
 On morning or on evening cloud impress'd, 
 Bent in vast curve, the watery meteor shines 
 Delightfully, to th' levelled sun opposed : 
 
 Repentant sin forgiven, 
 In humble hope we bless the beam 
 That points the way to heaven. 
 
 Lovely refraction ! while the vivid brede 
 
 Lady Flora Hastings. 
 
 In listed colours glows, the unconscious swain 
 
 
 With vacant eye gazes on the divine 
 
 'Mid the cloud-enshrouded haze 
 
 Phenomenon, gleaming o'er the illumined 
 
 Of Olympus I arise. 
 
 fields. 
 
 With the full and rainy gaze 
 
 Or runs to catch the treasures which it sheds. 
 
 Of Apollo in mine eyes ; 
 
 Not so the sage ; inspired with pious awe, 
 
 But I shade my dazzled glance 
 
 He hails the federal arch, and looking up, 
 
 With my dripping pinions white. 
 
 Adores that God whose fingers formed this 
 
 Where the sunlight sparkles dance 
 
 bow, 
 
 In a many-tinctured light : 
 
 Magnificent, compassing heaven about 
 
 My foot upon the woof 
 
 With a resplendent verge : «* Thou mad'st the 
 
 Of a fleecy cloudlet small. 
 
 cloud, 
 
 I glimmer through the roof 
 
 Maker omnipotent, and thou the bow ; 
 
 Of the paven banquet hall. 
 
 And by that covenant graciously hast sworn 
 
 And a soft, pink radiance dips 
 
 Never to drown the world again ; henceforth 
 
 Through the floating mists divine — 
 
 Till time shall be no more, in ceaseless round 
 
 Touching eyes and cheeks and lips 
 
 Season shall follow season ; day to night ; 
 
 Of the mild-eyed Gods supine ; 
 
 Summer to winter ; harvest to seedtime ; 
 
 And the pinky odour rolls 
 
 Heat shall to cold in regular array 
 
 Round their foreheads, while I stain 
 
 Succeed. " Heaven-taught, so sang the Hebrew 
 
 With a blush like wine the bowls 
 
 bard. White. 
 
 Of foam-crusted porcelain : 
 
 
 Till the whole calm place has caught 
 A deep gleam of rosy fire — 
 
 
 RAINBOW, Lunar. 
 
 When I darken to the thought 
 
 Lo ! on the soft spray of the waterfall 
 
 In the eyes of Zeus the Sire. 
 
 The lovely lunar phantom ! All at once, 
 
 
 Nor warning given by some uncertain light, 
 
 Then Zeus, arising, stoops 
 
 The apparition spans the black abyss, 
 And it is lustrous ; Fancy dreams she sees 
 
 O'er the ledges of the skies. 
 Looking downward through the loops 
 
 A golden palace rise ; the gorgeous walls 
 
 Of the starry tapestries ; 
 
 Are pictured o'er with mosses many-dyed ; 
 
 On the evident dark plain 
 
 Bright as in day the clustering wild flowers 
 
 Speckled with wood and hill and stream. 
 
 hang. 
 Only their glory softer. John Wilson, 
 
 On the wrinkled tawny main, 
 
 Where the ships like snow-flakes gleam. 
 
 
 And with finger without swerve 
 
 
 Slightly lifted, swiftly whirled. 
 He draws a magic curve 
 
 
 RAINBOW, The. 
 
 O'er the cirrus of the world ; 
 
 Soft glowing in uncertain birth. 
 
 When with waving wings displayed 
 
 'Twixt Nature's smiles and tears. 
 
 On the sun-god's threshold bright 
 
 The bow, O Lord ! which thou hast bent. 
 
 I upleap and seem to fade 
 
 Bright in the cloud appears. 
 
 In a humid flash of light. 
 
 The portal of thy dwelling-place. 
 That pure arch seems to be. 
 
 And as I bless its mystic light, 
 My spirit turns to Thee. 
 
 But I plunge through vapours dim 
 
 To the dark low-lying land. 
 And I tumble, float, and swim 
 
 
 On the strange curve of the Hand : 
 
 Thus gleaming o'er a guilty world. 
 
 From my wings that drip, drip, drip 
 
 We hail the ray of love ; — 
 
 With cool rains, short jets of fire. 
 
 Thus dawns upon the contrite soul 
 
 As across green Capes I slip 
 
 Thy mercy from above ; 
 
 With the thought of Zeus the Sire. 
 
478 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Thence, with drooping wings bedewed, 
 
 Folded close about my form, 
 I alight with feet unviewed 
 
 On the ledges of the storm ; 
 For a moment, cloud-enrolled, 
 
 'Mid the murmurous rain I stand, 
 And with meteor eyes behold 
 
 Vapoury ocean, misty land : 
 Till the thought of Zeus outsprings 
 
 From my ripe mouth with a sigh, 
 And unto my lips it clings 
 
 Like a shining butterfly ; 
 When I brighten, gleam, and glow. 
 
 And my glittering wings unfurl, 
 And the melting colours flow 
 
 To my foot of dusky pearl ; 
 And the ocean, mile on mile. 
 
 Gleams through capes, and straits, and 
 bays. 
 And the vales and mountains smile, 
 
 And the leaves are wet with rays, — 
 "While I wave the humid Bow 
 
 Of my wings with flash of fire. 
 And the tempest, crouched below, 
 
 Kjliows the thought of Zeus the Sire. 
 R. Buchanaii. 
 
 RAINBOW, the Arch of Promise. 
 
 Mild arch of promise ! on thy evening sky 
 
 Thou shinest fair with many a lovely ray 
 Each in the other melting. Much mine eye 
 
 Delights to linger on thee ; for the day. 
 Changeful and many weathered, seemed to 
 
 smile, 
 Flashing brief splendour thro' its clouds awhile, 
 
 That deepened dark anon and fell in rain : 
 But pleasant it is now to pause, and view 
 Thy various tints of frail and watery hue. 
 
 And think the storm shall not return again. 
 
 Southey. 
 
 RAIN, Shower of. 
 
 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 ev'ry dripping branch is set 
 
 With shoots of tender green. 
 Sure, since I looked at early mom, 
 
 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 steamy air. 
 
 Is all with fragrance rife ! 
 And grace and beauty ev'rywhere 
 
 Are flushing into life. 
 Down, down they come, those fruitful stores ! 
 
 Those earth-rejoicing drops ! 
 A momentary deluge pours, 
 
 Then thins, decreases, stops. 
 And ere the dimples on the stream 
 
 Have circled out of sight, 
 Lo ! from the west, a parting gleam 
 
 Breaks forth, of amber light. 
 
 But yet behold — abrupt and loud. 
 Comes down the glitt'ring rain ; 
 
 The farewell of a passing cloud, 
 
 The fringes of its train. Anon, 
 
 RAPINE, an Impulse of Savage Nature. 
 The Indian who fells the tree that he may 
 gather the fruit, and the Arab who plunders 
 the caravans of commerce, are actuated by the 
 same impulse of savage nature, and relinquish 
 for momentary rapine the long and secure 
 possession of the most important blessings. — 
 Gibbon. 
 
 RATIONAL Creature, his Divinity. 
 How happy must be the situation of a rational 
 creature, exerting all his powers for the best 
 and noblest purposes, performing all the 
 duties of his station, and making continual 
 advances towards the perfection of his nature ; 
 depending with humble confidence on the 
 Divine assistance to support his weakness, and 
 constantly and sincerely endeavouring to do the 
 will of his Heavenly Father ; who watches 
 over him with far more than fatherly affection ; 
 who orders all events as shall be really best 
 for him ; accepts his endeavours ; forgives his 
 imperfections ; and leads him through all the 
 various paths of life to everlasting happiness ! — 
 Bawdier. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 479 
 
 READINESS. 
 
 Ten of them were sheathed in steel. 
 With belted sword, and spur on heel : 
 They quitted not their harness bright, 
 Neither by day, nor yet by night : 
 
 They lay down to rest 
 
 With corslet laced, 
 Pillowed on buckler cold and hard ; 
 
 They carved at the meal 
 
 With gloves of steel 
 And they drank the red wine through 
 the helmet barred. Scoii. 
 
 READING. 
 
 A PROPER and judicious system of reading is 
 of the highest importance. Two things are 
 necessary in perusing the mental labours of 
 others ; namely, not to read too much, and to 
 pay great attention to the nature of what you 
 do read. Many people peruse books for the 
 express and avowed purpose of consuming 
 time ; and this class of readers forms by far the 
 majority of what are termed the *' reading 
 public." Others again read with the laudable 
 anxiety of being made wiser ; and when this 
 object is not attained, the disappointment may 
 generally be attributed either to the habit of 
 reading too much, or of paying insufficient 
 attention to what falls under their notice. — 
 Blakey. 
 
 Mr . Johnson had never, by his own account, 
 been a close student, and used to advise young 
 people never to be without a book in their 
 pocket, to be read at bye-times, when they 
 had nothing else to do. ** It has been by that 
 means," said he to a boy at our house one day, 
 "that all my knowledge has been gained, 
 except what I have picked up by running 
 about the world with my wits ready to observe, 
 and my tongue ready to talk. A man is 
 seldom in a humour to unlock his bookcase, 
 set his desk in order, and betake himself to 
 serious study ; but a retentive memory will do 
 something, and a fellow shall have strange 
 credit given him if he can but recollect striking 
 passages from different books, keep the authors 
 separate in his head, and bring his stock of 
 knowledge and varied information artfully 
 into play. How else," added he, "do 
 the gamesters manage, when they play for 
 more money than they are worth?" — Mrs, 
 Piozzi. 
 
 To the man who loves knowledge for its own 
 sake, and for the sake of its beneficial in- 
 fluences on his race, what does it matter whe- 
 ther he alone has attained the elevation or 
 whether he shares it with others ? These plea- 
 sures he reahses by reading the productions of 
 master-minds. The prospect below, aroimd, 
 and above him is the same. He has the same 
 animating satisfaction in the review of diffi- 
 culties overcome ; the same expansion of feel- 
 ing as he surveys the extent of the domain be- 
 neath his feet ; the same delight in the glimpses 
 he discovers of paths which may conduct him 
 to yet more valuable acquirements. Mental 
 laziness will surely grow on a man. It begins 
 in cobwebs, and ends in iron chains. The 
 more business he has, the more a deeply-read 
 man is able to accomplish, for he has learnt 
 to economize his time. It is among those 
 in whom the mere love of fame is the 
 strongest, — who seek most eagerly for the 
 applause, not so much of the master-spirits 
 of the age, as of the world at large, and for 
 the substantial advantages which that brings 
 with it, — that we observe the keenest sensi- 
 tiveness to detraction in regard to the value of 
 their attainments, the greater disappointment 
 if it can be proved that they have at aU been 
 anticipated in them. Such a seeker after truth 
 can bear the proximity of no other. He must 
 stand alone. He looks at the pinnacle of 
 knowledge, not as the commanding height from 
 which he may take a wider survey of its glo- 
 rious domain, but as the pedestal on which he 
 may elevate himself above his fellows. Which 
 of these characters are we most inclined to 
 respect and love? — British and Foreign Medical 
 Review. 
 
 READING Aloud, 
 
 One of the accomplishments which we wish to 
 see cvdtivated among females, and which is 
 greatly neglected or whoUy overlooked, is the 
 art of reading aloud. It is a most healthy em- 
 ployment when used discreetly, since exercise 
 is as advantageous to the lungs as to all other 
 parts of the human frame. The ability to 
 read aloud agreeably is also a truly domestic 
 acquirement ; it will be another link in the 
 chain which binds men to their hearths ; it will 
 amuse the young, cheer the old, and instruct 
 the ignorant — Journal of Education. 
 
 At so early a period as the middle of the 
 seventeenth century, it appears that the moni- 
 
48o 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 torial system of reading and instruction which 
 Joseph Lancaster so successfully reproduced 
 and popularised in England was actually prac- 
 tised in Greece, as we learn from a work by 
 M. Guillatiere, quoted by Hennen, in his 
 "Medical Topography of the Mediterraean. " 
 He says: — ** We found about thirty young 
 lads sitting upon benches, and their master at 
 the head of them teaching them to read. His 
 method was pretty, and much beyond ours ; 
 the master causing the whole class to read at a 
 time without confusion, every scholar being 
 obliged to pay attention, and to mind what his 
 next neighbour reads. They had, each of 
 them, the same author in his hand ; and, for 
 example, if he had thirty scholars, he chose 
 out some continued discourse, and gave them 
 but thirty words to read ; the first boy reading 
 the first word, the second boy the second word, 
 the third boy the third, and so on. If they 
 read soundly and right, he gave them thirty 
 words more ; but if any of the boys were out 
 or imperfect, he was corrected by the next, who 
 was always very exact in observing him, and 
 he his neighbour, till the whole number of 
 words were read. So that the thirty scholars, 
 lying all of them at catch, and ready to take 
 advantage of any defect in their neighbour, 
 stimulated by an ambition of being thought 
 the best scholar, every one's lesson was the 
 lesson of all, and happy was he that could say 
 it the best. To obviate any of the scholars in 
 eluding that order by preparing himself for 
 any single words, their places were changed, 
 and he who was at one reading in the first 
 place was removed a greater distance in the 
 next. Thus one lesson was enough for a whole 
 form, how numerous soever ; and, which was 
 very convenient for the master, the boys were 
 not constrained to come to him one after ano- 
 ther, for every one was a master to his neigh- 
 bour." 
 
 BEADING Profitably. 
 
 An inquiring spirit is not a presumptuous one, 
 but the very contrary. He whose whole 
 recorded life was intended to be our perfect 
 example is described as gaining instruction in 
 the Temple by hearing and asking questions : 
 the one is almost useless without the other. 
 We should ask questions of our book and of 
 ourselves ; what is its purpose ; by what means 
 it proceeds to effect that purpose ; whether we 
 fully understand the one ; whether we go 
 
 along with the other. Do the arguments 
 satisfy us ; do the descriptions convey lively 
 and distinct images to us ; do we understand 
 all the allusions to persons or things? In short, 
 does our mind act over again from the writer's 
 guidance what his acted before ; do we reason 
 as he reasoned, conceive as he conceived, think 
 and feel as he thought and felt ; or if not, can 
 we discern where and how far we do not, and 
 can we tell why we do not ? — Dr. Arnold. 
 
 READING, Right Method of. 
 There is not seldom to be found, even 
 amongst those who aim at knowledge, who 
 with an unwearied industry employ their 
 whole time in books, who scarcely allow them- 
 selves time to eat or sleep, but read, and read, 
 and read on, but yet make no great advances 
 in real knowledge, though there be no defect in 
 their intellectual faculties to which their little 
 progress can be imputed. The mistake here 
 is, that it is usually supposed that by reading, 
 the author's knowledge is transferred into the 
 reader's understanding ; and so it is, but not 
 by bare reading, but by reading and under- 
 standing what he writ. Whereby I mean not 
 barely comprehending what is affirmed or 
 denied in each proposition (though that great 
 readers do not think themselves concerned 
 precisely to do), but to see and follow the 
 train of his reasonings, observe the strength 
 and clearness of their connection, and examine 
 upon what they bottom. Without this a man 
 may read the discourses of a very rational 
 author, writ in a language and in propositions 
 that he very well understands, and yet acquire 
 not one jot of his knowledge ; which consist- 
 ing only in the perceived, certain, or probable 
 connection of the ideas made use of in his 
 reasonings, the reader's knowledge is no fur- 
 ther increased, than he perceives that so much 
 as he sees of this connection, so much he 
 knows of the truth or probability of the author's 
 opinio n s . — Locke. 
 
 READING, Taste for. 
 
 If I were to pray for a taste which should 
 stand me in stead under every variety of cir- 
 cumstances, and a source of happiness and 
 cheerfulness to me through life, and a shield 
 against its ills, however things might go amiss, 
 and the world frown upon me, it would be a 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 481 
 
 taste for reading. I speak of it, of course, 
 only as a worldly advantage, and not in the 
 slightest degree as superseding or derogating 
 from the higher office and surer and stronger 
 panoply of religious principles — but as a taste, 
 an instrument and a mode of pleasurable grati- 
 fication. Give a man this taste, and the means 
 of gratifying it, and you can hardly fail of 
 making a happy man, unless, indeed, you 
 put into his hand a most perverse selection of 
 fcooks. You place him in contact with the 
 best society in every period of history — with 
 the wisest, the wittiest — with the tenderest, the 
 bravest, and the purest characters who have 
 adorned humanity. You make him a denizen 
 of all nations — a contemporary of all ages. 
 The world has been created for him. It is 
 hardly possible but the character should take a 
 higher and better tone from the constant habit 
 of associating in thought with a class of 
 thinkers, to say the least of it, above the 
 average of humanity. It is morally impossible 
 but that the manners should take a tinge of 
 good breeding and civilization from having 
 constantly before one's eyes the way in which 
 the best-bred and the best-informed men have 
 talked and conducted themselves in their inter- 
 course with each other. There is a gentle, 
 but perfectly irresistible coercion in a habit of 
 reading well directed, over the whole tenour 
 of a man's character and conduct, which is not 
 the less effectual because it works insensibly, 
 and because it is really the last thing he 
 dreams of. It civilizes the conduct of men, 
 and suffers them not to remain barbarous. — 
 Sir Johji Herschel. 
 
 be the word of God is all our reason has to 
 do, for all beyond it is the work of faith, 
 which is the seal of Heaven impressed upon 
 our human understanding. — Dry dm. 
 
 REASON. 
 
 If Reason's reache transcende the skye, 
 Why shoulde it then to earthe be bounde ? 
 
 The witte is wronged and leadde awaye. 
 If minde be maried to the grounde. 
 
 Robt. Recorde. 
 
 REASON, Always at a Loss. 
 
 Reason is always striving, always at a loss ; 
 and of necessity it must so come to pass, while 
 it is exercised about that which is not its 
 proper object. Let us be content at last to 
 know God by his own methods, at least so much 
 of him as he is pleased to reveal to us in the 
 Sacred Scriptures. To apprehend them to 
 
 REASON and Listinct, the Difference o£ 
 The mind represents to itself external objects 
 in two ways ; one of which we may call simple 
 and the other distinct apprehension. By sim- 
 ple apprehension we perceive different objects 
 so as to know one from another, and are ena- 
 bled to remember any object when it comes 
 before us for the second time. Such is the ap- 
 prehension we have of colours. We perceive 
 that one colour is unlike another ; and if we 
 are told that such or such a thing is yellow or 
 green, we are able if a second similarly-coloured 
 object is presented to us, to pronoimce that it 
 likewise is yellow or green. 
 
 But we cannot point out the peculiar quali- 
 ties by which one colour differs from another, 
 or by which any colour may be known. We 
 cannot so describe a colour as to give a just 
 idea of it to a person who has never seen 
 colours. We cannot represent a colour in any 
 other way tlian by subjecting it to the eye. On 
 the contrary, we have a distinct apprehension 
 when we can not only perceive a difference 
 between objects, but are able to ascertain and 
 describe wherein the difference consists. Thus 
 we may be said to have a distinct apprehension 
 of an apple-tree when we know how to distin- 
 guish it from other trees, not only by its fruit, 
 but by its leaves and peculiar form. Thus, we 
 may be said to have a distinct apprehension of 
 wisdom when we properly understand whereby 
 it differs from folly or cunning. It is this kind 
 of apprehension which is required for the com- 
 munication of our thoughts, and the more dis- 
 tinct it is, the better are we able to describe 
 to others the things of which we ourselves have 
 an idea. In this likewise consists the supe- 
 riority of the nature of men over that of 
 beasts. 
 
 It is certain that the actions of beasts as well 
 as of men, are the result of their previous 
 ideas, or, as we shall call them in the lan- 
 guage we have used above, apprehensions. 
 But the actions of beasts may all be deduced 
 from simple apprehensions. They are trained 
 to their various services solely upon this prin- 
 ciple. The dog, for instance, to hunting. The 
 blows which he receives and the pain which he 
 feels, he remembers when he is taken out to 
 hunt ; and ii he should chance to forget them 
 
 I I 
 
482 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 he receives fresh blows. He may be often 
 beaten before he will hunt, but the discipline 
 being repeated whenever he does wrong, he 
 will in the end take the only method by which 
 he can avoid the blows. When he is thus 
 made obedient, his scent will teach him to 
 follow the game, and his sight to discover it. 
 When he has found his prey, his first impulse 
 is to spring upon it and worry or tear it ; 
 but the whip is raised, and recalls to his 
 memory the blows under which he has smarted, 
 and he stops and stands trembling. He does 
 indeed raise his foot, but he sees the huntsman 
 near, and checks his desire to spring forward. 
 As soon as he receives the accustomed word of 
 permission he leaps on, and drives the game 
 from its hiding-place. In all this, however, 
 he does but follow the impulse of his senses : 
 he sees, hears, smells, and feels. The imagi- 
 nation and remembrance of his sensations is 
 the immediate result of these sensations, which 
 is intimately connected with simple apprehen- 
 sion. The desires arise from the emotions of 
 the senses, and the understanding displayed by 
 the dog extends no farther than simple appre- 
 hension. If we should suppose that it does, 
 we must, at the same time, suppose that the 
 dog thinks, and is capable of describing his 
 actions in the way we ourselves have been 
 doing, for this is the next step his intellect 
 would take — distinct apprehension. But we 
 should undoubtedly consider this as impossible 
 as that a tree should have thoughts, and act ac- 
 cording to them, when it brings forth its leaves, 
 blossoms, and fruit. Simple apprehension, or 
 instinct, is sufficient to guide to the art or 
 means by which a thing is done ; but distinct 
 apprehension, or reason, is necessary to make 
 an intelligible description of what has been 
 effected. 
 
 The analysis we have been giving of the 
 actions of animals is the result of reason ; but 
 the actions of the animals themselves may be 
 adequately performed without reason, and are 
 therefore to be attributed to instinct alone. — 
 From the German of Reinbeck, 
 
 REASON and Revelation. 
 Happily there has been vouchsafed us, from 
 a higher source, a pure and heavenly light to 
 guide our faltering steps, and animate our 
 fainting spirits, in this dark and dreary search ; 
 revealing those truths which it imports us most 
 of all to know ; giving to mortality higher 
 
 sanctions, elevating our hopes and our affec- 
 tions to nobler objects than belong to eartli, 
 and inspiring more exalted themes of thanks- 
 giving and of praise. — Dr. Roget. 
 
 REASON, Gift of. 
 
 The Great Author of our being, who, while 
 He has been pleased to confer on us the gift of 
 reason, has prescribed certain limits to its 
 powers, permits us to acquire, by its exercise, 
 a knowledge of some of the wondrous works of 
 his creation, to interpret the characters of wis- 
 dom and goodness with which they are im- 
 pressed, and to join our voice in the general 
 chorus, which proclaims "his might, majesty, 
 and dominion." From the same gracious hand 
 we also derive that unquenchable thirst for 
 knowledge which fleeting life must ever leave 
 unsatisfied ; those endowments of the moral 
 sense, with which the present constitution of 
 the world so ill accords ; and that innate desire 
 of perfection which our present frail condition 
 is so inadequate to fulfil. But it is not given 
 to man to penetrate into the counsels or fathom 
 the designs of Omnipotence ; for in directing 
 his views into futurity the feeble light of his 
 reason is scattered and lost in the vast abyss. 
 Although we plainly discern intention in every 
 part of the creation, the grand object of the 
 whole is placed far above the scope of our 
 comprehension. It is impossible, however, 
 to conceive that this enormous expenditure of 
 power, this vast accumulation of contrivances 
 and of machinery, and this profusion of existence 
 resulting from them, can thus, from age to age, 
 be prodigally lavished without some ulterior 
 end. Is man, the favoured creature of Nature's 
 bounty, "the paragon of animals," whose 
 spirit holds communion with celestial powers, 
 formed but to perish with the wreck of his 
 bodily frame ? Are generations after genera- 
 tions of his race doomed to follow in endless 
 succession, rolling darkly down the stream of 
 time, and leaving no track in its pathless ocean? 
 Are the operations of the Almighty power to 
 end with the present scene ? May we not dis- 
 cern in the spiritual constitution of man the 
 traces of higher powers, to which those he now 
 possesses are but preparatory ; some embryo 
 faculties which raise us above this earthly 
 habitation ? Have we not in the imagination 
 a power but little in harmony with the fetters 
 of our bodily organs, and bringing within our 
 view purer conditions of being, exempt from 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 483 
 
 the illusions of our senses and the infirmities 
 of our natures, our elevation to which will 
 eventually prove that all these unsated desires 
 of knowledge, and all these ardent aspirations 
 after moral good, were not implanted in us in 
 vain ? — Alton. 
 
 REASON, Natural. 
 
 No doubt the testimony of natural reason, on 
 whatever exercised, must, of necessity, stop 
 short of those truths which it is the object of 
 Revelation to make known ; still it places the 
 existence and personal attributes of the Deity 
 on such grounds as to render doubts absurd 
 and atheism ridiculous. — Herschcl. 
 
 REASON, One of the Guides of Life. 
 
 Reason shows itself in all occurrences of life ; 
 whereas the brute makes no discovery of such 
 , a talent, but in what immediately regards his 
 own preservation, or the continuance of his 
 species. Animals in their generation are wiser 
 than the sons of men ; but their wisdom is 
 confined to a few particulars, and lies in a very 
 narrow compass. Take a brute out of his 
 instinct, and you find him wholly deprived of 
 understanding. To use an instance that comes 
 often under observation : 
 
 With what caution does the hen provide 
 herself a nest in places unfrequented, and free 
 from noise and disturbance ! When she has 
 laid her eggs in such a manner that she can 
 cover them, what care does she take in turn- 
 ing them frequently, that all parts may partake 
 of the vital warmth ! When she leaves them 
 to provide for her necessary sustenance, how 
 punctually does she return before they have 
 time to cool, and become incapable of produ- 
 cing an animal ! In the summer, you see her 
 giving herself greater freedoms, and quitting 
 her care for above two hours together ; but in 
 winter, when the rigour of the season would 
 chill the principles of life, and destroy the 
 young one, she grows more assiduous in her 
 attendance, and stays away but half the time. 
 When the birth approaches, with how much 
 nicety and attention does she help the chick to 
 break its prison ! Not to take notice of her 
 covering it from the injuries of the weather, 
 providing it proper nourishment, and teaching 
 it to help itself, nor to mention her forsaking 
 her nest, if, after the usual time of reckoning. 
 
 the young one does not make its appearance. 
 A chemical operation could not be followed 
 with greater art or diligence than is seen in the 
 hatching of a chick ; though there are many 
 other birds that show an infinitely greater 
 sagacity in all the forementioned particulars. — 
 Addison. 
 
 REASON, the Gift of Providence. 
 
 Providence has gifted man with reason ; to 
 his reason, therefore, is left the choice of his 
 food and drink, and not to instinct, as among 
 the lower animals : it thus becomes his duty 
 to apply his reason to the regulation of his 
 diet ; to shun excess in quantity, and what is 
 noxious in quality ; to adhere, in short, to the 
 simple and the natural ; among which the 
 bounty of his Maker has afforded him an 
 ample selection ; and beyond which if he 
 deviates, sooner or later, he will suffer the 
 penalty. — Front. 
 
 REASON Touches Not the Heart. 
 
 The language of reason, unaccompanied by 
 kindness, will often fail of making an impres- 
 sion ; it has no effect on the understanding, 
 because it touches not the heart. The lan- 
 guage of kindness, unassociated with reason, 
 will frequently be unable to persuade ; because, 
 though it may gain upon the affections, it wants 
 that which is necessary to convince the judg- 
 ment. But let reason and kindness be united 
 in a discourse, and seldom will even pride or 
 prejudice find it easy to resist. — GUbor.ne. 
 
 REBELS against God, How Treated. 
 
 GOD never goes about to rule any by fear but 
 those that have first trampled upon love, and 
 are no longer subjects, but professed rebels. — 
 Culver well. 
 
 REBUKE. 
 
 Reply not to me with a fool-bom jest ; 
 Presume not that I am the thing I was : 
 For heaven doth know, so shall the world 
 
 perceive, 
 That I have tum'd away my former self ; 
 So will I those that kept me company. 
 When thou dost hear I am as I have been, 
 
484 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast, 
 The tutor and the feeder of my riots : 
 Till then I banish thee, on pain of death, 
 As I have done the rest of my misleaders. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 BECOLLECTION. 
 
 Hail, gentle Echo ! Music's softer daughter. 
 
 Reclining on thy deep romantic seat ; 
 From cliff, or thick-set wood, or rocky water. 
 
 Springing to meet us on ethereal feet ! 
 Yet in the soul doth softer echo linger, 
 
 It seems the spirit of departed song ; 
 When touch'd again by Memory's airy finger, 
 
 The harp note wanders lovelily along. 
 Such is the train of holy thought returning, 
 
 When sacred seasons long have pass'd away ; 
 By memory rekindled, glowing, burning — 
 
 Indeed with fainter, but as sweet a ray. 
 So the lost sunbeam, in its soft reflection, 
 
 Beam'd from the bosom of the Queen of 
 Night, 
 Sheds over nature's face a recollection, 
 
 More fair, more tender, though, indeed, less 
 bright. 
 Thus will the touch of memory awaken, 
 
 And bid the Sabbath shine along the week. 
 And bring again sweet moments long forsaken. 
 
 And altars which the spirit fain would seek : 
 Of holy converse, and of high communion. 
 
 Of praise celestial, and of ardent prayer. 
 Of sacred mystery, and the blessed union 
 
 Of hearts which glow'd in our possession 
 there. 
 How doubly blest ! first in the full possessing. 
 
 And after in reflected life and light ! 
 The past — the present — plenitude of blessing, 
 
 Which not eternity itself will blight ! 
 
 James Edmestoti. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 But ever and anon, of griefs subdued. 
 
 There comes a token, like a scorpion's sting, — 
 Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued ; 
 
 And slight withal, may be the things which bring 
 Back on the heart the weight which it would fling 
 
 Aside for ever ; it may be a sound — 
 A tone of music ; — summer's eve — or spring ; 
 
 A flower — the wind — the ocean — which may wound. 
 
 Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly 
 
 bound. Byron. 
 
 How many dreams will fling their spells upon 
 
 the troubled mind. 
 As travellers in life's wilderness gaze wistfully 
 
 behind, 
 
 On the changeful paths which they have traced, 
 
 from young existence up 
 To the hour of darkness and of ill, when they 
 
 quaffed of sorrow's cup ; 
 How varied is that sky, liketherecordof our fate. 
 Bright with the summer-hues of love, then dim 
 
 and desolate;— 
 Like the sea with light and shadow o'er its 
 
 rolling billows given. 
 While some heave darkening, like a pall, some 
 
 glow in hues of heaven. 
 
 Come not these visions when a sound breaks 
 
 on the startled ear. 
 Such as in boyhood's morning hour it was a 
 
 joy to hear : — 
 Some voice, like song of childhood 'midst the 
 
 early buds at play. 
 While o'er its path the blue sky bent, to bless 
 
 him on his way ; 
 When the stream had emblems for his heart, 
 
 so bounding and so free — 
 So filled with heaven reflected there, and 
 
 mingling with its glee ; 
 While wooing still his truant step, young Hope 
 
 around him flung 
 The light of her beguiling wings, the music of 
 
 her tongue. 
 
 And turning with dim Memory's eye, back on 
 
 our wasted years, 
 Breaking the pale and shadowy lapse, some 
 
 spring-like hue appears. 
 Unsullied, as through Autumn cloud the sap- 
 phire sky will look, 
 When the blast is howling forth its song, and 
 
 red leaves strew the brook ; 
 Oh, that scene is buds and promise — when the 
 
 wild and careless boy 
 Is drinking of life's newness from the purple 
 
 cup of joy ; 
 When the hopes are thrilling in his heart, as in 
 
 the unfolding rose 
 The dews of morn lie nestling in their innocent 
 
 repose. 
 
 Thus brooding o'er our withered years, and 
 
 gathering in the soul 
 Those thronging recollections which the heart 
 
 may not control. 
 How doth the voiceless grave give back unto 
 
 our sight the dead — 
 Those blossoms in our pathway strown whose 
 
 light for us was shed ! 
 Were not these then, sweet blooming flowers, 
 
 whose light was for a day 
 Scarce bursting into beauty, ere they all had 
 
 passed away ! 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 485 
 
 The winds have voices for the heart !— a sad 
 
 or cheerful tone, 
 To which its lyre-like chords reply, in magic 
 
 unison ; 
 Whether 'midst leaves of June they stray, or, 
 
 when the night is near, 
 They bear the cataract's thunderings— the shout 
 
 of its career ; 
 Whether they waft the cadences v/hich rang 
 
 thro' childhood's sky, 
 Or wake, above departed hopes, a requiem wild 
 
 and high : 
 They stir the human bosom, like a fount in 
 
 summer's hour ; 
 It thrills unto their murmuring — it bends unto 
 
 their power. 
 
 Alas ! for that remorseless sea, down which 
 
 our visions glide ; 
 How, to its voiceful, swelling roar have weary 
 
 hearts replied ! 
 The pictured scenes of young delight have sunk 
 
 into its breast — 
 Death, with a sceptre none may dare, hath 
 
 calme4 them into rest. 
 Yet dwells there beauty in the shade of the 
 
 destroyer's wing — 
 The winter of that dreamless sleep yields to a 
 
 golden spring ; 
 Where all earth's buds are perfected, and, 
 
 from the shrouded tomb. 
 The slumbers of the dust arise, to live in death- 
 less bloom ! Willis Gaylord Clark. 
 
 RECOMPENCE of the Faithful. 
 
 Let us ** have respect unto the recompence of 
 the reward," as it is said of Moses ; let us "not 
 cast away our confidence, which hath great 
 recompense of reward ;" but with an eye of 
 faith frequently look upon the promise of 
 eternal life; that prize which is set before us, 
 ** an incorruptible crown," ** the cro\ATi of life" 
 and "glory," and "the inheritance that fadeth 
 not away, reserved in heaven" for all obedient 
 and resigned souls. . . . Awake, awake, O 
 thou delicate and lazy Christian ! rouse up thy- 
 self, and, as it is said in another sense, "stir 
 up the gift of God, which is in thee." "Get 
 thee up unto Mount Nebo," and take a fair 
 view of Canaan, that pleasant and glorious 
 land. See, what a goodly heritage is reserved 
 for thee ; and how great that goodness is 
 "which God hath laid up for them that fear 
 him." Eye the fulness of the reward ; keep it 
 in thy mind ; and then how cheerfully wilt thou 
 
 travel through the wilderness of this world to 
 the Land of Canaan before thee ! Yea, this will 
 make the very wilderness a little Canaan, or 
 land of "rest" and delight to thee; it will 
 make it a little Eden, "the Garden of God." 
 — Worthington. 
 
 There is but one possible way for man to 
 attain unto salvation, or the life of God in the 
 soul. There is not one for the Jew, another 
 for the Christian, and a third for the Heathen. 
 No ; God is one, human nature is one, salvation 
 is one, and the way to it is one ; and that is 
 the desire of the soul turned to God. . . . This 
 desire doth all ; it brings the soul to God, and 
 God into the soul ; it unites with God, it co- 
 operates with God, and is one life with God. 
 This desire awakened and fixed upon God, 
 though in souls that never heard either of the 
 law or gospel, the divine life, or operation of 
 God, enters into them, and the new birth in 
 Christ is formed in those that never heard His 
 name. And these are they "that shall come 
 from the east, and from the west, and sit down 
 with Abraham and Isaac in the kingdom of 
 God."— «^ Laxv. 
 
 RECONCILIATION. 
 
 As thro' the land at eve we went. 
 And pluck'd the ripen'd ears, 
 
 We fell out, my wife and I, 
 
 W^e fell out I know not why. 
 And kiss'd again with tears. 
 
 And blessings on the falling out 
 
 That all the more endears, 
 When we fall out with those we love 
 
 And kiss again with tears ! 
 
 For when we came where lies the child 
 
 We lost in other years, 
 There above the little grave, 
 Oh, there above the little grave. 
 
 We kiss'd again with tears. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 RECREATION, Necessity of. 
 
 There is in human nature, and never to be 
 rooted out of it, a want of excitement and ex- 
 hilaration. The cares and labours of life often 
 leave the mind dull, and when it is relieved 
 from them — and it must be relieved ; there 
 must be seasons of relief— the question is. How 
 are these seasons to be filled up ? The man 
 cannot sit down dull and stupid, and he ought 
 
486 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 not. Now suppose that society provides him 
 with no cheerful or attractive recreations ; that 
 all cheap and free enjoyments, the hale, hearty, 
 holiday recreations, are out of use, and out of 
 reach ; what now will the man set free from 
 business or labour be likely to do ? He asks 
 for relief and exhilaration ; he asks for escape 
 from his cares and his anxieties ; society in its 
 arrangements offers him none ; the tavern and 
 the ale-house propose to supply the want ; what 
 so likely as that he will resort to the tavern and 
 the ale-house ? Men cannot labour on always. 
 They must have intervals of relaxation. They 
 cannot sleep through these intervals. What 
 are they to do ? Why, if they do not work or 
 sleep, they must have recreation. And if they 
 have not recreation from healthful sources, they 
 will be very likely to take it from the poisoned 
 fountains of intemperance. Or, if they have 
 pleasures, which, though innocent, are forbid- 
 den by the maxims of public morality, their 
 very pleasures are liable to become poisoned 
 fountains. — Rev. 0. Dewey. 
 
 EECTITUDE. 
 
 Character is always known. Thefts never 
 enrich ; alms never impoverish ; murder will 
 speak out of stone walls. The least admixture 
 of a lie, for example, the smallest mixture 
 of vanity, the least aittempt to make a good 
 impression, a favourable appearance — will in- 
 stantly vitiate the effect ; but speak the truth, 
 and all nature and all spirit helps you with 
 unexpected furtherance. Speak the truth, and 
 all things alive or brute are vouchers ; and the 
 very roots of the grass underground there do 
 seem to stir and move to bear you witness. 
 See again the perfection of the law as it 
 applies itself to the affections and becomes the 
 law of society. As we are, so we associate. 
 The good, by affinity, seek the good ; the vile, 
 by affinity the vile. Thus, of their volition, 
 souls proceed into heaven — into hell. These 
 facts have always suggested to man the sublime 
 creed that the world is not the product of 
 manifold power, but of one will, of one mind ; 
 and that one mind is everywhere, in each ray 
 of the star, in each wavelet of the pool, active ; 
 and whatever opposes that will is everywhere 
 balked and baffled, because things are made 
 so, and not otherwise. Good is positive. 
 Evil is merely primitive, not absolute. It is 
 like cold, which is the privation of heat All 
 evil is so much death or nonentity. Benevo- 
 
 lence is absolute and real. So much benevo- 
 lence as a man hath, so much life hath he ; for 
 all things proceed out of this same spirit, which 
 is differently named love, justice, temperance, 
 in its different applications, just as the ocean 
 receives different names on the several shores 
 which it washes. All things proceed out of 
 the same spirit, and all things conspire with 
 it. Whilst a man seeks good ends, he is 
 strong by the whole strength of nature. In so 
 far as he roves from these ends, he bereaves 
 himself of power, of auxiliaries ; his being 
 shrinks out of all remote channels ; he becomes 
 less and less, — a mote, a point, until absolute 
 badness is absolute death. The perception of 
 this law of laws always awakens in the mind 
 a sentiment which we call the religious sen- 
 timent, and which makes our highest happi- 
 ness. Wonderful is its power to charm and 
 to command. It is a mountain air. It is 
 the embalmer of the world. It makes the 
 sky and the hills sublime, and the silent song 
 of the stars is it. By it is the universe made 
 safe and habitable, not by science or power. 
 Thought may work cold and intransitive in 
 things, and find no end or unity ; but the 
 dawn of the sentiment of virtue on the heart 
 gives, and is, the assurance that law is sovereign 
 over all natures ; and the worlds, time, space, 
 eternity, do seem to break out into joy. This 
 sentiment is divine and deifying. It is the 
 beatitude of man. It makes him illimitable. 
 Through it the soul first knows itself. 
 
 It corrects the capital mistake of the infant 
 man, who seeks to be great by following the 
 great, and hopes to derive advantages from 
 another, — by showing the fountain of all good 
 to be in himself, and that he, equally with 
 every man, is a door into the deeps of Reason. 
 When he says ** I ought," — when love warms 
 him — when he chooses, warned from on high, 
 the good and great deed, — then deep melodies 
 wander through his soul from Supreme Wis- 
 dom ; then he can worship, and be enlarged 
 by his worship, for he can never go behind 
 this sentiment. In the sublimest flights of the 
 soul, rectitude is never surmounted, love is 
 never outgrown. Let us study the grand 
 strokes of rectitude ; a bold benevolence, an 
 independence of friends, so that not the un- 
 just wishes of those who love us shall impair 
 our freedom ; but we shall resist, for truth's 
 sake, the freest flow of kindness, and appeal 
 to sympathies far in advance ; and — what is 
 the highest form in which we know this beau- 
 tiful element, a certain solidity of merit that 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 487 
 
 has nothing to do with opinion, and which is 
 so essentially and manifestly virtue, that it is 
 taken for granted that the right, the brave, 
 die generous step will be taken. One needs 
 not praise their courage— they are the heart 
 and soul of nature. Oh ! my friends, there are 
 resources in us on which we have not drawn ! 
 —R. W. Emerson. 
 
 RECTORY, The. 
 
 One of those spots the eye delights to look on 
 For its own loveliness, and which the heart 
 Loves for the sake of one far lovelier. 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL and pastoral scene, 
 
 A painter's study meet to be ; 
 Or such as bard, in mood serene, 
 
 Might wish to roam in, fancy free. 
 INI ark ! how that river to the sea 
 
 Wafts the fair vessel on its tide. 
 Breasting the rippling waves with glee, 
 
 Herself their ornament and pride. 
 
 How gracefully, in towering height, 
 
 Those venerable cedars rise ! 
 How beautiful, with foliage bright, 
 
 That laurel of gigantic size ! 
 Here the tall cypress proudly vies 
 
 With ilex, chestnut, fir, and pine ; 
 And there, with bloom of richer dyes. 
 
 Those tulip trees in glory shine. 
 
 Nor lacks the spot that softer grace 
 
 Which Flora's sweetest charms bestow ; 
 Her votaiy's eye may quickly trace 
 
 In many a flowret's gorgeous glow 
 And simpler beauties, traits that show 
 
 Throughout the changeful, circling year, 
 As varying seasons come and go, 
 
 A gentler taste has lingered here. 
 
 But where is she, once wont to tend 
 
 In this loved spot each favourite flower. 
 Delighted through those walks to wend. 
 
 Or loiter in her simimer bower ? 
 Where is she fled, who, hour by hour. 
 
 Enjoyed their fragrance, prais. d their hue ; 
 Whose modest pencil's graceful power 
 
 This sweet memorial of them drew? 
 
 Seek not to know ! The tale is old. 
 
 That loveliest blossoms soonest fade ; 
 That hearts of purest, gentlest mould, 
 
 In the cold earth are early laid: 
 The ivy-wreath and cypress-braid 
 
 Wait not for age to share their gloom ; 
 Who hath not marked their chilling shade 
 
 Round beauty's, youth's, and virtue's tomb? 
 
 Yet, mourned and gentle one ! shall we 
 
 So lightly estimate thy worth, 
 As hopelessly to mourn for thee 
 
 In any Eden found on earth ? 
 Though fairest flowers of mortal birth, 
 
 Frail in their nature, briefly shine ; 
 Though sorrow mar our hours of mirth, 
 
 A more enduring bliss is thine. 
 
 Much as we miss and mourn thee here. 
 
 Yet faith forbids all thankless gloom ; 
 Hope whispers of a heavenly sphere. 
 
 Where love and joy immortal bloom. 
 Oh ! who can sorrow for thy doom. 
 
 Viewing the path which thou hast trod, 
 And knowing that beyond the tomb 
 
 *• The pure in heart behold their God? " 
 B. Barton, 
 
 REDBREAST, his Contentment. 
 
 Ajiong the living creatures with which man 
 is conversant, we know of none that presents 
 so fit an example of contentment as the Red- 
 breast. It matters not whether the day be 
 gilded with sunshine or overcast with clouds, 
 the notes of the robin salute you at every turn. 
 If the weather be bright, you see him perched 
 upon the topmost brancli of a tree or shrub ; if 
 the rain be descending, he takes shelter under 
 the awning provided for him by a leaf, but no 
 change puts a period to his song. As if in the 
 little head of a robin there was a perpetual 
 spring of joy, which outward circumstances 
 could not influence. When we are uneasy, 
 dull, or melancholy, we ascribe all the blame 
 to outward circumstances, and our imagination 
 sketches many things that would make us 
 happy, not remembering that it is the vessel, 
 as Lucretius says of the heart, that is tainted. 
 This is what spoils the relish of all enjoyments 
 here ; it is this tainted vessel that corrupts the 
 wine of our choicest of earthly comforts ; it is 
 the mortal poison that lurks in the heart which 
 speedily kills by contact every flower of enjoy- 
 ment. All the sweets of a terrestrial paradise 
 or all the glories of heaven could not make us 
 happy, unless this heart was cleansed from its 
 pollutions in the fountain which was opened 
 for sin and uncleanness. — Visitor. 
 
 REDBREAST, his Timorousness. 
 Half afraid, he first 
 Against the window beats ; then, brisk, alights 
 On the warm hearth ; then, hopping o'er the 
 floor. 
 
488 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Eyes all the smiling family askance, 
 And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is ; 
 Till more familiar grown, the table-crumbs 
 Attract his slender feet. Thomson. 
 
 EEDBREAST, The. 
 
 Sweet bird ! whom the winter constrains — 
 
 And seldom another it can — 
 To seek a retreat, while he reigns, 
 
 In the well-sheltered dwellings of man. 
 Who never can seem to intrude, 
 
 Tho' in all places equally free. 
 Come oft as the season is rude ! 
 
 Thou art sure to be welcome to me. 
 
 Then, soon as the swell of the buds 
 
 Bespeaks the renewal of spring, 
 Fly hence, if thou wilt, to the woods. 
 
 Or where it shall please thee, to sing : 
 And shouldst thou, compelled by a frost, 
 
 Come again to my window or door, 
 Doubt not an affectionate host ; 
 
 Only pay as thou pay'dst me before. 
 
 Vincent Bottrne. 
 
 Fearlessly lights down 
 Upon the basking sheep-dog's glossy fur ; 
 Till chance the herd-boy, at his supper mess. 
 Attract his eye ; then on the milky rim 
 Brisk he alights, and picks his little share. 
 
 Graham. 
 
 EEDBREAST, To a. 
 
 Yes, 'mid the dark-green ivy-twine, 
 Couch'd in the trellis'd eglantine. 
 We mark'd that tiny form of thine. 
 
 The Spring's sweet tide ; 
 We mark'd thee weave thy mossy nest. 
 And in its hair-lined covert rest 
 Thy russet wings and ruddy breast, 
 ^Our home beside. 
 
 Close didst thou sit ; but we might spy 
 The sparkle of thy quick dark eye, 
 As if some reckless foe were by, 
 
 That mischief stirr'd : — 
 Sit on ! away we would not bear 
 Those freckled balls, thy anxious care ; 
 Nor of thy plumes a feather mar. 
 
 Thou social bird ! 
 
 Sit on, and keep thy leafy bed. 
 Secure in thy secluded shed, 
 Till forth thy spotted brood be led 
 Yon shrubs amone: : 
 
 When Autumn chills the silent day, 
 Perch'd on the hawthorn's leafless spray^ 
 They shall their guardian's care repay 
 With a sweet song. 
 
 Sweet is thy song from vernal tree, 
 Tho' notic'd less amid the glee. 
 Which swells in general harmony 
 
 Each tuneful throat : 
 More valued, when its warbles cheer 
 The gloom of the departing year. 
 And pour into the pensive ear 
 
 Their lonely note. 
 
 That lonely note may wisdom preach ! — 
 To the lorn mourner it may teach, 
 'Mid saddest scenes within our reach, 
 
 Some joys remain ; 
 A pledge no less, though Winter's wing 
 Obscure our path, another Spring 
 Shall come, and all things laugh and sing^ 
 
 With mirth again. 
 
 Then welcome to my window-sill. 
 Garden, or root-house, as thy will 
 May lead thee, social warbler, still 
 
 By man belov'd ! 
 Home in my homestead mayst thou find f 
 And give in turn thy greeting kind. 
 Sweet to the ear, and by the mind 
 
 Not unimprov'd ! Rni'icola. 
 
 REDEEMER, His Kind Work. 
 How good, how merciful, how condescending,, 
 is the God whom we serve ! In His gracious- 
 dealings towards us helpless sinners, His own 
 words compare Him to a shepherd full of care 
 for His flock. So anxious for our salvation is 
 He, that he would go in search of one poor 
 wanderer who had left the fold, and was left 
 in the wilderness of this wicked world. When- 
 one soul is found and restored, there is "joy 
 in heaven ! " Though in the estimate of men 
 its value be no more highly prized than a lost 
 sheep in a desert, or a paltry coin on the floor 
 of a widow's cottage, — to its real owner, to the 
 Father who created it, to the Son who re- 
 deemed it by His blood, to the Spirit of holi- 
 ness who sanctifieth it, the soul of every one of 
 us is of great price. Its salvation adds to the 
 perfect happiness of the blessed. — J. E. lylcr. 
 
 REDEMPTION, an Early Lesson. 
 The earliest Christian lesson which our 
 Church bids us teach onr children is, that Godl 
 the Son hath redeemed us. — Bishop Sumner.. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 489 
 
 REDEMPTION from Sin. 
 This will I muse on and weigh with myself, 
 that I may duly know, both in me and in all 
 other things, the atrocity and bitterness of sin 
 which dwelleth in me, and so may the more 
 heartily give over myself wholly to the Lord 
 Christ my Saviour, that he may, with what cross 
 soever shall please him, slay sin in me, and 
 bring me after his own will and way to new- 
 ness of life. Wherefore, that I for my part 
 may faithfully, and with all my whole heart, 
 do my diligence in mortifying the desires of my 
 flesh, and in labouring to obey the desires of 
 the Spirit to live a life acceptable to him, I 
 beseech him of his grace. — y. Bradford. 
 
 REDEMPTION, Fruits of. 
 As the dry tree, when it partakes of water, 
 puts forth shoots, so also the soul in sin, when 
 it has, through repentance, been made worthy 
 of the Holy Ghost, brings forth clusters of 
 righteousness. — Si. Cyril. 
 
 REDEMPTION of Omnipotency. 
 
 Omnipotency, though it were but to destroy 
 us, were justly the object of our dread and re- 
 verence ; but omnipotency to save deserves 
 our most affectionate esteem. It should raise 
 wonder in us when we consider God's power 
 and goodness in the work of creation ; but 
 when we consider the work of redemption, it 
 should raise our wonder to an ecstacy. — Bishop 
 Hopkins. 
 
 REDEMPTION, 
 
 Reconciliation with God. 
 
 Wherein is it possible for us, wicked and 
 impious creatures, to be justified, except in the 
 only Son of God? O sweet reconciliation ! O 
 untraceable ministry ! O unlooked-for bless- 
 ing ! that the wickedness of many should be 
 hidden in one godly and righteous man, and 
 the righteousness of one justify a host of 
 sinners ! — Justin Martyr. 
 
 REFORMATION. 
 
 Time yet serves, wherein you may redeem 
 Your tarnished honours, and restore yourselves 
 Into the good thoughts of the world again. 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 REFORMATION Apparent. 
 
 Like bright metal on a sullen ground, 
 My reformation, glittering o'er my fault. 
 Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes 
 Than that which hath no foil to set it off. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 REFORMATION, 
 
 Effect of the, upon Learning. 
 
 If, after the middle age, philosophy was much 
 indebted to the revival of letters, it was not 
 less benefited by the reformation of religion. 
 For no sooner did the friends of truth and 
 virtue apply themselves to the correction of 
 religious errors, and endeavour to free mankind 
 from the yoke of ecclesiastical domination, to 
 which the whole Western world had for many 
 ages tamely submitted, than philosophy, which 
 had been loaded with the same chains as reli- 
 gion, began to lift up her head and to breathe 
 a free air. Determined no longer to yield 
 implicit obedience to human authority, but to 
 exercise their own understandings, and follow 
 their own judgments, these bold reformers 
 prosecuted religious and philosophical inquiries 
 with an independent spirit which soon led 
 them to discover the futility and absurdity of 
 the scholastic method of philosophising, and 
 enabled them at the same time, in a great 
 measure, to correct the errors of philosophy, 
 and to reform the corruption of religion. 
 
 The study of ancient languages being now- 
 revived, and the arts of eloquence and criticism 
 having now resumed their ancient station, the 
 reformers were soon convinced that ignorance 
 and barbarism had been among the principal 
 causes of the corruption of doctrine and disci- 
 pline in the Church. Hence, whilst these 
 honest and zealous friends of truth ardently 
 longed for the reformation of religion, they 
 were earnestly desirous to see philosophy res- 
 tored to its former purity; and their bold 
 attempts to subdue religious error and preju- 
 dice indirectly contributed to the correction 
 of philosophy and the advancement of learn- 
 ing. — Enjidd. 
 
 REFORMATION, The. 
 
 Long of yore, on the mountain the voice 
 Of the merciful Master was heard 
 
 To the mourners proclaiming " Rejoice :" 
 And, rejoicing, they welcomed his word 
 
490 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 To the hand of the rich man ** Restore," 
 
 To the heart of the poor man ** Be fed," 
 And "Be heal'd," to the souls that were sore. 
 
 And to all men " Be brothers," it said. 
 But, since Christ hath been nail'd to the tree, 
 
 Fruits unripe have our hands gather'd of 
 it: 
 Noisy worship of lip and of knee, 
 
 Niggard love, not of love, but of profit. 
 For the poor is opprest as of old : 
 
 And of all men is no man the brother : 
 And the Churches but gather their gold. 
 
 While the nations destroy one another : 
 Only, all of these things are now done 
 
 In another than Coesar's name : 
 And all wrongs that are Christless go on 
 
 Unashamed of all Christian shame : 
 By the white man despised is the black : 
 
 And the strong hath his heel on the weak : 
 By the burthen still gall'd is the back : 
 
 And the goal is yet distant to seek : 
 Tho', to guide us, its shining is oft. 
 
 Like a fire on the midnight, discern'd : 
 When the hope of man's heart leaps aloft 
 
 From the chain that his anguish hath 
 spum'd : 
 As in Germany once : when a priest 
 
 Was changed into a man, for man's sake ; 
 And his word, as the dawn fills the East, 
 
 Fill'd the West, till a world was awake ; 
 In the letter a soul was created 
 
 By the breaking the seals of a book ; 
 And man's conscience in man reinstated. 
 
 All conscienceless sovereignties shook. 
 Shook indeed, but not shatter'd ! For straight- 
 way 
 
 When indignant and bold in the breach 
 Thought arose, and sped on thro' the gateway. 
 
 Whence she beckon'd to all and to each, 
 They that loosed her lost heart : and, as 
 onward 
 
 She explored her companionless track 
 To the goal of her destiny — sunward. 
 
 They wrung hands, and shriek'd to her, 
 *' Come back !" 
 So she pass'd from among them for ever. 
 
 And hath left them where, still in the dark, 
 Blowing watchfires spent, they shall never 
 
 Blow the ashes thereof to a spark : 
 Once in England : when Hampden's high will, 
 
 Eliot's truth that was true to the death, 
 Pym's large speech, and the sword that hath 
 still 
 
 ** Freedom," graven by Law, on its sheath, 
 Won for England what woe to the day 
 
 When England forgets to revere, 
 
 Or unheedfully casts it away, 
 
 Thro' Futurity helmless to steer ! 
 Once in France : when the storm of the sound 
 
 Of the spirits of men rushing free 
 Shook the shores of the nations around, 
 
 As the roar of a jubilant sea ; 
 And the hearts of the feeble wax'd strong. 
 
 For his friends were as one flesh and blood 
 In the casting away of time's wrong 
 
 And the gathering up of earth's good ; 
 But dull time goeth deafly since when 
 
 Thttse rejoicings were mingled by time 
 With the moans of the murders of men, 
 
 And the cursings of carnage and crime ; 
 All is silent and sullen again : 
 
 And again the old cankering forms 
 Reappear, as when after the rain 
 
 From the earth reappear the earth-worms. 
 O the infinite effort that seems 
 
 But in infinite failure to finish ! 
 Man's belief in the good that he dreams 
 
 Must each fact, he awakes to, diminish ? 
 God forbid ! Whom thank thou for whatever 
 
 Of evil remains — understood 
 As good cause for continued endeavour 
 
 In the battle 'twixt Evil and Good. 
 Heed not what may be gain'd or be lost 
 
 In that battle. Whatever the odds. 
 Fight it out, never counting the cost ; 
 
 Man's the deed is, the consequence God's. 
 Robert Lytton. 
 
 REFUGE, The. 
 
 On ! for the Sabbath-days I knew ! 
 
 Where God in temples deigns to dwell : 
 When streams of grace, like freshening dew, 
 
 Upon my thirsty spirits fell : 
 When hearts of Christian love would share 
 
 The Gospel sound, divinely free ; 
 And breathe in every pause a prayer. 
 
 That oft a blessing sought for me ! 
 
 Ah ! here in Baca's thirsty vale. 
 
 No life-imparting streams abound ; 
 No prayerful incense loads the gale. 
 
 Where Kedar's dwellings darken round : 
 No sweet communion cheers my soul ; 
 
 With mine no kindred feeling glows ; 
 For anthems of devotion, roll 
 
 The blasphemies of taunting foes. 
 
 My God, the living God, how long 
 Must thy poor exile linger here ? 
 
 Oh when, amid that happy throng. 
 When shall my joyous step appear ? 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 491 
 
 Oppressed and faint, my spirit mourns, 
 
 Her Zion's absent mount to see ; 
 Then, sad in lone desertion, turns, 
 
 God of my life ! to rest in thee. 
 To thee, my rock, my hiding-place. 
 
 Thou bidst the weary trembler fly ; 
 Far from inferior streams of grace 
 
 To find the fountain ever nigh. 
 Can solitude be lone to me. 
 
 Or midnight scant of golden rays, 
 While every murmur breathes of Thee, 
 
 And every pulse records thy praise ! 
 
 Charlotte Elizabeth. 
 
 REGENERATION, a New Birth. 
 
 See here the deep ground and absolute neces- 
 sity of that new birth of the Word, Son, and 
 Spirit of God, which the Scripture speaks so 
 much of. It is because our soul, as fallen, is 
 dead to, and separate from, the kingdom of 
 heaven, by having lost the light and spirit of 
 God in itself ; and therefore is and must be 
 incapable of entering into heaven till, by this 
 new birth, the soul gets again its first heavenly 
 nature. If thou hast nothing of this birth 
 when the body dies, then thou hast only that 
 root of life in thee which the devils have ; thou 
 art as far from heaven and as incapable of it 
 as they are ; thy nature is their nature ; and 
 therefore their habitation must be thine. For 
 nothing can possibly hinder thy union with 
 fallen angels, when thou diest, but a birth of 
 that in thy soul which the fallen angels have 
 lost — the new birth in Christ Jesus. For this 
 new birth is not a part, but the whole of our 
 salvation. Everything in religion, from the 
 beginning to the end of time, is only for the 
 sake of it. Nothing does us any good, but 
 either as it helps forward our regeneration, or 
 as it is a true fruit or effect of it. — William 
 Lazu. 
 
 REGENERATION from God. 
 
 Renewing grace springeth from the special 
 love of God towards those that are His in 
 Christ. . . . The renewing and sanctifying 
 grace of God, by a real change, of a lion maketh 
 a lamb, altereth the natural disposition of the 
 soul, by draining out some of the corruption, 
 begetteth a new heart, a new spirit, new 
 habits, new qualities, new dispositions, new 
 thoughts, new desires, maketh a new man, — 
 in every part and faculty completely new. 
 
 Content not thy thyself with a bare forbearance 
 of sin, so long as thy heart is not changed, nor 
 thy will changed, nor thy affections changed ; 
 but strive to become a new man, to be trans- 
 formed by the renewing of thy mind, to hate 
 sin, to love God, to wrestle against thy secret 
 corruptions, to take delight in holy duties, to 
 subdue thine understaiuling, and will, and 
 affections, to the obedience of faith and godli- 
 ness. — Bp. Sanderson. 
 
 REGENERATION is to be Prepared. 
 
 Time only bears thee to Eternity. 
 
 Tread then the path thy bright Exemplar 
 
 trod ;— 
 Think on the day when this vast earth shall be 
 In bursting flames dissolved, — yon skies so 
 
 broad 
 Shrink like a shrivelled scroll : " Prepare to 
 
 meet thy God." T.Dale. 
 
 REGENERATION Shinetli Forth. 
 
 God cannot draw a curtain betwixt himself 
 and holiness, which is nothing but the splen- 
 dour and shining of Himself ; he cannot hide 
 his face from it ; he cannot desert it in the 
 world. He that is once "born of God shall 
 overcome the world," and the prince of this 
 world too, by the power of God in him. 
 Holiness is no solitary, neglected thing ; it 
 hath stronger confederacies, greater alliances, 
 than sin and wickedness. It is in league with 
 God and the universe ; the whole creation 
 smiles upon it ; there is something of God in 
 it, and therefore it must needs be a victorious 
 and triumphant thing. — Cudworth. 
 
 REGENERATION, 
 The Ransacking of the Soul. 
 Regeneration is the ransacking of the soul, 
 the turning of a man out of himself, the crum- 
 bling to pieces of the old man, and the new 
 moulding of it into another shape ; it is the 
 turning of stones into children, and a drawing 
 of the lively portraiture of Jesus Christ upon 
 that very table that before represented only 
 the very image of the devil. . . . Art thou 
 thus changed ? Are all old things done away, 
 and all things in thee become new? Hast 
 thou a new heart and renewed affections? And 
 dost thou serve God in newness of life and con- 
 
492 
 
 AOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 versation ? If not,— what hast thou to do with 
 hopes of Heaven? Thou art yet without 
 Christ, and so consequently, without hope !— 
 Bp. Hopkins. 
 
 REGISTRATION, Importance of. 
 
 A FAITHFUL register of births, marriages, 
 and deaths, is wished for by enlightened 
 philanthropists of all advanced countries, far 
 more as a test of national morals and the 
 national welfare than as a matter of the 
 highest social convenience. For this the 
 physiologist waits as the means of determining 
 the physical condition of the nation ; as a 
 guide to him in suggesting and prescribing the 
 methods by which the national health may be 
 improved and the average of life prolonged. 
 For this the legislator waits as the means of 
 determining the comparative proneness of the 
 people to certain kinds of social offences, and 
 the causes of that proneness ; that the law may 
 be framed so as to include (as all wise laws 
 .^hould include) the largest preventive influence 
 with the greatest certainty of retribution. For 
 this the philanthropist waits as a guide to him 
 in forming his scheme of universal education ; 
 and without this — without knowing how many 
 need education altogether — how many under 
 one set of circumstances, and how many under 
 another — he can proceed only in darkness or 
 amidst the delusions of false lights. He is 
 only perplexed by the partial knowledge, 
 which is all that his utmost efforts enable him 
 to obtain. If he goes into every house of 
 every town and village in his district, he is no 
 nearer to an understanding of the intellectual 
 and moral condition of the nation than he was 
 before : for other districts have a different 
 soil and different occupations ; the employ- 
 ments of the people, their diseases, and their 
 resources, are unlike ; and under these diverse 
 influences, their physical, and therefore moral 
 and intellectual condition must vary. The 
 reports of philanthropic societies do little more 
 for him, drawn up as they are with partial 
 objects and under exclusive influences : par- 
 liamentary disclosures are of little more use. 
 Vague statements about the increase of 
 drunkenness, resistance to one kind of law or 
 another, alarm and distress him ; but such 
 statements again are partial, and so often 
 brought forward for a particular object that 
 they afford no safe guide to him who would 
 form a general preventive or remedy. Thus 
 it is under all partial methods of observation ; 
 
 but when the philanthropist shall gain access 
 to a register of the national births, marriages, 
 and deaths, he will have under his hand all the 
 materials he requires, as completely as if he 
 were hovering over the kingdom, compre- 
 hending all its districts in one view, and 
 glancing at will into all its habitations. The 
 comparative ages of the dead will indicate to 
 him not only the amount of health, but the 
 comparative force of various species of disease; 
 and from the character of its diseases and the 
 amount of its health much of the moral state 
 of a people may be safely pronounced upon. 
 The proportion of marriages to births and 
 deaths is always an indication of the degree of 
 comfort enjoyed, and of the consequent purity 
 of morals ; and therefore of the degree in 
 which education is present or needed. A large 
 number of children and a large proportion 
 of marriages indicate physical and moral wel- 
 fare, and therefore a comparative prevalence 
 of education. A large number of births and 
 a small proportion of marriages indicate the 
 reverse. When these circumstances are taken 
 in connection with the prevailing occupations 
 of the district to which they relate, the philan- 
 thropist has arrived at a sufficient certainty as 
 to the means of education required, and the 
 method in which they are to be applied. — 
 Harriet Martineaii. 
 
 REGRET. 
 
 On a morning of spring, where yon cherry- 
 tree blooms, 
 A bird from his roosting-place flew ; 
 The dark hand of night had o'ershadowed his 
 plumes, 
 And had spangled them over with dew. 
 
 A picture, I thought, of the tear of regret, 
 As it sparkles as bright in the eye, 
 
 When the cheek with the devvdrop of sorrow 
 is wet, 
 When the moment of parting is nigh. 
 
 But he shook the bright spangles of dew from 
 his wings. 
 And he mounted a neighbouring tree, 
 And, the gayest of all the gay concert, he 
 sings. 
 And he fills the deep grove with his glee. 
 
 Just so, when a few fleeting moments have fled» 
 And the syren of pleasure is heard. 
 
 We think of our loss and the tears we have shed> 
 With as little concern as the bird. 
 
 James Edmeston. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 493 
 
 REGRETS. 
 
 'TWAS mixed with memories 
 Of how they might in old times have been 
 
 wise, 
 Not casting by for very wilfulness 
 What wealth might come their changing life 
 
 to bless ; 
 Lulling their hearts to sleep, amid the cold 
 Of bitter times, that so they might behold 
 Some joy at last, e'en if it lingered Jong. 
 That wearing not their souls with grief and 
 
 wrong. 
 They still might watch the changing world 
 
 go by. 
 Content to live, content at last to die. 
 Alas ! if they had reached content at last, 
 It was perforce when all their strength was 
 
 past ; 
 And after loss of many days once bright 
 With foolish hopes of unattained delight. 
 
 Wm. Morris, 
 
 REIN to Licentious Wickedness. 
 
 What rein can hold licentious wickedness. 
 When down the hill he holds his fierce career ? 
 We may as bootless spend our vain command 
 Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil, 
 As send precepts to the Leviathan 
 To come ashore. Shakespeare. 
 
 REJECTION of God's Word. 
 
 Had Eve believed the word of God, she would 
 have resisted Satan at the outset. We must not 
 reason, when God calls us to " believe j " we 
 must not parley, when God summons us to 
 obey. The word of God is the sword of the 
 Spirit. Let the word of Christ, **It is written 
 — it is written again — it is written again," — 
 dwell in us richly. We can substitute none 
 other for this "sword."— 7'. Jacob. 
 
 REJECTION of the Incorrigible. 
 
 Those whom the Scriptures and written word 
 cannot reform, the word spoken shall condemn 
 and destroy. S o saith the Judge himself, * ' The 
 word which I have spoken unto you, it shall 
 judge you in the last day." Then will all 
 obstinate and incorrigible sinners, by a woeful 
 and too late experience, find the oracles of God 
 to be true ; that His word is neither to be 
 suppressed in this world nor evaded in the 
 next. — Wogan, 
 
 REJECTION, Unworthy. 
 
 Whatever God himself has pleased to think 
 worthy of his making, its fellow-creature man 
 should not think unworthy of his knowing. . . . 
 The revelation of His truth, vouchsafed us by 
 God (in the Scriptures), is like a river, wherein 
 a lamb may quench his thirst, and which an 
 elephant cannot exhaust. — R. Boyle. 
 
 RELATION of the Soul to God. 
 
 The relations that exist between the human 
 soul and its Divine Creator are of measureless 
 importance. If the magnificent spectacle of 
 the starry sky, the broad earth, and all the 
 wonders displayed around us, is calculated to 
 raise hosts of ideas respecting each class of 
 phenomena, how vast is the inference which 
 we are thereby entitled to draw with regard to 
 the wisdom and power of the great Framer of 
 all ! Can it be supposed that He intended us 
 to have a knowledge of them alone, or that 
 His productions should be more worthy of 
 consideration than Himself? Great and valu- 
 able as is the immediate knowledge which we 
 derive from the works of God, it is vastly in- 
 ferior to that which we also gain from them, 
 as to His existence and sublime providence. 
 The phenomena of creation could have no 
 value without a Creator. Were it possible to 
 arrive at the conclusion that this fair and won- 
 drous world had no Head, I could only wish 
 to die. Existence would be priceless without 
 a belief in God ; and in the continuance of our 
 being in a better world. I could sooner suppose 
 a corpse never to have been fraught with life, 
 a statue to have been hewn without hands, or 
 a work of genius or intellect to have originated 
 without a soul, than arrive at the conclusion 
 that the universe had no God. As for those 
 who can believe that an overruling wisdom 
 and an untiring benevolence do not preside 
 wherever there is light, and life, and being, we 
 must grieve for their delusion, but rejoice 
 that they are mistaken. It is exalting to 
 acquire knowledge, and to imbue our hearts 
 with the dictates of virtue, but it is elevating 
 to the utmost, to know that there is One, who 
 is goodness and truth unalloyed. The pheno- 
 mena of creation are valuable in themselves, 
 but they are infinitely so when viewed in 
 relation to their Author. How cold and dry 
 are the pursuits of science when enlivened by 
 no reference to Him, to whom science and 
 truth alike owe their origin ! — M^Cormac. 
 
494 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 EELIGION, a Defective One. 
 
 A RELIGION that never suffices to govern a 
 man will never suffice to save him ; that which 
 does not sufficiently distinguish one from a 
 wicked world will never distinguish him from 
 a perishing world. — Howe. 
 
 EELIGION, Advantages of a Pure. 
 
 I HAVE, indeed, witnessed much to interest 
 me, both in the works of God and man ; but 
 I have also found something to grieve and dis- 
 quiet me, and nothing that has tended, in the 
 least, to weaken my attachment to my native 
 land. I trust that I am not so censurably ab- 
 sorbed in the love of my own country that I 
 can allow no excellence to any other. But 
 certainly, I have seen no people more happy, 
 no towns and cities more prosperous, than 
 those of England. And if I have passed, in 
 some places, edifices more magnificent, and 
 bolder scenery than any she can boast ; yet 
 nowhei-e have I beheld such neatness and com- 
 fort, as, in many of her districts, distinguish 
 the dwellings of the peasantry, nor such noble 
 institutions for the instruction of the ignorant, 
 and the relief of the distressed. But it is in 
 her religious advantages chiefly, that Britain 
 surpasses every other land. It is by her sub- 
 lime and hallowed associations for the diffusion 
 of knowledge, and the promulgation of the 
 Gospel through a benighted world, that she is 
 most of all dignified and adorned. This it is 
 that has made her the wonder and admiration 
 of the globe. Long may she continue to ad- 
 vance in this glorious cause, nnappalled by the 
 gigantic forms of misery and vice that meet her 
 in her benevolent career, and heedless of the 
 scoffs of infidelity that pursue her as she 
 passes on. . . , Let her pour the balm of 
 the Gospel into the wounds of bleeding nations. 
 Let her plant the tree of life in every soil, that 
 suffering kingdoms may repose beneath its 
 shade and feel the virtue of its healing leaves, 
 till all the kindred of the human family shall 
 be bound together in one common bond of 
 amity and love, and the warrior shall be a 
 character unknown but in the page of history. 
 — Thomas Raffles. 
 
 RELIGION, a Perpetual Progress. 
 There is not, in my opinion, a more pleasing 
 and triumphant consideration in religion than 
 that of the perpetual progress which the soul 
 
 makes towards the perfection of its nature, 
 without ever arriving at a period in it. To 
 look upon the soul as going on from strength 
 to strength ; to consider that she is to shine 
 for ever with new accessions of glory, and 
 brighten to all eternity ; that she will be still 
 adding^virtue to virtue and knowledge to know- 
 ledge ; carries in it something wonderfully 
 agreeable to that ambition which is natural to 
 the mind of man. Nay, it must be a prospect 
 pleasing to God himself, to see his creation for 
 ever beautifying in his eyes, and drawing 
 nearer to him by greater degrees of resemblance. 
 — Addison. 
 
 RELIGION, A Religion of Joy. 
 
 Religion is too often represented as a state of 
 melancholy gloom, as a barren desert, in which 
 we are condemned to wander without one 
 object to delight the eyes or to cheer the heart, 
 as a dreary banishment from all the innocent 
 pleasures and harmless gratifications of the 
 world around us. But it is not in the solitude 
 of seclusion, it is not in austerities of perpetual 
 and monastic penance, that Christianity con- 
 sists ; it is a religion of joy ; it promotes the 
 happiness of mankind here as well as hereafter. 
 Happiness is not only pointed to as an object, 
 but it is inculcated as a duty. They, therefore, 
 form a very erroneous estimate of its doctrines 
 and its duties, who shall represent melancholy 
 as its precept, or enforce severity as its prac- 
 tice. It is the messenger of glad tidings to 
 man, it is the minister of comfort to the afilicted 
 children of mortality ; to every disconsolate 
 soul, as to Jerusalem of old, it speaks comfort- 
 ably ; it tells her that "her warfare is accom- 
 plished, that her iniquity is pardoned." On 
 the other hand, he that would unite the joys of 
 the Lord with the pleasures of sin, he that 
 would combine the purity of the Gospel with 
 the pollution of guilt, will discover too late that 
 he cannot enter into a composition with the 
 Almighty for the gratification of his passions ; 
 and that when the infatuations of sin shall have 
 passed away, no joy will then remain, but a 
 fearful anticipation of the wrath to come. It 
 is in the innocent mind alone that the happi- 
 ness of Christianity can take root ; and as the 
 purity of the soul is stained with the contagion 
 of guilt, in such proportion will its real joys, 
 fade off from the polluted surface. — Rennell. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 495 
 
 RELIGION, 
 
 Augments the Enjoyments of Taste. 
 
 On the subject of taste there are two classes 
 of theorists, the first of whom affirm that 
 "taste is a distinct sense appropriated to the 
 perception of beauty ; beauty consists in cer- 
 tain peculiar lines, forms, colours, motions ; 
 and taste, like an eye, discovers and approves 
 them." In this class are to be found the 
 names of Hogarth and of Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 The second class considers taste as the modi- 
 fication of some other simple emotion, arising 
 from the perception of utility, emotion, design, 
 order, or fitness. The principal defect of this 
 latter theory consists in its confounding the 
 casual excitement of taste with the ground of 
 that emotion. But if, according to the former 
 class of theorists, we resolve taste into a dis- 
 tinct sense appropriated to the perception of 
 beauty ; an entire uniformity as it relates to the 
 effects produced by particular objects, as well 
 as an universal standard of taste, would be the 
 obvious results. Facts, however, contradict 
 the supposition of a similarity of effect being 
 produced by the same objects upon different 
 persons ; and the variety of theories main- 
 tained upon the subject is equally conclusive 
 against a universal standard. 
 
 The most perfect theory is, probably, that 
 which asserts that **the beauty or sublimity 
 of any object is not to be ascribed to its mate- 
 rial qualities, but to certain other qualities, of 
 which these are the signs, or expressions, and 
 which are fitted by the constitution of our 
 nature to produce pleasing or interesting 
 emotions." That the beauty or sublimity of 
 an object depends upon the association with 
 which it is contemplated, is apparent from the 
 consideration that if the mind be pre-occupied 
 by grief or sickness, the charms of nature and 
 of art are unperceived or unfelt. 
 
 It is not less certain that the nature of our 
 enjoyments and the peculiarity of our habits 
 will be found materially to influence our per- 
 ception of beauty. The remark of a mathe- 
 matician upon "Paradise Lost," that it proved 
 nothing, is sufficiently illustrative of this asser- 
 tion. The different emotions with which the 
 same objects are contemplated at different 
 periods of life, as well as the interest which we 
 feel in particular places, may be traced to the 
 influence of association ; for it is from this 
 source that the residence of a deceased friend, 
 as well as the walk consecrated by love or 
 friendship, acquire all their interest. But, 
 
 while nature and art continually furnish the 
 cultivated mind with the sources of gratification, 
 it is religion alone which confers upon taste its 
 most exquisite enjoyments. As in beholding 
 the fair proportions of a beautiful edifice, the 
 mind is necessarily referred to the skill of the ' 
 architect ; so, in the contemplation of the 
 magnificent temple of the universe, which refers 
 us to Him who built all things, our gratifica- 
 tion is enhanced by the character of complete- 
 ness with which it is distinguished, and 
 through the medium of which the mind clings 
 to infinite perfection, with the most exquisite 
 delight. A sensibility to the beauties of 
 natural scenery may be considered as a bene- 
 volent provision, by which delight conducts 
 us to devotion, and devotion to the throne 
 of God. 
 
 When the appearances of nature are con- 
 sidered as indications of the grandeur and 
 goodness of the Deity, they inspire us with 
 delight, while they admonish us of our duty. 
 In conformity with this remark, and as a proof 
 that the most exquisite enjoyments of taste are 
 derived from religious associations, it is only 
 necessary to consider that the interest with 
 which we listen to the artillery of heaven is 
 not the effect of its loudness merely, but of 
 that character of grandeur which it assumes as 
 the symbol of Omnipotence. It frequently 
 happens, however, that the thunder of the 
 imagination is discovered to be a sound pro- 
 ceeding from some earthly cause, in which 
 case the motion of sublimity is immediately 
 destroyed. In like manner it may be observed 
 that the sight of the ocean derives a considerable 
 portion of its interest from the moral reflections 
 which it suggests. 
 
 The highest enjoyments of taste depend, 
 therefore, it appears, upon those associations of 
 the mind which include elevation and refine- 
 ment ; for, as there are certain lights in which 
 paintings are seen to the greatest advantage, 
 so it is in the lights which religion pours upon \ 
 the objects of taste that they are displayed 
 with the happiest effect. | 
 
 The influence of religion in increasing the 
 enjoyments of taste may be illustrated by a 
 reference to the arts of poetry, of painting, and 
 of music. 
 
 If we examine the productions of the most > 
 celebrated poets, we shall find that they were 
 indebted for the establishment and perpetuity 
 of their fame to the nature of their subjects. 
 Homer and Virgil availed themselves of the 
 popular superstition of their day, and by means j 
 
496 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 of the established mythology excited an 
 interest which the most splendid exertions of 
 genius would have been incapable of producing, 
 had they either slighted or opposed the religion 
 of the times. Unrivalled as was the genius of 
 Milton, who does not perceive that he is 
 indebted for a large portion of the interest he 
 excites to the sublimity of his subject ? 
 
 Upon what, it may be asked, is the reputa- 
 tion of the painters of Italy established ? What 
 subjects did they select for developing their 
 extraordinary powers? It is in the "Virgins" 
 of Raphael, the *' Ecce- Homos" of Carlo 
 Dolce and Guido, and the Marys of Carracci 
 that the imperishable monuments of their fame 
 consist. To religious subjects West was 
 indebted for a reputation which can expire 
 only with the art which it so highly dignified. 
 
 Music, one of the richest modifications of 
 taste, is no less indebted to religion for its 
 highest enjoyments. Handel has placed the 
 subject beyond controversy, and secured for 
 himself a perpetuity of fame. 
 
 If this view of the importance of religion to 
 the highest enjoyments of taste be correct, it 
 may be considered as furnishing an additional 
 argument in its favour, as well as a new motive 
 for its cultivation ; while it is at the same time 
 adapted to reprove that monkish austerity in 
 which religion has sometimes been disguised. 
 Unfriendly to no innocent gratification, religion 
 adds new charms to every rational pleasure, 
 and refines the taste while it cultivates the 
 heart. These, however, are amongst its lowest 
 advantages, for, while it purifies our best en- 
 joyments on earth, it secures, and prepares us 
 for, a paradise without a serpent, in the midst 
 of which flourishes the tree of immortality ! — 
 Beth, 
 
 RELIGION, 
 Courts Free Inquiry within Bounds. 
 
 Free inquiry, if restrained within due bounds 
 and applied to proper subjects, is a most im- 
 portant privilege of the human mind ; and if 
 well-conducted, is one of the greatest friends to 
 truth. But when reason knows neither its 
 office nor its limits ; when it is employed on 
 subjects foreign to its jurisdiction, and revela- 
 tion itself is, as it were, called in to bow down 
 to its usurped authority, it then becomes a 
 privilege dangerous to be exercised, because a 
 want of due respect for the mysterious doctrines 
 of religion seldom fails to enter into a total 
 disbelief of them. — Daubeny. 
 
 RELIGION, Deep Solace from. 
 
 Believe me, I speak it deliberately and with 
 full conviction, I have enjoyed many of the 
 comforts of life, none of which I wish to es- 
 teem lightly : often have I been charmed with 
 the beauties of nature, and refreshed with her 
 bountiful gifts. I have spent many an hour in 
 sweet meditation, and in reading the most 
 valuable productions of the wisest men. I 
 have often been delighted with the conversation 
 of ingenious, sensible, and exalted characters : 
 my eyes have been powerfully attracted by the 
 finest productions of human art, and my ears 
 by enchanting melodies. I have found plea- 
 sure when calling into activity the powers of my 
 own mind ; when residing in my own native 
 land, or travelling through foreign parts ; 
 when surrounded by large and splendid com- 
 panies — still more, when moving in the small 
 endearing circle of my own family : yet, to 
 speak the truth before God, who is my Judge, 
 I must confess I know not any joy that is so 
 dear to me ; that so fully satisfies the inmost 
 desires of my mind ; that so enlivens, refines, 
 and elevates my whole nature, as that which I 
 derive from religion, from faith in God ; as 
 one who not only is the parent of men, but 
 has condescended, as a brother, to clothe 
 himself with our nature. Nothing affords me 
 greater delight than a solid hope that I partake 
 of his favours, and rely on his never-failing 
 
 support and protection He, who 
 
 has been so often my hope, my refuge, my 
 confidence, when I stood upon the brink of an 
 abyss, where I could not move one step for- 
 ward ; He, who in answer to my prayer, has 
 helped me when every prospect of help va- 
 nished ; that God who has safely conducted me, 
 not merely through flowery paths, but likewise 
 across precipices and burning sands ; — may 
 this God be thy God, thy refuge, thy comfort, 
 as he has been mine ! — Lavater. 
 
 RELIGION 
 Designed to make us Happy. 
 Religion deters not from the lawful delights 
 which are taken in natural things, but teaches 
 the moderate and regular use of them, which 
 is far the sweeter ; for things lawful in them- 
 selves are in their excess sinful, and so prove 
 bitterness in the end. And if in some cases 
 it requires the forsaking of lawful enjoyment, 
 as of pleasure, or profit, or honour, for God, 
 and for his glory, it is generous and more truly 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 497 
 
 delightful to deny things for this reason than 
 to enjoy them. Men have done much this 
 way for the love of their country, and by a 
 principle of moral virtue ; but to lose any 
 delight, or to suffer any hardship, for that 
 highest end, the glory of God, and by the 
 strength of love to him, is far more excellent 
 and truly pleasant. The delights and pleasures 
 of sin, religion indeed banishes ; but it is to 
 change them for joy that is unspeakably beyond 
 them. It calls men from sordid and base de- 
 lights to those that are pure delights indeed. 
 It calls to men, — '* Drink ye no longer of the 
 cistern ; here are the crystal streams of a living 
 fountain. There is a delight in the very des- 
 pising of sinful delights, as that, in comparison 
 with them, the other deserves not the name, 
 to have such spiritual joy as shall end in eter- 
 nal joy ; it is a wonder we hasten not to choose 
 this joy : but it is indeed because we believe 
 not." — Lehhton. 
 
 RELIGION, FuU of Charity. 
 
 True Religion, sprung from God above, 
 Is, like her fountain, full of charity ; 
 Embracing all things with a tender love, 
 Full of good- will and meek expectancy, 
 Full of true justice and sure verity, 
 In heart and will ; free, large, even infinite j 
 Not wedged in strait particularity, 
 But grasping all in her vast, active spright ; 
 Bright Lamp of God, that men would joy in 
 thy pure light. H. More. 
 
 RELIGION, 
 
 Its Beneficial Result upon the Mind. 
 
 Religion, whether natural or revealed, has 
 always the same beneficial influence on the 
 mind. In youth, in health, and prosperity, it 
 awakens feelings of gratitude and sublime 
 love, and purifies at the same time that which 
 it exalts ; but it is in misfortune, in sickness, 
 in age, that its effects are most truly and bene- 
 ficially felt ; when submission in faith, and 
 humble trust in the divine will, from duties 
 become pleasures, undecaying sources of con- 
 solation ; then it creates powers which were 
 believed to be extinct, and gives a freshness to 
 the mind which was supposed to have passed 
 away for ever, but which is now renovated as 
 an immortal hope. Its influence outlives all 
 earthly enjoyments, and becomes stronger as 
 
 the organs decay and the frame dissolves ; it 
 appears, as that evening star of light, in the 
 horizon of life, which we are sure is to become, 
 in another season, a morning star, and it 
 throws its radiance through the gloom and 
 shadow of death. — Sir Humphry Davy. 
 
 RELIGION, 
 
 Its Venerable Solemnity. 
 
 In whatever light we view religion it appears 
 solemn and venerable. It is a temple full of 
 majesty, to which the worshippers may ap- 
 proach with comfort, in the hope of obtaining 
 grace and finding mercy ; but where they can- 
 not enter without being impressed with awe. 
 If we may be permitted to compare spiritual 
 with natural things, religion resembles not 
 those scenes of natural beauty where every 
 object smiles. It cannot be likened to the 
 gay landscape or the flowery field. It re- 
 sembles more the august and sublime appear- 
 ances of Nature ; the lofty mountain, the ex- 
 panded ocean, and the starry firmament ; at 
 the sight of which the mind is at once over- 
 awed and delighted ; and, from the union of 
 grandeur with beauty, derives a pleasing but 
 a serious devotion. — Blair. 
 
 RELIGION, not Selfish. 
 
 The first act God requires of a convert is "Be 
 fruitful." The good man's goodness lies not 
 hid in himself alone : he is still strengthening 
 his weaker brother. I am persuaded to be a 
 means of bringing more to Heaven is an in- 
 separable desire of a soul when in a right 
 state. Good men wish all they converse with 
 in goodness to be like themselves. How 
 ungrateful he slinks away who dies and does 
 nothing to reflect a glory to Heaven ! How 
 barren a tree he is that lives, and spreads, and 
 cumbers the ground, yet leaves not one seed, 
 not one good work to generate after him ! I 
 know all cannot leave alike ; yet all may 
 leave something answering their proportion, 
 and kind. Withered and dead are those 
 grains of com out of which there will not 
 spring one ear. The physician who has a 
 sovereign receipt, and dieth unrevealing it, 
 robs the world of many blessings which might 
 multiply after his death ; leaving this conclu- 
 sion to all survivors, that he did good to others 
 only to do himself greater. Which how con- 
 
 K K 
 
493 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 trary it is to the Gospel, and the nature of 
 Christian love, I appeal to those minds where 
 grace hath sown more charity. I doubt 
 whether he will ever find the way to Heaven 
 that desires to go thither alone. They are en- 
 vious favourites who wish their king to have 
 no loyal subjects but themselves. All heavenly 
 hearts are charitable. Enlightened souls can- 
 not but disperse their rays. I will, if I can, 
 do something for others and for heaven — not to 
 deserve by it ; but to express myself and my 
 thanks. Though I cannot do what I would, 
 I will labour to do what I can. — Owen 
 Feltham. 
 
 Other religions proposed to establish the 
 welfare of society by positive regulations, and 
 laid down a code for the government of man- 
 kind in all the varied walks of life ; but 
 society soon outgrew its fetters, and the code 
 of an antiquated theocracy was thrown aside, 
 or burst asunder by the expansion of the 
 human mind. Christianity alone aimed at a 
 different object. Prescribing no rule for the 
 formation of society ; dictating nothing to the 
 forms of government, it has concentrated all 
 its energies to coerce the human heart : it is 
 against its depravity that all its precepts are 
 directed ; to restrain its passions that all its 
 fetters are moulded. 
 
 The consequence has naturally been that 
 its progress has been as steady and pro- 
 gressive as that of other religions has been 
 transient and ephemeral. Mahometanism is 
 already falling into decay, and its gigantic 
 frame crumbling with the corrupted mass whose 
 energies it has confined; but Christianity, 
 walking free and unfettered in the silver robe 
 of innocence, adapts itself equally to all ages, 
 and sways the heart of man alike in every 
 period of civilization. Other religions have 
 sought, by regulating the frame of society, to 
 direct the human mind ; but Christianity, 
 aiming only at reforming the internal spirit of 
 the individual, has wrought, and will for ever 
 work, the greatest and most salutary changes on 
 society. — Guizot. 
 
 RELIGION, 
 
 Pectiliarly Susceptible of Illustration. 
 
 It seems to the honour of religion that so 
 many things can, without the art of forcing 
 resemblances, be accommodated to its illustra- 
 tion. It is an evident and remarkable fact 
 that there is a certain principle of correspon- 
 
 dence to religion throughout the economy of 
 the world. He that made all things for him- 
 self appears to have willed that they should 
 be a great system of emblems, reflecting or 
 shadowing forth that system of principles in 
 which we are to apprehend Him and our rela- 
 tions and obligations to him : so that religion, 
 standing up in grand parallel to an infinity of 
 things, receives their testimony and homage, 
 and speaks with a voice which is echoed by 
 creation. — Foster. 
 
 RELIGION, Pervading Infiuence of. 
 
 Is there a scene of danger or of guilt, 
 Danger past hope, guilt irremediable. 
 Through which Religion's bright effulgence 
 
 casts 
 No guiding ray benign ? Is there a pang 
 She cannot heal, a woe to which her voice 
 In dove-like murmurs does not whisper hope ? 
 Gilt by her beams, the sister virtues look 
 More beauteous ; love and pity, then refin'd 
 From earthly dross, assume the sacred form 
 Of charity, all perfect and all pure. 
 Sublim'd by her, valour transports its name 
 To Christian fortitude, patient to feel, 
 And mighty to perform. Her power can 
 
 change 
 The sordid wisdom of the subtle snake 
 To foresight, caution, and discernment sage ; 
 Th' intelligence of angels, ministers 
 Of judgment or of mercy, as best suits 
 His mandates whom they serve, the Holy God. 
 
 Mrs. West. 
 
 RELIGION, Present State of. 
 
 Not long since a pious clergyman, travelling 
 through the country in aid of some benevolent 
 institution, inquired of several serious people 
 what was the state of religion in their respec- 
 tive connections, and whether, upon the whole, 
 it appeared to be gaining ground, expressing 
 at the same time his apprehensions on the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 Nor are such apprehensions at all pecu- 
 liar to the individual alluded to ; there seems 
 to be a prevailing suspicion amongst intelli- 
 gent persons that, notwithstanding the zealous 
 exertions to disseminate the Gospel in heathen 
 lands, and the numerous institutions patronized 
 for that purpose, the interests of vital Chris- 
 tianity are not materially advanced amongst us. 
 Should this opinion be well founded, it would 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 499 
 
 furnish matter for deep humiliation and serious 
 inquiry. The difficulty of arriving at the facts 
 of the case, and of ascertaining with any pre- 
 cision the present state of things, is almost in- 
 superable ; yet there are some obvious indica- 
 tions on which considerable reliance may be 
 placed. 
 
 There is, unquestionably, a greater extension 
 of religious knowledge than formerly. The gra- 
 tuitous instruction afforded by our numerous 
 Sunday-schools cannot fail to have furnished 
 the capacity and the means of general infor- 
 mation among the lower classes ; and as these 
 schools are intended to secure the observance 
 of the Sabbath, and a regular attendance on 
 public worship, there must of necessity have 
 been a Avider diffusion of Christian knowledge, 
 and men in general cannot be the same sort 
 of pagans they were a century ago. The 
 violent prejudices which existed, and the op- 
 position made to evangelical religion, have 
 been considerably softened, and a disposition 
 to attend an occasional itinerant ministry is 
 almost everywhere apparent. Within the 
 memory of several survivors, it was once a 
 hazardous enterprise to go into the villages to 
 preach the Gospel, or even for a minister to 
 extend his labours far beyond the centre of his 
 immediate residence ; for though, under pro- 
 tection of the Toleration Act, he might ven- 
 ture into the benighted neighbourhood, it was 
 more than probable he would meet with rude 
 interruptions from the peasantry or the 'squire 
 of the parish. Now, indeed, it is far other- 
 wise : a minister may go into almost any vil- 
 lage in the country without the least fear of 
 molestation, and would find the people ready 
 and willing to receive him. There is also a 
 gradual enlargement of the visible kingdom of 
 Christ : pkces of worship are multiplied, and 
 increasing numbers are engaging in the work 
 of the ministry. The claims of the Bible So- 
 ciety and of Missionary Societies are every- 
 where acknowledged ; liberal contributions are 
 made for public institutions, as fast as they 
 can be devised or projected ; and the ingenuity 
 of the present age was never surpassed in schemes 
 of benevolence and general utility. Thus have 
 we collected the materials as in David's time, 
 for building the house of the Lord ; but whether 
 much more than this has been done is very 
 doubtful. Never was there a period, as has 
 been remarked by a popular preacher, when 
 the seed was more widely scattered, nor when 
 so much of it fell by the wayside. There has 
 been no outpouring of the spirit from on high. 
 
 to change the desert into a fruitful field — no 
 general awakening or turning to the Lord — 
 and no remarkable revival in any of the 
 churches. A drought is upon the land, and 
 upon the mountains, and upon the com, and 
 upon the new wine, and upon men, and upon 
 all the labour of hands, as in the days of 
 Haggai the prophet. 
 
 Beyond the boundaries of the Christian 
 church there is at the same time an enormous 
 growth of wickedness : among the lower ranks 
 the most atrocious deeds are continually per- 
 petrated, and the assize calendars are loaded 
 with prisoners ; while among the higher classes 
 are exhibited examples of the most abandoned 
 profligacy. If religious principles had an ex- 
 tensive influence, such a state of society as we 
 daily witness could not exist ; and though the 
 number of Christian professors has increased, 
 it may be doubted whether it has far exceeded 
 the proportionate increase of the general 
 population. Or were it otherwise, it is still 
 inquired, what is the present state of the 
 Christian profession? and where are the proofs 
 of abounding piety ? In the domestic habits 
 of religious people there is an increasing con- 
 formity to the present world, an affectation of 
 show and parade, and but little of that simpli- 
 city, frugality, and self-denial which charac- 
 terized the generality of our forefathers. There 
 are many contentions and divisions in churches 
 and congregations ; much formality and dead- 
 ness in public worship ; and great uneasiness 
 and fluctuation in the general state of Chris- 
 tian society. Some of our most splendid in- 
 stitutions are beginning to lose their pristine 
 beauty and simplicity, are secularized by an 
 infusion of worldly principles and" worldly 
 policy, and rendered, in too many instances, 
 subservient to personal and private interests. 
 The rising generation — the hope of all that is 
 to come, afford but a slender and doubtful 
 prospect to the true philanthropist- Our sons 
 and our daughters, instead of possessing and 
 cultivating the solid and superior virtues, which 
 would make them like fruitful plants, or cor- 
 ner-stones, polished after the similitude" of a 
 palace, resemble rather the tinsel and the var- 
 nish that hide and decorate some interior de- 
 formity. The interpreters of prophecy may 
 well defer the millennivmi for the present, 
 for there can be little hope of its approach till 
 after another generation has passed away, and 
 we have returned to the sober principles and 
 habits of former times. The present prevail- 
 ing mode of education, which afiects the orna- 
 
50O 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 mental rather than the useful, has produced 
 incalculable mischief, and generated a taste for 
 light reading, for novels and romances, beyond 
 any former example. Unhappily, too, it is impos- 
 sible, in point of fact, to limit the circulation 
 of these books, either to such as furnish a de- 
 gree of innocent amusement, or to such a class 
 of readers as are abandoned to the pleasures 
 and vanities of the world. They pervade the 
 sanctity of religious families, and are read with 
 avidity by the junior classes in all our congre- 
 gations, even by such as are daily listening to 
 evangelical instruction, but to whom the writ- 
 ings of the elder or latter Puritans are either 
 distasteful or unknown. 
 
 This statement, unhappily too true, has been 
 admitted, and deeply lamented, by several 
 eminent individuals' in and out of the Esta- 
 blishment — among the Wesleyans, and the 
 more regular Dissenters. But what an anomaly 
 in this enlightened and missionary age, to see 
 a number of young persons forming Auxiliary 
 Societies, diligently collecting the penny-pieces 
 from Sunday-Schools, and many of the poorer 
 class, in aid of some popular institution ; and 
 after their zealous agency and the amount of 
 their collections have been duly noticed and 
 announced by some applauding journalist, to 
 find them hastening home to banquet on a 
 novel or romance, whose tendency it is to sap 
 the foundations of public and private virtue, 
 by throwing only a thin disguise over the most 
 licentious intrigues ; and furnishing an indirect 
 apology for unsuccessful profligacy. Such a 
 state of things shows there is something wrong 
 in the present system, and that the conduct of 
 professors is not quite in unison with the 
 general profession of Christianity, and the zeal 
 displayed in its propagation. — Philemon. 
 
 EELIGION, 
 The Causes of Prejudice Against. 
 It is impossible for any one who truly loves, 
 embraces, honours, and defends Christianity 
 to remain indifferent while he beholds her 
 covered with reproach and contempt. He sees 
 with deep regret the operation of those causes 
 which excite and inflame the enmity of the 
 carnal mind. He sighs and sheds many a tear 
 in secret, when he finds religion wounded in 
 the house of her friends. 
 
 The latent aversion of the depraved heart to 
 everything spiritually good will easily account 
 
 for much of that opposition which worldly men 
 manifest to vital godliness ; but it deserves 
 inquiry whether their antipathies are not aug- 
 mented by the conduct of Christians themselves. 
 The poison everywhere exists, and often lies in 
 a dormant state ; but the virulence of its action, 
 the rage with which it spreads and operates, 
 may, in general, be traced to certain excite- 
 ments. 
 
 We have reason to believe that many 
 Christian professors increase the prejudice of 
 worldly men by a coldness and gloomy reserve 
 in their manners. Though religion is the only 
 source of solid comfort and lasting joy, we 
 must confess that a few individuals avowedly 
 and perhaps sincerely attached to it give little 
 proof of its happy influence upon themselves. 
 Their fears predominate, their comforts are 
 outweighed by their troubles, they are oftener 
 walking in the chilling shade than in the cheer- 
 ing sunshine, and their sighs are more com- 
 monly heard than their songs. Persons of this 
 character may be earnest and conscientious,, 
 may even at times feel an earnestness and deep- 
 interest in closet devotion, but their social inter* 
 course is flat and insipid. Whether they are 
 ill-informed with reference to the grand doc- 
 trines and gracious provisions of the Gospel, 
 and as yet detained in partial thraldom ; or 
 whether constitutional temperament gives a 
 tinge of melancholy to the mind, or whatever 
 other cause be assigned, religion in their de- 
 portment has a meagre and uninviting aspect. 
 Their language is uncouth, harsh, repulsive, 
 full of censures and complaints ; their life is a 
 dull routine of tame and tiresome formalities. 
 Is it surprising that persons of this description 
 should raise in the minds of worldly men an 
 unfavourable idea of religion ? The system is 
 charged with the faults of those who espouse 
 it. Hence the hasty conclusion is drawn that 
 Christian principles darken the lustre and damp 
 the vivacity of youth j that they infuse a learsn 
 which sours both the mind and the manners 
 which yield to their influence. Such reason- 
 ings are indeed unfair, for examples of cheerful 
 and attractive piety are always to be found ; 
 but prejudice is not very anxious to discrimi- 
 nate. Let those who sincerely wish to promote 
 the cause of God in an evil world beware of 
 furnishing its enemies with a plausible plea, 
 by exhibiting in their conduct and conversation 
 any gloom, moroseness, or austerity, which has 
 a direct tendency to alienate and disgust. Let 
 them be firm and stedfast, but uniformly kind 
 and courteous ; spreading the charm of a win- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 501 
 
 ning affability and benevolence over all the 
 social circle in which it is their lot to move. 
 By ease, freedom, cheerfulness, and suavity, 
 under the control of a vigilant discretion, they 
 will be able to adorn and recommend the doc- 
 trine of God their Saviour, and silence the 
 clamour of many of its enemies. 
 
 Many professing Christians increase the 
 prejudice of worldly men by the inconsistencies 
 they betray in their commercial dealings. One 
 is hard and rigid in the bargains he makes, in 
 the conditions he prescribes, yet lax and remiss 
 in fulfilling the engagements into which he has 
 entered ; another is mean and mercenary in 
 trifles, though upright and honourable in mat- 
 ters of prime importance. Hence is seen a 
 spirit of speculation and eager competition, 
 which breaks down every mound of prudence 
 and moderation ; there a gross want of dili- 
 gence, order, and punctuality which brings 
 embarrassment and ruin. "These are your 
 religious people !" cries the scoffer, with an air 
 of exultation and triumph. 
 
 It cannot and must not be disguised that 
 numbers have assumed a Christian profession 
 for selfish and sinister purposes. To this con- 
 cession should be subjoined the fair and legi- 
 timate inference it warrants — namely, that if 
 religious principles did not generally raise and 
 improve the tone of morals, such instances of 
 liypocrisy would be unknown ; there would in 
 fact, be neither grounds to sustain nor motives 
 to produce them. But the culpable manner in 
 which even some sincere Christians carry on 
 trade may greatly dishonour and injure the 
 religion they profess. It ought, therefore, to 
 be every good man's prayer and aim to manage 
 his business with such clear rectitude, exact 
 punctuality, and uniform consistency, as shall 
 -shut out occasion from those who are eagerly 
 •seeking occasion to cast scandal and reproach 
 on the cause of God. Frequent omissions 
 will have an effect nearly as bad as direct and 
 palpable violations of moral duty ; and the 
 want of consideration be readily confounded 
 with the want of principle. *' What do ye 
 more than others?" is a taunt thrown at the 
 •servants of God, whenever any negligence on 
 iheir part opens a tempting avenue for it. 
 
 Many professing Christians increase the 
 prejudices of worldly people by their injudi- 
 -cious zeal in supporting or defending those 
 noble institutions which at once do honour to 
 our own country, and bless the world at large. 
 They are seen stepping out of their own sober 
 ^nd proper course, to attempt a career for 
 
 which they are neither qualified by talents nor 
 influence. Their measures are rash and ill- 
 judged ; their movements wild, irregular, im- 
 petuous, and offensive. Whether opposed or 
 encouraged, they are sure to run to extrava- 
 gances and absurdities. A Christian of en- 
 larged mind and candid spirit will make every 
 fair allowance in such cases. * ' Their motives, " 
 says he, "are good, but I regret the absence of 
 a sound judgment, a due degree of experience, or 
 a cautious adherence to the rules of prudence." 
 Right principles and benevolent dispositions 
 are too valuable to be thrown away or despised, 
 because they are unhappily blended with some 
 portion of alloy. On the contrary, the men of 
 the world are not disposed to make any allow- 
 ances. They assault the vulnerable points of 
 such warm-hearted but weak advocates of a 
 good cause, with the keenest promptitude and 
 the highest exultation. Having culled a few 
 instances of a kind suited to their purpose, 
 they hold up these fanatics as specimens and 
 fair average samples of the religious world. 
 Now as the disposition of multitudes to misre- 
 present and degrade the Christian character is 
 so clearly evident, how watchful and circum- 
 spect ought they to be who profess themselves 
 the zealous followers of our Lord Jesus Christ ! 
 How amiable and engaging in their manners, 
 how fair and equitable in their dealings, how 
 cautious and considerate in their benevolent 
 exertions ! It is not enough that their motives 
 be right ; they must shun the very appearance 
 of evil. The end does not, according to an 
 old exploded maxim, justify the means. A 
 good object, pursued in a bad temper, or in a 
 violent and indiscreet manner, cannot really 
 advance the interests of religion. It should 
 therefore be the constant study, the ardent and 
 unwearied endeavour of pious men, to hold 
 forth the word of truth in their conduct, and 
 to exhibit to the eyes of all the true fruits 
 of righteousness. — S. 
 
 EELIGION, The Power of. 
 
 The following facts are strongly illustrative of 
 the influence exerted by the religion of Christ 
 on the heart, and its power to rise superior to 
 all the opposition to which it may be exposed: — 
 Julius Palmer, in Queen Mary's days, had 
 life and preferment offered him if he would 
 recant his faith in Christ. His answer was, 
 that he had resigned his living in two places 
 for the sake of the gospel, and was now ready 
 to yield his life on account of Christ. 
 
502 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 William Hunter, when urged by Bonner to 
 recant, replied, he could only be moved by the 
 scripture, for he reckoned the things of earth 
 but dross for Christ ; and when the sheriff 
 offered him a pardon at the stake, if he would 
 renounce his faith, he firmly rejected it. 
 
 Antonius Riceto, a Venetian, was offered 
 his life, and considerable wealth, if he would 
 concede but a little ; and when his son, with 
 weeping, entreated him to do so, he answered 
 that he resolved to lose both children and estate 
 for Christ. 
 
 The Prince of Conde, at the massacre of 
 Paris, when the king assured him that he 
 should die within three days if he did not re- 
 nounce his religion, told the monarch that his 
 life and estate were in his hand, and that he 
 would give up both rather than renounce the 
 truth. 
 
 Bradford said to his fellow- sufferer at the 
 stake, "Be of good comfort, for we shall this 
 night have a merry supper with the Lord." 
 
 Sanders, in similar circumstances, said, 
 •'Welcome the cross of Christ, welcome ever- 
 lasting life. " 
 
 Elizabeth Folks, embracing the stake, cried, 
 " Farewell world, farewell faith and hope, and 
 welcome love." 
 
 Algerius, an Italian martyr, thus wrote from 
 his prison a little before his death: "Who 
 would believe that in this dungeon I should 
 find a paradise so pleasant ; in a place of sorrow 
 and death, tranquillity, and hope, and life ; 
 where others weep I rejoice." 
 
 Wishart, when in the fire which removed 
 him from the world, exclaimed, ** The flame 
 doth torment my body, but no whit abates my 
 spirits. " — Fleming. 
 
 RELIGION, True Freedom of. 
 Religion, richest favour of the skies, 
 Stands most reveal'd before the freeman's eyes ; 
 No shades of superstition blot the day — 
 Liberty chases all that gloom away : 
 The soul emancipated, unoppress'd. 
 Free to prove all things, and hold fast the best, 
 Learns much, and to a thousand listening minds 
 Communicates with joy the good she finds. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 RELIGION, True, 
 
 Tends to Decrease Pauperism. 
 
 The spirit of active benevolence by which the 
 
 present age is characterized has been directed 
 
 in various ways to ameliorate the circum- 
 ^ances of the labouring classes ; yet we can- 
 not expect either the patriot or the philan- 
 thropist to succeed if the principles and spirit 
 of the Gospel are disregarded. Christianity 
 unveils the glories of heaven, the pure and per- 
 fect felicities of an eternal world, but it ex- 
 cites a beneficial influence in improving our 
 condition, even in the present life ; it instructs 
 and blesses the inhabitants of mansions and 
 palaces, but its salutary power is more 
 strikingly demonstrated in humble and happy 
 cottagers. 
 
 It must be obvious, on the first glance, that 
 religion has a tendency to subdue and restrain 
 those passions, the indulgence of which swells 
 the torture of profligacy in the lower walks of 
 life. Lewdness and intemperance hurry tens 
 of thousands into poverty, debt, disgrace, and 
 misery, who might have been useful members 
 of society. Having no bridle for their appe- 
 tites, no check for their corrupt propensities, 
 they spend their time, their money, and their 
 strength, in haunts of dissipation and excess, 
 and often sink into an imtimely grave. I am 
 aware that some have expressed a doubt 
 whether extending education to the poor be 
 not a perilous experiment. But where lies the 
 danger so much apprehended ? The best way 
 to control and manage the lower classes is to 
 furnish them with knowledge. Ignorance 
 begets prejudice, and prejudice begets passion. 
 The parent is senseless and inanimate, but 
 the children are actively mischievous. They 
 hurry the maddening, crowd, with blind and 
 headlong fury, into the ways of vice and ruin. 
 If general knowledge has some favourable in- 
 fluence on moral character, how much more 
 when an infusion of religion accompanies it ? 
 Where the gospel is cordially received, it 
 raises a barrier against the temptations to a 
 profligate course ; it calls the mind to higher 
 objects and hopes, and thus diminishes the 
 force of sensual allurement. Conscience, 
 awake and alive, causes a man to shrink 
 from the contact or approach of those vices 
 which produce the keenest and deadliest 
 stings. The lust of the flesh, the lust of the 
 eyes, and the pride of life, no longer enslave^ 
 him who thinks, speaks, and acts under the 
 influence of divine grace. 
 
 Religion also obviously leads to habits of 
 industry, order, and economy. The Christian 
 is required to be diligent in business, as well 
 as fervent in spirit, serving the Lord. By a 
 wise improvement of his time and talents, he 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 503 
 
 avoids many clangers, which would otherwise 
 be incurred, and secures many comforts, which 
 would otherwise be lost. He is taught to use 
 what Providence bestows, with moderation 
 and prudence. His veracity and faithfulness 
 engage the esteem and win the confidence of 
 his superiors. He guides his affairs with dis- 
 cretion, and adorns the doctrine of God his 
 Saviour in all things. 
 
 There is, however, no way in which true 
 religion more effectually tends to better the 
 condition of the poor than in its sanctifying 
 and salutary influence over the social feelings. 
 "We are bound to each other by various rela- 
 tive ties. When these ties are strengthened by 
 the power of religion, moral virtues have the 
 best soil and the best safeguard. A peasant 
 or an artisan who fears God, and loves our 
 Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity, will feel to- 
 wards his wife and children a tenderness and 
 warmth of affection not to be found, or ration- 
 ally expected, in the graceless profligate. 
 While they read together the Holy Scriptures, 
 and offer up daily prayer and praise in their 
 humble dwelling, every sorrow is assuaged, 
 every comfort heightened, every endearment 
 refined. 
 
 That religion has a most favourable influence 
 on the temporal condition of the lower classes 
 will be readily granted by all who carefully 
 examine and impartially report facts. In some 
 districts of our own country, the peasantry are 
 sunk in profound ignorance and gross impiety ; 
 and are they not there degraded by the foulest 
 vices? Let evidence be collected by those 
 who are best informed and least prejudiced, 
 and the point will be soon decided. It has 
 been often remarked that where churches and 
 chapels on the Lord's Day are nearly empty, 
 the public -houses of vile excess are sure to be 
 full. Where all regard to the interests of 
 another world are set aside, the motives which 
 urge men to an enlightened and steady atten- 
 tion to their true interests in this world, be- 
 come extremely feeble and fluctuating in their 
 operation. If we compare those parts of our 
 countr}' where the Sabbath is decently observed, 
 and the poor are accustomed to attend public 
 worship, and send their children to Sunday- 
 schools, with those parts where scarce a trace 
 of religion is to be seen, the contrast in point 
 of morals is most striking. It surely, then, 
 becomes all who wish to improve the state of 
 the lower classes to pay attention to the means 
 whereby they may be brought under the in- 
 fluence of the gospel. Let not difficulties and 
 
 disappointments be pleaded, or negligence be 
 masked with the specious pretext of prudence. 
 Every man of property and influence ought to 
 employ them, with all the weight both of coun- 
 sel and example, to lead his own servants and 
 dependants into the ways of God ; and how 
 much might be done both to instruct and 
 moralize the inferior and labouring classes, by 
 zealous, affectionate, and persevering efforts, 
 may be judged from what has been effected in 
 certain places, under the auspices of benevo- 
 lent and pious individuals.— T^wj//^^^. 
 
 EELIGION, 
 
 War, Against Natural Sin. 
 
 Must not the conduct of a parent seem very 
 unaccountable to a child, when its inclinations 
 are thwarted ; when it is put to learn letters ; 
 when it is obliged to swallow bitter physic ; to 
 part with what it likes ; and to suffer, and 
 do, and see many things done contrary to its 
 own judgment? Will it not, therefore, follow 
 from hence, by a parity of reason, that the 
 little child, Man, when it takes upon itself to 
 judge of parental providence — a thing of yes- 
 terday to criticise the economy of the Ancient 
 of Days — will it not follow, I say, that such a 
 judge of such matters must be apt to make 
 very erroneous judgments ? esteeming those 
 things in themselves unaccountable which he 
 cannot account for; and concluding of some 
 things (from an appearance of arbitrary car- 
 riage towards him which is suited to his infancy 
 and ignorance) that they are in themselves 
 capricious or absurd, and cannot proceed from 
 a wise, just, and benevolent God. This single 
 consideration, if duly attended to, would, I 
 verily think, put an end to many conceited 
 reasonings against revealed religion. — Bishop 
 Berkeley. 
 
 RELIGION, Very Necessary. 
 There are few instances, I believe, to be met 
 with in any situation, of a regular and sup- 
 ported conduct without the aid of religion. 
 This is necessary to fill up and quicken those 
 dull intervals which happen in the busiest life, 
 and to preserve a retired one from a total stag- 
 nation. It is religion which must plant in 
 the soul that motive principle which will dis- 
 play itself in a useful course of employment, 
 whatever be the circumstances in which we are 
 placed, like a perennial spring, that still sends 
 
5^4 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 forth a pure and salubrious stream, notwith- 
 standing every alteration of weather or vicissi- 
 tude of seasons. 
 
 The activity of man as a rational being de- 
 pends chiefly on the end he has in view. Now 
 the end presented to him by religion is of the 
 most excellent and interesting nature, and, if 
 duly apprehended will always command a 
 vigorous exercise of his moral and intellectual 
 powers ; and thus furnish him with the noblest 
 occupation even in the midst of a desert. He 
 who is fully conscious that he has a soul to save 
 and an eternity to secure, and, still further to 
 animate his endeavours, that God and angels 
 are the spectators of his conduct, can never 
 want motives for exertion in the most seques- 
 tered solitude. — Bates, 
 
 RELIGIOUS Feelings, 
 
 Fluctuation of. 
 
 It may be here taken for granted that 
 genuine Christian piety has its seat in the 
 heart. There only its vital power is felt ; 
 thence only can the conduct of life be in- 
 fluenced and governed. We are aware that 
 some persons have declaimed aloud on the 
 danger of admitting the passions to be moved 
 and affected by religion. Such objections and 
 declamations are scarcely worthy of a serious 
 answer or a distinct notice ; for they betray 
 the grossest ignorance of human nature itself, 
 as well as of the principles and motives de- 
 signed to raise, refine, and adorn it. But 
 those who have more just and rational ideas, 
 and who allow that Christianity was intended 
 to enlighten the understanding, to awaken the 
 slumbering conscience, and to engage the 
 volatile, and elevate and purify the grovelling 
 affections, will be found to differ greatly in the 
 nature of their personal experience, with 
 reference to this most important subject. There 
 is a class of persons who, after they have 
 cordially received the testimonies of the gospel, 
 and committed their souls into the hand of the 
 Saviour, possess an almost uniform joy and 
 peace in believing ; they have, indeed, their 
 trials and difficulties ; but these arise from the 
 complexity of circumstances in which they are 
 placed, and the variety and urgency of tempta- 
 tions to which they are exposed. There is 
 another class, whose religious feelings, both 
 of the pleasurable and painful kind, undergo 
 frequent and rapid changes ; yet they are 
 
 never either the subjects of extraordinary ele- 
 vation or extreme depression. A third class 
 have their sombre and long-protracted seasons 
 of grief and despondency, followed by ecstatic 
 joy, and the warm sunshine of spiritual pros- 
 perity. The number is perhaps but com- 
 paratively small, which belongs to the first 
 or to the last mentioned of these classes. 
 Leaving, then, at present out of our consider- 
 ation the state of those whose case is evidently 
 peculiar and extraordinary, we come to speak 
 of that fluctuation of religious feelings which 
 is so common in the mass or great body of 
 conscientious and serious Christians. My 
 object is not to sketch the character of those 
 professors of religion who are remarkable for 
 their versatility, who, to use a comparison of 
 Flavel, have more of the moon than the 
 sun — little light, less heat, and many changes. 
 I keep in my view such as, in a judgment of 
 charity, are partakers of a good hope through 
 grace. At one period, the sight of sin draws 
 forth a melting flow of penitential tenderness ; 
 the lively sense of special mercies kindles 
 gratitude into an ardent flame ; the prospect of 
 future glory brightens and expands hope ; and 
 the consciousness of nearness to God, and vital 
 union with Christ and his church, communi- 
 cates gladness to the heart. At another time, 
 while a fixed and steady conviction remains as 
 to the reality and worth of the great objects of 
 faith, a torpor has seized the powers of the 
 mind, and sealed up all its exquisite sensibilities 
 and animating emotions. The keen edge of 
 the feelings is blunted, the warm glow of the 
 affections is chilled ; the lips still pour out con- 
 fessions, supplications, and praises ; but the 
 internal springs of penitence, desire, and 
 gratitude seem congealed, or at least in some 
 way strangely obstructed. That such seasons 
 of apathy and deadness should create a degree 
 of uneasiness and dissatisfaction in the breast 
 of a Christian, is no subject of surprise; the 
 distress he feels may not exclude comfort or 
 eclipse hope j but neither the one nor the 
 other is possessed in a measure capable of 
 completely tranquillizing the heart. And how 
 is this interesting case, so exceedingly com- 
 mon in our religious societies, treated by many 
 public teachers ? Why, they blame the people 
 thus agitated for suspending their happiness 
 upon feeling, which is in its very nature 
 mutable, and recommend them to settle and 
 fix it on the basis of faith in the Divine 
 promises, which are demonstrably inimitable. 
 There is, however, some danger attending 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 505 
 
 strong and indiscriminating addresses of this 
 kind. In cases where the feelings are evidently 
 much affected by corporeal weakness and 
 disease, this method of administering consola- 
 tion may be safe and salutary ; but where 
 apathy and indifference have been produced by 
 wilful negligence or worldliness, such a mode 
 of procedure resembles the act of the empiric, 
 who gives soothing anodynes, when searching 
 medicines are needed- A faith which sets a 
 man at ease, and prompts him to use the 
 language of assurance, while the exercises of 
 devotion and benevolence are superseded, or 
 sunk into a cold lethargic formality, is cer- 
 tainly not Christian faith : for this, as Paul 
 tells us, " worketh by love ; " and love is the 
 main-spring — the master-passion — which keeps 
 all the holy desires and affections of the soul 
 in vigorous play. From what has been said, it 
 should seem a concern of great moment to 
 ascertain the causes of that fluctuation of feel- 
 ing in religious people which is so often the 
 subject of complaint. Where the heart has 
 not been regenerated, vivid impressions and 
 warm emotions will, of course, be momentary 
 ■and transient. The grand principle of piety 
 is wanting ; and therefore those things which 
 have a promising appearance soon wither 
 away and perish. But even where the root of 
 faith is struck deep in the heart, the devout 
 feelings may lose by degrees their ardour and 
 animation. This effect is sometimes occa- 
 sioned by the neglect, or the hasty and hurried 
 performance of closet duties. Retirement is 
 necessary to meditation, meditation is the 
 muse of prayer, and prayer is the breath of 
 life — of personal religion. If the time which 
 ought to be set apart for the closet is narrowed 
 by fresh and frequently repeated encroach- 
 ments ; if secular cares or trifling pleasures 
 •engross those precious moments which should 
 he sacred to God, and employed in communion 
 with him, a spiritual barrenness will inevitably 
 follow. The soul, like the body, will grow 
 languid and feeble, without daily supplies of 
 wholesome food, and a due degree of activity 
 and excitement. Now, the word of God is 
 the nutriment, and devotion is the exercise, by 
 which the health and prosperity of the inner 
 man is maintained. It were foolish to look 
 for miracles ; but we may expect a blessing, in 
 the patient and diligent use of those means 
 which God has instituted and appointed. 
 Whatever impairs the purity will in the same 
 proportion damp fhe fervour of the Chris- 
 tian's religious feelings. The reading of 
 
 unsuitable books, the choice of improper com- 
 pany, the eager and inordinate pursuit of 
 secular business, the indulgence of sensitive or 
 irascible passion, all obviously tend to dese- 
 crate, entangle, and oppress the mind. To 
 say nothing of those gross and revolting 
 criminalities which are awfully prevalent in 
 the world, the subtle and invisible stains of 
 guilt, under a fair and creditable profession, 
 are known by experience to carry a deadening 
 influence along with them. The disciples oi 
 Jesus are warned not to quench or grieve the 
 Holy Spirit of God, by whom they are sealed. 
 Such admonitions would not have been given 
 had they not been necessary ; and they clearly 
 suggest to us the unutterable importance of in- 
 cessant vigilance. Oh ! with what care ought 
 the sacred fire of gratitude, love, and zeal, 
 which bums on the altar of the heart, to be 
 preserved from every unhallowed mixture 
 likely to damp or depress it ! 
 
 We grant indeed, as before intimated, that 
 devout feelings may fluctuate, through the 
 natural infirmities of our frame, or the inevita- 
 ble circumstances of our lot ; and, when this 
 is the case, firm trust in God's word must sup- 
 ply the want of that pleasure which the light 
 of his reconciled countenance imparts. Still 
 we must maintain that when a Christian has 
 sustained a loss of spiritual consolations, and 
 finds his joy, peace, and hope declining, he 
 ought to inquire whether some omission of 
 duty, some act of unlawful conformity to the 
 world, or some yielding compliance with the 
 lusts and corrupt propensities of the flesh, be 
 not the cause of such declension. As the fluid 
 in the thermometer rises high, while exposed 
 to the genial heat of the sun, but, when placed 
 in close contact with masses of ice, sinks to the 
 freezing-point ; so it is with the pure and devout 
 affections of the Christian's mind. While 
 near to God, conversant with his word, and 
 engaged heartily in his service, the feelings of 
 his soul expand, and rise to higher and still 
 higher degrees of friendship and sacred delight ; 
 but once plunged in the cold congealing ele- 
 ments of the world, ihey contract and sink 
 again, and his joys are gone. — Rusticus. 
 
 RELIGIOUS Habits. 
 
 The difficulty of religion is taking up of the 
 cross daily, rather than the taking it up on 
 some set occasion, and under extraordinary 
 circumstances. The serving God in little 
 
5o6 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 things, the carrying of religious principles 
 into all the minutice of life, the discipline of 
 our tempers, the regulation of our speech, the 
 momentary sacrifices, the secret and unob- 
 served self-denials. Who that knows anything 
 of the difficulty of piety does not know that 
 there is greater danger of his failing in these 
 than in trials of apparently far greater cost 
 and sterner endurance ? It is not comparatively 
 hard to put the armour on when the trumpet 
 sounds, but it is to keep the armour on when 
 there is no alarm of battle. The warfare with 
 our spiritual enemies is not a series of pitched 
 battles, with intervals of resting and recruiting ; 
 it is rather daily, hourly, momentary fighting. 
 This is the driving out "little by little," to 
 which the Almighty promises *' the reward of 
 the inheritance. " — Rev. 11. Alel-vill. 
 
 RELIGIOUS Inquiries, 
 
 Reason not a Sufficient Guide in. 
 
 No enlightened Christian can be so much the 
 advocate of faith as to be the enemy of 
 reason. Reason in itself considered is an 
 invaluable good. It is this, indeed, that chiefly 
 distinguishes man from the inferior creatures, 
 and lays the foundation of his accountableness. 
 Without it he would be incapable of all moral 
 action, and on its growth and exercise his 
 progress in virtue and happinesss necessarilly 
 depends. Reason is that faculty of the mind by 
 which we arrive at the knowledge of truth ; 
 and its exercise is required whenever evidence 
 is advanced and propositions submitted. What- 
 ever, in fact, is brought under the cognizance of 
 the mind is subject to the investigation of 
 reason. There is a grand class of truths which 
 reason is competent to discover, to elucidate, 
 and to establish without any other aid than is 
 afforded by physical nature, and the exercise of 
 its own powers. There is another grand class 
 of subjects which lies beyond its ken, partly 
 because the evidence on which their existence 
 rests was obscured or obliterated by the original 
 apostacy, and partly because their very nature 
 requires, in order to their being known, a com- 
 munication from that Being in whom they 
 originate, and who alone can impart them to 
 the mind. Now, though in reference to this 
 most important class of subjects reason has its 
 uses, it has its limits too. And it is because 
 that on these momentous themes, involving the 
 mightiest interests in the universe, reason has 
 betrayed her weakness and her corruption, and 
 
 consummated her guilt by insufferable pride 
 and arrogance, that we denounce her as un- 
 faithful to the high trust reposed in her by her 
 Creator. 
 
 In algebra, in geometry, in the mathematics, 
 in all the physical sciences, reason is a safe and 
 sufficient guide. Here she is in no danger of 
 misleading us. On all subjects capable of 
 demonstration, she walks within the circle of 
 her own province. Here she is not likely to 
 err, and if at any time she is bewildered, the 
 aberration is of trifling moment, and may be 
 corrected by a new inquiry, or a more careful 
 induction. It is when, unassisted and alone, 
 she dares to obtrude into the sphere of morals 
 and religion, that she betrays her amazing 
 defection from God, and her dreadful perversion 
 from truth and goodness. And when this is 
 accompanied with a deliberate rejection of the 
 Scriptures as the word of God, what is it but 
 reason revolting from wisdom, the human mind 
 desecrating its own nature and devoting itself 
 to incredulity, where faith is the highest reason, 
 and therefore the indispensable duty of a ra- 
 tional and accountable being? 
 
 The subjects of this class are by far the most 
 interesting, the most awful, and the most in- 
 fluential that can be brought to operate upon 
 the human spirit ; and of the greatest magnitude 
 to society. In one word, they involve all that 
 we can imagine of sublime and majestic ; all 
 that is essential to individual, social, and im- 
 mortal happiness. They stand in the most 
 intimate relation to God, and that connection 
 which he has condescended to establish between 
 himself and this portion of his intelligent uni- 
 verse. To err here is to err fatally ; and yet it 
 is here that reason more especially misrepre- 
 sents, perplexes, and confounds ; and this she 
 has done not only in contempt of all the 
 instincts and principles of human nature, but 
 in despite of all the great doctrines which are 
 unfolded and enforced in the sacred volume. 
 
 "We know," says Mr. Burke, and it is our 
 pride to know, *' that man is by nature and 
 constitution a religious animal ; that atheism is 
 not only contrary to his reason, but his instinct, 
 and that it cannot last long." This profound 
 and just observation all ages and all nations 
 have confirmed. Amidst ten thousand idola- 
 tries and superstitions, amidst the grossest 
 errors, the most horrible perversions, the most 
 appalling delusions, we find men of all coun- 
 tries, the learned and the illiterate, the civilized 
 and the barbarous, discovering an uncon- 
 querable attachment to a creed, the fundamental 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 507 
 
 doctrines of which are the being and perfections 
 of God — his providence among men— divine 
 worship — propitiatory sacrifices — and a future 
 state. We find them all building their crude 
 and undigested notions of virtue upon this 
 basis. Even the philosophers and sages of the 
 pagan world incessantly revolved the great 
 questions suggested by this universal instinctive 
 and intuitive theology ; not that they ever 
 brought their speculations to any consistency, 
 or arrived at any more rational conclusions than 
 the vulger herd they affected to despise. We 
 have been told, indeed, of the anticipated Chris- 
 tianity of Socrates ; but all the inquiries of this 
 great man plunged him only in greater dark- 
 ness ; and his highest attainment was conjecture 
 and scepticism. By wisdom he knew not God. 
 Modem deists have been equally unsuccess- 
 ful. Instead of following out the dictates and 
 intimations of Nature, they have confounded 
 truth, and substituted nothing certain and in- 
 variable in its place. They have opposed each 
 other, and contradicted themselves, calling evil 
 good and good evil ; whereas, had they taken 
 up the clue which Nature put into their hands, 
 and carried it as far as reason would justify, 
 they would have been prepared for the humility 
 of faith and the oracles of God. For Scripture 
 begins where the proper exercise of reason, in 
 discovering truth, terminates. Yet the functions 
 of reason continue ; and are to be employed in 
 investigating the evidences and the contents of 
 that very book which sternly rebukes its pride, 
 and says to its insatiable curiosity, "Thus far 
 shalt thou go, and no further." If like a 
 duteoiis worshipper she is willing with reveren- 
 tial awe to enter the temple of revelation and 
 to place herself under the guidance of faith and 
 hope, then will these cherubim of earth ascend 
 with her, till they deposit their charge amid 
 the mysterious splendours of the enthroned and 
 eternal reason. But if, with profane and im- 
 pious desperation, she thrusts herself within the 
 precincts of the hallowed edifice to rend the 
 veil which hides its mysteries, to desecrate its 
 altars, and extinguish its glory, infidelity and 
 despair will seize upon her as their victim, and 
 consign her to the unutterable horrors of the 
 outer darkness. — Sigma. 
 
 BELIGIOUS Instruction of a Mother. 
 
 How inestimable, how delightful, how fruitful 
 in all good, is the religious instruction con- 
 veyed to the infant mind under maternal care 
 
 and from maternal lips ! Let me not be 
 understood as depreciating the importance 01 
 a father's directions. As the child advances 
 from the days of childhood to those of boyhood, 
 and thence again to those of youth and of still 
 riper age, the paternal superintendence is most 
 valuable. But in the earlier season of instruc- 
 tion the training of the infant mind falls natu- 
 rally, by God's providence, into maternal 
 hands ; and on the proper exercise of that 
 talent depends in a main degree the future 
 prosperity of the child. Such is the case in 
 the ordinary progress of human events ; and 
 many, many are the instances wherein, although 
 the father may have been but "a Greek" as 
 it were to his offspring, not more careful of 
 his religious and moral training than a heathen, 
 there have been manifested the excellent fruits 
 of a mother's watchfulness in the spiritual 
 good qualities of the children. Happy the 
 mothers who, like Lois and Eunice, watch 
 over the opening understanding of those whom 
 God has given them, and prompt them to 
 remember their Creator in the days of their 
 infancy, and bring them up in the nurture and 
 admonition of the Lord ! Happy the children 
 who, like Timothy, imbibe with docility ma- 
 ternal instruction, and follow with a ready 
 mind and will the path of duty— ^/. Mant. 
 
 RELIGIOUS Votary, 
 Is a Pitiable Character. 
 A RELIGIOUS votary who boasts of his self- 
 conscious rectitude, plumes himself in his 
 conceit of personal goodness, soars on the 
 wings of his applauding conscience, and glories 
 in his well-spent life, — is a pitiable character, 
 dead in sin and alienated from the life of 
 God ; — a daring rebel, that would pull the 
 Redeemer from His throne ; — ** a tliief and a 
 robber," that attempts to climb the fold and 
 to scale Heaven, and in open contempt of 
 Jesus, the door of intromission to both. And 
 as for the religion of such a votary, it is 
 nothing but unbelief and pride, arrayed in 
 the flimsy garb of formality. — Bishop Portens. 
 
 REMEMBER Me. 
 Best of blessings bless thee ! 
 Best of joys caress thee ! 
 
 Yet still remember me ! 
 When the hours beguiling 
 Friends are round thee smiling. 
 
 Oh, then remember me ! 
 
5o8 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Or when light is flying, 
 
 From hard control and tyrant rules, 
 
 And thy breast is sighing, 
 
 The unfeeling discipline of schools, 
 
 O'er Hope's flow'rets dying, 
 
 In thought he loves to roam ; 
 
 That had bloom'd for thee— 
 
 And tears will struggle in his eye 
 
 When the sigh is wringing. 
 
 While he remembers with a sigh 
 
 And the tear is springing, 
 
 The comforts of his home. 
 
 Oh, then remember me ! 
 
 
 
 Youth comes ; the toils and cares of life 
 
 When thy knee is bending. 
 
 Torment the restless mind ; 
 
 And thy prayer ascending. 
 
 Where shall the tired and harass'd heart 
 
 Oh, then remember me ! 
 
 Its consolation find ? 
 
 When to thee are given 
 
 Then is nbt youth, as fancy tells. 
 
 Joys that seem of heav'n. 
 
 Life's summer prime of joy ? 
 
 Oh, then remember me ! 
 
 Ah no ! for hopes too long delay'd. 
 
 While that sacred feeling. 
 
 And feelings blasted or betray'd. 
 
 Thro' thy bosom stealing, 
 
 The fabled bliss destroy ; 
 
 Opens heav'n — revealing 
 
 And youth remembers with a sigh 
 
 Things no eye may see ; — 
 
 The careless days of infancy. 
 
 When thy home seems nearest, 
 
 
 And thy Saviour dearest. 
 
 Maturer manhood now arrives, 
 
 Oh, then remember me ! 
 
 And other thoughts come on ; 
 
 
 But with the baseless hopes of youth 
 
 While a joy is glowing. 
 
 Its generous warmth is gone ; 
 
 While a tear is flowing. 
 
 Cold, calculating cares succeed. 
 
 I must remember thee ; 
 
 The timid thought, the wary deed, 
 
 Joy will be the sweeter. 
 
 The dull realities of truth ; 
 
 Woe will be the fleeter, 
 
 Back on the past he turns his eye. 
 
 While I remember thee ! 
 
 Remembering with an envious sigh 
 
 Life is quickly burning. 
 
 The happy dreams of youth. 
 
 Dust to dust returning, 
 In the house of mourning, 
 Hidden soon will be ; 
 
 So reaches he the latter st§ge 
 Of this our mortal pilgrimage, 
 
 But when death's cold billow 
 
 With feeble step and slow ; 
 
 Washes o'er my pillow. 
 
 New ills that latter stage await. 
 
 Still I'll remember thee ! 
 
 And old experience learns too late 
 
 Anoji. 
 
 That all is vanity below. 
 
 
 Life's vain delusions are gone by. 
 Its idle hopes are o'er. 
 
 
 BEMEMBRANCE of Youth is a Sigh. 
 
 Yet age remembers with a sigh 
 
 Man hath a weary pilgrimage 
 
 The days that are no more. Southey. 
 
 As through the world he wends ; 
 On every stage from youth to age 
 
 
 
 Still discontent attends : 
 
 
 With heaviness he casts his eye 
 
 REMINISCENCE. 
 
 Upon the road before, 
 
 And oft, as those lov'd scenes I now explore. 
 
 And still remembers with a sigh 
 
 Fondly reverting unto years pass'd by. 
 
 The days that are no more. 
 
 Where I have paced a thousand times before, 
 
 To school the little exile goes. 
 
 Beauties till now unknown attract my eye ; 
 
 Torn from his mother's arms, — 
 
 Some stripling tree, aspiring to the sky ; 
 
 What then shall soothe his earliest woes, 
 
 Some clustering shrub, unstarting in the 
 
 When novelty hath lost its charms ? 
 
 wild ; 
 
 Condemn'd to suffer through the day 
 
 Some new-discovered flower of rarest dye. 
 
 Restraints which no rewards repay. 
 
 With plants and herbs, by botanists com- 
 
 And cares where love has no concern, 
 
 piled. 
 
 Hope lengthens as she counts the hours, 
 
 Enhance the worth of all that pleas'd me when 
 
 Before his wish'd return. 
 
 a child. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 509 
 
 Well I remember in my youthful hours, 
 
 Ere yet in numbers I essay'd to sing. 
 
 At that glad season, when fresh opening 
 
 flowers 
 And hawthorn buds proclaim'd the birth of 
 
 Spring, 
 While light-heel'd pleasures coursed tteir 
 
 mystic ring, 
 And my young heart was frolicsome as May, 
 Oft have I watch'd the lark, on anxious wing. 
 Ascend his azure steep at early day. 
 Piping aloud to heaven in many a carol gay. 
 
 Joyous I've found the glossy crocus, blowing 
 Fair in its bed of green, and onward stray'd 
 To sunny dells, where April's hand was 
 
 throwing 
 Violets of virgin sweetness, and survey'd 
 The pale-eye'd primrose, glinting in the 
 
 glade : 
 Daisies, vermilion-tinged, were deem'd a 
 
 prize, 
 And pluck'd in triumph; while the sloe- 
 bloom made, 
 Garlands for mating birds, and thence would 
 rise, 
 Vouchings of purest love in anthems to the 
 skies. 
 
 And at sweet May-tide, when the cowslip 
 
 hung 
 Its head in pensiveness, and crowflowers 
 
 bright, 
 Along the expanse of lengthening meads 
 
 were flung. 
 Mingled with ladysmocks and daisies white, 
 Lambsfoot and speedwell, and the lovely 
 
 sight 
 Of hawthorn blossoms, fragrant on the gale 
 Of eve ; full oft I've wandered with delight ; 
 Nor, time regretting, will I e'er bewail. 
 Those hours I loitering spent in woodland, 
 
 mead, and dale. 
 
 And oft in summer hours I've saunter'd 
 
 forth. 
 Along the thorn edge, or beside the grove, 
 To hail the damask wild-rose at its birth, 
 Symbol of innocence and maiden love ; 
 And of that chastity which reigns above : 
 Or sought the woodbine in its bower o'er- 
 
 shaded, 
 Where stretching far its wanton arms would 
 
 rove. 
 Till haply by some peasant's hand invaded, 
 'Twas torn from out the folds with which its 
 
 tendrils braided. 
 
 Nor will my mind surrender up in haste. 
 The recollection of autumnal views ; 
 Save by oblivion, not to be effaced ; 
 The sloping sunbeams and the varied hues 
 Of fading landscapes, and the misty dews 
 Hung on the threads of gossamer ; the flowers 
 Withering in death ; till nature should infuse 
 Into their roots her renovating powers, 
 And paint afresh the plains, and re-adorn the 
 bowers. 
 
 Dearly I love you'! native fields and groves. 
 And hills, and dales, and meads of fairest 
 
 bloom. 
 Where Spring's first flowers enjoy their 
 
 nuptial loves. 
 And June's bright children summer winds 
 
 perfume : 
 In some still nook of yours be this my doom. 
 When life's frail energies shall make a stand. 
 To find a rural solitary tomb. 
 Where waving trees their branching arms 
 
 expand. 
 To screen my sunless house, and deck the 
 
 matchless land. . R. Millhouse. 
 
 REMINISCENCE 
 
 Of the Past Forgotten. 
 
 We have ceased to remember, in a great 
 measure, what we were. What is become of 
 all those vernal fancies which had so much 
 power to touch the heart ? What a number of 
 sentiments have lived and revelled in the soul 
 which are now irrecoverably gone ! They died, 
 like the singing birds of that time, which sing 
 no more. The life we then had now seems 
 almost as if it could not have been our own. 
 We are like a man returning after the absence 
 of many years, to visit the embowered cottage 
 where he passed the morning of his life, and 
 finding only a relic of its ruins. — Foster. 
 
 REMORSE. 
 
 Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid. 
 In every bosom where her nest is made. 
 Hatched by the beams of truth, denies him rest. 
 And proves a raging scorpion in his breast. 
 
 Comper. 
 
 Of all the faculties or powers in the human 
 mind, conscience is the most awful. "It is," 
 says one of our old pithy divines, "God's 
 greatest officer and vicegerent in man ; set by 
 him to be, as it were, thy angel, keeper, moni- 
 
5IO 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 tor, remembrancer, king, prophet, examiner, 
 judge — yea, thy lower heaven. If thou slight- 
 est it, it will be an adversary, informer, accuser, 
 witness, judge, jailor, tormenter, a worm, rack, 
 dungeon, unto thee — yea, thy upper hell." 
 There is a remarkable pungency and force in 
 this language ; but no words can adequately 
 describe the painful operations of the faculty 
 to which it refers. The base debauchee, who 
 seduces victim after victim into his fatal snare, 
 and robs them at once of innocence and peace ; 
 the odious traitor, who betrays the most solemn 
 trust reposed in him, and ruins his employer 
 and benefactor ; the revengeful tyrant and cruel 
 oppressor, who imbrues his hands in blood ; 
 whatever specious pleas and apologies they may 
 frame to cover and disguise their wickedness 
 — whatever opiates they make seek to soothe 
 their agitated minds, are heaping up more 
 miseries for themselves than they can possibly 
 inflict on any they have injured. The moral 
 sense may for a time be blunted, but it will 
 recover its keenness, and pierce the soul with 
 tenfold force. A peculiar conjuncture of cir- 
 cumstances restores in a moment the half- 
 obliterated records of memory, and wakes up to 
 fresh life and vigour the slumbering feelings of 
 remorse. 
 
 The word of God is seen unravelling the 
 mystery of iniquity, preparing the cup of wrath, 
 and the sword of vengeance, for the detected 
 criminal. We have a striking proof of this in 
 the sons of Jacob ; many years after they had 
 barbarously sold Joseph into slavery, when 
 seized and imprisoned as suspected spies in 
 Egypt, "they said one to another, we are verily 
 guilty concerning our brother, in that we saw 
 the anguish of his soul when he besought us 
 and we would not hear j therefore is this dis- 
 tress come upon us." And Reuben answered 
 them, "Spake I not unto you, saying, do not 
 sin against the child j and ye would not hear ? 
 therefore, behold also his blood is required." 
 
 And, as no length of time can annihilate the 
 stings of remorse, so no flatteries, luxuries, 
 royal edicts, or imperial resources can suppress 
 them. Belshazzar, when feasting in his palace 
 with a thousand of his lords, was struck with 
 horror by a shadow in the form of a hand, 
 writing mysterious characters on the wall. The 
 king had an interpreter within that told him 
 the drift and dark import of the sentence, be- 
 fore the prophet was called in to expound it at 
 large. Conscience, burdened with guilt, and 
 goaded by the painful apprehensions which 
 attend it, is too hard for arbitrary power in all 
 
 its insolence and boasted daring. Nero is said 
 to have fiddled while Rome was in flames ; yet, 
 Suetonius tells us that after he had murdered 
 Agrippina he fell under the scourge of a guilty 
 conscience, frequently declaring that he was 
 haunted by his mother's ghost, and pursued by 
 the whips and burning torches of the furies. 
 But, if remorse cannot be soothed by time, nor 
 silenced by the bribe of wealth, nor suppressed 
 by the dictates of arbitrary power, has not 
 scepticism some rare and valuable secret able 
 to charm it away? Let the death-bed horrors 
 of Hobbes, Voltaire, and Paine serve for a 
 sufficient answer. 
 
 Who can be so miserable as the man that has 
 God and his own conscience against him? The 
 retrospect of the past and the prospect of the 
 future are equally appalling ; around are the 
 memorials of guilt, within the poisoned darts 
 of anguish — heaven frowns above, and hell 
 flames beneath. Justly hath Solomon said, 
 " The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity, 
 but a wounded spirit who can bear?" When 
 the light of hope is completely extinguished, 
 and, at the same time, the sense of guilt is 
 exquisitely keen, as in the case of Spira, or Sir 
 Francis Newport, it is scarcely possible for the 
 imagination, at its utmost stretch, to conceive 
 a state of deeper wretchedness or heavier woe. 
 We tremble and recoil from the view and con- 
 templation of the terrible and heartrending 
 scene. 
 
 It may be said, as it has been said, that much 
 stress ought not to be laid on a few extra- 
 ordinary instances. In reply, it is enough to 
 affirm that the facts of this kind, taken col- 
 lectively, are neither few nor fallacious. Several 
 have come within the narrow range of my own 
 personal aquaintance ; and were not the tender- 
 ness and delicacy of surviving relatives anxiously 
 employed to conceal them, I doubt not most 
 affecting disclosures of the power which con- 
 science has to plant the dying pillow with 
 thorns, would be made to the world. From 
 the days of Cain to this hour, the ungrateful, 
 the perfidious, the profane, and the cruel have 
 had to sustain a weight of punishment, often 
 galling and oppressive in the extreme, imposed 
 by an invisible hand, which no art can evade, 
 no power resist. Superstition and infidelity 
 have devised a thousand means to allay the 
 anguish of a wounded spirit ; but their rites, 
 ceremonies, their sophistries and salvos, have 
 eventually proved vain and useless. "Be sure 
 your sin will find you out" is a maxim verified 
 by universal experience. Deliberate crime and 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 511 
 
 punishment are linked by an indissoluble chain ; 
 and he that sows the seed of wickedness must, 
 soon or late, reap the fruit of misery. Nor let 
 any trust to palliatives. Amidst the dread 
 perturbations and deep throbs of remorse they 
 are found utterly unavailing. Nor will it be 
 unreasonable here to suggest, what will hold 
 good, as applied to the mind, no less than the 
 body— that preventatives are far better than 
 remedies. 
 
 Happy is the man who flees from the appear- 
 ance of evil, and exercises himself daily, to 
 keep a conscience always void of offence, both 
 towards God and towards men. — Riisticus. 
 
 REMOTE Views. 
 It is common to overlook what is near by 
 keeping the eye fixed on something remote. 
 In the same manner present opportunities are 
 neglected and attainable good is slighted by 
 minds busied in extensive ranges, and intent 
 upon future advantages. Life, however short, 
 is made shorter by waste of time ; and its 
 progress towards happiness, though naturally 
 slow, is made still slower by unnecessary labour. 
 — Johnson. 
 
 REPARTEE. 
 The hint malevolent, the look oblique, 
 The obvious satire, or implied dislike ; 
 The sneer equivocal, the harsh reply, 
 And all the cruel language of the eye ; 
 The artful injury, whose venom'd dart 
 Scarce wounds the hearing, while it stabs the 
 
 heart ; [told. 
 
 The guarded phrase, whose meaning kills ; yet 
 The listener wonders how you thought it cold. 
 Small slights, neglect, unmixed, perhaps, vdth 
 
 hate, 
 Make up in number what they want in weight ; 
 These, and a thousand griefs minute as these, 
 Corrode our comfort, and destroy our ease. 
 
 H. More. 
 
 REPENTANCE. 
 Each perfum'd vanity doth gently breathe 
 Sin in thy soul, and whispers it to death. 
 Our faults, like ulcerated sores, do go 
 O'er the sound flesh, and do corrupt that too. 
 Lord, we are sick, spotted with sin, 
 Thick as a crusty leper's skin. 
 Like Naaman, bid us wash ; yet let it be 
 In streams of blood that flow from Thee. 
 
 Bp. y. Taylor. 
 
 REPENTANCE and Consequent Belief. 
 This the first thing. We should not stir from 
 this direction until we have some good groxmd 
 of evidence that we do "repent and believe." 
 Alas ! our guilt and wickedness are much 
 deeper and larger than we are apt to suspect ; 
 and our pride fights with inexpressible obstinacy 
 against all just convictions. But let us not be 
 discouraged ; things impossible with men are 
 possible with God. Let us pray, not now and 
 then only, but constantly. Life is short ; we 
 have no other business that ought to interfere 
 with this. It should be the perpetual, as it is 
 the most important employment of the soul. 
 The Scriptures, daily meditated on, will supply 
 us with instruction ; and if we persevere, our 
 business in religion will doubtless be made, in 
 time, our chief pleasure. A thorough insight 
 into human emptiness and earthly vanity, a 
 complete conviction of the evil of sin, even in 
 our own particular case, and a desire to forsake 
 it altogether, a solid discernment of the com- 
 plete sufiiciency of Christ to save us in all 
 respects, — these things, in daily seeking unto 
 God, are to be attained. — Jos. Milner, 
 
 REPENTANCE Betimes. 
 
 Now, therefore, while you have life, and 
 health, and strength ; while yoiu: sun is not 
 yet gone down, nor the grave yawning for you 
 beneath ; before time begins his ravages, and 
 disease saps your vitals, — ascend your watch- 
 tower, contemplate the prospect, stretch your 
 thought inward, and determine what the end 
 shall be. You are, in one sense, the arbiter of 
 your own destiny ! God has opened the way 
 to Himself by the mediation of His Son, and 
 by the offers of His Spirit. Through the Son 
 you may be forgiven ; through the Spirit sanc- 
 tified. A feast is spread, to which you are 
 invited ; a river of life, of which you may 
 drink ; a crown of glory, which is your ap- 
 pointed reward ! May God fix your hearts for 
 glory, honour, and immortality, through Jesus 
 Christ our Lord ! — H. Martyn. 
 
 If God, in His justice, spared not His own 
 Son, will he spare an unrepenting sinner ? If 
 God would not allow the world to break his 
 holy law, without punishing the world in Him, 
 who was worth a million worlds, will He spare 
 the sinner, who still breaks His laws ? And 
 if the wrath of God for sin bore down the 
 eternal Son of God to the ground, and forced 
 His heart's blood from Him, what will it do 
 
512 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 to the wretched sinner on whom it falls ? It 
 will crush him to destruction. . . Be warned, 
 then, sinners, all of you who have not truly 
 turned to seek pardon for your sin, and seek it 
 now ; for God's very justice now binds Him 
 to forgive you, if you come to him through 
 Christ.— /-f^ W. Champneys. 
 
 EEPENTANCE Deferred. 
 
 I WILL to-morrow, that I will, 
 
 I will be sure to do it ; 
 To-morrow comes, to-morrow goes, 
 
 And still thou art to do it. 
 Thus still repentance is deferred, 
 
 From one day to another : 
 Until the day of death is come, 
 
 And judgment is the other. 
 
 Drexelms. 
 
 EEPENTANCE, Different Aspects of. 
 
 Repentance is not like the summer fruits, fit 
 to be taken a little and in their own time ; it is 
 like bread, the provisions and support of life, 
 the entertainment of every day ; but it is the 
 bread of affliction to some, and the bread of 
 carefulness to all ; and he that preaches this 
 with the greatest severity, it may be, takes the 
 liberty of an enemy, but he gives the counsel 
 and the assistance of a friend. — Jeremy Taylor. 
 
 EEPENTANCE, Fruits Meet for. 
 
 My dearly beloved in the Lord, I, your poorest 
 brother, now departing to the Lord, pray 
 you, beseech you from the very bottom of my 
 heart, for all the mercies of God in Christ 
 showed unto you, that ye will repent you, be 
 sorry for your offences, and return to the Lord, 
 whose arms are wide open to receive and em- 
 brace you ; for he is the Lord of mercy and 
 God of all comfort ; He will not the death of 
 a sinner, but rather that he should return, con- 
 vert, and amend . . . Now the Lord speak- 
 eth us in mercy and grace ; oh turn, before he 
 speak in wrath. Oh, call upon him while he 
 may be found : he that calleth upon the Lord 
 shall be saved. My dear hearts in the Lord, 
 turn you, turn you to the Lord your Father, to 
 the Lord your Saviour, to the Lord your Com- 
 forter. Oh, why do you stop your ears and 
 harden your hearts to-day, when you hear His 
 voice by me, your poorest brother? .... 
 Turn you, turn you, repent you, repent you I 
 
 Cease from doing evil, study to do well ; — cast 
 away all the works of darkness ; put on piety 
 and godliness ; serve God after His word, and 
 not after custom. Be spiritual, and by the 
 Spirit mortify carnal affections ; be sober, 
 holy, true, loving, gentle, merciful ; and then 
 shall the Lord's wrath cease, not for this your 
 doing's sake, but for his mercy's sake. Take 
 this counsel as the Lord's counsel and not as 
 mine, that, in the day of judgment, I may re- 
 joice for you and with you. — Bradford. 
 
 EEPENTANCE, its Difficulties. 
 
 When any of us prepare, and try to fly to 
 Christ, — whenever we begin to try to "walk 
 with God ; " whenever we endeavour to become 
 the servants of Christ, and to do what he has 
 commanded ; depend upon it we shall find 
 difficulties enough. The world will be against 
 us ; our own flesh will be against us ; the devil 
 will be against us. But let us not be dismayed. 
 Greater is He that is for us than he that is 
 against us. The same merciful Saviour who 
 cured the paralytic (Matt, xviii.) will have 
 compassion on us. He will teach us to look 
 for forgiveness in His blood. He will teach 
 us to seek for sanctification in the Holy 
 Ghost. He will show the way of life in this 
 world. He will help us to walk in that blessed 
 path ; and he will teach our hearts always joy- 
 fully to remember that he that believeth in the 
 Lord Jesus Christ shall be saved. — T. V. Short. 
 
 EEPENTANCE, its EewarcL 
 
 The contrite and believing shall participate in 
 the glories of their Lord. They shall be 
 planted in the temple of God. The "one thing 
 they desired upon earth" shall be granted 
 them; "they shall behold the fair beauty of 
 the Lord and dwell in his temple. " They shall 
 live in his presence — they shall hear his voice 
 — they shall mingle their songs with the re- 
 deemed — they shall proclaim the glory of " the 
 Crucified" for ever and ever — they shall " see 
 the King in His beauty, and the land that is 
 very far off." — y. W. Cunningham. 
 
 EEPENTANCE, Never too Late. 
 As it is never too soon to be good, so it is 
 never too late to amend : I will, therefore, nei- 
 ther neglect the time present, nor despair of 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 513 
 
 the time past. If I had been sooner good, I 
 might perhaps have been better : if I am longer 
 bad, I shall, I am sure, be worse. That I have 
 stayed long time idle in the market-place de- 
 serves reprehension, but if I am late sent into 
 the vineyard I have encouragement to work, I 
 will give unto this last as unto i\\tQ.— Arthur 
 Warwick. 
 
 REPENTANCE, Not True. 
 
 Not made a monster by unhappiness, 
 
 What shall I say? Thou raad'st me weaK of 
 
 will, 
 Thou wrapped'st me in ease and carelessness. 
 And yet, as some folk say, thou lovest me still ; 
 Look down, of folly I have had my fill, 
 And am but now as first thou madest me, 
 Weak, yielding clay, to take impress of thee. 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 REPENTANCE, Sweets of. 
 
 I DO not shame 
 To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
 So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 REPENTANCE, The Gospel of. 
 
 We were all "dead in trespasses and sins," 
 and must for ever have lain both under the 
 punishment and guilt of our transgressions, 
 had not the blessed Jesus opened to us the 
 gates of heaven, and sealed a gospel of repen- 
 tance with His own blood, for the remission 
 of our sins. We were under a miserable sen- 
 tence of death and judgment ; but Christ hath 
 now taken away the sting of the one, and the 
 danger of the other ; so that our temporal 
 death is no longer a punishment, but rather a 
 blessing to us ; and the eternal judgment of 
 God shall, instead of being our condemnation, 
 prove to us perfect absolution, and a glorious 
 reward. — Abp. Wake. 
 
 REPENTANCE 
 
 To be Appreciated by Others. 
 
 Once again I do receive thee honest. 
 Who by repentance is not satisfied 
 Is nor of heaven nor earth. Shakespeare. 
 
 REPENTANCE Unfeigned. 
 If hearty sorrow 
 Be a sufficient ransom for offence, 
 I tender it here ; I do as truly suffer 
 As e'er I did commit. Shakespeare. 
 
 REPROOF, Gentle. 
 
 Now of these twain, the princess spoke 
 The less, but into laughter broke 
 Not seldom, but would redden oft, 
 As on her lips her fingers soft 
 She laid ; as still the other maid. 
 Half grave, half smiling, follies said. 
 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 REPUTATION, a Lasting One. 
 
 If a man were only to deal in the world for a 
 day, and should never have occasion to con- 
 verse more with mankind, never more need 
 their good opinion or good word, it were then 
 no great matter (speaking as to the concern- 
 ments of this world), if a man spent his reputa- 
 tion all at once, and ventured it at one throw ; 
 but if he be to continue in the world, and 
 would have the advantage of conversation while 
 he is in it, let him make use of truth and sin- 
 cerity in all his words and actions ; for nothing 
 but this will last and hold out to the end. — 
 Tillotson. 
 
 REPUTATION, Love of. 
 
 If the false glory which men pursue is on the 
 one hand a proof of their misery, it i^ on the 
 other an attestation of their excellence ; for 
 whatever degree of riches, health, and other 
 benefits men enjoy, they are still dissatisfied 
 unless they find themselves in the good opinion 
 of their own species. Human reason challen- 
 ges so much esteem and reverence from us, 
 that, under the most advantageous circum- 
 stances of life, we think ourselves unhappy if 
 we are not placed to an equal advantage in 
 men's judgments. This we look on as the 
 fairest post that can be attained; nothing is 
 able to divert us from so passionate a desire ; 
 it is the most indelible character in the heart 
 of man ; insomuch that those who think so 
 contemptuously of mankind as to make the 
 very beasts of the fields their equals, yet con- 
 tradict their own hypothesis by the motions 
 which they feel in their own souls. Nature, 
 
 L L 
 
514 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 which is stronger than all their reason, convin- 
 ces them more powerfully of man's greatness 
 than reason can persuade them of his mean- 
 ness. — Pascal. 
 
 REQUEST, The Last. 
 Come, while the clear stars shine, 
 On cottage, hill, and vine ; 
 "While shadeless slumber wraps the heaven's 
 blue height : 
 And not a voice is heard. 
 Save of some lonely bird, 
 Warbling a low sweet welcome to the night. 
 
 Come, while the fond flowers sleep, 
 
 In fragrance soft and deep, 
 While like a quiet dream the waters move : 
 
 And we will wander o'er. 
 
 The green fields, as of yore, 
 Ere our young bosoms knew the pain of love ! 
 
 Come, in this hour of rest, 
 
 It is my last request ; 
 For, ah ! too well I feel my coming doom ! 
 
 Not long this frame may bear 
 
 Its passion and despair ; 
 Not long remain, thus blighted ! from the tomb. 
 
 My tears, perchance, may tell 
 
 How wild is that "farewell" 
 Which withers earthly hope within my heart ; 
 
 But, oh ! thou may'st not fear. 
 
 From one who loves thus dear, 
 One word beyond those saddening words ' * we 
 part !" 
 
 It must be weak — be vain, 
 
 To wish to meet again. 
 To roam once more the fields we oft have trod ; 
 
 My spirit seems to be 
 
 But held to earth by thee ; 
 But waiting this ** farewell" to meet its God ! 
 
 C. Swain. 
 
 RESIGNATION. 
 
 I GRANT that we are surrounded by real dan- 
 gers. I pretend not to be above suffering ; 
 and I attach no merit to becoming the reckless 
 dupe of men or chance. But the order of 
 events, which we call by the name of chance, 
 is more sage than any that human calculation 
 can arrange. The highest philosophy is at 
 the same time the most simple and practicable. 
 There is no error more common than one 
 which is taken for profound wisdom. Most 
 men look too deep for the springs of events 
 
 and the motives of action. In difficult alter- 
 natives we shall be most wise in trusting the 
 course of events freely to a higher arm. If we 
 are menaced by an evident peril, let us sum- 
 mon all our energy, and courageously struggle 
 to ward it off. If, after all, neither wisdom 
 can evade it nor bravery vanquish it, let us 
 see how true wisdom ordains us to sustain it. 
 
 How many are ignorant of the value of re- 
 signation, or confound it with weakness ! The 
 courage of resignation is, perhaps, the most 
 high and rare of all the forms of that virtue. 
 Man received the gift directly from the Author 
 of his being. His desires, inquietudes, mis- 
 guided opinions, the fruits of an ambitious and 
 incongruous education, have weakened its force 
 in the soul. Who can read the anecdote of 
 the American wilderness without thrilling emo- 
 tion? 
 
 An Indian, descending the Niagara river, 
 was thrown into the rapids above the sublime 
 cataract. The nursling of the desert rowed 
 with an incredible vigour at first, in an intense 
 struggle for life. Seeing his efforts useless, he 
 dropped his oars, sung his death song, and 
 floated in calmness down the abyss. His ex- 
 ample is worthy of the imitation of a Christian. 
 While there is hope let us nerve all our force 
 to avail ourselves of all the chances it suggests. 
 When hope ceases, .and peril must be braved, 
 wisdom counsels calm resignation. 
 
 In regard to unconquerable evils, the true 
 doctrine is not vain resistance, but profound 
 submission. It conceals the outline of what 
 we have to suffer as with a veil. It hastens to 
 bring us the fruit of consoling time. It opens 
 our eyes to a clearer view of the possessions 
 which remain to us. It precedes hope, as 
 twilight ushers in the day. — Dion. 
 
 RESIGNATION, its Soft Voice. 
 
 But that tall castle height must fall. 
 The mountain where the golden sun was hid, 
 The rocks where lonely eagles sullen rest, 
 The peaceful vale with orient honours clad, 
 The boundaries on the raging billow's crest, 
 The burning stars in their supernal vault, 
 Must render up their native majesty 
 When the shrill trumpet of the angel sounds : 
 But the soft notes of Resignation's voice 
 Shall join the choir oi heaven's great palaces. 
 And rest for aye in holy presence there. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 515 
 
 RESIGNATION, Milton's, 
 On his Loss of Sight 
 He thus expresses himself upon this melan- 
 choly occasion : "I do not regard my lot either 
 with weariness or compulsion ; I continue in 
 the same sentiment fixed and immoveable. I 
 do not think my God displeased with me ; nei- 
 ther is he displeased ; on the contrary, I expe- 
 rience and thankfully acknowledge his paternal 
 clemency and benignity towards me in every- 
 thing that is of the greater moment, especially 
 in this, that He is himself consoling and en- 
 couraging my spirit. I acquiesce without a 
 murmur in his sacred dispensations : it is 
 through his grace that I find my friends, even 
 more than before, kind and affectionate towards 
 me ; nor is it an occasion of anguish to me, 
 though you count it miserable, that I am fallen 
 in vulgar estimation into the class of the blind, 
 the unfortunate, the wretched, and the helpless, 
 since my hope is that I am thus brought nearer 
 to the mercy and protection of the universal 
 Father. There is a path, as the Apostle teaches 
 me, through weakness to the most consummate 
 strength ; so that in my debility the better and 
 immortal vigour of my human nature may be 
 more effectually displayed, so that amidst my 
 darkness the light of the divine countenance 
 may shine forth more bright : then shall I be 
 at once helpless and yet of giant strength, 
 blind, yet of vision most penetrating, thus may 
 I be in this helplessness carried on to fulness 
 of joy, and in ihis darkness be surrounded with 
 the light of eternal day. " 
 
 RESIGNATION, Our Duty. 
 
 If all the days of our life were without the evil 
 of sin, we might have some colour of reason 
 to expect they should be without the colour of 
 adversity also ... If we were all good in our 
 carriage towards God, we might presume that 
 God would be all good in his providence 
 towards us ; and that if our obedience were 
 uniform, even, and uninterrupted, that our 
 prosperity would be so too. But, alas ! it is 
 quite otherwise. Many, very many, have been 
 our days of sin, and therefore we have no rea- 
 son at all to complain if we see some days of 
 sorrow. 
 
 And shall we grumble at a little sorrow, that 
 have so much sin? Yea, rather let us bless 
 God, who has spared us so much and punished 
 us so little, and confess the truth with the 
 
 people of God in the book of Ezra (ix, 13) — 
 "Thou, O God, hast punished us less, far less, 
 than our iniquities deserve." — Bishop Bull. 
 
 RESIGNATION : " Thy Will be Done." 
 
 ** Thy will be done ! how hard a thing to say 
 When sickness ushers in death's dreary knell ; 
 When eyes that lately sparkled bright and gay, 
 Wander around with dimly conscious ray. 
 To some familiar face, to bid farewell ! 
 Thy will be done !— the falt'ring lips deny 
 A passage to the tones as yet unheard ; 
 The sob convulsed, the raised and swimming 
 
 eye, 
 Seem as appealing to their God on high 
 For power to breathe the yet imperfect word. 
 Orphan ! who watchest by the silent tomb 
 Where those who gave thee life all coldly sleep ; 
 Or thou, who sittest in thy desolate home. 
 Calling to those beloved who cannot come. 
 And, thinking o'er thy loneliness dost weep ! 
 Widow ! who musest over bygone years 
 Of life, and love, and happiness with him 
 Who shared thy joys and sorrows, hopes and 
 
 fears. 
 Who now are left to shed unnoticed tears. 
 Till thy fair cheek is wan, and eyes grow dim ! 
 Husband ! who dreamest of thy gentle wiie. 
 And still in fancy seest her rosy smile 
 Brightening a world of bitterness and strife ; 
 Wlio from the lonely future of thy life 
 Turnest in dreariness to weep the while ! 
 Mother ! whose prayers could not avail to save 
 Him whom thou lovedst most, thy blue-eyed 
 
 boy ! 
 Who with a bitter agony dost rave 
 To the wild waves that fan his early grave, 
 And dashedst from thy lips the cup of joy ! 
 And thou ! not widowed, but bereaved one, 
 Who, buried in thy tearless, mute despair, 
 Roamest a desert world alone — alone. 
 To seek him out who from thine eyes is gone, 
 Scarce able to believe he is not there ! 
 Mourners ! who linger in a world of woe. 
 Each bowing 'neath his separate load of grief. 
 Turn from the silent tomb ; and, kneeling low 
 Before that throne at which the angels bow. 
 Invoke a God of mercy for relief ! 
 Pray that ye too may journey when ye die. 
 To that far world where blessed souls are gone ; 
 And, through the gathering sob of agony. 
 Raise, with a voice resigned, the humble cry, 
 ** Father — Creator— Lord ! thy will be done !" 
 Hon. Mrs, Norton. 
 
5i6 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 RESOLUTION. 
 
 Tranquillity consisteth in a steadiness of the 
 mind ; and how can that vessel that is beaten 
 upon by contrary waves and winds, and tolter- 
 eth to either part, be said to keep a steady 
 course? Resolution is the only mother of 
 security. — Bishop Hall. 
 
 RESOLUTION, A Wise. 
 
 Others may glory in what they please : I 
 will glory in nothing else but Jesus Christ, and 
 Him crucified. Should I presume to rely on 
 my own virtue, I must soon despair. Though 
 I heartily wish to obey God, and follow the 
 example of my Saviour ; though I will sted- 
 fastly endeavour, by the grace of God, to subdue 
 my inclination to sin : yet, in all this, there is 
 and ever will be imperfection, so that I dare 
 not stand upon so rotten a ground. But to win 
 Christ, and to be found in him, in life, in 
 death, in the day of judgment, was St. Paul's 
 wish, has been the wish of all genuine Chris- 
 tians, and shall be mine as long as I breathe. 
 This was not a peculiarity in St. Paul's char- 
 acter. No ! he admonishes all to follow him 
 in this point. This close adherence to Christ 
 will not make us indolent in our obedience. It 
 will rather impel, strengthen, and cheer us in 
 the pursuit of true and Christian holiness. — 
 Swartz. 
 
 RESOLUTION, Dauntless. 
 
 Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire ; 
 Threaten the threatener, and out-face the brow 
 Of bragging horror : so shall inferior eyes. 
 That borrow their behaviours from the great, 
 Grow great by your example, and put on 
 The dauntless spirit of resolution. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 RESOLUTIONS, Daily. 
 
 Order and determination are essential to the 
 perfonnance of many of our duties, and highly 
 conducive to regularity and success in our moral 
 and Christian course. The following are the 
 resolutions of the celebrated Lavater, who was 
 as estimable for his devotional spirit and hea- 
 venly-mindedness as he was celebrated for his 
 essay on physiognomy : — 
 
 " I will never, either in the morning or eve- 
 ning, proceed to any business, until I have first 
 retired, at least for a few moments, to a private 
 
 place, and implored God for his assistance and 
 blessing. 
 
 '* I will neither do nor undertake anything 
 which I would abstain from doing if Jesus 
 Christ were standing visibly befoi-e me ; nor 
 anything of which I think it possible I shall 
 repent in the uncertain hour of my certain 
 death. 
 
 "I will, with the Divine aid, accustom 
 myself to do everything without exception in 
 the name of Jesus Christ, and as His disciple, 
 to sigh to God continually for the Holy Ghost ; 
 and to preserve myself in a constant disposition 
 for prayer. 
 
 "Every day shall be distinguished by at 
 least one particular act of love. 
 
 *' Every day I will be especially attentive to 
 promote the benefit and advantage of my own 
 family in particular. 
 
 ** I will never eat or drink so much as shall 
 occasion to me the least inconvenience or hin- 
 drance in my business ; and between meal 
 times (a morsel in the evening excepted), I will 
 abstain as much as possible from eating and 
 from wine. 
 
 " Wherever I go, I will pray to God that I 
 may commit no sin there, but be the cause of 
 some good. 
 
 ** I will never lie down to sleep without 
 prayer, nor when I am in health sleep longer 
 than at most eight hours. 
 
 "I will every evening examine my conduct 
 during the day, by these rules, and faithfully 
 note down in my journal how often I oflfend 
 against them. 
 
 •'0 God! thou seest what I have here 
 written. May I be able to read these my re- 
 solutions every morning with sincerity, and 
 every evening with joy, and the clear approba- 
 tion of my conscience." 
 
 RESOLUTIONS, Human, Weakness of. 
 
 To attempt to resist temptation, to abandon 
 our bad habits, and to control our dominant 
 passions in our own unaided strength, is like 
 attempting to check by a spider's thread the 
 progress of a ship of the first rate, borne along 
 before wind and tide. — Waugh. 
 
 RESPECT, Self. 
 Whenever we can bring a man to have a 
 proper respect for himself, that moment we 
 have secured him against the commission of 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 517 
 
 any heinous crime. But while our present 
 colonial system remains in force, we do nothing 
 to elevate the soldier's character, but much to 
 debase and brutify it. If the country is too 
 poor to build a chapel for each of the garrisons 
 of our several islands and colonies, the regi- 
 ments are quite competent to do this, if allowed, 
 for themselves ; and the very occupation would 
 greatly improve their health as men, and their 
 efficiency as soldiers. There is no regiment 
 without a considerable number of artificers 
 capable of raising such a structure as may be 
 made a church in the West Indies. And to 
 what more eligible purpose can the stoppages 
 made from the soldier's pay, on account of his 
 misconduct, be applied, than to pay for a cler- 
 gyman to labour regularly amongst them, in 
 holy things ? But why hint at such a paltry 
 economy as this ? The British people are still 
 able, and if called upon, willing, to grant such 
 a trifling addition to our military expenditure 
 as will cover the addition of a chaplain to each 
 regiment, or at least to every garrison, in our 
 West India and other colonies. — Sir Andrew 
 Halliday. 
 
 RESPONSIBILITIES, Private. 
 
 Everything which the real welfare of society 
 requires, but which could not without tyranny 
 be regulated by government, remains a claim 
 on the conscience and honour of individuals. 
 •'All the good that my knowledge could do 
 would be of very little con=equence to society." 
 This argument is an absolute palsy to the pro- 
 gress of improvement. It may be quite true 
 that the knowledge or ignorance of one person 
 signifies little to a great and powerful nation. 
 But by the same mode of reasoning, we might 
 prove that many of the most clear and indis- 
 putable moral and religious practices were no 
 duty to society either, whatever they might be 
 to our own consciences. For even the virtue 
 or vice of one individual might also signify 
 little to the prosperity of the nation ; but what 
 would be the consequence if everybody, or if 
 a great many, applied this line of argument to 
 their own conduct ? General vice. Therefore 
 there can be no doubt that moral and religious 
 conduct is a duty to society as well as to our- 
 selves. Though our guilt might hurt it very 
 little, and our goodness serve it very little, yet 
 it is still a social duty as well as a private one, 
 to avoid the guilt and practise the virtue, be- 
 cause the consequences of our conduct to 
 society are to be estimated, not by the results 
 
 of our own acts, but by what the results would 
 be if our own conduct were the general prac- 
 tice. This argument applies as well to the 
 acquisition of useful knowledge and to the en- 
 deavour to mend the ills which pervade society, 
 as to the more direct and sacred obligations of 
 personal virtue. One person may be ignorant, 
 one person may be supine ; but if the majority 
 are so, evils will accumulate till the nation 
 decay or sinks to ruin. 
 
 We may divide society into those who are 
 assisting the progress of civilization, those who 
 are driving it backwards towards barbarism, 
 and those who, being inert and stationary, are 
 an impediment to the efforts of others. We 
 must choose to which of these classes we will 
 belong, for to one or other it is evident we 
 must belong. If we are vicious, or even igno- 
 rant and prejudiced, so that in our intercourse 
 with society we foster old errors, and resist the 
 improvements of the age, we must rank with 
 those who are either impeding the prosperity 
 of the country or forcing it back to barbarism. 
 But if we think, speak, and act up to the moral 
 lights of our time, assisting more or less to 
 maintain or forward improvement, we have 
 then a right to rank with the benefactors of 
 mankind. Our positive influence may be 
 greater or less, without either merit or fault of 
 our own, but we have joined the right cause. 
 Each soldier has a share in the honour of the 
 victory. — IVoman's Rights and Duties. 
 
 REST. 
 
 O PRINCELY lot ! O blissful art ! 
 
 E'en while by sense of change opprest. 
 
 Thus to forecast in heart, 
 
 Heaven's age of fearless rest. 
 
 And I smiled to think God's greatness 
 
 flowed 
 Around our incompleteness ; 
 Round our restlessness. His rest. 
 
 E. B. Brazvnin". 
 
 REST, The Only. 
 Well, O children of men, 
 Throughout the middle earth ! 
 Let every one of the free 
 Aspire to the 
 Eternal good 
 
 Which we are speaking .ibout, 
 And to the felicities 
 That we are telling of. 
 
5i8 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLB LANGUAGE. 
 
 Let him who is now 
 
 Straightly bound 
 
 With the vain love 
 
 Of this great 
 
 Middle earth, 
 
 Also quickly seek for himself 
 
 Full freedom, 
 
 That he may arrive 
 
 At the felicities 
 
 For the good of souls ; 
 
 For that is the only rest 
 
 Of all labours ; 
 
 The desirable haven 
 
 To the lofty ships 
 
 Of our mind, — 
 
 A great tranquil station ; 
 
 That is the only haven 
 
 Which ever is, 
 
 After the waves 
 
 Of our labours, 
 
 And every storm, 
 
 Always calm ; 
 
 That is the refuge 
 
 And the only comfort 
 
 Of all the wretched, 
 
 After these 
 
 Worldly labours. 
 
 That is a pleasant place. 
 
 After these miseries. 
 
 To possess. 
 
 But I well know 
 
 That neither golden vessels, 
 
 Nor heaps of silver, 
 
 Nor precious stones. 
 
 Nor the wealth of the middle earth, 
 
 The eyes of the mind 
 
 Ever enlighten ; 
 
 Nor aught improve 
 
 Their sharpness 
 
 To the contemplation 
 
 Of true felicities ; 
 
 But they rather 
 
 The mind's eyes 
 
 Of every man 
 
 Make blind in their breasts. 
 
 Than make them clearer. 
 
 For every thing 
 
 That in this present 
 
 Life delights 
 
 Are poor 
 
 Earthly things, 
 
 Ever fleeting ! 
 
 But wonderful is that 
 
 Splendour and brightness 
 
 Which every one oi things 
 
 With splendour enlightens. 
 
 And afterwards 
 
 Entirely rules. 
 
 The Ruler wills not 
 
 That our souls 
 
 Shall perish ; 
 
 But he himself will them 
 
 With a ray illumine, — 
 
 The Ruler of life ! 
 
 If, then, any man, 
 
 With the clear eyes 
 
 Of his mind, may 
 
 Ever behold 
 
 The clear brightness 
 
 Of heaven's light, 
 
 Then will he say 
 
 That the brightness of the sun 
 
 Is darkness ; 
 
 So every man. 
 
 Compared with 
 
 That great light 
 
 Of God Almighty, 
 
 That is to every soul 
 
 Eternal without end. 
 
 To blessed souls. King Alfred. 
 
 RESULT 
 Occupies the First Place in Thought. 
 In the mind of the politician, the mechanist, 
 the man of science, the man of trade, or any 
 of the numerous classes which spend their 
 intellectual energies on the things of time and 
 sense, the expected result of their operations 
 must occupy the first place, since it furnishes 
 the only efficient motive for their exertions. 
 But the defender of religious truth acts in 
 obedience to the principle of duty, and leaves 
 the result with God. The men who are by 
 office the especial standard-bearers in the 
 army of Christ are bound to ''contend ear- 
 nestly for the faith once delivered to the saints," 
 whether their eftbrts are likely to be accounted 
 the greatest or the least in the annals of human 
 achievement. — Bp. Hopkins. 
 
 RETIREMENT. 
 
 Farewell, thou busie world, and may 
 We never meet again : 
 Here I can eat, and sleep, and pray, 
 And doe more good in one short day, 
 Then he who his old age out- wears 
 Upon thy most conspicuous theatres. 
 Where nought but vice and vanity do reign. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 519 
 
 Good God ! how sweet are all things here ! 
 How beautiful the fields appear ! 
 How cleanly do we feed and lie ! 
 Lord ! what good hours do we keep ! 
 
 How quietly we sleep ! 
 What peace ! what unanimity ! 
 How innocent from the lewd fashion 
 Is all our bus'ness, all our conversation ! 
 
 Oh how happy here's our leisure ! 
 Oh how innocent our pleasure ! 
 Oh ye vallies, oh ye mountains, 
 Oh ye groves and chrystall fountains, 
 
 How I love at liberty 
 By turn to come and visit ye ! 
 
 Oh Solitude, the soul's best friend. 
 
 That man acquainted with himself dost make, 
 
 And all his Maker's wonders to intend ; 
 
 With thee I here converse at will. 
 
 And would be glad to do so still ; 
 
 For it is thou alone that keep'st the soul awake. 
 
 How calm and quiet a delight 
 
 It is alone 
 To read, and meditate, and write, 
 By none offended, nor offending none ; 
 To walk, ride, sit, or sleep at one's own ease. 
 And pleasing a man's self, none other to dis- 
 please. Cotton. 
 
 RETIREMENT, 
 Its Leisure with Respect. 
 
 Few persons are to be found, even in the 
 bustle of active affairs, who do not at times 
 sigh after that otitim ctim dignitate, that leisure 
 with respect, which is so often commended, 
 and so rarely enjoyed. By physical and poli- 
 tical circumstances, over which they have no 
 control, the great mass of mankind are com- 
 pelled to submit to the yoke of business, at 
 every successive stage, and in every vicissitude 
 of life ; and those who are exempt from abso- 
 lute drudgery, are imperiously called to various 
 sorts of employment. It would be a reflection 
 on the wisdom and goodness of Providence to 
 affirm that a state thus rendered inevitable by 
 our lot is necessarily unfavourable to the hap- 
 piness of the human race. In fact, man was 
 not made to dream away his present existence 
 in solitude and sloth. 
 
 There is certainly no great danger that any 
 considerable number oi our countrymen should 
 now turn monks and hermits. The spirit of 
 enterprise and activity is too high, the chase of 
 pleasure is too ardent, the iriendship of gain 
 
 and honour is too eager and impassioned, to 
 admit such a fear. Some, indeed, go so far 
 as to question whether it be right, even when 
 it is practicable, to withdraw from the engage- 
 ments of business so long as they can be pro- 
 secuted with vigour and success. But surely 
 an industrious citizen, a conscientious Christian, 
 after being for years tossed by the storms and 
 billov/s, may seek the quiet harbour, the calm 
 retreat, without any dereliction of duty. " The 
 world," says E. G. Bates, ** wants repose, and 
 the exhibition of a virtuous and happy retire- 
 ment has a tendency to still its agitation. It 
 shows that a simple mode of life is sufficient 
 for every purpose of nature or rational enjoy- 
 ment, and that there is no need to resort to the 
 court or the city, to camps or senates, to 
 theatres or fashionable assemblies, either for 
 occupation or amusement." 
 
 But what, it may be asked, are the requisites 
 for a life of retirement ? A man may be weary 
 of the toils and torments of business, and yet 
 quite unfit for the tranquil retreat. Without 
 literature, friendship, and religion, retirement 
 is in most cases found to be a dead, flat level, a 
 barren waste, and a blank. Neither the body 
 nor the soul can enjoy health and life in a 
 vacuum. 
 
 Let those who look forward to the time 
 when the concerns of trade and commerce 
 shall be laid aside, consider how they may be 
 qualified to enjoy and improve leisure, 
 
 Absence of occupation is not rest, 
 
 A mind quite vacant is a mind distress'd. 
 
 Every one must perceive that a taste for 
 literature and philosophy — a treasure of books, 
 and a habit of study and reflection, are of un- 
 speakable value and importance to the man of 
 retirement. Thus furnished, he can find em- 
 ployment replete with the purest satisfaction ; 
 he can one while contemplate the beauties and 
 wonders of nature around him, and another 
 search the records of history and the reposi- 
 tories of science ; he can converse with the sage 
 and the poet, and collect the solid maxims of 
 wisdom and the exquisite effusions of sentiment. 
 A mind full of ideas, and put in vigorous and 
 healthful exercise, scarcely ever feels or fears 
 that tedmin vita, that weariness of life, which 
 follows and oppresses the ignorant, the idle, 
 and the dissipated, when cut off from the inter- 
 course of the world, and thrown upon their 
 own resources. I am far, however, irom wish- 
 ing to intimate that rural scenes and books 
 are all that can be generally required to cheer 
 and enliven retirement. The social sympathies 
 
520 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 of our nature must not be forgotten ; and every 
 calculation in which they are not included will 
 prove defective or fallacious. He who quits 
 the noisy multitude should if possible take 
 care to secure the free and animating inter- 
 course of select and congenial friends. With- 
 out this, the current of thought will be apt to 
 stagnate, and the fragrance of sentiment to 
 exhale and perish. Friendship gives a new 
 polish and edge to intellect, to fancy, to feel- 
 ing. "Friendship," said Cicero, "divides 
 our sorrows, and doubles our joys." It is 
 therefore wanted in every fluctuation and 
 change of external circumstances, whether ad- 
 verse or prosperous, and especially wanted 
 where there is an obvious tendency to mono- 
 tony and sameness. 
 
 But the best preparative for retirement is the 
 powerful and benign influence of vital religion. 
 Opulence, taste, and literature often fail to 
 create or keep up a lively relish of satisfac- 
 tion, even where everything has been provided 
 which the world can afford. The fairest scenes 
 on earth are fast fading away, the richest trea- 
 sures on earth are held by a precarious tenure. 
 There will, therefore, necessarily be some 
 remaining uneasiness or vexation attached to 
 every terrestrial lot ; and it is the view and 
 hope of a heavenly inheritance which can have 
 power to calm the heart. It will also be 
 admitted, by such as are duly qualified to 
 judge, that religion leads to heights of sub- 
 limity, to scenes of grandeur, and to sources of 
 interest peculiarly and exclusively her own. 
 Addison has observed that the Supreme Author 
 of our being "having so formed the soul of 
 man that nothing but himself can be its last, 
 adequate, and proper happiness, in order that 
 he might give it a relish of such a contempla- 
 tion, has made it naturally delight on the 
 apprehension of what is great and unlimited." 
 An intimate acquaintance with the principles 
 and truths of Christianity is not less adapted 
 to the capacities and powers than suited to the 
 wants and desires of the human mind. Nor 
 is it merely by supplying rich and refined 
 matter for contemplation that religion is valu- 
 able to the man of seclusion. Mr. Bates, highly 
 as he estimated rural leisure and tranquillity, 
 has acknowledged that there are some evils to 
 which a life of retirement is exposed, the prin- 
 cipal of which are idleness, humour, conceit, 
 incivility, churlishness, and misanthropy. Now 
 what can so effectually counteract these dis- 
 positions, and the actions which flow from 
 them, as the powerful influence of genuine 
 
 piety ? Religion kindles on the altar of the 
 heart devotion and benevolence, which rise 
 thence in a mingled flame. " Cornelius, " 
 said the angel, * ' thy prayers and thine alms 
 are come up for a memorial before God." 
 Let the man who quits the busy world of 
 traffic to settle in some smiling sequestered 
 retreat, be chiefly concerned to imbibe and 
 diffuse the spirit of the Gospel. That time 
 cannot be lost which is spent in serving God 
 and supplying the wants of his fellow men. 
 In his present quiet sphere, the life of devo- 
 tion, once perhaps clogged, like asthmatic 
 lungs in turbid air, will now be less obstructed, 
 and breathe forth its longing aspirations and 
 desires to the Author of all good, the eternal 
 King of Glory. This charity, before absorbed 
 in a wide expanse, will here find a small but 
 manageable field, in the cultivation of which the 
 sincerest pleasure will be enjoyed. When the 
 evening of life is spent in a retirement thus con- 
 secrated and improved, a mild lustre usually 
 gilds its close, and the memory of departed excel- 
 lence is cherished by survivors with sentiments 
 of profound veneration and high esteem. From 
 what has been said, it will easily be seen how 
 a good man is satisfied from himself; he de- 
 pends not, like the slave of sense or the votary 
 of fashion, on circumstances and contingencies- 
 without, but has a fund of peace and pleasure 
 within. He can never want opportunities or 
 excitements to employ a vigorous and well- 
 cultivated mind, in a manner at once useful 
 and agreeable. " Whence it is," said Dr. 
 Lucas, "that retirement, which is the prisom 
 and punishment of the fool, is the paradise of 
 the wise and good." — Rtisticus. 
 
 RETIREMENT, Necessity of. 
 He must know little of the world, and still less 
 of his own heart, who is not aware how difficult 
 it is, amid the corrupting examples with which 
 it abounds, to maintain the spirit of devotion 
 unimpaired, or to preserve .in their due force 
 and delicacy those vivid moral impressions, 
 that quick perception of good and instinctive- 
 abhorrence of evil, that form the chief charade - 
 teristics of a pure and elevated mind. These, 
 like the morning dew, are easily brushed off" 
 in the collisions of worldly interest, or exhaled 
 by the meridian sun. Hence the necessity of 
 frequent intervals of retirement, when the mind 
 may recover its scattered powers, and renew 
 its strength by a devout application to the 
 Fountain of all grace. — Robe)'t Hall. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 521 
 
 RETROSPECTIVE Review. 
 
 Oh ! who that takes a retrospective view 
 Of years now fading in the distant blue — 
 The snares to which impetuous we had flown, 
 Restrain'd by God's resistless hand alone ; 
 How, ever yielding to our own self-will, 
 We would refuse the good and choose the ill ; 
 He, interposing still on our behalf. 
 Still safely guiding with his rod and staff ; 
 But with subdued submissive heart would cry, 
 ' ' Choose thou my portion, guide me with thine 
 
 eye ! 
 One sole condition would I dare suggest, 
 That thou would'st save me from mine own 
 
 request." Jane Taylor. 
 
 RETROSPECT of Faces. 
 
 "There is something in that boy's face," 
 said the old gentleman to himself as he walked 
 slowly away, tapping his chin with the cover of 
 the book in a thoughtful manner : "something 
 that touches and interests me. Can he be 
 innocent? He looked like — by the bye," ex- 
 claimed the old gentleman, halting very ab- 
 ruptly, and staring up into the sky — "bless my 
 soul ! Where have I seen something like that 
 look before ? After musing for some minutes, 
 the old gentleman walked with the same medi- 
 tative face into a back ante-room opening from 
 the yard ; and there, retiring into a corner, 
 called up before his mind's eye a vast amphi- 
 theatre of faces over which a dusky curtain 
 had hung for many years. ' ' No, " said the old 
 gentleman, shaking his head ; " it must be 
 imagination." He wandered over them again. 
 He had called them into view ; and it was not 
 easy to replace the shroud that had so long 
 concealed them. There were the faces of 
 friends and foes, and of many that had been 
 almost strangers, peering intrusively from the 
 crowd ; there were the faces of young and 
 blooming girls that were now old women ; 
 there were faces that the grave had changed 
 and closed upon, but which the mind, superior 
 to its power, stiil dressed in their old freshness 
 and beauty ; calling back the lustre of the 
 eyes, the brightness of the smile, the beaming 
 of the soul through its mask of clay, and whis- 
 pering of beauty beyond the tomb ; change but 
 to be heightened, taken from earth only to be 
 set up as a light, to shed its soft and gentle 
 glow upon the path to heaven. — Dickens. 
 
 RETROSPECT of Results 
 
 Arising from Trifl.ing Causes. 
 
 A DRACHM of poison diffuseth itself to all 
 parts, till it strangles the vital spirits, and 
 separates the soul from the body. A little coal 
 of fire hath turned many a stately fabric into 
 ashes. A little prick with a thorn may as well 
 kill a man as a cut with a drawn sword. A 
 little fly may spoil all the alabaster box of 
 ointment. General Norris, having received a 
 slight wound in the arm in the wars of Ireland, 
 made light of it, but his arm gangrened, and so 
 he lost both arm and life together. Fabius, a 
 Roman senator, was strangled by swallowing 
 a small hair in a draught of milk. Three fits 
 of an ague carried off Tamerlane, who was the 
 terror of his time. Anacreon, the poet, was 
 choked with the kernel of a grape. One of the 
 emperors died in consequence of the scratch of a 
 comb. A king of France died miserably by the 
 chock of a hog ; and his brother by the blow 
 of a tennis-ball was sent to the grave. Thus 
 we may see that little things have brought upon 
 many great miseries. And so little sins may 
 expose and make persons liable to great punish- 
 ments ; and therefore it is no wonder if the 
 heart of a holy man rises against them. Those 
 sins, which are seemingly but small, are very 
 provoVing to the great God, and very hurtful 
 to the immortal soul — consequently, cannot but 
 be the object of a Christian's hatred. — Brook, 
 
 RETROSPECT of Society. 
 
 Ipsa etiam veniens consumit saxa vetustas : 
 Et nullum est, quod non tempore cedat, opus. 
 
 There is nothing more affecting to a reflect- 
 ive mind than to observe those changes which 
 are every day made in society. The great 
 theatre of the world, with all its actors and 
 spectators, is continually passing on. There is 
 no rest — no cessation — no delay. Whole na- 
 tions have passed into oblivion, the capitals of 
 mighty empires have crumbled into dust, and 
 of the lands and the millions of individuals 
 who have peopled them, there is scarcely a 
 record or a trace to be found. Babylon is a 
 by-word and a proverb ; Nineveh, with her 
 temples and palaces, has left not a pillai to 
 denote her ancient grandeur, and Rome her- 
 self has little but a name. But amid the 
 fluctuations of ages, the moral endowments of 
 man change not : everything earthly is hasten- 
 
522 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 ing to decay, but the moral qualities of man 
 boast a nobler and a higher origin, and amidst 
 the revolutions of years remain firm and indes- 
 tructible. We mean not to say that the moral 
 qualifications of man are incapable of change, 
 or that the mind itself never progresses in the 
 path of knowledge ; we simply assert the fact 
 that the mind, taken abstractedly in contra- 
 . distinction to matter, has no tendency to nihi- 
 lity. To provide for this progression of the 
 mind has been the task of multitudes in all 
 nations and in all ages ; and from the works 
 of some of these, but more particularly from 
 the works of those who have flourished in our 
 own country, it is our design to select portions 
 and lay before our readers. And though every 
 author whose works we may be disposed to 
 canvass may not possess a magician's wand 
 to excite our feelings, or show a deep acquain- 
 tance with the secret springs that actuate the 
 mind; though every poet may not be a Milton, 
 nor eveiy prose writer possess the exquisite 
 and harmonious eloquence of a Sydney, still 
 are there memorials enough of many an 
 ardent spirit, who, though worshipped by his 
 contemporaries, yet by the less idolatrous 
 veneration of posterity has sunk into disue- 
 tude and neglect. It is true, indeed, that 
 many of those associat ions which cast a glow 
 of beauty over the writings of our ancestors 
 have faded away ; those peculiar turns of 
 thought which then carried an air of tender- 
 ness or sublimity, when seen only through the 
 mist of ancient diction, or obscure phraseology, 
 must in many cases lose much of their force, 
 and all of their beauty. This remark, how- 
 ever, applies not merely to the productions of 
 our own country. Doubtless there are many 
 passages in Demosthenes, which we read with 
 listlessness or inattention, that have awakened 
 ** all the hero " in the spirit of the ancient 
 Greeks, and sounded in their ears with the 
 same magical influence that we now attribute 
 to the tremendous vigour of the same orator. 
 The lovers of ancient literature will, however, 
 be disposed to make every allowance for the 
 improved and improving state of our language 
 and society, and remember that the peculiar 
 manners and customs which gave a tone to 
 the writings of former times have long since 
 passed away. Their worth, however, when 
 estimated by a moral standard, remains the 
 same. The lapidary does not enhance the 
 intrinsic value of the diamond, though he 
 renders its intrinsic beauties more perceptible 
 to the eye. — S, 
 
 RETROSPECT, The Christian's. 
 
 To a person whose age extends beyond the 
 period of youth, a retrospect of his early con- 
 nections and friendships cannot but suggest 
 melancholy and mournful reflections. Many 
 who commenced their early career nearly at the 
 same time with himself, and who were equally 
 warm with projects, hopes, and anticipations, 
 are prematurely numbered with the dead. 
 Their race is run; their ** warfare is accom- 
 plished." Reviewing their brief and hasty 
 sojourn, he feels the insecurity of his own tenure 
 of life : he wonders that, amid so many affect- 
 ing examples of mortality, he still lives ; and 
 he can scarcely fail to be impressed with the 
 minority truth, that, ere long, he too must 
 make his bed in dust, closing his eyes on the 
 vanities which float and dissolve around him 
 —sad emblems of the frail and fleeting being 
 which he now enjoys ! 
 
 Yet to the Christian such a retrospect yields 
 encouragement and comfort. Recalling the 
 memory of many patterns of scriptural piety, 
 endeared to his best affections by a personal 
 knowledge of their rise, progress, and con- 
 summation, and by the grateful recollections of 
 free and familiar intercourse, it supplies him 
 with the most animating motives to diligence, 
 faith, and perseverance. Shall he forsake the 
 path which his departed friends have trod? 
 Shall he dread the dark vale of suffering and 
 death, which they found so marvellously filled 
 with celestial light? Shall he despise that 
 peaceful home in which they safely repose, 
 far beyond the reach of sin, temptation, and 
 care? Voices from the tomb, voices from 
 heaven, sound in his ear, and incite him, by 
 every argument of truth, of mercy, and of hope, 
 to prosecute his journey to the skies, until, like 
 his companions and predecessors in the toil- 
 some but happy pilgrimage, he too shall 
 " come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy 
 upon his head." — Hannah. 
 
 REVELATION, Nature the Mirror of. 
 The amazing vastness of the apparatus of 
 means by which every human being is continued 
 in existence affords a pleasing and interesting 
 source of inquiry, whether that apparatus con- 
 duce merely to that simple end, or be not de- 
 signed for higher purposes too often overlooked 
 by the generality of mankind. 
 
 It has been the firm conviction of many that 
 the sensible creation is partly designed as the 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 523 
 
 mirror of intellectual truth. There is through- 
 out nature a grand scale of relations and re- 
 semblances which mutually illustrate and 
 explain one another. The world of mind is 
 shadowed forth in that of matter, just as eternity 
 in time. One principle will often be found to 
 pervade both ; and thus it is that the con- 
 templation of a flower may sometimes raise 
 "thoughts that lie too deep for tears," and 
 eternal relations and affinities be gathered from 
 the analogies of every-day life. The eye was 
 not made merely to gaze on the objects of 
 nature, with confined attention to their own 
 isolated merits, nor to admire merely from the 
 contrast of great and small. What can we 
 think of the man whose ideas of conflicting 
 elements ; of the boundless ocean and its popu- 
 lation ; of the thickly-studded canopy above his 
 head ; and the beauteous vegetation at his feet, 
 are all exclusively associated with the welfare 
 of his property, and the animal enjoyment of 
 the senses ? who, in the rushing of mighty 
 waters, hears only the creaking of the vessel 
 which is wafting the treasures of his heart to 
 the shores of commerce ; who welcomes the 
 rising crops as the naturally-to-be-expected 
 produce of his own labour ; who views the 
 falling shower only as an intermeddler of his 
 joy, and perhaps curses the elements that may 
 interrupt or disarrange his selfish and interested 
 plan ; who, in short, regards himself as the 
 centre of a universe, one half of which he con- 
 siders merely as subservient to his own narrow 
 purposes, and the other as a splendid panorama 
 to tickle and amuse his senses ? 
 
 And yet each one of these mortals who are 
 thus monopolising for their own petty ends this 
 magnificent range of means, without feeling 
 the slightest curiosity to inquire into its source, 
 its highest capability of improvement, and the 
 terms of its bestowment, is possessed of a mind 
 naturally gifted, and designed to rise from prin- 
 ciple to principle by an ascent of analogies, 
 and to expatiate in the widening prospect of 
 eternal relations. 
 
 I have said that eternal relations and af- 
 finities may be gathered from the analogies of 
 i every-day life ; this, I trust, will be made 
 appear by a brief illustration. 
 
 Every one knows and feels the inestimable 
 value of affection. It is the elixir of happiness, 
 and seems to be essential to our existence. 
 Could the sceptred monarch be assured that he 
 possessed the devoted heart of even the meanest 
 of his dependants, he would in reality prize 
 that offering more than the ceremonious at- 
 
 tentions and outward deference of all the 
 courtiers that bend around his throne, however 
 politic motives might teach him to disguise his 
 preference. Its value and high estimation is 
 daily seen in the anguish, the resentments, and 
 the convulsions of the soul whose sympathy 
 is rejected, whose love is abused, whose attach- 
 ments are severed. 
 
 To these causes are to be attributed the 
 greater part of the jealousies, suspicions, and 
 feuds that break up the domestic peace of 
 many a family circle. The abuse of affection 
 is the firebrand which lights up the flame of 
 discord in all the associations of men. And 
 will not this principle of this every-day life 
 luminously illustrate the value of that tribute 
 which we deny to the Almighty ? If an earthly 
 monarch would prefer the sincere offering of 
 the humblest heart, before the mere ceremonial 
 homage of the noble and the great, how can we 
 expect the sovereign ruler of the sky to be 
 satisfied with the bended knee, while the heart 
 is not there ? And if in the world around us, 
 the causeless withdrawment, or absence of 
 affection from man to his fellow and his equal, 
 in a case where it is due, justifies, by common 
 consent, the bitterest reproaches and the most 
 unsparing chastisement, how can we estimate 
 the rightful resentment of that God who is 
 defrauded of the only valuable return which is 
 in the power of his creatures to make ? And 
 how can we, with any shadow of justice, 
 rigorously exact that from our fellow-creatures 
 which we ourselves deny to the Author of all 
 we possess? Who, after an attentive con- 
 sideration of these analogies, does not enter 
 with deeper perception into the spirit of that 
 commandment — "Thou shalt love the Lord 
 thy God "? ** My son, give me thine heart " ! 
 The writer of the present article has derived a 
 firmer conviction of the truth of Christianity 
 from a comparison between the constitution of 
 things around him, and the requirements of the 
 divine law, and the statements of revelation, 
 than from all the speculative arguments on the 
 subject that he ever perused. Indeed, he is 
 convinced that speculative reasoning on the 
 truth of Christianity is only necessary to gain- 
 say those who are willing to believe a lie. We 
 shall now advert to the wonderful analogy 
 which may be traced between the physical and 
 moral worlds, and thus point out one very im- 
 portant use of the material universe. 
 
 It is true that none but a man of genius can 
 discover original and striking resemblances be- 
 tween certain objects in nature and certain 
 
524 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 abstract ideas or moral truths ; but yet every 
 one endowed with reason can understand and 
 trace them when pointed out ; and by a little 
 diligent accumulation can so store his mind 
 with images as to be able to connect sentiment 
 with matter in nearly all its varieties of form ; 
 and thus in the course of a single walk be 
 enabled to feast the understanding and impress 
 the heart, at the same time that he is regaling 
 the senses. 
 
 Almost every minute object, as well as every 
 grander element of nature, has been employed, 
 both by sacred and profane writers, to illustrate 
 and inculcate some important truth ; a regard, 
 therefore, to duty, as well as pleasure, should 
 lead us so to associate those ideas with the ob- 
 jects that the sight of the latter may call up 
 some of the former. It is a singular and 
 interesting fact ** that by comparing the 
 volumes of nature with the oracles of God " 
 the Christian philosopher "maybe always and 
 everywhere surrounded with spiritual moni- 
 tors." 
 
 Nearly every part of the body, relation of 
 social society, adjunct and attribute of man, 
 nearly every animal, liquid, and solid sub- 
 stance, sensible ceremony and custom, has in 
 this way been wedded to some important truth ; 
 in short, no less than twelve hundred obvious 
 objects have each been selected by scripture 
 writers to embody some spiritual truth. 
 
 How palpable, then, must be our conviction 
 that this richly-garnished universe was not 
 designed merely to supply our physical wants, 
 or to serve as a spectacle to our admiring view. 
 He who can maintain such a position reduces 
 man to the level of an idiot, and this magni- 
 ficent universe to that of a puppet-show. And 
 how wonderful is that provision which thus 
 blends the most delightful pleasure with the 
 most profitable instruction, and by encircling 
 man on every side with the monitory images 
 of eternal realities, thus enables him to gather 
 inestimable instruction from even the "common 
 scenes of life !" 
 
 The scriptural Christian need not travel far 
 in search of exciting causes of meditation ; to 
 obtain these, he need not pore over the dusty 
 folio, nor bury himself in the stillness of soli- 
 tude, nor scale the Pyrenees, nor cross the 
 ocean, to stand on ground once hallowed by 
 the footsteps of an incarnate Deity, or wander 
 amidst scenes which once knew the patriarchs, 
 the prophets, and the apostles of old : he need 
 not do this ; he has only to raise his eyes, and 
 his desire is accomplished. In everything around 
 
 him he beholds the symbols of divine truths ; 
 in his retired walks he recognizes them in the 
 variegated foliage, in the sheep of the pasture, 
 in the morning and evening dew ; they hang 
 on every tree, on every hill, they " ride in the 
 whirlwind," they "whisper in the evening 
 breeze," they shine with the midnight stars, 
 and dwell with the sunbeam ; they haunt alike 
 the forest and the bustling city ; the mazes of 
 dissipation and the walks of poverty ; they 
 meet him at every turn, in every place ; in the 
 countenances of his friends, in the elements of 
 his subsistence, and his daily occupations ; 
 there is no rock so barren, no coast so solitary, 
 no space so void that is not peopled with 
 them. 
 
 The man whose eyes are opened to behold 
 these ethereal monitors may truly say, in refe- 
 rence to most of his fellow mortals — 
 
 I see a hand you cannot see ; 
 I hear a voice you cannot hear. 
 
 He moves amidst the shadows of a coming 
 eternity — and 
 
 Discerns in all things what with stupid gaze 
 Of ignorance, till then, he overlooked, 
 A ray of heavenly light gilding all forms 
 Terrestrial, in the vast and the minute. 
 The unambiguous footsteps of the God 
 Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing, 
 And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds. 
 
 Cantab. 
 
 REVENGE, Noble. 
 
 Oh, turn thy edged sword another way ; 
 Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that 
 
 help ! 
 One drop of blood drawn from thy country's 
 
 bosom 
 Should grieve thee more than streams of 
 
 foreign gore ; 
 Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears. 
 And wash away thy country's stained spots. 
 Shakespeare, 
 
 REVENGE, the Spirit of the Devil. 
 
 Banish all malignant and revengeful thoughts. 
 A spirit of revenge is the very spirit of the 
 devil ; than which nothing makes a man more 
 like him, and nothing can be more opposite to 
 the temper which Christianity was designed to 
 promote. If your revenge be not satisfied, it 
 will give you torment now ; if it be, it will 
 give you greater hereafter. None is a greater 
 self-tormentor than a malicious and revengeful 
 man, who turns the poison of his own temper 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 525 
 
 in upon himself. The Christian precept in 
 this case is, "Let not the sun go down upon 
 your wrath ; " and this precept, Plutarch tells 
 us, the Pythagoreans practised in a literal 
 sense : "who, if at any time, in a passion, 
 they broke out into opprobrious language, 
 before sunset, gave one another their hands, 
 and with them a discharge from all injuries ; 
 and so, with a mutual reconciliation, parted 
 friends." — Mason. 
 
 EEVERENOE, 
 
 To be Impressed on the Youthful Mind. 
 
 In youth impress your minds with reverence 
 for all that is sacred. Let no wantonness of 
 youthful spirits, no compliance with the intem- 
 perate mirth of others, ever betray you into 
 profane sallies. Besides the guilt which is 
 thereby incurred, nothing gives a more odious 
 appearance of petulance and presumption to 
 youth than the affectation of treating religion 
 with levity. Instead of being an evidence of 
 superior understanding, it discovers a pert and 
 shallow mind ; which, vain of the first smatter- 
 ings of knowledge, presumes to make light of 
 what the rest of mankind revere. 
 
 At the same time, you are not to imagine 
 that, when exhorted to be religious, you are 
 called upon to become more formal and solemn 
 in your manners than others of the same years, 
 or to erect yourselves into supercilious re- 
 provers of those around you. The spirit of 
 true religion breathes gentleness and affability. 
 It gives a native, unaffected ease to behaviour. 
 It is social, kind, and cheerful ; far removed 
 from that gloomy and illiberal superstition 
 which clouds the brow, sharpens the temper, 
 dejects the spirit, and teaches men to fit them- 
 selves for another world, by neglecting the 
 concerns of this. Let your religion, on the 
 contrary, connect preparations for heaven with 
 an honourable discharge of the duties of active 
 life. Let it be associated in your imagination 
 with all that is manly and useful ; and of such 
 religion discover, on every proper occasion, 
 that you are not ashamed ; but avoid making 
 any unnecessary ostentation of it before the 
 wcwrld. — Blair, 
 
 REVERSES. 
 
 What virtue more distinguishes the heart 
 Than that soft sense which teaches to impart ? 
 What are the goods which Fortune can bestow, 
 Unless in streams benevolent they flow ? 
 
 Plac'd on the transitory stage of life, 
 
 Wide scene of envy, bustle, care, and strife, 
 
 Kings on their thrones, and peasants in their 
 
 cots, 
 Have bitter mingled with their several lots ; 
 And those who highest mount on fortune's 
 
 wheel 
 Are often taught most pungently to feel : 
 Human felicity is never sure ; 
 The rich to-day, to-morrow may be poor. 
 A merchant once, — allow a simple tale, — 
 Whose freights, for years, ne'er met an adverse 
 
 gale, 
 Swell'd with success, look'd down with scorn- 
 ful eye 
 On the sad mansions of chill poverty : 
 When pining wretchedness appror.ch'd his door, 
 He wonder'd any mortal could be poor : 
 The weeping widow, and the orphan's moan, 
 Could never penetrate his heart of stone — 
 At length, behold, a just reverse of fate ; 
 This man of gold observe no longer great ; 
 Tempests and bankruptcies disperse his store, 
 From his proud height he falls, to rise no more ; 
 Pinch'd by his wants, that barely he may live ; 
 He seeks that bounty he would never give j 
 And feels the Grecian sage's wise reply, 
 That none are truly happy till they die. 
 To see this circle in so kind a cause, 
 From every feeling mind commands applause ; 
 Even gloom'd enthusiasts must for once be 
 
 right. 
 Since charity, that sweet of social care. 
 Can never brighter marks of virtue wear, 
 Than thus encourag'd by the good and fair. 
 Scots Magazine. 
 
 REWARD and Suffering. 
 
 How shameful must it be for a Christian to be 
 unwilling to suffer, when the Master suffered 
 first ; to be unwilling to suffer for our own 
 sins, when he who had no personal sin suffered 
 for us ! The Son of God suffered, that he 
 might make us the sons of God ; and shall not 
 the Sons of men be willing to suffer, that they 
 may continue to be esteemed the children of 
 God?— 6"/. Cyprian, 
 
 RICH and Poor. 
 
 The labouring people are only poor because 
 they are numerous. Numbers in their nature 
 imply poverty. In a fair distribution among 
 a vast multitude, none can have much. That 
 
526 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 class of dependant pensioners called the rich 
 is so extremely small that if all their throats 
 were cut, and a distribution made of all they 
 consume in a year, it would not give a bit of 
 bread and cheese for one night's supper to 
 those who labour, and who in reality feed 
 both the pensioners and themselves. But the 
 throats of the rich ought not to be cut, nor 
 their magazines plundered, because, in their 
 persons, they are trustees for those who labour, 
 and their hoards arc the banking-houses of 
 these latter. "Whether they mean it or not, 
 they do, in effect, execute their trust — some 
 with more, some with less fidelity and judg- 
 ment But on the whole, the duty is per- 
 formed, and everything returns, deducting some 
 very trifling commission and discount, to the 
 place from whence it arose. When the poor 
 rise to destroy the rich, they act as wisely for 
 their own purposes as when they burn mills, 
 and throw corn into the river, to make bread 
 cheap. — Burke. 
 
 Besides those who work for their living, 
 some at a higher rate and some at a lower, 
 there are others who do not live by their 
 labour at all, but are rich enough to subsist 
 on what they, or their fathers, have laid up. 
 There are many of these rich men, indeed, 
 who do hold laborious offices, as magistrates 
 and members of Parliament. But this is at 
 their own choice. They do not labour for 
 subsistence, but live on their property. There 
 can be but few such persons, compared with 
 those who are obliged to work for their living. 
 But though there can be no country where all, 
 or the greater part, are rich enough to live 
 without labour, there are several countries 
 where all are poor; and in those countries 
 where all are forced to live by their labour 
 the peoj51e are much worse off than most of 
 the labourers are in this country. In savage 
 nations, almost every one is half starved at 
 times, and generally half naked. But in any 
 country in which property is secure, and the 
 people industrious, the wealth of that country 
 will increase ; and those who are the most in- 
 dustrious and frugal will gain more than such 
 as are idle and extravagant, and will lay by 
 something for their children, who will thus 
 be born to a good property. Young people 
 who make good use of their time, and who 
 are quick at learniug, and grow up industrious 
 and steady, may, perhaps, be able to earn more 
 than enough for their support ; and so have 
 the satisfaction of leaving some property to 
 
 their children. And if these, again, should, 
 instead of spending this property, increase it, 
 by honest diligence, prudence, and frugality 
 they may in time raise themselves to wealth. 
 Several of the richest families in the country 
 have risen in this manner from a low station. 
 It is, of course, not to be expected that many 
 poor men should become rich ; nor ought any 
 man to set his heart on being so ; but it is an 
 allowable and a cheering thought that no one 
 is shut out from the hope of bettering his con- 
 dition and providing for his children. And 
 would you not think it hard that a man should 
 not be allowed to lay by his savings for his 
 children ? But this is the case in some coun- 
 tries, where property is so ill secured that a 
 man is liable to have all his savings forced 
 from him, or seized upon at his death ; and 
 there all the people are miserably poor, be- 
 cause no one thinks it worth his while to at- 
 tempt saving anything. There are some coun- 
 tries which were formerly very productive and 
 populous, but which now, under the tyrannical 
 government of the Turks, or other such people, 
 have become almost deserts. In former times, 
 Barbary produced silk ; but now most of the 
 mulberry-trees (on whose leaves the silkworms 
 are fed) are decayed ; and no one thinks of 
 planting fresh trees, because he has no security 
 that he shall be allowed to enjoy the produce. 
 — Lessons in Money Matters. 
 
 EICH Not to be Envied. 
 
 We are often infinitely mistaken, and take the 
 falsest measures when we envy the happiness of 
 rich and great men : we know not the inward 
 canker that eats out all their joy and delight, 
 and makes them really much more miserable 
 than ourselves. — Bishop Hall. 
 
 RICHES. 
 
 It is the mind that maketh good or ill. 
 That maketh wretch or happie, rich or 
 poore : 
 For some that hath abundance at his will. 
 Hath not enough, but wants in greater 
 
 store J 
 And other, that hath little, asks no more. 
 But in that little is both rich and wise : 
 For wisdome is most riches ; fooles there- 
 fore 
 They are which fortunes do by vowes devize ; 
 Since each unto himself his life may fortunize. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 527 
 
 RICHES, Accumxilated, Work Woe. 
 
 O DWELLERS on the lonely earth, 
 
 Why will ye break your rest and mirth 
 
 To weary us with fruitless prayer ? 
 
 Why will ye toil and take such care 
 
 For children's children yet unborn, 
 
 And garner store of strife and scorn 
 
 To gain a scarce-remembered name. 
 
 Cumbered with lies and soil'd with shame ? 
 
 And if the gods care not for you, 
 
 What is this folly ye must do 
 
 To win some mortal's feeble heart ? 
 
 O fools ! when each man plays his part, 
 
 And heeds his fellow little more 
 
 Than these blue waves that kiss the shore, 
 
 Take heed of how the daisies grow. 
 
 O fools ! and if ye could but know 
 
 How fair a world to you is given ! 
 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 RICHES, and its Reverse. 
 
 Riches, honours, and pleasures are the 
 sweets which destroy the mind's appetite for 
 its heavenly food ; poverty, disgrace, and pain 
 are the bitters which restore it. — BisJiop 
 Home. 
 
 RICHES, From Whence? 
 A MAN hath riches. Whence came they, and 
 whither go they? for this is the way to form a 
 judgment of the esteem which they and their 
 possessor deserve. If they have been acquired 
 by fraud or violence, if they make him proud 
 and vain, if they minister to luxury and intem- 
 perance, if they are avariciously hoarded up 
 and applied to no proper use, the possessor 
 becomes odious and contemptible. — Jortin. 
 
 RICHES, How to Use Them. 
 
 The sense to value riches, with the art 
 T' enjoy them, and the virtue to impart, 
 Not meanly nor ambitiously pursued. 
 Not sunk by sloth, nor rais'd by servitude ; 
 To balance fortune by a just expense, 
 Join with economy magnificence ; 
 With splendour, charity ; with plenty, health; 
 Oh teach us ! Pope. 
 
 RIGHT and Left. 
 
 For the convenience of life, and to make us 
 prompt and dexterous, it is pretty evident that 
 
 there ought to be no hesitation which hand 
 is to be used or which foot is to be put for- 
 ward ; nor is there in fact any such indecision. 
 Is this taught, or have we this readiness given 
 to us by nature ? It must be observed at the 
 same time that there is a distinction in the 
 whole right side of the body, and that the left 
 side is not only the weaker in regard to muscu- 
 lar strength, but also in its vital or constitu- 
 tional properties. The development of the 
 organs of action and motion is greatest upon 
 the right side, as may at any time be ascer- 
 tained by measurement, or the testimony of the 
 tailor or shoemaker ; certainly this superiority 
 may be said to result from the more frequent 
 exertion of the right hand, but the peculiarity 
 extends to the constitution also, and disease 
 attacks the left extremities more frequently 
 than the right. In opera dancers, we may 
 see that the most difficult feats are performed 
 by the right foot. But their preparatory 
 exercises better evince the natural weakness 
 of the left limb, since these performers are 
 made to give double practice to this limb, in 
 order to avoid awkwardness in the public ex- 
 hibition, for if these exercises be neglected an 
 ungraceful preference will be given to the right 
 side. In walking behind a person it is very 
 seldom that we see an equalized motion of the 
 body, and if we look at the left foot we shall find 
 that the tread is not so firm upon it, that the 
 toe is not so much turned out as in the right, 
 and that a greater push is made with it. From 
 the pecular form of woman and the elasticity of 
 her step, resulting more from the motion of 
 the ankle than of the haunches, the defect ot 
 the left foot, when it exists, is more apparent 
 in her gait No boy hops upon his left foot, 
 unless he be left-handed. The horseman puts 
 the left foot in the stirrup and springs from the 
 right. We think we may conclude that every- 
 thing being adapted in the conveniences of life 
 to the right hand — as for example the direction 
 of the worm of the screw, or of the cutting end 
 of the augur — is not arbitrary, but is related to 
 a natural endowment of the body, He who is 
 left-handed is most sensible to the advantages 
 of this adaptation, from the opening of the 
 parlour-door to the opening of a penknife. On 
 the whole the preference of the right hand is 
 not the effect of habit, but is a natural provision, 
 and is bestowed for a very obvious purpose : 
 and the property does not depend on the pecu- 
 liar distribution of the arteries of the arm, but 
 the preference is given to the right foot as well 
 as to the right hand. — Sir Charles Bell. 
 
528 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 RIGHTEOUSNESS, Imparted and 
 Imputed. 
 
 "We have two kinds of righteousness specified 
 in Scripture— the imputed righteousness of 
 Christ, and the imparted righteousness of 
 the Christian. The one is no less indispens- 
 able to salvation than the other. If the im- 
 puted righteousness of justification is the only 
 passport which will procure us admission into 
 the celestial mansions, the imparted righteous- 
 ness of sanctification, again, is the only gar- 
 ment in which we shall be found welcome 
 guests at the marriage supper of the Lamb. — 
 Hull. 
 
 RIGHTEOUSNESS Known by its Fruit. 
 
 *'The tree is known by the fruit ;" therefore 
 let us do good works, and thereby declare our 
 faith to be a lively Christian faith. Let us, by 
 such virtues as ought to spring out of faith, 
 show our election to be sure and stable. . . . 
 If these fruits do not follow, we do but mock 
 with God, deceive ourselves, and also other 
 men. — Homily of Faith. 
 
 RIGHTEOUSNESS, Our, 
 
 No Gain to God. 
 
 By our righteousness we give nothing to God ; 
 he reaps no advantage from it to himself. If 
 we sow in righteousness, we sow to ourselves, 
 and the harvest of this righteousness we our- 
 selves reap. . . . Whatsoever we, crawling 
 worms, do here on earth, God sits still upon 
 the circle of the heavens, the same perfect, 
 unchangeable, blessed, and happy God for 
 ever and ever. Only he is pleased, out of his 
 infinite condescension, to look down from 
 heaven upon those little things we do here out 
 of a hearty desire to glorify him ; and in his 
 abundant mercy he will plenteously reward 
 them, — Bishop Bull. 
 
 RIGHTEOUSNESS, True, is Humble. 
 It is the foundation of Christianity, that if 
 thou hast performed all the works of Righteous- 
 ness, thou shouldst not pause to take rest or 
 complacency in them, nor conceive confidence 
 from them, nor account of thyself "as having 
 done anything great," but that thou shouldst 
 continue *' poor in spirit ;" and if thou hast 
 
 partaken of divine grace, that thou shouldst 
 not contemplate thyself as having "received 
 anything," nor assume the authority of a 
 teacher, nor carry thyself as if thou wert full 
 and satisfied. — St. Macarius. 
 
 RIGHTEOUS Protected of God. 
 
 Whosoever believes this thoroughly can set 
 his feet on the neck of all his fears, and his 
 dangers too, and discern the truth of Samson's 
 saying, "Out of the eater comes forth meat, 
 and out of the strong comes forth sweetness." 
 "All the paths of the Lord are mercy and 
 truth unto such as keep his covenant and his 
 testimonies." Observe what the Psalmist says : 
 make thou no exception, where he makes 
 none. "All!" Remember he excepts none. 
 Be therefore confirmed in thy faith, and give 
 God the glory. Be thy trust like that of Job : 
 " Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him !" 
 The Almighty may appear to thee as an ene- 
 my for a time, that He may be thy Eternal 
 friend. Oh ! believer ! after all thy sorrows, 
 and troubles, and chastisements, thou shalt at 
 last cry out with David, "It is good for me 
 that I have been afflicted ; that I might learn 
 thy statutes.". . . Distress and adversity are 
 the way to His kingdom. The cross is the 
 way to the crown. The highway of the proud 
 is sure to come to nothing ; and the rugged 
 way of the saints is sure to lead to honour. — 
 D. Rowland. 
 
 RIVER, Full and Clear, Its Poetry. 
 
 A FULL and clear river is, in my opinion, the 
 most poetical object in nature. Pliny has, as 
 well as I recollect, compared a river to human 
 life. I have never read the passage in his 
 works, but I have been a hundred times struck 
 with the analogy, particularly amidst mountain 
 scenery. The river, small and clear in its origin, 
 gushes forth from rocks, falls into deep glens, 
 and wantons and meanders through a wild and 
 picturesque country, nourishing only the un- 
 cultivated tree or flower by its dew or spray. 
 In this, its state of infancy and youth, it may 
 be compared to the human mind, in which 
 fancy and strength of imagination are predo- 
 minant — it is more beautiful than useful. When 
 the different rills or torrents join, and descend 
 into the plain, it becomes slow and stately in 
 its motions ; it is applied to move machinery, 
 to water meadows, and to bear upon its bosom 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 529 
 
 the stately barge ; — in this mature state, it is 
 deep, strong, and useful. As it flows on to- 
 wards the sea, it loses its force and its motion, 
 and at last, as it were, becomes lost, and min- 
 gled with the mighty abyss of waters. — Sir H. 
 Davy. 
 
 ROADS, 
 
 Geological Knowledge of, is Beneficial. 
 
 That the expense of constructing a new road, 
 or of maintaining an old one in good order 
 greatly depends upon the kind of ground under 
 it, upon the facility with which proper stone 
 may be obtained for it, and upon the stability 
 of the various cuts which it may be found neces- 
 sary to make in the rocks, is well known. It 
 is not, however, so well known that these cir- 
 cumstances depend upon the geological struc- 
 ture of a country, and that a knowledge of this 
 structure would enable those who possessed it 
 to determine whether one line of new road 
 would be more costly than another ; whether, 
 when it becomes a question to patch up an old 
 line of road or construct a new one, the one or 
 the other will be ultimately found least expen- 
 sive ; and that some kinds of stone should be 
 employed upon roads in preference to others, 
 when several kinds can be readily obtained. 
 The sums of money annually thrown away in 
 this country, from a want of due attention to 
 the latter circumstance, must, collectively, be 
 very considerable. We have seen instances in 
 which stone was brought several miles for new 
 roads, when a better material was close at 
 hand. It might be true that no quarries were 
 opened upon the better material ; but any per- 
 son with a little geological knowledge would 
 point out the proper places to do so. Roads 
 generally are planned with regard to little else 
 than levels and distances ; and if there be a 
 small advantage in this respect between two 
 lines in favour of one, that line will be selected, 
 though often a fair amount of geological 
 knowledge would be sufficient to show that the 
 expense, not only of forming, but also of keep- 
 ing up this road, will be far greater than for the 
 other. Good geological maps are in this re- 
 spect highly valuable, as they enable those who 
 have to decide upon subjects connected with 
 roads to see at once the kind of rocks over 
 which a projected line of road is intended to 
 pass. They also point out the proximity of 
 rocks which may afford good materials for 
 stoning either new or old roads. — Beche. 
 
 ROMAN Circles, The. 
 
 If you be desirous of knowing to what degree 
 of insignificance the intellect of man may be 
 reduced, you should see Rome when religion 
 displays all its solemnities. The first time I 
 went to a Roman circle, I thought I had hit 
 on a subject which was quite the order of the 
 day, when I asked some old women the news 
 of several priests who had the greatest reputa- 
 tion for sanctity, and who were considered the 
 most edifying personages of the city and its 
 neighbourhood : the old ladies looked at each 
 other, as if to ask whether I were an idiot. I 
 did not allow myself to be disconcerted : I 
 related to them the exploits of the pious mis- 
 sionaries of France ; I spoke in raptures of the 
 numerous crosses which had been erected, and 
 of the thousands which they had cost. They 
 only answered me with a satirical grin. For- 
 tunately, a young Roman saw my embarrassed 
 situation, and had pity on me ; he took me 
 aside, and observed that sermons and pastoral 
 allocutions did not find currency outside the 
 churches, where all pious baggage was left on 
 quitting them. " We are religious," said he, 
 ** less on our own account than to appear so in 
 the eyes of the world ; we go to mass and 
 vespers as we pay visits of etiquette to weari- 
 some or indifferent people ; there are a great 
 number of persons even who make their ap- 
 pearance at church merely to be seen — it is 
 like leaving a visiting-card with their Maker. 
 These practices serve occasionally as passports 
 to licenses of conduct, and as a preventive me- 
 dicine against unforeseen mental maladies." — 
 Santo Do7ninzo. 
 
 ROMAN Greatness, its Melancholy Pall. 
 
 There is not a more gloomy study than the 
 history of the concluding scenes of Roman 
 greatness. Nearly all ages and sexes appeared 
 to contend with each other in the rapidity of 
 their descent down the steeps of vice. Under 
 the emperors' tyranny and crime, in all their 
 flagitious and appalling aspects ; every suspi- 
 cion that could embitter existence, and loosen 
 the bonds of society ; every hateful sentiment, 
 and every baneful passion, had pervaded the 
 unwieldy empire. The history oppresses our 
 mind like a frightful dream : it is hard not to 
 associate the notion of external gloom with the 
 moral ruin, and clothe the face of nature with 
 the dismal hue, the sullen stillness of a gather- 
 
530 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 ing storm; we seem to behold the coming 
 ** planetary plague," 
 
 When Jove 
 
 Shall o'er some high-viced city hang his poison 
 
 In the sick air. 
 
 In the descriptions of their gorgeous splen- 
 dour and their baleful revolutions, their joys 
 appear like demoniac wildness ; their sobriety, 
 the broodings of conspiracy or fear. To pursue 
 inquiry through such ages would be useless ; 
 the manners of a people sinking into ruin from 
 their own corruption will never be appealed 
 to, either for evidence of what is natural or 
 authority for what is useful. — Wojnan! s Rights 
 and Duties. 
 
 EOMANISTS, Aim of. 
 
 It must be obvious to any visitor of Rome that 
 the great aim of those in power here is to exalt 
 and aggrandize the Romish church. All the 
 splendid collections and rich specimens of the 
 fine arts in the Vatican are designed to adorn, 
 beautify, and encircle with a halo of glory the 
 skeleton of Popery. There is another con- 
 sideration which makes the papal religion 
 assume an air and attitude of importance and 
 dignity here — it is the court religion. No one 
 can expect any civil honours or offices, or any 
 favour from the crown, who is not a zealous 
 adherent to Popery. The Romish church is 
 the very prop and pillar of the civil government 
 of the Papal States. The Pope is their civil 
 as well as ecclesiastical sovereign, by virtue of 
 the peculiar relation he holds to the Romish 
 church. He is the king of the land through 
 all the Papal States, as well as the head of the 
 church. The road to power and political in- 
 fluence is through the church, and the favour 
 of those who guide its affairs and guard its 
 interest. The same motives which lead men 
 in America to resort to popular arts to please 
 the people and gain political influence lead 
 them at Rome to become zealous Catholics. 
 If the truth were known, I expect it would be 
 found that the Pope himself values his civil 
 quite as much as his spiritual sceptre. Of 
 course, the church is the pillar of his hopes, 
 the great apparatus by which he gulls and 
 hoodwinks the people ; and as long as he loves 
 the temporal power, he will maintain his 
 professed priestly supremacy, and seek to per- 
 petuate the reign of superstition and darkness. 
 Every one who has at all examined the subject, 
 will see that there are prodigious incitements 
 in the papal church to unsanctified ambition. 
 
 The most obscure monk, clad in the coarsest 
 robe, girded with a flaxen rope, and shod with 
 wooden sandals, may, by tact and cunning, 
 and a certain course of management, attain a 
 cardinal's hat, ride in a princely chariot, roll in 
 splendour, and ultimately sit in the papal 
 chair. The now reigning Pope rose to his 
 present station from an obscure monk of the 
 order of St. Gregory. — Rev. J. A. Clarke. 
 
 The Church of Rome, Queen of Errors, 
 professes to be the sole dispenser of Chris- 
 tian verity ; but so far from exercising her 
 imagined charter as the authorized interpreter 
 of Holy Writ, in elucidating at all the sacred 
 page, she has spent the entire period of her 
 lengthened session in weaving a thick curtain 
 of delusive darkness, which continues, un- 
 happily, even now to overshadow the Reve- 
 ! lation of God, and the reason of man, through 
 I the greater part of Christendom. Popery is 
 I indeed a church without windows : the fair 
 I and direct light of Heaven must not enter 
 even at a crevice, or its real deformity of 
 I structure, and impending ruip, would be at 
 I once discovered. Of what avail, then, to the 
 i world has been the immense aggregate of 
 I talent which has been devoted to the service 
 j of this Church for fourteen hundred years? 
 Individuals whose agency was at all influen- 
 ! tial therein made it undoubtedly a personal 
 i question themselves, how far their own desire 
 I for distinction, their own selfish cravings, 
 ! could be gratified or satisfied by the aggran- 
 I dizement of a system with which they were 
 i vitally connected, — Anon. 
 
 EOME, in Euins of Necessity. 
 
 Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! 
 The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, 
 Lone mother of dead empires ! and control 
 In their shut breasts their petty misery. 
 What are our woes and sufferance ? Come 
 
 and see 
 The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your 
 
 way 
 O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye! 
 Whose agonies are evils of a day — 
 A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. 
 
 I The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, 
 
 j Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe : 
 
 j An empty urn within her withered hands, 
 
 i Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago ; 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 531 
 
 The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ; 
 The very sepulchres lie tenantless 
 Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, 
 Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness? 
 Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her 
 distress ! 
 
 The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, 
 
 and Fire, 
 Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's 
 
 pride ; 
 She saw her glories star by star expire. 
 And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride, 
 Where the car climb'd the capitol : far and 
 
 wide 
 Temple and tower went down, nor left a 
 
 site : — 
 Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void, 
 O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, 
 And say, "here was, or is," where all is 
 
 doubly night ? 
 
 The double night of ages, and of her. 
 Night's daughter. Ignorance, hath wrapt 
 
 and wrapt 
 All around us ; we but feel our way to err : 
 The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map. 
 And Knowledge spreads them on her ample 
 
 lap, 
 But Rome is as the Desert, where we steer 
 Stumbling o'er recollections j now we clap 
 Our hands and cry, "Eureka!" it is clear — 
 When but some false mirage of ruin rises near. 
 Alas ! the lofty city ! and alas ! 
 The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day 
 When Brutus made the dagger's edge sur- 
 pass 
 The conqueror's sword in bearing fame 
 
 away ! 
 Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, 
 And Livy's pictur'd page ! but these shall be 
 Her resurrection ; all beside — decay. 
 Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see 
 That brightness in her eye she bore when 
 Rome was free ! Byron. 
 
 ROSE, The. 
 Mark, Laura, dearest, yonder rose 
 
 Its inner folds are sad and pale, love ; 
 While blushing, outward leaves disclose 
 
 A lively crimson to the gale, love. 
 Yet as the secret canker-worm 
 
 Preys deeply on its drooping heart, love, 
 Soon from the flow'ret's with'ring form 
 
 Will all that vivid glow depart, love. 
 
 Then turn to me those beaming eyes — 
 A blooming cheek although you see, love, 
 
 Since hope is fled, then pleasure dies. 
 And read the rose's fate in me, love. — Anon. 
 
 ROSES, The Two. 
 
 Being with my friend in a garden, we gathered 
 each of us a rose. He handled his tenderly ; 
 smelt to it but seldom, and sparingly, I 
 always kept mine to my nose, or squeezed it in 
 my hand ; whereby, in a very short time, it 
 lost both its colour and sweetness ; but his still 
 remained as sweet and fragrant as if it had 
 been growing upon its own root. 
 
 These roses, said I, are the true emblems of 
 the best and sweetest creature-enjoyments in 
 the world — which, being moderately and 
 cautiously used and enjoyed, may for a long 
 time yield sweetness to the possessor of them : 
 but, if once the affections seize too greedily 
 upon them, and squeeze them too hard, they 
 quickly wither in our hands, and we lose the 
 comfort of them ; and that, either through the 
 soul surfeiting upon them, or the Lord's 
 righteous and just removal of them, because of 
 the excess of our affections to them. 
 
 It is a point of excellent wisdom to keep 
 the golden bridle of moderation upon all the 
 affections we exercise on earthly things ; and 
 never to let slip the reins of the affections, 
 unless they move towards God, in the love of 
 whom there is no danger of excess. — Flavel. 
 
 RUINS. 
 
 Ruins in some countries indicate prosperity ; 
 in others decay. In Egypt, Greece, and Italy 
 they record the decline and fall of great em- 
 pires ; in England, Scotland, and Wales they 
 mark abolition of feudal tyranny, the establish- 
 ment of popular freedom, and the consolidation 
 of national strength. The lawless power for- 
 merly dispersed among petty chiefs is now 
 concentrated in the legal magistrate. The 
 elegant villa has succeeded to the frowning 
 castle. Where the wild deer roamed the corn 
 now waves : the sound of the hammer has 
 drowned the war-cry of the henchman. — An- 
 derson. 
 
 RUINS by the Dying Gleam of Day. 
 
 But chief when summer twilight mild 
 Drew her dim curtain o'er the wild. 
 
532 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 I loved, beside that ruin gray, 
 
 To watch the dying gleam of day. 
 
 And though, perchance, with secret dread, 
 
 I heard the bat flit round my head, 
 
 While winds that waved the long lank grass, 
 
 With sounds unearthly seemed to pass ; 
 
 Yet with a pleasing horror fell 
 
 Upon my heart the thrilling spell ; 
 
 For all that met the eye or ear 
 
 Was still so pure and peaceful here, 
 
 I deemed no evil might intrude 
 
 Within the saintly solitude. 
 
 Still vivid memory can recall 
 
 The figure of each shattered wall ; 
 
 The aged trees, all hoar with moss, 
 
 Low bending o'er the circling fosse ; 
 
 The rushing of the mountain flood ; 
 
 The cushat's cooing in the wood ; 
 
 The rooks that o'er the turrets sail ; 
 
 The lonely curlew's distant wail ; 
 
 The flocks that high on Hounam rest ; 
 
 The glories of the glowing west. 
 
 Fringle. 
 
 RUINS, Thoughts on. 
 
 Tully was not so eloquent as thou. 
 Thou nameless column with the buried base. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 If man would read, how univo'sally displayed 
 is the lesson of his mortality. Every object he 
 beholds or contemplates presents him with 
 some memento of it : the grand and the dura- 
 ble no less than the minute and the fragile. 
 The sun rises and sets — the year waxes and 
 wanes — flowers blossom and wither — nations 
 flourish and decay — and what more pointedly 
 appeals to his attention, those around him 
 vanish from his sight, *'and the mourners go 
 about the streets." But perhaps there is no 
 object more prolific of themes for contem- 
 plation more creative of those associations, 
 whose natural atmosphere is the reflective 
 mind, than the remains of former strength and 
 grandeur. How interesting and how instruc- 
 tive is the massive pile, which, seeming to have 
 been dedicated to eternity, has survived for a 
 few centuries the frail creatures who reared it, 
 but is at length sternly and reluctantly yielding 
 to the universal law. Every ivied pinnacle — 
 every moss-grown turret, is instinct with mo- 
 rality. How we re-people it with the charac- 
 ters of history, or if History be silent, what 
 hosts are called into existence by the wand of 
 imagination. How they seem to flit around 
 us— the creatures of other days, arrayed in the 
 
 garb and discoursing the language of our 
 remote forefathers. What reflections crowd 
 upon the mind, as it wanders into the misty 
 and obscure regions of the past, peopled with 
 beings as ambitious, as blind, as "wrapped ii> 
 immortality" as the present generation, but 
 who are now — what the present generation 
 shall shortly be ! 
 
 It has never been my fortune to visit the 
 classical remains of Italy and of Greece, but I 
 have beheld many of those records of the 
 feudal times which are yet thickly scattered 
 over the face of my native country, and I know 
 not that these are less interesting than the more 
 classical fragments to which I have alluded ; 
 I know not that the rough and fiery chieftain, 
 whose castle was his kingdom, and whose will 
 was the only law recognized within it, is a less 
 interesting character than the old Grecian os 
 Roman. 
 
 What want these outlaws conquerors should have ? 
 
 But history's purchased page to call them great ? 
 
 A wider space, an ornamented grave ? 
 
 Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full 
 as brave. 
 
 I do not remember ever to have reaped so 
 rich a harvest of delightful reverie as on my 
 first visit to the ruins of Kenilworth Castle. It 
 is indeed a majestic pile. I arrived at the 
 little village in the early evening of a fine au- 
 tumnal day, and dismounting at its humble 
 inn, proceeded immediately to the sole object 
 of my visit, lest the night, which was ap- 
 proaching, should defer the execution of my 
 purpose. Having examined some of those 
 fragments which make their appearance at 
 intervals over the extent of several acres> I 
 passed on to the main structure. With what 
 emotions did I enter the banqueting-hall, even 
 yet sufficiently perfect to suggest its original 
 stateliness and grandeur. It is mantled with 
 the ivy of successive generations, the slender 
 stems of which have grown over each other, 
 until they have formed a trunk in substance 
 like that of the oak. How often, I thought, 
 have these walls, which now return but a sul- 
 len and monotonous sound to the exclamation 
 of the spectator, echoed to the voice of instru- 
 ments and of mirth. How often has this floor 
 been traversed by "the maiden queen," — the 
 gay and courtly Leicester — the accomplished 
 Raleigh — and all that splendid array of cour- 
 tiers and nobles who were revelling here at 
 that period, when for weeks it was the nucleus 
 of England's aristocracy ; when the whole 
 country was ransacked for luxuries with which 
 to gratify their palates, and men's brains were 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 533 
 
 taxed for devices which should add swiftness 
 .to the fleet wings of time. 
 I wandered in a lovely place, 
 
 A fair and fertile garden ground, 
 Where trees and plants, and fruits and flowers. 
 
 Their mingled fragrance wafted round ; 
 And all that could delight the sense. 
 
 And free and charm the wandering view. 
 With much for beauty, much for taste. 
 
 In wild but tasteful freedom grew. 
 
 Where are they now, I thought j these but- 
 terflies of a season, whose only study it was to 
 Tender their brief span of time still briefer? — 
 
 Their verj' graves are gone, and what are they ? 
 
 Leaving this part of the ruin, I ascended the 
 tower which overlooks the vale where were 
 assembled the besieging forces of Cromwell. 
 The sun was setting, and as the twilight ga- 
 thered around, it was easy to imagine that I 
 beheld the dusky forms of the rough old war- 
 riors pacing to and fro in the distance, or seated 
 in small groups over the green expanse. How 
 often, I thought, has the steel-clad sentinel, to 
 whose heavy and measured tread these stones 
 liave echoed, gazed on that sun setting as now 
 in cloudless splendour, and augured from the 
 calm brilliance of the western sky, as I do, a 
 fine morrow ? Yes, that sun is still unchanged, 
 but of all the diversified life on which his 
 beams then shone not a particle is now 
 animate ! But twilight at length began to 
 thicken into darkness, and I returned pensively 
 towards the village. Towering and adaman- 
 tine heap ! I exclaimed, even in thy decay thou 
 wearest the aspect of eternity, yet the day 
 shall arrive when thy very site shall admit 
 of discussion ! The boy beholds thee, and in 
 his old age perceives no variation, yet art thou 
 passing away not the less certainly, because 
 imperceptibly— every shower that falls dissolves 
 a portion of thee ; every wind that blows bears 
 away a portion on its pinions ! Thou wert 
 •once the fortress of armies, the abode of the 
 high-bom, the powerful, the graceful, and the 
 lovely ; the bat and the owl are thine inhabi- 
 tants now ! — N. 
 
 RULE of Right. 
 Away with words, or mere verbal thanks- 
 givings. God is thy landlord, and He requires 
 a Lord's rent ; those who use not to pay it 
 will soon forget who is their landlord, which is 
 the proper fountain of all the evil that comes 
 by abundance. Nay, he that thinks that this 
 tribute of his goods is not due to God doth 
 already disclaim his landlord, and deny God 
 to be his lord.— Z?/. Bull. 
 
 RULERS, Lesson to. 
 
 The Chinese Emperor Tchou set out on a 
 journey to visit the vast provinces of his 
 empire, accompanied by his eldest son. One 
 day he stopped his car in the midst of some 
 fields where the people were hard at work. 
 **I took you with me," said he to his son, 
 " that you might be an eye-witness of the 
 painful toils of the poor husbandmen, and that 
 the feelings their laborious station should excite 
 in your heart might prevent your burdening 
 them with taxes." 
 
 RULES for Forecasting Weather. 
 
 As the indications of the weather never de- 
 ceived us, I will here mention them. Though 
 familiar to all who lead a country or sea- 
 faring life, and often rise before the sun, they 
 may be of use to others, whose attention has 
 not been drawn to "weather wisdom." When 
 the first streak of light appeared close to the 
 horizon, and the sun's rising was preceded by 
 a glow of faint red, not extending far, a fine 
 day succeeded, whether the sky were then 
 overcast or clear ; but if the first gleam of light 
 appeared high above the horizon, behind 
 clouds, and there was much red, not only near 
 the sun, but visible on clouds even near the 
 zenith, wind, if not rain, was sure to follow. 
 Between the extremes, of course, there may be 
 many varieties of appearance, as well as of 
 succeeding weather ; but as I have found such 
 signs followed by similar weather in most 
 parts of the world, and as I have often pro- 
 fited by them, with reference to making or 
 shortening sail, &c., I do not like to pass over 
 this occasion for a hint to the inexperienced. I 
 have always found that a high dawn (explained 
 above) and a very red sky, foretold wind — 
 usually a gale ; that a low dawn and a pale sun- 
 rise indicated fine weather ; that the sun set- 
 ting behind a bank of clouds with a yellow 
 look, was a sign of wind, if not rain ; and that 
 the sun setting in a clear horizon, glowing with 
 red, was an unfailing indication of a coming fine 
 day. Hard-edged, oily-looking clouds, fore- 
 tell, if they do not accompany, wind ; and soft 
 clouds — clouds which have a watery rather than 
 an oily look — are signs of rain ; and if ragged 
 or streaky, of wind also. Light foggy clouds, 
 rising early, often called the ** pride of the 
 morning," are certain forerunners of a fine day. 
 — Capt. Fitzroy. 
 
534 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 KULES, 
 King Charles's Twelve Golden. 
 Urge no healths. 
 Profane no divine ordinances. 
 Touch no state matters. 
 Reveal no secrets. 
 Pick no quarrels. 
 Make no comparisons. 
 Maintain no ill opinions. 
 Keep no bad company. 
 Encourage no vice. 
 Make no long meals. 
 Repeat no grievances. 
 Lay no wagers. 
 
 RULES of Life. 
 A Ladder to Thrift. 
 
 The following quaint lines are taken from ** A 
 Booke of Christian Questions and Answeres," 
 published in 1581 : — 
 
 To take thy calling thankfully, 
 And shunne the path to beggery. 
 To grudge in youth no drudgerie, 
 To come by knowledge perfectly. 
 To count no travell slaverie, 
 That brings in penny saverlie. 
 To follow profite earnestly, 
 But meddle with no pelfery. 
 To get by honest practisy, 
 And keepe thy gettinges covertly. 
 To lash not out too lashingly, 
 For feare of pinching penurie. 
 To get good plotte to occupie. 
 And store and use it husbandly. 
 To shew thy landlord courtisy, 
 And keep thy covenauntes orderly. 
 To hold that thine is lawfully, 
 For stoutnesse or for flatterie. 
 To wed good wife for companie. 
 And live in wedlocke honestly. 
 To furnish house with houshouldrie, 
 And make provision skilfully. 
 To joyne to wife good familie, 
 And none to keep for braverie. 
 To suffer none live idlely. 
 For feare of idle knaverie. 
 To courage wife in huswiferie, 
 And use well-doers gently. 
 To keepe no moi'e but needefully, 
 A count excesse unsavourie, 
 To raise beetimes up readily. 
 Both snorting Hob and Margerie. 
 To walk thy pastures usually, 
 To spie ill neighbours subtilly. 
 
 To hate revengement hastily, 
 
 For losing love and amitie. 
 
 To live by neighbour neighbourly 
 
 And show him no discourtesie. 
 
 To answer straungers civily. 
 
 But show him not thy secresy. 
 
 To use no friend decietefuUy, 
 
 And offer no man villanie. 
 
 To learne howe foe to pacific, 
 
 But trust him not too trustily. 
 
 To keep thy touch substantially. 
 
 And in thy worde use constancie. 
 
 To make thy bondes advisedly. 
 
 And come not bounde through surety. 
 
 To hate to live in infamie, 
 
 Through craft and living naughtilie. 
 
 To banish house of blasphemie. 
 
 Least crosses cross unluckily. 
 
 To stop mischance through policie. 
 
 For chancing too unhappily. 
 
 To beare thy crosses patiently. 
 
 For worldly things are slippery. 
 
 To traine thy childe up vertuously, 
 
 That vertue vice may qualifie. 
 
 To bridle wild oats' fantasy, 
 
 To spend thee nought unthriftilie. 
 
 To pray to God continually, 
 
 To aide thee against thine enimie. 
 
 To spend the Sabbath holily. 
 
 And help the poore in miserie. 
 
 To live in conscience quietly, 
 
 And keep thyselfe from malady. 
 
 To ease thy sicknesse speedily, 
 
 Ere helpe be past recoverie. 
 
 These be the steppes unfeinedly. 
 To climb to thrift by husbandrie. 
 These steppes both teach, 
 
 and reach thee shall ; 
 To come by thrift, 
 to shift withall. 
 
 RURAL Life. 
 
 The village life, and every care that reigns 
 O'er youthful peasants and declining swains ; 
 What labour yields, and what that labour past^ 
 Age, in its hour of languor, finds at last ; 
 What form the real picture of the poor. 
 Demand a song — the Muse can give no more. 
 Fled are those times, when in harmonious 
 strains, 
 The rustic poet praised his native plains ; 
 No shepherds now, in smooth alternate verse, 
 Their country's beauty or their nymphs re- 
 hearse ; 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 535 
 
 Yet still for these we frame the tender strain ; 
 Still in our lays fond Corydons complain, 
 And shepherds' boys their amorous pains re- 
 veal, 
 The only pains, alas ! they never feel. 
 
 On Mincio's banks, in Caesar's bounteous 
 reign. 
 If Tityrus found the Golden Age again. 
 Must sleepy bards the flattering dream prolong. 
 Mechanic echoes of the Mantuan song ? 
 From truth and nature shall we wildly stray. 
 Where Virgil, not where fancy leads the way ? 
 
 Yes, thus the Muses sing of happy swains. 
 Because the Muses never know their pains : 
 They boast their p easant's pipes \ but peasants 
 
 now 
 Resign their pipes, and plod behind the plough ; 
 And few, amid the rural tribe, have time 
 To number syllables, and play with rhyme ; 
 Save honest Duck, what son of verse could 
 
 share 
 The poet's rapture, and the peasant's care ? 
 Or the great labours of the field degrade, 
 With the new peril of a poorer trade ? 
 
 From this chief cause, these idle praises 
 spring. 
 That themes so easy few forbear to sing ; 
 For no deep thought the trifling subjects 
 
 ask ; 
 To sing of shepherds is an easy task ; 
 The happy youth assumes the common strain, 
 A nymph his mistress, and himself a swain ; 
 With no sad scenes to cloud his tuneful prayer, 
 But all, to look like her, is painted fair. 
 I grant, indeed, that fields and flocks have 
 
 charms 
 For him that grazes, or for him that farms ; 
 But when amid such pleasing scenes I trace 
 The poor laborious natives of the place 
 And see the mid-day sun, with fervid ray. 
 On their bare heads and dewy temples play ; 
 While some, with feebler hands and fainting 
 
 hearts. 
 Deplore their fortune, yet sustain their parts ; 
 Then shall I dare these real ills to hide, 
 In tinsel trappings of poetic pride ? 
 
 No ; cast by fortune on a frowning coast, 
 Which neither groves nor happy valleys boast ; 
 Where other cares than those the Muse re- 
 lates, 
 And other shepherds dwell with other mates ; 
 By such examples taught, I paint the cot, 
 As truth will paint it, and as bards will not : 
 For you, ye poor, of letter'd scorn complain. 
 To you the smoothest song is smooth in 
 Yoin; 
 
 O'ercome by labour, and bow'd down by time. 
 Feel you the barren flattery of rhyme ? 
 Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread. 
 By winding myrtles round your ruin'd shed ? 
 Can their light tales your weighty griefs 
 
 o' erpower. 
 Or glad with airy mirth the toilsome hoiur ? 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 RTJBAL Scenery. 
 
 Receded hills afar of soften'd blue, 
 Tall bowering trees, through which the sun- 
 beams shoot 
 Down to the waveless lake, birds never mute ; 
 And wild flowers all around of every hue. 
 Sure 'tis a lovely scene : There, knee-deep, 
 
 stand. 
 Safe from the fierce sun, the o'er-shadow'd 
 
 kine. 
 And, to the left, where cultur'd fields expand, 
 'Mid tufts of scented thorn, the sheep recline : — 
 Lone, quiet farmsteads, haunts that ever 
 
 please — 
 Oh, how inviting to the wanderer's eye 
 Ye rise on yonder uplands, 'mid your trees 
 Of shade and shelter ! Every sound from 
 
 these 
 Is eloquent of peace, of earth and sky, 
 And pastoral beauty, and Arcadian ease. 
 
 Delta. 
 
 SABBATH Bells. 
 
 Sweet Sabbath bells ! I love your voice, 
 Still saying to my heart ** rejoice ! " 
 Whether from lofty spire ye sound, 
 With paven streets and towers around ; 
 Or chime the gentler village bells. 
 O'er meadows green and leaiy dells ; — 
 Ye seem to speak a world at peace. 
 Where toil and care a season cease — 
 A holy rest, a joyous hour, 
 A stainless calm where no clouds lower, 
 Gladness and love to earth come down, 
 And smiling heaven without a uown ; 
 A triumph over sin and woe, 
 (Sweet gift !) a Sabbath sent below, 
 Whence heaven-bom faith may re-asceud, 
 And view the God of all our f , iend : 
 Sweet Sabbath bells ! Ye speak to me, 
 Pure joy and tranquil ecstasy ! 
 
 Edmcsion, 
 
536 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 SABBATH Day, Rest in. 
 
 The Sabbath-day ! the day when God's 
 
 behest 
 Unyokes thy team, and bids thy cattle rest ; 
 The day of feasting, when to souls are given 
 Draughts from the lion's fount, and bread of 
 
 heaven ; 
 The day of peace, of brotherhood and praise, 
 When rich and poor one common anthem 
 
 raise, — 
 When pilgrims, journeying o'er life's narrow 
 
 plains. 
 Recount the cost, and smile upon their gains ; 
 The day when sorrow half unbarbs her dart, 
 And balsams trickle to the bleeding heart : 
 The day of falling dews and rising fires, 
 When heaven to man descends, and man to 
 
 heaven aspires. 
 Unpitying tyrant ! wilt thou wrest away 
 From thy wrong'd brother e'en his Sabbath- 
 day ? 
 Stern child of wealth ! shall nature plead in 
 
 vain, 
 Nor God's own mandate thy proud course 
 
 restrain ? 
 And dar'st thou, mocker ! at Jehovah's throne 
 Show thy bronzed brow, and bare thy heart 
 
 of stone ? 
 And is thy prattling prayer to Him address'd, 
 For " prisoners — captives — desolate, op- 
 pressed ! " 
 The Lord is silent — all becalm'd and still, — 
 Thoudeem'st him reckless of thineimpious will; 
 But oh ! consider, ere He bursts the gloom, 
 Seize on thy shrieking soul, and thunder forth 
 thy doom ! Charlotte Elizabeth. 
 
 SABBATH, Definitions of the. 
 
 Bright shadows of true rest ! Some shoots 
 of bliss ! 
 
 Heaven once a week ; 
 The next world's gladness prepossess'd in this ; 
 
 A day to seek 
 Eternity in time, the steps by which 
 We climb above all ages ; lamps that light 
 Man through his heap of dark days, and the 
 
 rich 
 And full redemption of the whole week's 
 
 flight : 
 The pulleys unto headlong man ; time's 
 bower : 
 
 The narrow way ; 
 Transplanted Paradise ; God's walking hour ; 
 ' The cool o the day ; 
 
 The creature's jubilee ; God's parle with dust ; 
 Heaven here ; man on those hills of myrrh, of 
 
 flowers ; 
 Angels descending ; the returns of trust ; 
 A gleam of glory after six days' showers ; 
 The Church's love -feasts ; time's prerogative 
 
 And interest 
 Deducted from the whole ; the combs and hive, 
 
 And home of rest ; 
 The milky-way chalked out with suns ; a clue 
 That guides through erring hours, and in full 
 
 story ; 
 A taste of heaven on earth ; the pledge and 
 
 cue 
 Of a full feast, and the out-courts of glory. 
 
 Henry Vaughan. 
 
 SABBATH-EVE, its Quiet. 
 
 Father of life and light, thou God Supreme ! 
 
 teach me what is good ! teach me Thyself ! 
 Save me from folly, vanity, and vice. 
 
 From every low pursuit ! and feed my soul ' 
 
 With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure ; 
 
 Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss ! 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 1 LOVE the quiet of a Sabbath- eve, 
 The closing of a well-spent holy day : 
 When earthly follies lead not men astray, 
 
 Or leave just cause for the poor heart to 
 
 grieve. 
 It is a joy none but the righteous know, 
 A joy dispelling every care and woe, 
 Causing the purest happiness to flow. 
 The poorest peasant 'neath the azure sky, 
 Who spends his Sabbath with a holy zeal. 
 Far greater happiness is sure to feel 
 Than the rich recreants who God's words 
 
 defy. 
 Give me the humble holy fireside. 
 Where the "big bible's" read devoid of pride, 
 For virtue's there with happiness allied. 
 y. Robins. 
 
 SABBATH, 
 If not Loved will Enhance our Guilt. 
 If we do not love the Sabbath for its holiness ; 
 if we do not love it out of love to Him who 
 died for us, and rose again ; if we do not love 
 it as a pledge and antepast of heaven ; if we 
 do not love it as bringing to us first fruits from 
 the land of promise, grapes from the Eden of 
 God ; if we do not personally and individually 
 thus love the Sabbath : as a nation, the day 
 may profit us, but as individuals it will only 
 enhance our guilt and deepen our eternal doom. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 537 
 
 God grant, then, that every one of us may prac- 
 tically and in his heart sanctify the blessed day, 
 and carry forth its hallowing influences over all 
 the days of the week, striving to bring them all 
 to the spirit and standard of the first day. — 
 Stawdl. 
 
 SABBATH, its Sweet Repose. 
 Welcome the hour of sweet repose 
 
 The evening of the Sabbath day ! 
 In peace my wearied eyes shall close 
 
 When I have tuned my vesper lay, 
 In humble gratitude to Him 
 Who waked the morning's earliest beam. 
 In such an hour as this, how sweet, 
 
 In the calm solitude of even. 
 To hold with heaven communion meet. 
 
 Meet for a Spirit bound to heaven ; 
 And, in this wilderness beneath. 
 Pure zephyrs from above to breathe. 
 It may be that the Eternal Mind 
 
 Bends sometimes from his throne of bliss 
 Where should we then His presence find. 
 
 But in an hour so blest as this, — 
 An hour of calm tranquillity. 
 Silent as if to welcome Thee ? 
 Yes ! if the Great Invisible, 
 
 Descending from His seat divine. 
 May deign upon this earth to dwell. 
 
 Where shall we find a welcome shrine. 
 But in the breast of man, who bears 
 His image, and His spirit shares ? 
 Now let the solemn thought pervade 
 
 My soul, and let my heart prepare 
 A throne. Come, veiled in awful shade. 
 
 Thou Spirit of God ! that I may dare 
 Hail Thee ! nor, like Thy prophet, be 
 Blinded by Thy brightest majesty. 
 Then turn my wandering thoughts within. 
 
 To hold communion. Lord, with thee ; 
 And, purified from taint of sin 
 
 And earth's pollutions, let me see 
 Thine image, — for a moment prove, 
 If not Thy majesty. Thy love j 
 That love which over all is shed. 
 
 Shed on the worthless as the just ; 
 Lighting the stars above our head. 
 
 And waking beauty out of dust ; 
 And rolling in its glorious way 
 Beyond the farthest comet's ray. 
 To Him alike the living stream 
 
 And the dull regions of the grave : 
 All watched, protected all, by Him, 
 
 Whose eye can see, whose arm can save. 
 
 In the cold midnight's dangerous gloom. 
 Or the dark prison of the tomb. 
 
 Thither we hasten — as the sand 
 
 Drops in the hour-glass, never still. 
 
 So, gathered in by Death's rude hand, 
 The storehouse of the grave we fill ; 
 
 And sleep in peace, as safely kept 
 
 As when on earth we smiled or wept 
 
 What is our duty here ? to tend 
 
 From good to better — thence to best ; 
 
 Grateful to drink life's cup — then bend. 
 Unmurmuring, to our bed of rest ; 
 
 To pluck the flowers that round us blow. 
 
 Scattering their fragrance as we go. 
 
 And so to live that when the sun 
 Of our existence sinks in night, 
 
 Memorials sweet of mercies done 
 
 May shrine our names in Memory's light ; 
 
 And the best seeds we scattered bloom 
 
 A hundred-fold in days to come. 
 
 Bowrinz* 
 
 SABBATH of Two Sorts. 
 
 Every work which is a heavenly work, every 
 work which is done in the service of the king- 
 dom of God, belongs especially to a Sunday. 
 . . . We have two sorts of Sunday work, 
 prayer and other works of devotion, and works 
 of love. Both of them form the right em- 
 ployment of the early Sabbath ; and both of 
 them will form the never-ceasing employment 
 of the Sabbath which the saints will enjoy in 
 heaven. — A. W. Hoare. 
 
 SABBATH, Retrospect ofl 
 
 Let the day be concluded with meditation on 
 the Scriptures, self-examination, and prayer. 
 Labour to form some estimate of your spiri- 
 tual state during the day. Humble yourself 
 for the manifold sins and failings, the negli- 
 gences and ignorances, which you will find 
 have mingled with your services. Take refuge 
 again in the great atoning sacrifice of your 
 Redeemer and Advocate with the Father. 
 Plead earnestly, at the throne of Grace, the 
 blood that "cleanseth from all sin." Be 
 thankful for the good that you have gotten, for 
 any growth of grace, for any additional meet- 
 ness for glory. Be earnest that the savour, 
 the relish of the Sabbath day may abide with 
 you, and may shed its influence over the week 
 which is before you. Bless God for the rest 
 
538 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 you have now enjoyed ; and look forward, in 
 faith and hope, to that heavenly **rest that 
 remaineth for the people of God. " — R. Gray. 
 
 SABBATH, the Eve of Rest. 
 It is the eve of rest ! the light 
 
 Still lingers on the moss-grown tow'r, 
 While to the drowsy ear of night 
 
 Slowly it marks the evening horn*. 
 'Tis hush'd ! and all is silent there, 
 Save the fervent voice of pray'r. 
 
 And now far down the quiet vale, 
 Sweet hymnings on the air float by ; 
 
 Hushing the whip-poor-will's sad wail 
 With its own plaintive melody. 
 
 They breathe of peace, like the sweet strains 
 
 That swept at night o'er Bethleili's plains. 
 
 And heads are bowed, as the low hymn 
 
 Steals through that gray and time-worn pile. 
 
 And the altar lights burn faint and dim, 
 In the long and moss-grown aisle. 
 
 And the distant foot-fall echoes loud. 
 
 Above that hush'd and kneeling crowd. 
 
 And now beneath the old elm's shade, 
 
 Where the cold moonbeams may not smile, 
 
 Bright flow'rs upon the graves are laid, 
 And sad tears shed unseen the while. 
 
 The last sweet gift affection brings. 
 
 To deck the earth to which it clings. 
 
 How beautiful those simple flow'rs 
 Strewn o'er that silent spot still sleep ; 
 
 "Still wet with summer's gentle showers, 
 As if they too could feel and weep ! 
 
 They fade and die ! the wintry wind 
 
 Shall leave no trace of them behind ! 
 
 The bright new moon hath set ; the light 
 
 Is fading on the far blue hills ; 
 And on the passing breeze of night 
 
 The music of their thousand rills 
 Comes echoing through the twilight gray, 
 With the lone watch-dog's distant bay. 
 
 The crowd hath pass'd away ; the pray'r 
 And low-breath'd evening hymn are gone ; 
 
 The cold mist only lingers there. 
 
 O'er the dark moss and mould'ring stone. 
 
 And the stars shine brightly o'er the glen, 
 
 Where rest the quiet homes of men. 
 
 F. Mllhr. 
 
 Himself, and all the merits of His death and 
 passion, to us. Insomuch that by a due and 
 frequent receiving of this Holy Sacrament our 
 souls would be as much strengthened and 
 refreshed by the body and blood of Christ as 
 our bodies are by bread and wine. By our 
 frequent conversing with our blessed Lord at 
 His table here below, we shall be always 
 ready and fit to go to Him, and converse with 
 Him in His kingdom above, when we shall 
 have no more need of sacraments, but shall see 
 Him "face to face," and adore Him for ever- 
 more. — Bp. Beveridge. 
 
 SACRAMENT, in Memoriam. 
 
 He that remembers not Christ's death, so as 
 to endeavour to be like Him, forgets the end 
 of His redemption, and dishonours the cross, 
 on which his satisfaction was wrought. — 
 Hortieck. 
 
 We are to celebrate the Lord's Supper as a 
 solemn and public memorial of the great 
 deliverance which our blessed Lord has wrought 
 for us, and to declare to all the world thereby 
 what a sense we have of His infinite love and 
 mercy to us. If we are indeed so sensible, as 
 we ought to be, of our Saviour's love in thus 
 giving himself to the death for us ; if we have 
 so seriously weighed, as becomes those who 
 are called to the feast, the mighty benefits and 
 advantages which are derived to us thereby, 
 what misery we have escaped, and to what 
 blessings we are entitled by His sufferings ; — 
 the sense of all this will soon teach us what 
 motions and affections ought to fill our souls, 
 that may be suitable to so great and blessed a 
 memorial. — Abp. Wake. 
 
 SACRAMENT, a Means of Grace. 
 
 This is the great -neans appointed by our 
 blessed Saviour, whereby to communicate 
 
 SACRED Writers, Consistency of the. 
 
 There is one argument which impresses my 
 mind with particular force. This is, the great 
 variety of the kinds of evidence which have been 
 adduced in proof of Christianity, and the con- 
 firmation thereby afforded of its truth : the proof 
 from prophecy ; from miracles ; from the cha- 
 racter of Christ ; from that of his apostles ; from 
 the nature of the doctrine of Christianity ; from 
 the nature and excellence of her practical pre- 
 cepts ; from the accordance between the doc- 
 trinal and practical system of Christianity, 
 whether considered each in itself or in their 
 mutual relation to each other: from other 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 539 
 
 species of internal evidence, afforded in the 
 more abundance, in proportion as the sacred 
 records have been scrutinized with greater care ; 
 from the accounts of contemporary, or nearly 
 contemporary ^vriters ; from the impossibility 
 of accounting, on any supposition than that of 
 the truth of Christianity, for its promulgation 
 and early prevalence : — these and other lines 
 of argument have all been brought forward, 
 and ably urged by different writers, in pro- 
 portion as they have struck the minds of dif- 
 ferent observers more or less forcibly. Now, 
 granting that some obscure and illiterate men, 
 residing in a distant province of the Roman 
 empire, had plotted to impose a forgery upon 
 the world, though some foundation for the 
 imposture might, and indeed must have been 
 attempted to be laid, it seems, at least to my 
 understanding, morally impossible that so 
 many different species of proofs, and all so 
 strong, should have lent their concurrent aid, 
 and have united their joint force in the estab- 
 lishment of the falsehood. It may assist the 
 reader in estimating the value of this argument, 
 to consider upon how different a footing, in 
 this respect, has rested every other religious 
 system, without exception, which was ever 
 proposed to the world, and indeed every other 
 historical fact of which the truth has been at 
 all contested. — Wilberforce. 
 
 SACRIFICE, Acceptable. 
 
 Upon such sacrifices 
 The gods themselves throw incense. 
 
 Shakespeare* 
 
 SACRIFICE, Christian. 
 
 We indeed may not be called upon to make 
 any very difficult sacrifices on account of our 
 religion, or to undergo any extremity of labour, 
 or to incur any signal dangers in that behalf. 
 Yet the faithful Christian will always find 
 occasions in which he may testify his fidelity 
 to Christ, by labouring to instruct the ignorant, 
 and by administering assistance and comfort to 
 his afflicted brethren. And he who engages in 
 these works and labours of love, provided he 
 enga:5e in them with Christian prudence as 
 well as Christian benevolence, is manifesting 
 thereby a laudable attachment to Christian 
 faith.— Z?/. Maiit. 
 
 SACRIFICE Must be ReaL 
 
 How can men believe in, and worthily receive 
 Jesus Christ, as delivering them "from the 
 wrath to come," if they neither believe the 
 reality of that wrath nor feel that they are 
 justly obnoxious to it ? Precious souls are in 
 this way ruined to eternity. For let it be 
 remembered that our Saviour (Markix.) six 
 times expressly asserts the eternity of hell tor- 
 ments ; and thence infers the duty and necessity 
 of cuttmg off the hand and foot, and plucking 
 out the eye that offends. If it be not true, 
 what shall we say of Him who has told us so ? 
 Poor wretched sinner ! thy hope of being saved 
 in thy sins is vain ; as vain as it is to hope that 
 Christ, the eternal Truth, shall prove false in 
 what He has said ! Despair, then, of this 
 hope, and seek through His grace to mortify 
 thy vices. — J. Milner. 
 
 SAGE, Well-Informed. 
 
 Within our house there was a Breton squire. 
 Well-learned, who fail'd not to fan the fire 
 That evermore unholpen burned in me, 
 Strange lands and things beyond belief to see. 
 Much lore of many lands this Breton knew ; 
 And for one tale I told he told me two. 
 He, counting Asagard a new-told thing, 
 Yet spoke of gardens ever blooming 
 Across the Western sea, where none grew old. 
 E'en as the books at Micklegarth had told ; 
 And said, moreover, that an English knight 
 Had had the earthly paradise in sight. 
 And heard the songs of those that dwelt therein. 
 But entered not, being hindered by his sin. 
 Shortly, so much of this and that he said 
 That in my heart the sharp barb entered. 
 And like real life would empty stories seem. 
 And life from day to day an empty dream. 
 Wth. Morris. 
 
 SAINTS, Glorified, Employment of. 
 
 Heaven is a state of rest ; but not the rest of 
 a stone, or of tired powers, but the rest of an 
 active spirit, which can only be easy and at 
 rest when it is freed from the clogs that impair 
 its vigour and restrain its activity. It is a free- 
 ! dom, indeed, from weariness, and an ease from 
 I all toil, but not a cessation from action; for 
 there the saints of God serve him ; not with 
 dull and listless affections, as ours often are, 
 but with life and vigour, joy and transport, for 
 ever. Perfect faculties will then incessantly 
 
540 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 act on the most perfect objects, even the blessed 
 God, and all that pertains to his honour and 
 glory. It is a great service they do unto their 
 eternal King, and they are employed in it for 
 ever. There is no unbelief there, nor any cor- 
 rupt affections, or evil passions, to turn away 
 their minds from God, or to hinder the free 
 and spontaneous motion of all the powers of 
 their souls in the active and passive fruition of 
 him. They find him such an object of super- 
 lative excellences that nothing can cool their 
 affection to him : hence they find such strong 
 and deep joy as dilates, enlarges, and invigo- 
 rates their spirits in his sei-vice for ever. — 
 Crazvford. 
 
 SAINT, The Dying. 
 
 'Tis the last sad starting tear 
 That trickles down the weary brow, 
 And the world's receding sphere 
 Must depart and vanish now : 
 Quick as clouds of morning's sky, 
 Flies the feeble life that's given ; 
 And the seraphs weave, on high, 
 Crowns entwined with flow'rs of Heaven. 
 
 Earth, with all its shadows vain. 
 Now must take its rapid flight ; 
 Heaven, with all its glorious reign, 
 Beams upon the suff'rer's sight. 
 See a brighter morn at hand. 
 Dawning from the heavenly throne — 
 The glories of that better land. 
 Where pain and parting are unknown I 
 
 Hark ! from yonder grove of palm^:, 
 Sweet the strains of angels be ; 
 As they call amid their psalms, 
 "Sister spirit, hail to thee ! 
 Suffrer now, arise and flee ; 
 Soar as on an eagle's wing : 
 Grave, where is thy victory ? 
 And where, oh death ! thy boasted sting !" 
 Frotn the German of Matthisson. 
 
 SALVATION by Christ Only. 
 
 This question, the Scriptures assures us, has 
 been asked already : it has been asked in faith 
 and answered in mercy. And, blessed be 
 God, the answer still remains, to console and 
 strengthen the contrite penitent ; "Believe in 
 the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved. " 
 Here is the way to escape ; here is the physician 
 that can heal,— the Redeemer that can save ; 
 there is none other name but His which can 
 
 crown hope with His own everlasting joy. 
 Receive it, therefore, I entreat you with all 
 your heart, and mind, and soul, and strength ; 
 pray by it, walk by it, trust ye ever in it ; and 
 may He who hath bestowed upon you this 
 great, this precious name, give you not over to 
 the "spirit of bondage again to fear," but fill 
 you with the "spirit of adoption whereby ye 
 cry, Abba, Father." — R. Anderson. 
 
 SALVATION by Christ Two-fold. 
 
 The means of salvation by Christ are two : 
 His merits and His efficacy. His merits, in 
 that by His obedience to the law and by His 
 passion. He made a satisfaction for our sins, 
 freed us from death, and reconciled us unto 
 God. His eflicacy in that He gave His Spirit 
 to certify the corruption of our natures, that 
 we may die unto sin, and live to righteousness, 
 and have true comfort in terrors of conscience, 
 and in the pangs of death. The evils from 
 which we are saved are our sins, in that Christ 
 freeth us from the guilt and punishment, and 
 fault of them all, when we believe. — M. W. 
 Perkins, 
 
 SALVATION by Faith in Christ. 
 
 Faith rightly interpreted is the conversion, 
 the regeneration of our whole nature ; the 
 turning away with all our soul and strength 
 from every species of sin ; and the consecration, 
 the entire devotion of ourselves, — both mind 
 and body, — to the love, the fear, and the ser- 
 vice of God. "Seek ye first the kingdom of 
 God and his righteousness ;" and if we set our 
 hearts aright in this direction, good works will 
 assuredly follow. * ' Arise, and go into the city, " 
 were the words of our blessed Redeemer to the 
 persecutor, Saul, "and it shall be told thee 
 what thou shalt do." In like manner it may 
 be said to the seeker of the righteousness of 
 the gospel : " Arise and throw thyself in faith 
 and sorrow for sin upon thy Lord's mercies ; 
 and it shall then, and not till then, be told thee 
 what thou shalt do,"— Z^/. Shuttlewot'tlu 
 
 As soon as a sinner convinced of sin feels the 
 weight of his iniquities heavy upon him, and, 
 conscious that he is unable to help himself, 
 comes with godly sorrow to seek for pardon 
 for his Redeemer's sake ; as soon as he sees by 
 faith the atonement of the blood of Christ as 
 the all-sufficient sacrifice and propitiation for 
 sin, and giving up all other reliance and trust, 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 541 
 
 seeks for pardon and reconciliation with God 
 only through Him, so soon God in His mercy 
 accepts him in Christ Jesus ; takes away from 
 off him the load of his former transgressions ; 
 justifies him freely by His grace ; washes him 
 from every stain of guilt. The sinner is thus 
 justified by faith. He is in the state of one of 
 those persons to whom our Saviour said, while 
 on earth, "Thy faith hath saved thee." *' Be- 
 hold, thou art made whole ; sin no more, lest 
 a worse thing come unto thee." — Bp, Denison. 
 
 SALVATION, its Sublimity. 
 
 It is the completeness of salvation which gives 
 it its greatness. Salvation is colossal, towering 
 till lost in the inaccessible majesty of its Author, 
 because containing whatever is required for the 
 transformation of man from the child of wrath 
 to the child of God, from death to life, from 
 the shattered, and corruptible, and condemned, 
 to the glorious, and imperishable, and ap- 
 proved. — H. Melvill. 
 
 SALVATION of Our Religion. 
 
 He that takes up a religion for any other 
 reason than to obey and practise it does not 
 choose a religion, but only counterfeits the 
 choice of it. We have beyond comparison the 
 best and most reasonable religion in the world, 
 a religion that hath the greatest evidence of its 
 truth, that contains the best precepts, and gives 
 men the greatest assurance of a future happi- 
 ness, and directs them to the surest way of 
 attaining it. Now the better our religion is, 
 the worse are we if we be not made good by it. 
 —Abp, Tillotson. 
 
 SANCTIFICATION by the Gospel. 
 
 *' These things I write unto you," saith the 
 apostle, "that you sin not ; " therein express- 
 ing the end of the whole Gospel, which is, not 
 only to cover sin, by spreading the purple robe 
 of Christ's death and sufferings over it, whilst 
 it still remaineth in us with all its filth and 
 noisomeness unremoved ; but also to convey a 
 powerful and mighty spirit of holiness, to 
 " cleanse " us, and ** free" us from it. The 
 Gospel is a true Bethesda, a pool of grace, 
 where such poor, lame, and infirm persons as 
 we are, upon the moving of God's Spirit in it, 
 
 may descend down, not only to wash our skins 
 and outside, but also to be cured of our 
 diseases within. And whatever the world 
 thinks, there is a powerful Spirit that "moves 
 upon these waters," the waters of the Gospel, 
 spreading its gentle, healing, quickening wings 
 over our souls. — Cudworth. 
 
 SANCTIFICATION by the Holy Spirit. 
 
 It is the particular office of the Holy Spirit to 
 sanctify us and make us holy. The third Per- 
 son in the blessed Trinity has the title of 
 "holy," because His proper office is to sanc- 
 tify all the elect of God ; so that the more we 
 partake of the Holy Spirit, the more exact and 
 regular our lives will be ; for the true notion 
 of a spiritual life is not a life spent wholly in 
 the devotional part of religion, but a life spent 
 according to the rules of sanctified reason, and 
 the dictates of God's Holy Spirit contained in 
 His word. The Spirit of God is a vigorous 
 and active principle, and where He has taken 
 up His residence in the soul of a man, He will 
 derive a powerful influence upon all his 
 thoughts, words, and actions. And where 
 the spiritual principle reigns in the soul of a 
 man, it will make him to be fruitful and abound 
 in every good work. — Bp. Atterbury, 
 
 SANCTIFICATION 
 
 Without Remission, as Nothing. 
 
 Had Christ only purchased remission without 
 sanctification, it had not been for the honour 
 of God's holiness, nor would our condition 
 have been elevated. It was necessary the 
 filth of sin should be removed, the dominion of 
 sin be abolished, that we might, as holy per- 
 sons, approach to God. All had been of little 
 efficacy to us, had not the waters of the Spirit 
 flowed out from the rock, where it was struck, 
 to cleanse the filthiness of our souls. — Char- 
 nock. 
 
 SATAN. 
 He, above the rest 
 In shape and gesture proudly eminent. 
 Stood like a tower ; his form not yet had lost 
 All its original brightness, nor appear'd 
 Less than Archangel ruin'd, and th' excess 
 Of glory obscured : as when the sun new-risen 
 Looks through the horizontal misty air. 
 Shorn of his beams ; or from behind the moon. 
 
542 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight slieds 
 On half the nations, and with fear of change 
 Perplexes monarchs ; darken'd so, yet shone 
 Above them all the archangel— ^///^;z. 
 
 SATAN, his Surveillance. 
 
 Satan knows what orders thou keepest in thy 
 house and closet (remarks a divine of the 
 seventeenth century), and though he hath not 
 a key to thy heart, yet he can stand in the next 
 room to it, and lightly hear what is whispered 
 there. He hunts the Christian by the scent 
 of his own feet, and if once he doth smell 
 which way thy heart inclines, he knows how to 
 take the hint. 
 
 SCENERY, Description of. 
 
 Although no prospects awfully sublime. 
 Strike with astonishment the wondering eye. 
 Yet here the green meads, in their loveliest 
 
 prime. 
 Exhale their May-tide incense to the sky ; 
 And here the wild birds send their hymns on 
 
 high ; 
 And nodding woods extend their darkening 
 
 gloom ; 
 And winding streams in harmony pass by ; 
 And myriad heath -flowers, congregated, 
 
 bloom ; 
 And corn-fields waving mock famed Araby's 
 
 perfume. 
 
 The night-wind moans around me : — there's 
 
 a mood 
 Of melancholy vibrates on its wings ; 
 The soul imbibes its tones of solitude ; 
 They bear a record of departed things, 
 Which haply probe the heart with forked 
 
 stings. 
 And drive remembrance into former years, 
 And vex the mind with woe's disquietings ; 
 While a dark scroll Anticipation rears. 
 Marked with a transcript vile depicting unborn 
 
 cares. 
 
 Now sobs and howls the fluctuating gale : 
 Methinks I see the ship 'midst mountain 
 
 waves, 
 Toppling and plunging as their peaks assail 
 Her crashing sides ; while the fierce tempest 
 
 raves. 
 And delves in darkness its unfathomed 
 
 graves, 
 
 And straight re-fills them — to the sea-bird's 
 
 cry. 
 Which screams a funeral dirge, 'midst rocks 
 
 and caves. 
 For drowning seamen ; while the rattling 
 
 sky 
 Rolls its inconstant clang of dreadful harmony. 
 
 There is sublimity pervades the sound 
 Of wintry storms, although they bring dis- 
 tress 
 To wretched man: what organ tones are 
 
 found 
 To match the peals of ocean's wilderness ! 
 And even this tempest, though it sorely press 
 On the faint pilgrim, shrinking from its fangs. 
 Speaks with a voice of awful holiness ! 
 And, in yon depth of forest glooms, ha- 
 rangues 
 With aji unswered speech, that wakes convic- 
 tion's pangs. 
 
 Sweet is the breeze of spring, that wafts 
 
 along 
 The breath of incense from unnumbered 
 
 flowei's, 
 And the full anthem of the woodland throng; 
 And sweet the gale that fans the summer 
 
 bowers : 
 And oh ! how doubly sweet is that which 
 
 towers 
 To loftiest thrillings in the year's decline, 
 W^afting through falling leaves and pattering 
 
 showers ! 
 And dear the wintry storms ; for all combine 
 To demonstrate a Power, Omniscient and 
 
 Divine. 
 
 Stern winter is abroad o'er hill and dale ; 
 The drifted snows have built their shelves on 
 
 high ; 
 An icy keenness, on the shrivelling gale. 
 Comes thick and heavy from the northern 
 
 sky; 
 More near the birds, in famished tameness, 
 
 fly; 
 
 The flock and herd no wanton gambles play. 
 But conscious snufl" the breeze, and slow pass 
 
 by; 
 While the faint sun, with an unwarming ray, 
 Completes his evening watch to visit lands 
 
 more gay. 
 
 Come, smiling Hope ! Anticipation come ! 
 To fancy's eye disclose the joyous spring ; 
 Lead where the snowdrop and the crocus 
 bloom ; 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 543 
 
 Bring violet perfumes on the breeze's wing ; 
 Unclasp the primrose, bid the cowslip fling 
 Its incense back to heaven ; let matins rise, 
 Till in imagination's ear shall ring 
 Each love-told hymn, that swells the April 
 skies, 
 Ascending up to Plim all-potent and all-wise. 
 
 Millhoiise. 
 
 SCENERY of England, the Rural. 
 
 Perhaps there is no country in the world 
 which so much abounds in pleasant touches 
 of home-scenery, both as it regards the appear- 
 ance of the country, and the dispositions, cus- 
 toms, feelings, and associations of its more 
 rustic inhabitants, as England ; especially in 
 those remoter and more retired districts of the 
 country, far away from the bustle of our large 
 cities, the dust, heat, and unhealthiness, as well 
 as all the other inconveniences of our manu- 
 facturing towns, and the filth, and noisome- 
 ness, and vice, of the maritime parts of the 
 kingdom. 
 
 Remote from the busy and noisy world, and 
 shut out from all its intrusiveness, they remind 
 one of Virgil's fine description of the Bay, in 
 the retired and unruffled waters of which the 
 wearied exiles of Troy found safety and rest, 
 after their toilsome and perilous voyage, and 
 after their many buffetings in the storms of 
 the open ocean : — 
 
 omnis ab alto 
 
 Frangitur inque sinus scindit sese unda reductos — 
 
 ^quora tuta sitent. 
 
 As you whirl along on the top of a stage- 
 coach through different parts of the interior of 
 the country, you are constantly coming to these 
 little spots ; lying off" the main road at some 
 little distance, may be frequently seen the 
 church-spire of some village rising up amidst 
 deep and rich wood, while round its sacred 
 walls, where — 
 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep, 
 are ranged the cottages of the villagers, where 
 they follow the employments and imitate the 
 customs and simple manners of their ances- 
 tors. There is nothing more delightful than 
 visiting, about sun-set, as the old clock strikes 
 the hour for the weary labourer's return, one 
 of these simple retreats. The whole scene is 
 calculated to soothe the mind, though the feel- 
 ings it excites are not unmixed with melan- 
 choly ; but it is a pleasing melancholy, such as 
 one would wish more frequently to feel. The 
 setting sun, throwing his farewell beams upon 
 
 the dark wood which skirts and environs the 
 village ; the labourer just emerging from be- 
 tween the green hedges of some lane, which 
 leads from the field in which he has been em- 
 ployed to the village green ; the last faint 
 sounds of the woodman's axe ; the noise and 
 glee of the assembled children of the village, 
 playing their innocent games in the dusk of the 
 evening, while some of the patriarchs of the 
 little society sit down, with calm and tranquil 
 faces, and watch, with a half-melancholy, half- 
 merry smile, the sports and simple enjoyments 
 of the young. At some distance, beside some 
 retired hedge-row, may be seen the lass with 
 her rustic beau, plucking the wild but ever- 
 beautiful productions of uncultivated nature. 
 This is not altogether a sketch from imagina- 
 tion. I have at this moment such a village 
 before my mental eye ; there I passed some 
 time of my boyhood, and I never pay it a 
 visit without thinking that if happiness is to 
 be anywhere felt on earth, it is surely there. 
 I have seen the scenes and heard the sounds I 
 have now described many a time, and almost 
 wished that I had been brought up a rustic 
 villager, that I might have been contented 
 with the little enjoyments, at any rate for the 
 most part innocent, which that class of people 
 possess, and felt no longings, no cravings, after 
 a wider sphere of society, or the empty plea- 
 sures, but substantial cares, of a hollow and 
 heartless world ; that I might have been content 
 with the seclusion and humility of some little 
 nook, some little Arcadia of my own rearing. I 
 know, however, that these are in some measure 
 the day-dreams of imagination, and that as every 
 spot of earth is, as man and the globe which he 
 inhabits are at present constituted, devoted to 
 misery, so even these retired villages, sheltered 
 as they are from the world, have their storms 
 and their tempests. If they were in reality so 
 many miniature Elysiums, one would think 
 that all our villages would soon become towns, 
 from a sudden influx of inhabitants. But whe- 
 ther they are really more happy or not, they 
 certainly appear so. There seems more inno- 
 cence, more peace in them ; and as our mise- 
 ries spring from our wants, and half our wants 
 are artificial, the simple children of the soil 
 may perhaps be more truly happy than others. 
 But at any rate, they and their hamlets and 
 villages look very delightful, and appear to 
 possess as much happiness as earth can afford. 
 But to a superficial observer, even the whole 
 appearance of our country — I speak not par- 
 tially as an Englishman — must appear beau- 
 
5^4 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 tiful. It is neither flat, like the fens of Hol- 
 land ; nor mountainous, like the regions of the 
 Alps ; nor too woody, like some of the forest 
 districts of Germany and North America ; nor 
 waterless or streamless, like the greater part of 
 unhappy Africa, But its soil is rich and fer- 
 tile, with enough of hill and valley to give its 
 surface a sufficiently diversified aspect — suffi- 
 cient wood to prevent anything like a bare or 
 barren appearance ; and as to water, it is so 
 intersected, so completely permeated and fer- 
 tilized with streams, that the terms which 
 Homer applies to Mount Ida might well be 
 used in reference to our whole country — 
 * ' abounding with springs. " Scarcely a meadow 
 but pours out its tributary rivulet to water its 
 own small district, and then to bestow its 
 trickling contribution to a larger stream. As 
 you journey along, a constant succession of 
 hill and dale, rich wood, bubbling streams, 
 fertile fields, and happy villages meet the eye. 
 Our own is, indeed, a favoured country ; and 
 woe be to us if we be not grateful for the ten 
 thousand mercies by which it is distinguished. 
 Happy England, mayest thou but know and 
 acknowledge the Being who showers down, in 
 the opulence of his bounty, all thy blessings 
 and thy prosperity so permanent and so un- 
 fluctuating \—H. 
 
 SCEPTICISM, 
 
 No Part of Socrates' Doctrine. 
 
 Socrates professed "to know only this, that 
 he knew nothing." In this declaration, he 
 had no other intention than to convince his 
 hearers of the narrow limits of the human un- 
 derstanding ; nothing was farther from his 
 thoughts than to encourage universal scep- 
 ticism. Although eminently furnished with 
 every kind of learning, he preferred moral to 
 speculative wisdom. Convinced that philo- 
 sophy (that is, natural religion) is valuable, 
 not as it furnishes questions for the schools, 
 but as it provides men with laws of life, he cen- 
 sured his predecessors for spending all their 
 time in abstruse researches into nature, and 
 taking no pains to render themselves useful to 
 mankind. His favourite maxim was, what- 
 ever is above us doth not concern us. He 
 estimated the value of knowledge by its utility, 
 and recommended the study of geometry, 
 astronomy, and other sciences, only so far as 
 they admit of a practical application to the 
 purposes of human life. His great object, in 
 all his conferences and discourses, was to lead 
 
 men into an acquaintance with themselves ; to 
 convince them of their follies and vices ; to in- 
 spire them with the love of virtue ; to furnish 
 them with useful moral instructions. Cicero 
 might, therefore, very justly say of Socrates, 
 that he was the first who called down philo- 
 sophy from heaven to earth, and introduced 
 her into the public walks and domestic retire- 
 ments of men, that she might instruct them 
 concerning life and manners. — Enfield. 
 
 SCEPTIC, The. 
 Oh ! lives there, heaven ! beneath thy dread 
 
 expanse. 
 One hopeless, dark idolator of chance. 
 Content to feed with pleasures unrefined 
 The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind ; 
 Who mouldering earthward, 'reft of every truth. 
 In joyless union wedded to the dust. 
 Could all his parting energy dismiss, 
 And call this barren world sufiicient bliss ? — 
 There live, alas ! of heaven- directed mien, 
 Of cultured soul, and sapient eye serene. 
 Who hail thee, Man ! the pilgrim of a day. 
 Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay, 
 Frail as the leaf in autumn's yellow bower, 
 A friendless slave, a child without a sire, 
 Whose mortal life and momentary fire 
 Lights to the grave his chance-created form. 
 As ocean- wrecks illuminate the storm. 
 And, when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er, 
 To night and silence sink for evermore ! 
 Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim. 
 Lights of the world, and demi-gods of Fame? 
 Is this your triumph — this your proud applause. 
 Children of Truth, and champions of her cause? 
 For this hath Science searched, on weary wing. 
 By shore and sea — each mute and living thing. 
 Launched with Iberia's pilot from the steep. 
 To worlds unknown, and isles beyond the 
 
 deep ; 
 Or round the cope her living chariot driven. 
 And wheeled in triumph through the signs of 
 
 heaven. 
 Oh ! star-eyed Science, hast thou wandered 
 
 there 
 To waft us home the message of despair? 
 Then bind the palm, thy sage's brow to suit, 
 Of blasted leaf, and death distilling fruit ! 
 Ah me ! the laurelled wreath that murder rears, 
 Blood-nursed, and watered by the widow's 
 
 tears. 
 Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread, 
 As waves the nightshade round the sceptic 
 
 head. Campbell. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 545 
 
 SCHOOL of Girls. 
 
 As we entered in 
 There sat along the forms, like morning doves, 
 That sun their milky bosoms on the thatch, 
 A patient range of pupils. 
 
 Ten7iyson. 
 
 SCIENCE, 
 Benefits of General and Popular. 
 Men of genius, in former times, have often lan- 
 guished in obsairity, not because their merits 
 were neglected, but because they were not 
 understood. This, however, can scarcely hap- 
 pen in the present day, in which all sources of 
 useful information are laid open, and in which 
 unparalleled exertions have been made in the 
 higher classes of society to diffuse improvement, 
 and to promote all objects of inquiry which can 
 benefit or enlighten the public. There are 
 other uses, still greater uses, resulting from 
 the communication of general and popular 
 science. By means of it vulgar errors and 
 common prejudices are constantly diminished. 
 It offers new topics for conversation, and new 
 interests in life. In solitude, it affords subjects 
 for contemplation, and for an active exercise of 
 the imderstanding ; and in cities it assists the 
 cause of religion and morality, by preventing 
 the increase of gross luxury, and indulgence in 
 vicious dissipation. 
 
 Man is designed for an active being, and his 
 spirit, ever restless, if not employed upon 
 worthy or dignified objects, will often rather 
 engage in low pursuits than suffer the tedious 
 and listless feelings connected with indolence ; 
 and knowledge is no less necessary in strength- 
 ening the mind than in preserving the purity of 
 the affections of the heart — Sir Humphry 
 Davy, 
 
 SCIENCE, Preceding Art. 
 
 When the principles of any science are become 
 common to all the world, these principles lead 
 to inventions, nearly, if not altogether similar, 
 by different persons, having no communication 
 with each other. A remarkable instance of 
 this is given by Judge Story, in his address to 
 the Boston Mechanics' Institute : — 
 
 " A beautiful improvement had been made 
 in the double-speeder of the cotton-spinning 
 machine by one of our ingenious coimtrymen. 
 The originality of the invention was established 
 by the most satisfactory evidence. The de- 
 
 fendant, however, called an Englishman as a 
 witness, who had been but a short time in the 
 country, and who testified most explicitly to 
 the existence of a like invention in the improved 
 machinery in England. Against such positive 
 proof there was much difficulty in proceeding. 
 The testimony, though doubted, could not be 
 discredited ; and the trial was postponed to 
 another term, for the purpose of procuring evi- 
 dence to rebut it. An agent was despatched to 
 England for this and other objects ; and upon 
 his return the plaintiff was content to become 
 nonsuited. There was no doubt that the in- 
 vention here was without any suspicion of its 
 existence elsewhere ; but the genius of each 
 country, almost at the same moment, accom- 
 plished, independently, the same achievement." 
 
 SCIENCE, Progressive. 
 
 By a peculiar prerogative, not only each indivi- 
 dual is making daily advances in the sciences, 
 and may make advances in morality (which is 
 the science, by way of eminence, of living well 
 and being happy), but all mankind together 
 are making a continual progress in proportion 
 as the universe grows older ; so that the whole 
 human race, during the course of so many ages, 
 may be considered as one man, who never 
 ceases to live and learn. — Pascal. 
 
 SCIENCE, Properly Taught. 
 
 And hence, in teaching science— in teaching 
 all science— let us never leave out its ultimate 
 end, the existence and the glory of God. A 
 catechism that I have been taught from my 
 infancy contains the question, " What is the 
 chief end of man?" The answer is, "To 
 glorify God, and enjoy him for ever." That 
 question is not the monopoly of a theological 
 catechism — it is a question that we may ask of 
 every object of the whole universe. What is the 
 end of that star that shines in its orbit ? What 
 is the end of that gold that is dragged from 
 the bowels of the earth ? What is the end of 
 the bird on its wing, of the cattle upon a 
 thousand hills ? What is the end of the flower 
 and the grass? To glorify God, and reflect 
 the splendour of Him whose breath gave every 
 flower its aroma ; whose smiles gave every 
 blossom its tint : who is the Creator of all, 
 the middle of all, the end of all, the object 
 that they all serve to glorify and honour. — 
 Dr. Cumming. 
 
 N N 
 
546 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 SCIENCE, Three Primary Points of. 
 The three primary points of the benefit of 
 science : Its being patronized by the world, its 
 virtue in improving the world, and its perfec- 
 tion in supporting itself. 
 
 The three marks of the propriety of a 
 science : Just cause, just organization, and just 
 conformity. 
 
 The three times of science : When it is just, 
 when it is becoming, and when it is necessary. 
 
 The three to whom science is suitable : He 
 that delights in it, he that understands it, and 
 he that deserves it. — Gather all. 
 
 SCIENCE, 
 
 To be Piirsued. Witliout Prejudice. 
 
 In entering upon any scientific pursuit, one of 
 the student's first endeavours ought to be to 
 prepare his mind for the reception of truth, by 
 dismissing, or at least loosening his hold on, 
 all such crude and hastily adopted notions 
 respecting the objects and relations he is about 
 to examine, as may tend to embarrass or mis- 
 lead him ; and to strengthen himself by some- 
 thing of an effort and a resolve, for the un- 
 prejudiced admission of any conclusion, which 
 shall appear to be supported by careful obser- 
 vation and logical argument, even should it 
 prove of a nature adverse to notions he may 
 have previously formed for himself, or taken 
 up, without examination, on the credit of 
 others. Such an effort is, in fact, a commence- 
 ment of that intellectual discipline which 
 forms one of the most important ends of all 
 science. It is the first movement of approach 
 towards that state of mental purity which 
 alone can fit us for a full and steady perception 
 of moral beauty, as well as physical adap- 
 tation. It is the "euphrasy and rue" with 
 which we must purge our sight, before we can 
 receive and contemplate, as they are, the 
 lineaments of truth. — Sir John Herschel. 
 
 SCIENTIFIC Inquiry, Taste for. 
 
 A MIND which has once imbibed a taste for 
 scientific inquiry, and has learnt the habit of 
 applying its principles readily to the cases 
 which occur, has within itself an inexhaustible 
 source of pure and exciting contemplations. 
 One would think that Shakespeare had such a 
 
 mind in view, when he describes a contem- 
 plative man as finding — 
 
 Tongues In trees, books in the running brooks. 
 Sermons in stones, and good in everything. 
 
 Accustomed to trace the operation of general 
 causes, and the exemplification of general laws, 
 in circumstances where the uninformed and 
 uninquiring eye perceives neither novelty nor 
 beauty, he walks in the midst of wonders ; 
 every object which falls in his way elucidates 
 some principle, affords some instruction, and 
 impresses him with a sense of harmony and 
 order. Nor is it a mere passive pleasure 
 which is thus communicated. A thousand 
 subjects of inquiry are continually arising in 
 his mind, which keeps his faculties in constant 
 exercise, and his thoughts perpetually on the 
 wing, so that lassitude is excluded from his 
 life, and that craving after artificial excitement 
 and dissipation of mind which leads so many 
 into frivolous, unworthy, and destructive pur- 
 suits, is altogether eradicated from his bosom. 
 It is not one of the least advantages of these 
 pursuits, which, however, they possess in 
 common with every class of intellectual plea- 
 sures, that they are altogether independent of 
 external circumstances, and are to be enjoyed 
 in every situation in which a man can be 
 placed in life. The highest degrees of worldly 
 prosperity are so far from being incompatible 
 with them that they supply additional advan- 
 tages for their pursuit, and that sort of fresh 
 and renewed relish which arises partly from 
 the sense of contrast, partly from experience, 
 of the peculiar pre-eminence which they possess 
 over the pleasures of sense in their capability 
 of unlimited increase and continual repetition, 
 without satiety and distaste. They may be 
 enjoyed, too, in the intervals of the most 
 active business ; and the calm and dispassionate 
 interest with which they fill the mind renders 
 them a most delightful retreat from the agita- 
 tions and dissensions of the world, and from 
 the conflict of passions, prejudices, and 
 interests, in which the man of business 
 finds himself continually involved. —-i'z>- y<7/^;^ 
 Herschel, 
 
 SCOFFERS. 
 
 There is not a more evident testimony of a 
 corrupt and depraved disposition than an irre- 
 verent treatment of things sacred, a contempt 
 of anything that carries on it a divine im- 
 pression, or an obstinate neglect of any of 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 547 
 
 those ordinances which the wisdom of God has 
 appointed to support and preserve His religion 
 in the world. — Bp. Gibson. 
 
 SCRIPTURE, 
 
 A Mere Literary Knowledge of. 
 
 It is amazing in what different lights the same 
 man will appear in the eyes of the multitudes 
 around. I have been told of a porter, who 
 heard so much of the celebrated Pope, the 
 poet, that he went to see him. But his dis- 
 appointment was complete. He came back, 
 and reported to his friends that the poet was a 
 little crooked thing ; and that his own boy, 
 of twelve years old, would not think him worth 
 flogging. This is but one instance of what the 
 world is full of. Each individual is interested 
 in whatever suits himself, in the character of a 
 public man. Thus the statesman, upon the 
 movements of whose mind an empire may 
 depend, is known, perhaps, to jockeys, by 
 nothing but his seat on horseback ; and to 
 tailors, by nothing but the cut and colour of 
 his coat. In short, he is principally to each 
 observer that which falls in with the habits of 
 his own mind and interests. This may illus- 
 trate to us the disposition in every man, in 
 some sense, to make a God for himself ; or, in 
 other words, to see God through the medium 
 of his own governing tastes and feelings. Of 
 this many examples might be given ; but I 
 shall content myself here with one. There is, 
 I believe, in what may be termed the mere 
 literary man, a tendency to think God alto- 
 gether such an one as himself ; to think of him, 
 in a word, as a literary God. 
 
 His own heart is centered in the love of 
 letters ; his highest ambition is to be an 
 author ; and therefore the God he is chiefly 
 conversant with is the writer of a book, the 
 Author of the Bible. It is not the door of 
 mercy opened by a Saviour's merits ; it is not 
 the living bread which came down from 
 heaven, or the well of water springing up into 
 everlasting life ; it is not the matter, but the 
 manner of the revelation, the mode of ex- 
 pression, the choice of words, and turn of 
 phrase, which engage the mind of the mere 
 literary student. Let it be that the Bible, even 
 in these respects, rises far above all merely 
 human excellence ; this can never palliate the 
 folly which seizes upon the casket and throws 
 the pearl away. If a man were to stand be- 
 fore an earthly judge, awaiting from his lips 
 
 the sentence of acquittal or of death, how 
 strange would be the delusion, were he chiefly 
 employed in admiring the elegance and neat- 
 ness of those expressions on which his fate de- 
 pended ! But what is that to the fatuity of the 
 learned dreamer, who devotes his days and 
 nights to critical discussions of the mere letter 
 of the Scripture ; and at the same time, re- 
 mains in stupid apathy as to the terrors of its 
 judgments and the promises of its mercy ; who 
 is perfectly careless whether he is himself to go 
 upwards to that heaven or downwards to that 
 hell. — Woodward. 
 
 SCRIPTURE our Guide. 
 
 We must judge by the Scripture, and believe 
 all things there spoken. Remember how crafty 
 a workman the Devil is. Chiefly, and before 
 all things, he goeth about to take this per- 
 suasion, that God's v/ord is true, out of man's 
 heart ; as he did with Adam, that thought no- 
 thing less than to die, as God said. Then 
 thought he wholly to have printed his own 
 image in Adam, for the image of God ; and so 
 bring him to an utter contempt and hatred of 
 God for ever, as he had brought him to 
 diffidence and doubt of His word. Here let 
 us all take heed of ourselves, which daily by 
 the word of God being admonished of ill, yet 
 amend not. — Bp. Hooper. 
 
 SCRIPTURE, The Glory of. 
 
 Then do we find food for our souls in the 
 word of truth, then do we taste how gracious 
 the Lord is therein, then is the Scripture full of 
 refreshment to us, as a spring of living water, 
 when we are taken into a blessed view of the 
 glory of Christ therein. This is the glory of 
 the Scripture, that it is the great, the only out- 
 ward means of representing unto us the glory 
 of Christ ; and He is the Sun in the firmament 
 thereof, which only hath light in itself, and 
 communicates it to all other things besides. — 
 Dr. Owen. 
 
 SCRIPTURES, 
 Discover to us Divine Goodness. 
 
 What is there that doth more highly concern 
 men to know than God himself? Or what 
 more glorious and excellent object could he 
 discover than Himself to the world In the 
 
548 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IlSt NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Scriptures we read the most rich and admirable 
 discoveries of Divine goodness, and all the 
 ways and methods He uses in alluring sinners 
 to Himself ; with what majesty He commands ; 
 with what condescension He entreats ; with 
 what importunity He wooes men's souls to be 
 reconciled to Him ; with what favour He em- 
 braceth ; with what tenderness He chastiseth ; 
 with what bowels He pitieth those who have 
 chosen Him to be their God ; with what power 
 Hesupporteth; with what wisdom He directeth ; 
 with what cordials He refresheth the souls of 
 such who are dejected under the sense of His 
 displeasure, and yet their love is sincere towards 
 him.— ^/. Stilling fleet. 
 
 SCRIPTURES, Harmony of the. 
 
 The Scriptures are distinguished by their com- 
 pleteness. All the portions of each inspired 
 book are in harmony with the rest, and all 
 these books fit into each other, forming one 
 complete system, where the same great truths 
 are again and again represented with the 
 utmost simplicity, and where all the useful 
 applications of these truths are unfolded in 
 every variety of light and position. The whole 
 form of the Scriptures, which consists in the 
 continual evolution of one Divine plan, gives 
 every facility for discovering and contemplating 
 sacred truths, exhibited as they are from their 
 earliest disclosure to their full accomplishment. 
 — Douglas. 
 
 SCRIPTURES, The. 
 
 The Word of God (remarks an eminent di- 
 vine of the seventeenth century) is not a book 
 to be read by the lowest class in Christ's 
 School only, but becoming the highest scholars, 
 who seem most fit for a removal to heaven's 
 academy. It is not only of use to make a 
 Christian by conversion, but to make him per- 
 fect also. ** The Holy Scriptures are able to 
 make thee wise unto salvation through faith, 
 which is in Christ Jesus." "All Scripture is 
 given by inspiration of God, and is profitable 
 for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for in- 
 struction in righteousness, that the man of God 
 may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all 
 good works." 'Tis like the architect's rule and 
 line, as necessary to lay the top stone of the 
 building at the end of his life as the founda- 
 tion at his conversion. 
 
 SCRIPTURES, the Piire Truth of. 
 When we study the writings of men, it is 
 well if, after much pains and labour, we find 
 some particles of truth among a great deal of 
 error. When we read the Scriptures all we 
 meet vAih. is truth. In the former case, we are 
 like the Africans on the Gold Coast, of whom 
 it is said that they dig pits nigh the water- 
 falls of mountains abounding in gold, then 
 with incredible pains and industry wash off 
 the sand till they espy at the bottom two or 
 three shining grains of the metal, which only 
 just pays their labour. In the latter case we 
 work in a mine sufficient to enrich ourselves 
 and all about us. — Bishop Home. 
 
 SCRIPTURES, the True Manna. 
 
 The Word is the true manna ; it is the bread 
 which came down from Heaven ; it is the key 
 of the kingdom of Heaven j it is the savour 
 of life unto life ; it is the power of God unto 
 salvation. In it God showeth unto us His might, 
 His wisdom, and His glory. By it He will be 
 known of us. By it He will be honoured of 
 His creatures. The words of the Lord are 
 pure words, as the silver tried in the furnace ; 
 there is no filth nor dross remaining in them ; 
 they are the storehouse of wisdom and of the 
 knowledge of God ; in respect whereof all the 
 wisdom of this world is but vain and foolish. 
 The Holy Scriptures are the bright sun of 
 God, which bring light unto our ways, and 
 comfort to all parts of our life, and salvation 
 to our souls ; in which is made known to us 
 our estate, and the mercy of God witnessed in 
 Christ our Saviour. — Bishop jfewell. 
 
 ■1 
 
 SEA, A First Night at. 
 
 To one unaccustomed to such scenes this is a 
 very striking time on shipboard. Afterwards, 
 and when its novelty had long worn off, it 
 never ceased to have a peculiar interest and 
 charm for me. The gloom through which the 
 great black mass holds its direct and certain 
 course ; the rushing water, plainly heard, but 
 dimly seen ; the broad, white, glistening track 
 that follows in the vessel's wake ; the men on 
 the look-out forward, who would be scarcely 
 visible against the dark sky, but for their 
 blotting out some score of glistening stars ; 
 The helmsman at the wheel, with the illumi- 
 nated card before him, shining, a speck of 
 light amidst the darkness, like something sen- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 549 
 
 tient, and of divine intelligence ; the melan- 
 choly sighing of the wind through block, and 
 rope, and chain ; the gleaming forth of light 
 from every crevice, nook, and tiny piece of 
 glass about the decks, as though the ship were 
 filled with fire in hiding, ready to burst through 
 any outlet, wild with its resistless power of 
 death and ruin. At first, too, and even when 
 the hour, and all the objects which it exalts, 
 have come to be familiar, it is difficult, alone 
 and thoughtful, to hold them to their proper 
 shapes and forms. They change with the 
 wandering fancy : assume the semblance of 
 things left far away : put on the well-remem- 
 bered aspect of favourite places dearly loved ; 
 and even people them with shadows. Streets, 
 houses, rooms ; figures so like their usual 
 occupants that they have startled me by 
 their reality, which far exceeded, as it seemed 
 to me, all power of mine to conjure up the 
 absent ; have, many and many a time, at such 
 an hour, grown suddenly out of objects with 
 whose real look, and use, and purpose, I was 
 as well acquainted as with my own two hands. 
 — Dickens, 
 
 SEA at NigM. 
 
 Voice of the mighty deep, 
 
 Piercing the drowsy night, 
 Thou scarest the gentle sleep, 
 
 Whose pinions will not light 
 Where thou intrudest busy thought, 
 With depths dark as thy secrets fraught. 
 
 Thy mystic sounds I hear, 
 
 Peal of unwonted things ; 
 Of wonders far and near 
 
 The hollow music rings, 
 Its notes borne wild around the world, 
 Where'er thy dark-blue waves are curled. 
 
 Oh, no, I cannot sleep, 
 
 Thou vast and glorious sea ! 
 While thou dost thus the vigil keep 
 
 Of thy great majesty, 
 I think God's image near me is, 
 In all its awful mysteries. 
 
 Thou art a spirit. Ocean, thou ! 
 
 Giant of earth and air. 
 Spanning the universe ; and now, 
 
 While making music here. 
 Ten thousand leagues afar thy wave 
 Rolling upon an empire's grave ! 
 
 Thy arm that shakes me here 
 
 Thunders upon the shore 
 Of North, and South, and central sphere, 
 
 Fuego, Labrador ; 
 From flaming Equinox to frigid Pole, 
 Belting the earth thy waters roll — 
 
 Engulphing mountains at a sweep 
 
 Beneath their angry sway. 
 Or raising islands from the deep 
 
 In their triumphant way, 
 Or murm'ring sweet round Scian isles, 
 In cadence soft as beauty's smiles. 
 
 'Tis midnight ! — earth and air 
 Are hushed in lair and nest — 
 
 Thy energy from thy long birth 
 Hath never needed rest : 
 
 Thou dost not tire — thou feel'st not toil, — 
 
 Thou art not formed, like me, of soil. 
 
 Why dost thou thunder so ? 
 
 What in thy deeps profound. 
 Thus as a strong man with his foe. 
 
 Gives out that angry sound ? 
 On earth no foe can ever be, 
 Prince of Creation, worthy thee ! 
 
 Age thou hast never known — 
 Thou shalt be young and free, 
 
 Till God command thee give thine own. 
 And all is dumb save thee ; 
 
 And haply when the sun is blood. 
 
 Unchanged shall be thy mighty flood. 
 
 I will not grudge my sleep 
 
 Upon thine own vast shore. 
 Since though I am too mean, O Deep, 
 
 To check thy angry roar. 
 Proud sea ! the wand'rings of my mind 
 May leave thy depths and world behind ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 SEA-CAVE. 
 
 The floor is of sand, like the mountain-drift ; 
 
 And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow ; 
 From coral rocks the sea-plants lift 
 
 Their boughs, where the tides and billows 
 flow : 
 The water is calm and still below. 
 
 For the winds and waves are absent there ; 
 And the sands are bright as the stars that glow 
 
 In the motionless fields of upper air : 
 There, with its waving blade of green. 
 
 The sea-flag streams through the silent water, 
 And the crimson leaf oi the dulse is seen 
 
 To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter ; 
 
550 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 There, with a light and easy motion, 
 
 The fan-coral sweeps through the clear, deep 
 sea ; 
 And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean 
 
 Are bending like com on the upland lea ; 
 And life, in rare and beautiful forms, 
 
 Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, 
 And is safe when the wrathful spirit of storms 
 
 Has made the top of the wave his own : 
 And when the ship from his fury flies, 
 
 Where the myriad voices of ocean roar, 
 When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, 
 
 And demons are waiting the wreck on shore ; 
 Then far below, in the peaceful sea. 
 
 The purple mullet and gold-fish rove. 
 Where the waters murmur tranquilly 
 
 Through the bending twigs in the coral grove. 
 
 Percival. 
 
 SEA-STORMS. 
 
 The south and west winds join'd, and as they 
 
 blew. 
 Waves like a rolling trench before them threw, 
 Sooner than you read this line did the gale, 
 Like shot, not fear'd till felt, our sails assail ; 
 And what at first was called a gust, the same 
 Hath now a storm's, anon a tempest's name. 
 Jonas ! I pity thee : and curse those men 
 Who when the storm raged most did wake 
 
 thee then. 
 Sleep is pain's easiest salve, and doth fulfil 
 All offices of death except to kill. 
 But when I wak'd, I saw that I saw not ; 
 I and the sun, which should teach me, had 
 
 forgot 
 East, west, day, night ; and I could only say 
 If the world had lasted now it had been day. 
 Thousands our noises were, yet we 'mongst all 
 Could none by his right name but thunder call. 
 Lightning was all our light, and it rain'd more 
 Than if the sun had drunk the sea before. 
 Some coffin'd in their cabins lie, equally 
 Griev'd that they are not dead, and yet must 
 
 die; 
 And as sin-burden'd souls from grave will creep 
 At the last day, some forth their cabins peep. 
 And tremblingly ask what news? and do hear so, 
 As jealous husbands, what they would not 
 
 know. 
 Some, sitting on the hatches, would seem there, 
 With hideous gazing to fear away Fear ; 
 There note they the ship's sicknesses, the mast 
 Shak'd with an ague, and the hold and waist 
 With a salt dropsy clogg'd, and our tacklings 
 Snapping like too high stretched treble strings, 
 
 And from our tatter'd sails rags drop down so, 
 As from one hang'd in chains a year ago ; 
 Even our ordnance, plac'd for our defence. 
 Strive to break loose, and scape away from 
 
 thence. 
 Pumping hath tir'd our men, and what's the 
 
 gain? 
 Seas into seas thrown we suck in again. 
 Hearing hath deaf 'd our sailors ; and if they 
 Knew how to hear, there's none knows what 
 
 to say. 
 Compar'd to these storms death is but a qualm. 
 Hell somewhat lightsome, the Bermud' a calm. 
 Darkness, Light's eldest brother, his birthright 
 Claim'd o'er this world, and to heaven hath 
 
 chas'd light. 
 All things are one, and that one none can be. 
 Since all forms uniform deformity 
 Doth cover ; so that we, except God say 
 Another Fiat, shall have no more day : 
 So violent, yet long these furies be. 
 That though thine absence sterve me, I wish 
 
 not thee. Donne. 
 
 SEA, The, an Emblem of Life. 
 The sea is like a mirror far and near. 
 And ours a prosperous voyage safe from harms ; 
 Yet may the thought that everlasting arms 
 Arc round us and about us, be as dear 
 Now when no sight of danger doth appear. 
 As tho' our vessel did its blind way urge 
 'Mid the long weltering of the dreariest surge 
 Thro' which a perishing bark did ever steer. 
 Lord of the calm and tempest, be it ours. 
 Poor mariners ! to pay due vows to Thee, 
 Tho' not a cloud on all the horizon lowers 
 Of all our life ; for even this way shall we 
 Have greater boldness towards Thee, when 
 
 indeed 
 The storm is up, and there is earnest need. 
 
 Trench. 
 
 SEA, the Genius of Repose. 
 There's peace and welcome in yon sea 
 Of endless blue tranquillity. 
 
 Those clouds are living things ! 
 I trace their veins of liquid gold, 
 I see them solemnly unfold 
 
 Their soft and fleecy wings ! 
 These be the angels that convey 
 Us, weary children of a day. 
 
 Life's tedious nothing o'er. 
 Where neither passions come, nor woes 
 To vex the genius of repose 
 
 On death's majestic shore. Gluck. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 551 
 
 SEA, The, 
 
 Summer and Winter View of. 
 
 Turn to the watery world ! — but who to thee 
 <A wonder yetunviewed) shall paint— the Sea? 
 Various and vast, sublime in all its forms, 
 When lulled by zephyrs or when roused by 
 
 storms. 
 Its colours changing, when from clouds and 
 
 sun 
 Shades after shades upon the surface run ; 
 Embrowned and horrid now, and now serene, 
 In limpid blue, and evanescent green ; 
 And oft the foggy banks on ocean lie, 
 Lift the fair sail, and cheat th' experienced 
 
 eye. 
 
 Be it the summer-noon : a sandy space 
 The ebbing tide has left upon its place ; 
 Then just the hot and stony beach above, 
 Light twinkling streams in bright confusion 
 
 move ; 
 (For heated thus, the warmer air ascends, 
 And with the cooler in its fall contends). 
 Then the broad bosom of the ocean keeps 
 An equal motion ; swelling as it sleeps, 
 Then slowly sinking ; curling to the strand, 
 Faint, lazy waves o'ercreep the ridgy sand, 
 Or tap the tarry boat with gentle blow. 
 And back return in silence, smooth and slow. 
 Ships in the calm seem anchored ; for they 
 
 glide 
 On the still sea, urged solely by the tide ; 
 Art thou not present, this calm scene before, 
 Where all beside is pebbly length of shore. 
 And far as eye can reach, it can discern no 
 
 more. 
 Yet sometimes comes a ruffling cloud to make 
 The quiet surface of the ocean shake ; 
 As an awakened giant, with a frown, 
 Might show his wrath, and then to sleep sink 
 
 down. 
 
 View now the winter-storm ! above, one 
 
 cloud, 
 Black and unbroken all the skies o'ershroud ; 
 Th'unwieldy porpoise through the day before 
 Had rolled in view of boding men on shore ; 
 And sometimes hid, and sometimes showed 
 
 his form. 
 
 Dark as the cloud, and furious as the storm. 
 All where the eye delights, yet dreads to 
 
 roam, 
 The breaking billows cast the flying foam 
 Upon the billows rising — all the deep 
 Is restless change ; the waves so swelled and 
 
 steep. 
 
 Breaking and sinking, and the sunken swells, 
 Nor one, one moment, in its station dwells : 
 But nearer land you may the billows trace. 
 As if contending in their watery chase ; 
 May watch the mightiest till the shoal they 
 
 reach. 
 Then break and hurry to their utmost stretch j 
 Curled as they come, they strike with furious 
 
 force. 
 And then re-flowing, take their grating course, 
 Raking the rounded flints, which ages past 
 Rolled by their rage, and shall to ages last. 
 
 Far off the petrel, in the troubled way 
 Swims with her brood, or flutters in the spray ; 
 She rises often, often drops again. 
 And sports at ease on the tempestuous main. 
 
 High o'er the restless deep, above the reach 
 Of gunner's hope, vast flights of wild ducks 
 
 stretch ; 
 Far as the eye can glance on either side. 
 In a broad space and level line they glide ; 
 All in their wedge-like figures from the north. 
 Day after day, flight after flight go forth. 
 
 In shore their passage tribes of sea gulls urge, 
 And drop for prey within the sweeping surge 
 Oft in the rough opposing blast they fly 
 Far back, then turn, and all their force apply, 
 While to the storm they give their weak com- 
 plaining cry, 
 Or clap the sleek white pinion to the breast. 
 And in the restless ocean dip for rest. — Crabbe. 
 
 SEASONS, Invocation to. 
 
 For me, when I forget the darling theme. 
 Whether the blossom blows, the Summer ray 
 Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams, 
 Or Winter rises in the black'ning east, 
 Be my tongue mute, may fancy paint no more, 
 And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat ! 
 
 ThoTHson. 
 
 SEASONS, The. 
 The seasons are my friends, companions 
 dear ! 
 Hale Winter will I tend with constant feet. 
 When over wold and desert, lake and mere. 
 He sails triumphant in a rack of sleet. 
 With his rude joy the russet earth to greet. 
 Pinching the tiny brook and infant ferry ; 
 
 And I will hear him on his mountain seat 
 Shouting his boisterous carol free and merry. 
 Crown'd with a Christmas wreath of crimson 
 holly-berry. 
 
552 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Young Spring will I encounter, coy and arch, 
 When in her humid scarf she leaves the 
 hills, 
 Her dewy cheek dried by the winds of March, 
 To set the pebbly music of the rills. 
 As yet scarce freed from stubborn icicles ; 
 And Summer shall entice me once again. 
 
 Ere yet the light her golden dew distils, 
 To intercept the morning on the plain. 
 And see Dan Phoebus slowly tend his drowsy 
 wain. 
 
 But pensive Autumn, most with thee I love, 
 "When the wrung peasant's anxious toil is 
 done. 
 Among thy bound and golden sheaves to 
 rove, 
 And glean the harvest of a setting sun, 
 From the pure mellowing fields of ether 
 won ; 
 And in some sloping meadow musing sit. 
 Till vesper rising slowly, widow'd nun, 
 Reads whisperingly, her radiant lamp new- 
 lit. 
 The gospel of the stars, great Nature's holy 
 writ I Whitehead. 
 
 The crocus, in the shrewd March morn, 
 
 Thrusts up his saffron spear ; 
 And April dots the sombre thorn 
 
 "With gems, and loveliest cheer. 
 
 Then sleep the seasons, full of might ; 
 
 "While slowly swells the pod, 
 And rounds the peach, and in the night 
 
 The mushroom bursts the sod. 
 
 The "Winter comes : the frozen rut 
 
 Is bound with silver bars ; 
 The white drift heaps against the hut ; 
 
 And night is pierced with stars. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 SEASONS, The, and Human Life. 
 
 The seasons, like everything else, have their 
 vicissitudes ; their beginnings, their progress, 
 and their end. The age of man begins from 
 the cradle, pleasing childhood succeeds, then 
 active youth ; afterwards manhood, firm, 
 severe, and intent upon self-preservation ; 
 lastly old age creeps on, debilitates, and at 
 length totally destroys our tottering bodies. 
 
 The seasons of the year proceed in the same 
 way. Spring, the jovial, playful infancy of 
 all living creatures, represents childhood and 
 youth J for then plants spread forth their 
 luxuriant flowers, fishes exult, birds sing, 
 
 every part of nature is intent upon generation. 
 The Summer, like middle age, exhibits plants 
 and trees everywhere clothed with green ; it 
 gives vigour to animals, and plumps them up ; 
 fruits then ripen, meadows look cheerful,, 
 everything is full of life. On the contrary. 
 Autumn is gloomy — for then the leaves of 
 trees begin to fail, plants to wither, insects to 
 grow torpid, and many animals to retire t» 
 their winter quarters. The day proceeds with 
 just such steps as the year. The morning 
 makes evei7thing alert, and fit for business ; 
 the sun pours forth his ruddy rays, the flowers 
 which had, as it were, slept all night, awake 
 and expand themselves again ; the birds with 
 their sonorous voices, and various notes, meet 
 together in flocks, and make the woods ring. 
 Noon tempts animals into the woods and pas- 
 tures, the heat puts them upon indulging their 
 ease, and even necessity obliges them to it. 
 Evening follows, and makes everything more 
 sluggish ; flowers shut up, and animals retire 
 to their lurking-places. Thus the Spring, the 
 morning, and youth, are proper for generation ; 
 the Summer, noon, and manhood are proper 
 for preservation ; and Autumn, evening, and. 
 old age, are not unfitly likened to destruction. 
 —StilUngfleet. 
 
 SEA-WEED, 
 Picked up after a Storm. 
 Exotic !— from the soil no tiller ploughs, 
 Save the rude serge ; — fresh stripling from a. 
 
 grove 
 Above whose tops the wild sea monsters rove; 
 Have not the genii harboured in thy boughs. 
 Thou filmy piece of wonder ! — have not those 
 Who still the tempest for thy rescue strove, 
 And stranded thee thus fair, the might to 
 prove 
 Of spirits, that the caves of ocean house ? 
 
 How else, from capture of the giant-spray, 
 Hurt-free escapest thou, slight ocean-flower? 
 
 As if Arachne wove, thus faultless lay 
 The full developed forms of fairy bower ; 
 
 Who that beholds thee thus, nor with dismay 
 Recalls thee struggling thro' the storm's dark 
 hour ! Schiller. 
 
 SEED, Sown by the Winds. 
 Arise, ye winds, 'tis now your time to blow. 
 And aid the work of Nature. On your wings 
 The pregnant seeds conveyed shall plant a race 
 Far from their native soil. Anon. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 553 
 
 SEED, 
 Trained by the Secret Hand of God. 
 The plant, up springing from the seed, 
 
 Expands into a perfect flow'r ; 
 The virgin-daughter of the mead. 
 
 Wooed by the wind, the sun, the show'r : 
 In loveliness beyond compare, 
 It toils not, spins not, knows no care, 
 
 Trained by the secret hand that brings 
 All beauty out of waste and rude, 
 
 It blooms a season, — dies, — and flings 
 Its germs abroad in solitude. 
 
 Montgomery, 
 
 SELF-ABASEMENT 
 
 Consistent with True Dignity. 
 
 A LOWLY, modest, unassuming deportment, 
 whatever some may imagine, has nothing 
 mean, cringing, and pusilanimous in it. Du 
 Moulin, a well-known barrister, is said always 
 to have prefixed to his consultations this de- 
 fiance, "I who yielded to no person, and 
 whom no person can teach anything." Sir 
 Matthew Hale has left this testimony ; ** I can 
 call my own experience to witness that, in the 
 occurrences and incidents of life, I have never 
 been disappointed of guidance and aid, when, 
 imder sense of my own inability and deficiency, 
 I have sought them from the Divine Wisdom 
 and Providence. " Which of these two lawyers 
 was the more respectable and worthy of most 
 esteem? Did that brilliant exemplar and 
 pattern of philanthropy, the late excellent John 
 Howard, lose any part of the real dignity 
 attached to his character by successfully resist- 
 ing the design into which many of his country- 
 men had entered, of erecting a monument to 
 his memory during his lifetime? Solomon 
 long since said, ** Before honour is humility ;" 
 and a greater than Solomon saith, ** He that 
 exalteth himself shall be abased, and he that 
 abaseth himself shall be exalted." Let it, 
 however, be borne in mind that humility does 
 not, as some suppose, forget and overlook, 
 much less blind and confound, moral dis- 
 tinctions. 
 
 But a man who discerns in a clear and full 
 light the perfection and purity of the eternal 
 God must lie prostrate in the dust, touched 
 with a lively and affecting sense of his own 
 ignorance, guilt, nothingness, and vanity. 
 The greatest and best men in their best mo- 
 ments have entertained such views of them- 
 selves, and of their attainments and labours. 
 
 Lord Bacon, in the preface of a work which 
 has been much admired, said, * * If I have 
 effected anything to good purpose by my 
 studies, it has been by true and genuine hu- 
 mility. " The modest acknowledgment of the 
 illustrious Sir Isaac Newton is familiar to 
 everyone, and need not be recited. *' I am," 
 says President Davies, "at best but smoking 
 flax — a dying snuff in the candlestick of the 
 church — a wick just put forth in the lamp of 
 the sanctuary : the flame of divine love, sunk 
 deep into the socket of a corrupt heart, quivers, 
 and breaks, and catches, and seems at times 
 just expiring." "It is never better with me," 
 exclaimed the meek and devout Cornelius 
 Winter, * * than when I am necessitated to lie 
 at the feet of Jesus, begging the crumbs of that 
 bread which, because I am not worthy to 
 receive as a son, I would thankfully accept as 
 a servant." Lofty, towering thoughts give 
 birth to haughty, swelling words. ** What !" 
 cries the vain boaster, ** shall the blaze of 
 talents and fame, which dazzles the multitude, 
 be reduced to a glimmering taper, a dying 
 wick, a spark, a point, a shadow ? Shall the 
 fair lustre of sanctity and virtue be covered 
 with sackcloth? Is a statute of universal 
 bankruptcy to strip and degrade the whole 
 moral and intellectual world? Are all the 
 landmarks of wisdom and folly, good and evil, 
 to be thrown down, that actions, motives, 
 minds, and manners, of every kind, order, and 
 species, may sink to one low level ?" That 
 there are mental and moral distinctions among 
 men, considered in regard to each other, is 
 matter of indubitable fact ; and humility wishes 
 neither to deny nor disguise it. But, in the 
 presence of Jehovah, all are insolvent debtors, 
 apostates, beggars, and condemned criminals. 
 In a very important sense, the whole human 
 race do occupy the same level, and must look 
 for future life and felicity, not to any merit of 
 their own, but to the mercy and goodness of 
 God, through the only Mediator and Re- 
 deemer. We behold, indeed, a striking diver- 
 sity of character, but it must be traced to its 
 true cause ; and then the plumes of vanity will 
 be constantly clipped, the voice of boasting^ 
 will at once be silent. " Who maketh thee to 
 differ from another ? or what hast thou, which 
 thou hast not received ? Now, if thou didst 
 receive it, why dost thou glory as if thou hadst 
 not received it ? " ** Even when God rewards 
 the works of man," as Augustine well observes, 
 ** he only crowns in him his own gifts. Now, 
 as humility does not forget or annihilate any 
 
554 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 moral distinctions, so it does not, cannot, for- 
 feit or despise any real dignities or spiritual 
 benefits j for we must recollect the oft-re- 
 peated and emphatic maxim of our Lord, 
 "He that abaseth himself shall be exalted." 
 Though the honour be not immediately con- 
 ferred, it awaits the Christian in reversion ; it 
 is impossible that the Divine promise should 
 fail of accomplishment. But it may be affirmed, 
 without fear of contradiction, that the saying 
 of Christ is for the most part verified, even in 
 this life. The meek and lowly are in reality 
 crowned while here below, and inherit the 
 earth, as well as anticipate the bliss and glory 
 of heaven. Tinsel and empty title they have 
 not, they seek not, they envy not ; but the 
 honour which cometh from God — the white 
 stone with the new name written upon it, which 
 no man knoweth, save he that receiveth it — is 
 assuredly theirs. 
 
 It is true that this, like every other Chris- 
 tian grace, is frequently counterfeited. ** Some 
 are attacked with such proud fits of humility 
 that, while they are ready to accuse themselves 
 of almost every sin in the lump, they yet take 
 fire at the imputation of the slightest indivi- 
 dual fault ; and instantly enter upon their own 
 vindication, as warmly as if you, and not 
 themselves, had brought forward the charge. 
 The truth is, they ventured to condemn them- 
 selves, in the full confidence that you would 
 contradict them ; the last thing they intended 
 was that you should believe them, and they 
 are never so much piqued and disappointed as 
 when they are taken at their word." Spu- 
 rious humility, like spurious philanthropy, is 
 the object of general detestation and contempt. 
 The tyrant, who utters words of tenderness 
 while he grasps the bloody dagger to commit 
 murder, is scarcely a more gross compound of 
 inconsistency and iniquity than the vile hypo- 
 crite, who borrows the language and look, the 
 posture and form, of self-abasement, to gratify 
 pride, and obtain the homage and incense of 
 praise. "Art," observes Archbishop Leigh- 
 ton, "imitates nature ; and the nearer it comes 
 to nature in its effects, it is the more excellent. 
 Grace is the new nature of a Christian, and 
 hypocrisy that art which counterfeits it ; and 
 the more exquisite it is in imitation, it is the 
 more plausible to men, but the more abomi- 
 nable to God." There are, however, perhaps, 
 few whose mock humility, when closely ex- 
 amined, may not soon be detected. All con- 
 straint is difficult, and is often unconsciously 
 laid aside. Besides, when the lovely garment 
 
 which belongs only to the Christian is put on 
 by the worldling, it does not fit him, and his 
 own proud colours are seen at every opening 
 and unguarded interval. 
 
 But even among good men there are many 
 mistakes concerning self-abasement. Clearly 
 and forcibly as the Scriptures have spoken 
 upon it, the subject, after all, is but ill under- 
 stood. We often find practical exhortations 
 to cultivate this grace, which would seem al- 
 most to nullify every other. These ultra 
 notions are found in many books widely cir- 
 culated ; but to illustrate what is here intended 
 I shall only cite one short passage from a late 
 popular preacher. 
 
 "When God," says Mr. Romaine, "has 
 brought us low, we do not like to be kept 
 there. Our foolish desire is, that he may do 
 something in us, for which we shall have a 
 good opinion of ourselves ; and so, with this 
 thought, we are apt to wish, O that I were 
 more holy ! O that I could pray better ! O 
 that I were more spiritual in duties ! O that 
 I were thankful enough ! If you could come 
 to the true motive of these wishes, specious 
 as they appear, you will find them spring from 
 the secret working of a self-righteous spirit : 
 take off their cloak of holiness, and their 
 meaning is this — I wish God would give me 
 something for which I might be pleased with 
 myself." After repeating this extraordinary 
 passage, it might be fairly asked. Has not our 
 worthy divine, in his anxiety to avoid one 
 danger, overlooked another in the opposite di- 
 rection ? Surely the desire to be more holy, 
 more devout, more thankful, and more vigi- 
 lant, can never be wrong ? Where such wishes 
 and prayers are mere pretence, they may be re- 
 ferred either to the root of pharisaic pride, or 
 to some secular and mercenary motive ; but 
 what application has all this to a real Chris- 
 tian — an Israelite, in whom is no guile? 
 Even he feels the stirrings of vanity ; but in 
 his warm aspirations after more of the mind of 
 Christ and the spirit of God, it is both possible 
 and easy to ascertain that he has no sinister 
 ends to answer, and he needs not check or 
 quench the kindling ardour with any such ap- 
 prehension. 
 
 Humility is best promoted by an intimate and 
 growing acquaintance with God ; because the 
 nearer we approach to Him, the more shall we 
 feel the rays of that sacred and searching light 
 which beams upon us from his word and his pre- 
 sence, and discloses and makes manifest the 
 deformity and hatefulness of sin. But these 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 555 
 
 piercing and enlightened views are always 
 accompanied, in a less or greater degree, with 
 spiritual desires and affections. In the pages 
 of Scripture we have many examples of 
 humility; and a perfect pattern of this, and 
 every other excellency of character, in our 
 great Lord and Master. It is our duty, our 
 honour, our happiness, to be conformed to 
 Him, in temper, spirit, life, and conduct. But 
 as humility and gratitude should ever go 
 together, they cannot be properly cultivated 
 apart. It is the sublime paradox of Christian 
 piety : we sink to the dust, and yet soar to the 
 skies ; we are sorrowful, yet always rejoicing ; 
 because the multitude of the Divine mercies 
 triumphs over the multitude and aggravation 
 of our sins. If it were possible to forget what 
 God has done for us and in us, by his grace, 
 while we are lamenting our numerous offences 
 against Him, it would not be right to do so, 
 since humble and contrite feelings are only to 
 be preserved in a proper temperature, by being 
 blended with a copious infusion of gratitude 
 and love. — Rustictis. 
 
 SELF, Adoration of. 
 
 To our own nets, ne'er bow we down, 
 
 Lest, on the eternal shore. 
 The angels, while our draughts they own, 
 Reject us evermore. Keble. 
 
 SELF-ADVANCEMENT. 
 
 Mr. Ewing, senator from Ohio, in the United 
 States, is perhaps the most conspicuous man of 
 that state at the present time, unless Judge 
 M'Lean be an exception. Although he has 
 been in Congress but a single session, he has 
 acquired a high reputation as a statesman. I 
 should think him to be about forty. He is a 
 self-made man, — a striking exemplification of 
 what a man can do by merely personal effort. 
 He is a native of this state, and was born poor. 
 In his youth his principal employment was 
 wood-chopping. Being very athletic, he 
 excelled in the labours of the axe. At length, 
 when he had grown up to early manhood, a 
 desire for education was awakened in his mind. 
 He directed his steps to this institution (what 
 institution is not specified), where he com- 
 pleted his education preparatory to the study 
 of the law. In term time he chopped wood at 
 the college-door ; and in vacation it was his 
 custom to swing his axe upon his shoulder and 
 
 go forth in search of a job, which he would 
 accomplish, and return with fresh vigour at the 
 commencement of next term. In this way he 
 sustained himself while in college, and came 
 out with a constitution as vigorous as when 
 he entered. And now he is a senator of 
 the United States. — American Annals of 
 Education, 
 
 SELF-COMMAND, 
 
 A Noble Propriety in. 
 
 What grace, what noble propriety do we not 
 feel in the conduct of those who exert that 
 recollection and self-command which constitute 
 the dignity of every passion, and which bring 
 it down to what others can enter into ! We 
 are disgusted with the clamorous grief which, 
 without any delicacy, calls upon our com- 
 passion with sighs and tears, and importunate 
 lamentations. But we reverence that reversed, 
 that silent and majestic sorrow, which dis- 
 covers itself only in the swelling of the eyes, in 
 the quivering of the lips and cheeks, and in 
 the distant, but affecting coldness of the whole 
 behaviour. It imposes the like silence upon 
 us ; we regard it with respectful attention, and 
 watch over our whole behavour, lest, by any 
 impropriety, we should disturb that concerted 
 tranquillity which it requires so great an effort 
 to support. — Theory oj Moral Sentiments. 
 
 SELF-CONCEIT. 
 
 Those who, either from their own engage- 
 ments and hurry of business, or from indolence, 
 or from conceit and vanity, have neglected 
 looking out of themselves, as far as my expe- 
 rience and observation reaches, have from that 
 time not only ceased to advance, and improve 
 in their performances, but have gone backward. 
 They may be compared to men who have lived 
 upon their principal, till they are reduced to 
 beggary, and left without resources. — Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 SELF-CONSIDERATION. 
 
 Who is there that considereth aright the 
 vanity, darkness, and ignorance of his mind, 
 the perverseness and stubbornness of his will, 
 with the disorder, irregularity, and distemper 
 of his affections, with respect unto things 
 spiritual and heavenly, who is not ashamed of, 
 who does not abhor himself? This is that 
 
556 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 which hath given our nature its leprosy, and 
 defiled it throughout. And he who hath no 
 experience of spiritual shame and self-abhor- 
 rence on account of this inconformity of his 
 nature, and the faculties of his soul, unto the 
 holiness of God, is a great stranger to the 
 whole work of sanctification. Who is there 
 that can recount the unsteadiness of his mind 
 in holy meditation, his low and unbecoming 
 conceptions of God's excellences, his proneness 
 to foolish imaginations and vanities that profit 
 not, his averseness to spirituality in duty, and 
 fixedness in communion with God, his prone- 
 ness to things sensual and evil, all arising from 
 the spiritual irregularity of our natural faculties 
 (if ever he had any due apprehensions of 
 Divine purity and holiness), that is not sensible 
 of his own vileness and baseness, and is not 
 oftentimes deeply affected with shame thereon? 
 — Dr. Owen. 
 
 SELF-DECEPTION. 
 
 There is nothing more difficult than to attain 
 a just view and thorough knowledge of our own 
 state and character ; for much as we lie open 
 to imposition in the world, we are still more 
 exposed to it at home. The chief danger is 
 near us, or rather is within us. '* The heart," 
 says the prophet, *'is deceitful above all 
 things ; who can know it ? No mode of 
 scrutiny has been devised, capable of sounding 
 all its depths, or tracing all its subtle mazes." 
 If no mortal, however, can fully know the 
 heart, still it must be granted to be right and 
 necessary that every practicable means should 
 be used to avoid self-deception. Though all 
 the recesses of error and delusion cannot be 
 detected, let as many as possible be searched 
 out and cleared away. Where fraud and trea- 
 son become alarmingly prevalent in a city or 
 province, it is a public benefit to abate these 
 evils, when they cannot be quite extirpated. 
 The origin of self-deception is the excess of 
 self-love, and the weakness which attends it. 
 Seneca speaks of some who had a strange in- 
 firmity in their eyes, so that wherever they 
 turned they encountered the visible moving 
 image of themselves. If, as the Stoic philo- 
 sopher affirms, the weakness of the optic 
 faculty was the cause of this strange illusion, 
 it appears much more evident that a weakness 
 or perversion of the intellectual and moral 
 faculties is the reason why so many are cap- 
 tivated by the view of their own talents and 
 virtues. 
 
 But it is worth while to inquire more par- 
 ticularly how self-deception is produced and 
 carried on ; for a thousand sophistries escape 
 the most wakeful vigilance. Men deceive 
 themselves by entertaining false and delusive 
 opinions. We smile at the romantic ideas and 
 notions which influence and govern barbarous, 
 and superstitious tribes ; and we can hardly 
 credit the account which historians give of the 
 wild fancies which once swayed multitudes 
 considerably raised in the scale of civilization. 
 As an instance, we shall quote the observa- 
 tion of Lord Bacon, on one of the boasted 
 powers of what was called celestial magic. 
 "It is," says he, "a strange fiction of the 
 human brain, that it is possible to receive the 
 benign influence of the stars upon seals, or 
 signets of gems, or metal, suited to the pur- 
 pose ; so as to detain and fix the felicity of 
 that hour, which would otherwise be volatile 
 and fugitive. Thus to treasure up the relics of 
 heaven in order to revive and preserve the 
 fleeting and now dead hour wherein they were 
 taken, is a superstition exceeding that of 
 Catholics in serving the relics of saints." I 
 have mentioned this idle, visionary notion, in 
 the philosopher's own words, because it gives 
 us an instructive lesson in the knowledge of 
 human nature. Some fair prospect or fond 
 hope of a felicity within our reach, though 
 not actually attained, or, if coming into our 
 possession, to be fixed and realised for an in- 
 definite number of future years, is almost uni- 
 versal. Then any system, opinion, or notion, 
 which will afford support to this specious 
 fabric, is eagerly welcomed and embraced. 
 Every one has his celestial, or scientific, or sen- 
 timental, or commercial, or political magic, 
 and a short and sure road to the object of his 
 view. 
 
 Men deceive themselves by the forms, and 
 decencies, and customary usages of society. 
 Where all moral principle has been blasted to 
 the core and root, we often still behold polished 
 and fascinating manners ; where there is not a 
 grain of faith, nor a spark of devotion, we fre- 
 quently see irregular attendance on the ordi- 
 dances of religion. Now, exterior decencies — 
 such is the weakness and degeneracy of our 
 human nature — have a direct tendency to im- 
 pose upon others, and even upon the person 
 that practises them. Many a smiling worth- 
 less libertine considers himself a man of honour 
 and virtue ; many an infidel at heart would be 
 thought a pillar of the church : they are trained 
 in the forms of politeness and religion, and 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 557 
 
 never suspect what gains them credit in the 
 company of men will fail to give them con- 
 fidence in the awful presence of God. In 
 every rank and circle of society there is a cer- 
 tain standard of character which, if pretty 
 nearly approximated, will ensure a common 
 degree of respect. Hence arises one of the 
 most prevailing delusions in the world. The 
 great majority, measuring themselves by them- 
 selves, and comparing themselves among them- 
 selves, are led to form a false estimate of their 
 state. Men often deceive themselves by listen- 
 ing to the soothing accents of flattery. I do 
 not now refer to the current civilities of social 
 intercourse in general ; those who have wealth, 
 power, and influence will easily gain servile 
 admirers, and carry along with them in their 
 orbit a train of satellites ; but can adula- 
 tion, it may be said, from inferiors and depend- 
 ents, impose on any man ? Is not the purpose 
 and design too manifest to produce such an 
 effect? This objection, however specious, 
 is far from being solid. It is matter of fact 
 that selfish flatterers not seldom wind and 
 work their way with so much skill and artifice 
 as completely to captivate and delude the per- 
 sons who might be supposed to have more 
 strength of mind and decision of character 
 than they eventually discover. 
 
 He who would guard against self-deception 
 must maintain a rigid system of moral disci- 
 pline. It will not suffice to keep the conduct, 
 if the conscience also is not kept, void of 
 offence. He must not only restrain his tongue, 
 but his temper ; not only govern his actions, 
 but his thoughts. A system of moral disci- 
 pline, which sets up and keeps watch and ward 
 over all the faculties, passions, and motives of 
 the mind, is the easiest thing in the world. 
 Few can bear to look into the heart ; how 
 much courage, resolution, and patience, then, 
 is required to search it to the bottom ? What 
 windings, and foldings, and intricacies ! — what 
 dark obscure chambers, full of hideous and 
 hateful imagery ! — what deeps and whirlpools 
 of iniquity ! 
 
 But though it is difficult and humbling to 
 prosecute an impartial scrutiny of the heart, 
 our peace, our welfare, our very safety, render 
 it absolutely necsssary. We can know nothing 
 else to good purpose, unless we know ourselves ; 
 and it is not possible to know ourselves aright, 
 without a process of inquiry and research dili- 
 gently carried in the regions of the inner man. 
 We are apt to forget that all our follies and 
 transgressions are noted in that book of remem- 
 
 brance which will be opened at the dread bar 
 of final judgment. We are more affected with 
 what men approve and condemn than with 
 what Heaven requires and forbids. ** Deliver 
 us, merciful God, from the delusion of be- 
 lieving that secret sins, of which the world 
 has no cognizance — early sins which the world 
 has forgotten, but which are known to them 
 with whom we have to do — become by secresy 
 and distance as if they had never been ! " 
 The necessity of discipline has been inculcated, 
 and the motives which urge to it should be 
 daily enforced ; reasons, however, and rules 
 will not alone suffice. The aid of divine light, 
 and the strength of divine grace, will be requi- 
 site to prepare and qualify us for this work. 
 Nor will such guidance and power be with- 
 held from those who seek them in the exercise 
 of faith and prayer. Happy is the man who 
 neither deceives his fellow-men nor himself; 
 who discerns and approves the things that are 
 excellent ; who continues sincere and without 
 offence till the day of Christ. — Riisticus. 
 
 SELF-DENIAL. 
 
 Reflect that life at best is but short, and 
 that we cannot afford to suffer any part of it to 
 run to waste. In youth you must lay in a 
 stock of knowledge which may carry you 
 through life, whatever your after-pursuits may 
 be, with usefulness and honour. But recollect, 
 this is not to be done without exertion, without 
 the frequent sacrifice of momentary pleasure and 
 gratification. Self-denial is a virtue of the 
 highest quality, and he who has it not, and 
 does not strive to acquire it, will never excel in 
 anything. — Convbeare. 
 
 If self-denial be incompatible with flesh and 
 blood ; if delights and worldly contentments, if 
 a hardened heart in sin, and a world of high 
 imaginations refuse to submit and humble 
 themselves to the poverty of Christ ; if we 
 cannot empty our hands to lay hold and lean 
 wholly on Christ ; then must we fly and pray- 
 to that Spirit of power to subdue and conquer, 
 and lead us captive to itself, to instruct in the 
 baseness and nothingness — nay, the dismal, 
 hideous wretchedness of our own estate, that 
 so, being spiritually shaken and terrified out of 
 our carnal pride and security, we may come 
 trembling and quaking to the throne of grace ; 
 and with the hands of faith, though feeble ones, 
 — with the eye of faith, though dimly, with a 
 hearty, sincere, resigning up of ourselves, we 
 
55« 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 may see, and apprehend, and fasten, and be 
 united to our Saviour ; that we may live in 
 Christ, and Christ in us ; and having begun 
 in the life of grace here we may hope and 
 attain to be accomplished with that of glory 
 hereafter. — Hammond. 
 
 SELF-EDUCATION. 
 
 Much less of success in life is in reality de- 
 pendent upon accident, or what is called luck, 
 than is commonly supposed. Far more de- 
 pends upon the objects which a man proposes 
 to himself ; what attainments he aspires to ; 
 what is the circle which bounds his visions and 
 thoughts ; what he chooses, not to be educated 
 for, but to educate himself for ; whether he 
 looks to the end and aim of the whole of life, or 
 only to the present day or hour ; whether he 
 listens to the voice of indolence or vulgar 
 pleasure, or to the stirring voice of his ovna 
 soul, urging his ambition on to laudable ob- 
 jects. 
 
 SELF-ESTEEM is but a Folly. 
 If we desire to be esteemed, what is it to be 
 esteemed by God? He hath set all at one 
 rate, as men are in the lump ; if we desire to 
 be of a better value, it is wisdom to labour to 
 be so in His eyes that so values all. To esteem 
 ourselves is but a folly; to labour to have 
 others esteem us is but folly, unless it be in an 
 estimation that God will say "Amen" to it 
 also- Remember that of the apostle, "It is 
 not he whom man approveth, but whom God 
 approveth." If we would be thought to be 
 beautiful, let our beauty shine in the image of 
 God ; if rarely decked, let it be with His or- 
 naments ; if to be learned, remember that 
 "he that honoureth me, I will honour." — J. 
 Lightfoot, 
 
 SELF-EXAMINATION. 
 
 Sound thy heart to the bottom, and try it 
 nicely, to be thoroughly satisfied of its sin- 
 cerity. Let no day pass without an account 
 taken of thy life, and be sure to observe very 
 diligently what ground you get or lose ; what 
 alteration appears in your temper — behaviour 
 — affections — desires ; what resemblance to or 
 degeneracy from God ; how near approaches 
 you make, or to what distance you are cast ; a 
 distance and approach to be measured not by 
 
 extension and space, but by actions and dis- 
 positions. Above all things, study your own 
 self Set all your faults before your own eyes, 
 and pass sentence upon yourself with the same 
 severity you would do upon any other, for 
 whom no partiality hath biassed your judg- 
 ment. 
 
 When all this is done, seriously lament 
 your transgressions ; open your guilt and grief 
 before God ; show him the troubles of a 
 wounded conscience, and the malice of them 
 that lie in wait for your soul. And when you 
 mortify yourself and melt away in contrition 
 before Him, extend your charity to your fellow- 
 Christians, and let them be constantly and 
 earnestly remembered in your prayers. — St. 
 Bernard. 
 
 At evening to myself I say, 
 
 My soul, where hast thou glean'd to-day, 
 
 Thy labours how bestow'd ? 
 What hast thou rightly said or done ? 
 What grace attain'd, or knowledge won. 
 
 In following after God ? — C. Wesley. 
 
 When will man learn to bear 
 His heart nailed on his breast, 
 
 With all its lines of care 
 In nakedness confessed ? 
 
 Go search thy heart, poor fool ! 
 
 And mark its passions well ; 
 'Twere time to go to school — 
 
 'Twere time the truth to tell — 
 'Twere time this world should cast 
 
 Its infant slough away. 
 And hearts burst forth at last 
 
 Into the light of day ; — 
 'Twere time all learned to be 
 Fit for eternity. 
 
 William Motherwell. 
 
 It is the soul that sees — the outward eyes 
 Present the object ; but the mind descries, 
 And thence delight, disgust, or cool indiffer- 
 ence rise. 
 When minds are joyful then we look around, 
 And what is seen is all on fairy ground. 
 Again they sicken, and on every view 
 Cast their own dull and melancholy hue ; 
 Or if absorbed by their peculiar cares. 
 The vacant eye on viewless matter glares, 
 Our feelings still upon our views attend, 
 And their own natures to the objects lend. 
 
 Anon. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 559 
 
 SELF-GOVERNMENT, 
 In what it Consists. 
 The great principle of self-government con- 
 sists in calling ourselves to account, both for 
 what we know, and what we do, and for the 
 discipline which we exercise over the processes 
 of our minds. It consists in questioning our- 
 selves rigidly what progress we are making in 
 important acquirements, — what are the subjects 
 which chiefly occupy our attention, — ^whether 
 these are such as are really of adequate value, 
 or whether, amid undue devotedness to some 
 favourite pursuit, others of higher importance 
 are overlooked and forgotten ; or whether, 
 under a habit of listless vacuity and inactivity 
 of mind, we may be allowing the best of our 
 days to creep on without eager attention to 
 any solid acquirement at all. It consists in 
 questioning ourselves in the same manner, 
 what opinions we have formed, and upon what 
 grounds we have formed them ; whether they 
 have been received from others without ex- 
 amining for ourselves, or after a slight and 
 partial examination, directed, it may be, by 
 some previously-formed prejudice, — or whether 
 they have been deduced from a full and fair 
 examination of all the facts which ought to be 
 taken into the inquiry. It consists, finally, in 
 scrutinizing our mental habits, our moral feel- 
 ings, and our principles of action : — what are 
 the subjects to which our thoughts are most 
 habitually directed ? — what the motives which 
 chiefly influence our conduct ? — what the great 
 objects which we propose to ourselves in life? 
 — what place among these have the principles 
 of selfish indulgence, personal distinction, or 
 mere human applause? and what place have 
 those exalted principles which spring from a 
 higher source, and rise to that elevation from 
 which they sprang, — a spirit of devotedness to 
 Him who made us, and views and feelings 
 which point to an existence beyond the grave. 
 — Abercrombie. 
 
 SELFISHNESS. 
 Selfishness produces selfishness ; indolence 
 increases with every hour of indulgence ; and 
 what is left undone because it is difficult to- 
 day, will be doubly difficult to-morrow. Kind- 
 ness and compassion, to answer any desirable 
 end, must one be practical, the other delicate, 
 in its nature ; affection must be kept alive by 
 ministering to its necessities ; and above all, 
 religion must be recommended by consistency 
 of character and conduct. — Ellis. 
 
 SELFISHNESS, On. 
 
 While all agree to reprobate the vice of sel- 
 fishness, few have seriously considered its na- 
 ture, its origin, its effects, and its remedy, and 
 consequently many, while prescribing for the 
 cure of this moral disorder, overlook its deeply- 
 rooted seat in the human constitution, and 
 directing their attention only to the external 
 symptoms, exliibit, instead of effectual medi- 
 cines, the most deceitful palliatives, leaving 
 the disease itself, in all its destructive vigour, 
 to prey upon and at length destroy the soul. 
 
 But it is the business of the moral and spiri- 
 tual physician to search into the source and 
 the nature of moral maladies, to mark the cir- 
 cumstances which tend to aggravate, and those 
 which assuage their violence, and to adminis- 
 ter those remedies which shall strike at the 
 very root and core of the distemper. He will 
 not, like the empiric, be satisfied with pro- 
 ducing the exterior appearance of health, while 
 the disorder is still raging with fatal though 
 latent force, and is in fact the more dangerous 
 as it is the more concealed. 
 
 Every kind of concern for ourselves is not 
 selfishness. That precept which enjoins upon 
 us the love of our neighbour, and makes the 
 measure of our love to him the regard which 
 we entertain for ourselves, seems to imply that 
 self-love is at once a point of duty and an in- 
 stinct of nature ; and so far is it from being 
 true, he who is anxious, and deeply anxious for 
 his own well-being, is peculiarly the prey of a 
 selfish disposition — that, on the contrary, he 
 who is most careless of his own interests is 
 frequently one of the most selfish of man- 
 kind. 
 
 Selfishness is perhaps most accurately de- 
 fined — " acting without affectionate and duti- 
 ful regard to the will of the Great Supreme." 
 For if we suppose a rational creature to have 
 no other rule of action than the Divine will, 
 and to be under the influence of a principle of 
 affectionate obedience to the highest degree of 
 which nature is capable, not the least degree 
 of selfishness can exist in such a being. Such 
 was man in his primaeval state of innocence, 
 such was the Lord Jesus Christ, the Saviour of 
 fallen man, and such are the holy angels, who 
 never sinned. It follows that among man- 
 kind he is the least selfish who possesses the 
 greatest degree of love to God, which will ne- 
 cessarily be accompanied by love to his fellow 
 men ; and that they who are destitute of love 
 to God are necessarily, however their selfish- 
 
560 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 ness may exert itself in different modes, en- 
 tirely selfish. 
 
 The origin, therefore, of this moral distem- 
 per may be traced to the defection of man from 
 his Creator. When man departed from God, 
 ceasing to act from affectionate regard to the 
 Divine will, the considerations of his own 
 safety, convenience, or gratification, became 
 the law of his action. In a word, man be- 
 came a selfish creature, and such (unless under 
 the influence of the remedy which his gracious 
 Creator has provided), he must ever remain. 
 
 But though all mankind are thus naturally 
 selfish, it is sufficiently obvious that there are 
 many circumstances by which the morbid dis- 
 position is increased and its symptons aggra- 
 vated. Excess of misery, immersion in sensual 
 pleasures, and idiosyncrasy, or peculiar cor- 
 poreal constitution, have all the effect of either 
 heightening the disease or of increasing the 
 violence and frequency of its indications. A 
 state of extreme distress or privation, by turn- 
 ing our regard to ourselves exclusively, renders 
 us indifferent (at least this is its universal ten- 
 dency and its usual effect), to the wants and 
 sorrows of others. For though by previous 
 suffering, or by moderate present afflictions, 
 the heart is opened to sympathy, and he who 
 has himself been wounded by the shafts of 
 adversity is best prepared to pity and to 
 succour the distressed, **Haud ignara mali 
 miseris succurrere disco," yet under the pres- 
 sure of acute suffering all the avenues to the 
 heart are closed, and the soul becomes insen- 
 sible of any other than its own woe. The 
 same effect, though in a different manner, is 
 produced by the eager pursuit of pleasure or 
 the undisturbed enjoyment of afiluence and 
 ease. Hence arises the indifference which is 
 but too justly attributed to the wealthy, 
 luxurious, and dissipated, to the wants and the 
 miseries of their fellow men. And it must be 
 allowed that that peculiarity of constitution 
 which disposes to melancholy tends also to 
 increase real or apparent selfishness. 
 
 The evils which accompany and follow 
 selfishness, and that in proportion to its power 
 and prevalence, are indeed appalling. It 
 deprives man of those pleasures which flow 
 from divine and social love. Human nature 
 is formed for lasting happiness, only in the 
 exercise of supreme affection to God, and that 
 love to our fellows which has its source, not in 
 mere natural feelings, but in love to the Creator, 
 to which it should ever be subordinate. The 
 great evil, then, of selfishness, considered in 
 
 connection with the individual himself, and 
 apart from any external penalties to which it 
 exposes him — is an evil of privation. Man 
 seeks for happiness by making his own will 
 the rule of his actions — his own gratification 
 his sole aim — in other words, by loving himself 
 alone. But happiness is not thus to be found. 
 It consists in love to God, and in love to his 
 fellows, for the sake of the Creator. Thus 
 only can any rational creature be happy. 
 Suppose a man destitute of this affection — he 
 is left for happiness to the pleasures of sense 
 and the pleasures of intellect. But a time will 
 come when the pleasures of sense can no 
 longer be enjoyed, and when knowledge, as to 
 any gratification to be derived from it, will 
 vanish away. Behold him, then, completely 
 miserable, even without the direct infliction of 
 Divine wrath. But in addition to this inherent 
 evil of selfishness, we may add its tendency to 
 alienate from us the affection of others— to 
 provoke the Divine anger — and its certain 
 effect, if it be not subdued and eventually 
 destroyed — to ruin— eternally to ruin the soul. 
 
 If such be the evil consequences of selfish- 
 ness, we cannot surely be too anxious for the 
 extirpation — the cure of this moral disorder. 
 It is a disease of the soul with which we can- 
 not safely trifle, and which will not be healed 
 by mere palliatives. It is in vain only to con- 
 ceal it by the arts of politeness and the exter- 
 nal guise of social affection. If kindness of 
 manners — if public spirit — if acts of self-denial 
 — if the largesses of beneficence, proceed from 
 those healthful dispositions of the soul which 
 are opposed to its native and deeply fixed 
 disease — they are valuable — they are highly to 
 be prized, as indications of its final cure. 
 Otherwise, selfishness is but concealed or dis- 
 guised. The disorder rages, notwithstanding 
 fallacious appearances ; it rages in all its 
 violence, and threatens a fatal termination. 
 
 The only and sovereign remedy is faith on 
 Christ— a cordial reception of the Gospel. 
 Selfishness will ever hold its place in the heart 
 of that man who lies under the Divine con- 
 demnation, as not having fled for refuge to the 
 hope set before him. But in him who has 
 believed in the Son of God to everlasting life, 
 and in him alone, is the principle of selfishness 
 destroyed. He is no longer under condem- 
 nation — and he is no longer his own property. 
 In his own estimation, and in reality, he is 
 bought with a price, that he may glorify God. 
 He judges that if one died for all, then were 
 all dead ; and that he died for all, that they 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 561 
 
 who live should not henceforth live unto 
 themselves, but unto Him who died for them, 
 and rose again. And this effect of faith is 
 certain — for none of us (believers), says the 
 great Apostle, liveth unto myself. Thus is the 
 fatal blow given to this dire malady of the 
 moral constitution. The first effect of the 
 divine remedy of the Gospel is, an earnest of 
 its final and complete success. He in wliom 
 the power of selfishness is thus subdued shall 
 eventually be delivered from its very being. 
 In the mean time, let him watch and pray 
 against adverse circumstances, which tend to 
 aggravate and heighten the moral disease 
 under which he still labours, though the pro- 
 cess of restoration has begun. Being fully 
 aware that the extremes of prosperity and 
 adversity are alike inimical to that temper of 
 mind which is opposed to selfishness, let him 
 adopt the prayer of an ancient saint, "Give 
 me neither poverty nor riches." Let him be 
 upon his guard against any peculiarity of con- 
 stitution which disposes to selfishness ; and, 
 above all, let him seek its extirpation by 
 repeated exercises of that faith by which alone 
 the principle can be destroyed. — Clcrictis, 
 
 SELF-POSSESSION. 
 
 The mildness of Sir Isaac Newton's temper, 
 through the course of his life, commanded ad- 
 miration from all who knew him, but in no 
 one instance, perhaps, more than the follow- 
 ing : — Sir Isaac had a favourite little dog, 
 which he called Diamond ; and being one day 
 called out of his study. Diamond was left 
 behind. When Sir Isaac returned, having 
 been absent but a few minutes, he had the 
 mortification to find that Diamond having 
 thrown down a lighted candle among some 
 papers, the newly-finished labours of many 
 years were in flames, and almost consumed to 
 ashes. This loss, as Sir Isaac had no copy of 
 the papers, was irretrievable : yet, without 
 striking the dog, he only rebuked him, with 
 this exclamation, "O Diamond! Diamond! 
 thou little knowest the mischief thou hast 
 done ! " 
 
 SELF-REPROACH. 
 Thoughts of a voyager unexpectedly sum- 
 moned from home, who travelled a vast dis- 
 tance, and could never return. Thoughts of 
 this unhappy wayfarer in the depths of his 
 
 sorrow, in the bitterness of his anguish, in the 
 helplessness of his self-reproach, in the des- 
 peration of his desire to set right what he had 
 left wrong, and do what he had left undone. 
 For there were many, many things he had 
 neglected. Little matters while he was at 
 home and surrounded by them, but things of 
 mighty moment when he was at an im- 
 measurable distance. There were many, many 
 blessings that he had inadequately felt, there 
 were many trivial injuries that he had not for- 
 given, there was love that he had but poorly 
 returned, there was friendship that he had too 
 lightly prized : there were a million kind words 
 that he might have spoken, a million kind looks 
 that he might have given, uncountable slight 
 easy deeds in which he might have been most 
 truly great and good. O for a day (he would 
 exclaim), for but one day to make amends ! 
 But the sun never shone upon that happy day, 
 and out of his remote captivity he never came. 
 — Dickens, 
 
 SELF-WILL, 
 
 The Evidence of Crazed Brains. 
 
 I MEET sometimes with men whose crazed 
 brains seem soldered with quicksilver : whose 
 actions' strains run only in odd crotchets ; 
 whose judgments being hood- winked with 
 their own opinion and passion, admit of nought 
 for reason but what their unreasonable self- 
 will dictates to them. And then what they 
 will do, they will do ; and do it they will with 
 that torrent of violence that overturns all 
 obstacles of counsel which cross their courses. 
 From these I will learn not to make Will my 
 coachman, unless Reason run before to show 
 the way ; and if my action must pass by the 
 waters of uncertain danger, of all vessels I will 
 not use the Wherry, As sloth seldom bringeth 
 actions to good birth ; so hasty rashness always 
 makes them abortive, ere well formed. — 
 Arthur Warwick, 
 
 SENSES, the Fallible Witnesses. 
 
 If in the heat of summer, we descend into a 
 cave, we become sensible that we are sur- 
 rounded by a cold atmosphere ; but if in the 
 rigour of a frosty winter we descend into the 
 same cave, we are conscious of the presence of 
 a warm atmosphere. Now, a thermometer 
 suspended in the cave, on each of these occa- 
 sions, will show exactly the same temperature ; 
 and, in fact, the air of the cave maintains 
 
 o o 
 
56: 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 nearly the same temperature at all seasons of 
 the year. The body, however, being in the 
 one case removed from a warm atmosphere 
 into a cold one, and in the other case from a 
 very cold atmosphere into one of a higher tem- 
 perature, becomes, in the latter case, sensible 
 of warmth ; and in the former, of cold. 
 
 SENSES, The, 
 
 Worthy of our Highest Admiration. 
 All our senses are worthy of admiration, but 
 there are advantages peculiar to each. They 
 render us conversant with the phenomenal 
 world, with our fellow men, and with the 
 various creatures that tenant the earth ; but 
 more especially with the signs of God's 
 existence and wonderful providence. Light 
 connects us with objects at a distance ; without 
 its aid we should become level with the insects 
 whose knowledge is attained through the 
 medium of touch. Thus degraded, we might 
 feel the heat of the sun, but could not tell its 
 source ; and unable to perceive their light, we 
 should be unaware of the existence of the 
 stars. The glorious panorama of nature — the 
 illuminated heaven with the glad aspect of 
 earth — would be equally unknown ; our inter- 
 course with our species would be limited and 
 our support precarious. The importance of 
 vision is so great that all the superior and 
 most of the inferior animals have been pro- 
 vided with it. A large proportion of our ideas 
 owe their origin to this sense. Works of genius 
 and the records of knowledge are addressed to 
 it, and without it could neither have existence 
 nor utility. Colours are the source of many 
 pleasures. Creation would be monotonous 
 were light and shade the only distinctions, as 
 it is the case during the gloom of evening and 
 the prevalence of snow. As it is, we have the 
 hue of beauty ; the thousand aspects of branch 
 and flower ; the gay tints of art, and in fine, 
 the endless diversity of everything that sur- 
 rounds us. 
 
 Colours are enhanced by combination and 
 contrast, as in mosaics, and still more in the 
 variety of nature. How brilliant is the aspect 
 of beds of flowers. The splendour of the 
 rainbow, no less than that of many living 
 objects, fills us with admiration and delight. 
 By night, the moon and stars provide us with 
 their tinted and gentle radiance ; while meteors 
 and other forms of electric fluid add their 
 brilliancy. The very sea is full of splendour. 
 Many insects, and some plants even, emit 
 
 light at night. It would be difficult to describe 
 the flitting and glowing illumination of the fire- 
 fly. We are enabled to multiply the pleasures 
 arising from these sources by transferring the 
 hues of nature to the produce of industry. We 
 can thus preserve them for years, and if the 
 material be not very perishable, as in the 
 canvas of the painter, and the frescoed wall, 
 they will often remain uninjured for centuries. 
 The paintings of the early masters, the deco- 
 rations of Pompeii and of the Egyptian tombs, 
 are of very ancient date. When the light 
 liberally bestowed by nature ceases, we supply 
 its place by an artificial illumination that per- 
 petuates the lustrous colouring of the day. 
 Thus comfort and convenience are promoted, 
 while existence is multiplied, and light and 
 life are imparted to what would otherwise 
 come within the dreary dominions of darkness 
 and night. How much is thereby added to 
 human industry, to hours of study and social 
 intercourse ! Yet contrivances, even of earthly 
 origin, must be referred to the only Giver of 
 knowledge and power ; since without Him 
 there could be no art, nor any science or skill 
 — M^Cormac. 
 
 SERIOUSNESS, A Courtier on, 
 
 While we laugh, my friends, all things are 
 serious around us. God is serious, who exer- 
 cises such patience towards us ; Christ is 
 serious, who shed his blood for us ; the Holy 
 Ghost is serious, who strives against the ob- 
 stinacy of our hearts. The Scriptures are 
 serious in all they say. All that are in heaven 
 and hell are serious. May man, then, trifle, 
 whose doom is settling every moment ? — Sir 
 Francis Walsingham. 
 
 SHADE, its Refreshing Change. 
 Refreshing change ! where now the blazing 
 
 sun? 
 By short transition we have lost his glare, 
 And stepp'd at once into a cooler clime. 
 How airy and how light the graceful arch, 
 Yet awful as the consecrated roof 
 Re-echoing pious anthems ! while beneath 
 The checker'd earth seems restless as a flood 
 Brush'd by the wind. So sportive is the light 
 Shot through the boughs, it dances as they 
 
 dance, 
 Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick. 
 And darkening and enlightening, as the leaves 
 Play wanton every moment, every spot. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 563 
 
 The night was winter in his roughest mood, 
 The morning sharp and clear. The vault is blue 
 Without a cloud ; and white without a speck, 
 The dazzling whiteness of the scene below. 
 Again the harmony comes o'er the vale ; 
 And through the trees I view the embattled 
 
 tower, 
 Whence all the music. I again perceive 
 The soothing influence of the wafted strains, 
 And settle in soft musings as I tread 
 The walk still verdant, under oaks and elms, 
 Whose outspread branches overarch the glade. 
 The roof, though moveable through all its 
 
 length 
 As the wind sways it, has yet well sufficed. 
 And intercepting in their silent fall 
 The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me. 
 No noise is here, or none that hinders thought. 
 The redbreast warbles still, but is content 
 With slender notes, and more than half-sup- 
 
 press'd ; 
 Pleased with his solitude and flitting light 
 From spray to spray, where'er he rests he 
 
 shakes 
 From many a twig the pendant drops of ice. 
 That tinkle in the wither'd leaves below. 
 Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft, 
 Charms more than silence. Cowper. 
 
 SHIP, Storing a, 
 
 And Appointing a Captain. 
 
 Now since the " Fighting Man " is over small 
 To hold the mighty stores that we shall need. 
 To turn us now to Bremen is my rede, 
 And there to buy a new keel with my gold. 
 And fill her with such things as she may hold ; 
 And thou, thenceforward, Rolf, her lord shalt 
 
 be. 
 Since thou art not unskilled upon the sea. 
 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 SICKNESS Unsuspected, Desperate. 
 As I see in the body, so I know in the soul ; 
 they are oft most desperately sick who are 
 least sensible of their disease ; whereas he that 
 fears each light wound for mortal seeks a 
 timely cure, and is healed. I will not reckon 
 it my happiness that I have many sores, but 
 since I have them, I am glad they grieve me. 
 I know the cure is not the more dangerous 
 because my wounds are more grievous : I 
 should be more sick if I complained less. — 
 Arthur Warwick. 
 
 SILENTLY Floating Away. 
 Again betwixt us was there little speech. 
 But swiftly did we set on toward the beach. 
 And coming there, our keel, the "Fighting 
 
 Man," 
 We boarded, and the long oars out we ran, 
 And swept from out the firth, and sped so 
 
 well 
 That scarcely could we hear St. Peter's bell 
 Toll one, although the light wind blew from 
 
 land ; 
 Then hoisting sail southward we 'gan to stand. 
 And much I joyed beneath the moon to see 
 The lessening land that might have been to me 
 A kindly giver of wife, child, and friend. 
 And happy life, or at the worser end 
 A quiet grave till doomsday rend the earth. 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 SIMPLE and Composite Faculties. 
 
 The mind being one, and entire, and invari- 
 able, without parts or composition, acts always 
 as one being. It recollects, praises, judges, 
 abstracts, imagines ; and when you say that it 
 exercises a compound, or complex, or compo- 
 site faculty, as for example, the imagination, 
 you only mean that it first exerts one faculty, 
 then another, and then a third. We never 
 should call the process by which chemists 
 bleach vegetable substances a composite opera- 
 tion, because they first make oxymuriatic gas, 
 then mix lime with water, then, by agitation 
 of the water exposed to the gas, cause lime to 
 combine, and then expose the vegetable fibre 
 to this compound liquor ; we say that these 
 are so many successive operations performed, 
 and not one complex operation. And so ima- 
 gination is not one compound faculty, nor is 
 imagining one complex operation of the mind, 
 but that mind in succession remembers, 
 abstracts, judges or compares ideas, and 
 reasons or compares judgments — and the 
 whole four successive operations form ima- 
 gination ; to which you may add the further 
 operation of taste, which, rejecting one and 
 selecting other results of imagination, pro- 
 duces the fruits of refined or purified fancy ; 
 if, indeed, this taste itself be anything but a 
 sound exercise of judgment — a judgment re- 
 fined by experience, that is, by constant 
 attention to what is pleasing, and what dis- 
 agreeable. The rapidity with which all these 
 separate operations are performed by the mind, 
 neither prevents them from being in succession 
 and separately performed, nor at all shows the 
 
564 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 mind to have composition or parts. Giving 
 names to certain combinations, or rather suc- 
 cessions of operations, and not to others, may 
 be correct ; but it must be admitted is some- 
 what capricious- We talk of imagination as 
 if it were one operation, though it is many ; 
 and yet we give no separate name to several 
 other successions as rapid of our mental opera- 
 tions. So as to our moral feelings. We 
 speak of conscience as one ; yet it is, as Smith 
 describes it, a succession (he says a compound) 
 of several, among which pity for the party 
 injured, and fear of the consequences to our- 
 selves, are the chief. Yet we give no name to 
 the reflection on past enjoyments, which is as 
 quick a succession of several emotions— 
 namely, recollection, comparison of the pre- 
 sent, and sorrowing for the contrast. — Lord 
 Brougham. 
 
 SIN, a Mortal Taint 
 
 What though at birth we bring with us the 
 
 seed 
 Of sin, a mortal taint — in heart and will 
 Too surely felt, too plainly shown in deed, — 
 Our fatal heritage ; yet are we still 
 The children of the All Merciful ; and ill 
 They teach who tell us that from hence must 
 
 flow 
 God's wrath, and then his justice to fulfil, 
 Death everlasting, never-ending woe : 
 O miserable lot of man, if it were so ! 
 
 Falsely and impiously teach they who thus 
 Our heavenly Father's holy will misread ! 
 In bounty hath the Lord created us. 
 In love redeemed. From this authentic creed 
 Let no bewildering sophistry impede 
 The heart's entire assent, for God is good. 
 Hold firm this faith, and, in whatever need, 
 Doubt not but thou wilt find thy soul endued 
 With all-sufficing strength of heavenly fortitude. 
 
 Southey. 
 
 SIN, a Poisoned Hook. 
 
 O POYSONED hooke that lurkes in sugred bait, 
 O pleasures vain that in this world are found, 
 Which like a subtle theefe do lie in waite, 
 To swallow man in sink of sinne profound : 
 O kings and peeres, beware of this deceit, 
 And be not in this gulfe of pleasure drownd : 
 The time will come, and I must tell you all, 
 When these your joyes shall bitter seem as 
 gall. 
 
 Then turne your cloth of gold to clothes of 
 
 heares, 
 Your feasts to fasts, to sorrowcs turne your 
 
 songs. 
 Your wanton toyes and smilings into teares. 
 To restitution turne your doing wrongs ; 
 Your fond securenesse turn to godly feares. 
 And know that vengeance unto God belongs ; 
 Who, when he comes to judge the soules of 
 
 men, 
 It will be late alas to mend it then. 
 Then shall the vertuous man shine like the 
 
 sunne ; 
 Then shall the vicious man repent his plea- 
 sure ; 
 Then one good deed of almes sincerely done 
 Shall be more worth than mines of Indian 
 
 treasure ; 
 Then sentence shall be giv'n which none shall 
 
 shun. 
 Then God shall weigh and pay our deeds by 
 
 measure : 
 Unfortunate, and thrice accursed, they 
 Whom fond delights do make forget that day, 
 Harringtoii s Ariosto. 
 
 SIN, Bosom One, its Danger. 
 
 Lord ! with what care hast thou begirt us 
 
 round ! 
 Parents first season us. Then schoolmasters 
 Deliver us to laws. They send us bound 
 To rules of reason. Holy messengers ; 
 Pulpits and Sundays ; sorrow hagging sin ; 
 Afflictions sorted ; anguish of all sizes ; 
 Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in ; 
 Bibles lain open ; millions of surprises ; 
 Blessings beforehand ; ties of gratefulness ; 
 The sound of glory ringing in our ears ; 
 Without, our shame ; within, our consciences ; 
 Angels and grace ; eternal hopes and fears ! 
 Yet all these fences, and their whole array. 
 One cunning bosom-sin blows quite away. 
 
 Herbert, 
 
 SIN, Cast it Out. 
 
 Cast out thy Jonah — every sleeping and 
 secure sin that brings a tempest upon thy ship^ 
 vexation to thy %^\x\\..— Reynolds, 
 
 SIN, Confession of. 
 
 It is not enough to say, " Lord, I thank thee 
 I am no extortioner, nor adulterer, nor as this 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 565 
 
 publican ; " all the reward of such a penitent 
 
 is, that when he hath escaped the corruption of 
 
 ! the world he hath also escaped those heavy 
 
 I judgments which threatened his ruin. It may 
 
 i be we have escaped the rod of the exterminating 
 
 ; angel, when our sins are crucified ; but we 
 
 shall never "enter into the joy of our Lord," 
 
 unless, after we have "put oflF the old man 
 
 with his affections and lusts," we also "put 
 
 on the new man in righteousness and holiness 
 
 of life. " * * Remember whence thou art fallen ; 
 
 repent, and do thy first works ; " renew thy 
 
 first undertaking in baptism, and retxim to thy 
 
 course of innocence. — Bp. J. Taylor. 
 
 Retire into your chamber, and before that 
 Saviour who seeth in secret open your heart 
 freely, fully, and unreservedly. . . . Suppress 
 nothing — extenuate nothing, but confess, — as 
 far as you can remember, all that has ever 
 grieved His Holy Spirit, or broken His divine 
 law ; declare before Him your deep contrition 
 of soul, your hatred and abhorrence of every 
 act which has been displeasing to Him, your 
 earnest desire to commit it again no more for 
 ever; and plead Hb precious promises. His 
 perfect righteousness. His precious blood. 
 You will not long remain in ignorance of the 
 practical meaning of this declaration of our 
 God, " I have blotted out as a thick cloud 
 thy transgressions, and as a cloud thy sins. " — 
 H. Blunt. 
 
 SIN, Danger of Little Ones. 
 
 \Ve are saved from nothing if we are not 
 saved from sin. Little sins are pioneers of 
 HelL The backslider begins with what he 
 foolishly considers trifling with little sins. 
 There are no little sins. There was a time 
 when all the evil that has existed in the world 
 was comprehended in one sinful thought of our 
 first parent ; and all the now evil is the 
 numerous and horrid progeny of one little sin. 
 — Howels. 
 
 SIN, Death of. 
 
 It is to thy first resurrection thou must look 
 io judge of thy speeding at the second. These 
 two are linked together, and have relation one 
 to another ; as the feast of Pentecost, when 
 barley-harvest was now got in, had relation to 
 the second day in Passover week, when barley- 
 harvest first began. The resurrection will be 
 a fit harvest for every man to reap according 
 
 as he hath sowed. There is none but would 
 willingly have a resurrection at the last day to 
 life, and not to damnation- Begin thy resur- 
 rection here ; and as thy soul is risen firom the 
 death of sin, so mayest thou expect thy body's 
 rising from death in the grave. ... I 
 may say, graciousness in the soul is rather 
 the seed of the resurrection of the body, that 
 will cause it to rise to life and happiness. — 
 Lightfoot. 
 
 SIN, Death Unto. 
 
 Be ye " planted in the likeness of His death 
 and resurrection," and ye shall be witnesses 
 for Him that He is possessed of aU power in 
 heaven and in earth, and that in due season 
 every enemy shall be put under His feet. Espe- 
 cially bear about in you a resemblance to the 
 Lord Jesus Christ in all His holy tempers and 
 dispositions under His unparalleled afflictions, 
 and then the life of that blessed Saviour will 
 be made manifest in your bodies. — Simeon. 
 
 SIN, God's Hatred to. 
 
 God hates nothing for its own sake, bnt an ; 
 and for the sake of that " he hates aU workers 
 of iniquity." Every wilful sinner, who adds 
 impenitency to his sin, commits "the sin unto 
 death ;" because there is no other condition of 
 pardon allowed by the Gospel without true 
 repentance. How infinite is the goodness of 
 God that excludes no sinners firom the hopes 
 of pardon who have a heart to repent truly of 
 their sins ! Can we in reason suppose that God 
 should stoop lower towards sinners than to 
 offer them pardon of former sins, if they do 
 repent ; and to tell them they must expect no 
 mercy in another world if they do not? — 
 Bishop SiUlingJUa. 
 
 SIN, God's Wrath Against. 
 
 Awake and shake off thy slumber ; for surely 
 he who awaketh not, who trembleth not at 
 the loud thimder of these threatenings, can 
 sleep no other sleep but that of death. Exa- 
 mine thyself, unprofitable tree, and produce 
 thy fruits : — where, where b thy growth ? what 
 canst thou show for cumbering the ground so 
 long? Oh, that thy fruits were in the remem- 
 brance so bitter to thee that thou shouldst 
 abhor them for ever, and turn away from them 
 unto thy life's end. Be assured, whatsoever of 
 
566 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 sin and vanity shall be found upon thee, whe- 
 ther in thy words or deeds, nay, even in thy 
 unspoken and most serious thoughts, that thing 
 shall be thy condemnation ; and every day and 
 hour shall be laid to thy charge which have 
 not been given to the service and obedience 
 of thy God, from whom thou receivedst them. 
 And is there none who can deliver thee out of 
 the hands of thy offended Maker ? Hast thou 
 no defence ? Hast thou not an '* Angel of the 
 Covenant?" a friend, mighty to save, and to 
 deliver ? Turn thee, turn thee ! and cry aloud, 
 "Upon His name I will call ; Jesus the Christ : 
 He, the Judge, before whom I tremble, He, 
 the Saviour, in whom alone I put my trust. 
 His love be my sanctuary ; for He created me, 
 and He, who purchased my soul's redemption 
 with His most precious blood, will not forsake 
 the work of His own hands !" — St. Anselni. 
 
 * SIN, its Narrow Slavery. 
 
 To please ourselves with a notion of Gospel 
 liberty, while we have not a Gospel principle 
 of holiness within to free us from the power of 
 sin, is nothing else but to gild over our bonds 
 and fetters, and to fancy ourselves the inmates 
 of a golden cage. There is a straitness, slavery, 
 and narrowness in sin ; sin crowds and crum- 
 ples up our souls, which, if they were freely 
 spread abroad, would be as wide and as large 
 as the whole universe. ^ No man is truly free, 
 but he that has his will enlarged, to the extent 
 of God's own will, by loving whatsoever God 
 loves, and nothing else. — Cudworth. 
 
 SIN, its True Character. 
 
 Look now at sin ; pluck off that painted mask, 
 and turn upon her face the lamp of the Bible. 
 We start ; it reveals a death's head. I stay not 
 to quote texts descriptive of sin ; it is a debt, 
 a burden, a thief, a sickness, a leprosy, a 
 plague, a poison, a serpent, a sting — everything 
 that man hates ; it is a load of evils beneath 
 whose most crushing, intolerable pressure the 
 whole creation groaneth. Name me the evil 
 that springs not from this root, the crime that 
 lies not at this door. Who is the hoary 
 sexton that digs man his grave? who is the 
 painted temptress that steals his virtue ? who 
 is the murderess that destroys his life ? who is 
 the sorceress that first deceives and then damns 
 his soul? Sin.— Who with icy breath blights 
 
 the sweet blossoms of youth ? who breaks the 
 hearts of parents ? who brings gray hairs with 
 sorrow to the grave ? who, by a more hideous 
 metamorphosis than Ovid ever fancied, changes 
 sweet children into vipers, tender mothers into 
 monsters, and their fathers into worse than 
 Herods ? the murderers of their own innocents? 
 Sin. — Who casts the apple of discord en home 
 hearths? who lights the torch of war and 
 carries it over happy lands ? who by divisions 
 in the Church rends Christ's seamless robe? 
 Sin. — Who is this Delilah that sings the Naza- 
 rite asleep and delivers the strength of God into 
 the hearts of the uncircumcized ? who, with 
 smiles on her face and honeyed flattery on her 
 tongue, stands in the door to offer the sacred 
 rites of hospitality, and when suspicion sleeps 
 pierces our temples with a nail? what Siren is 
 this who, seated on a rock by the deadly pool, 
 smiles to deceive, sings to lure, kisses to betray, 
 and flings her arm around our neck, to leap 
 with us into perdition? Sin. — What petrifies 
 the soft and gentle heart, hurls reason from her 
 throne, and impels sinners, mad as Gadarene 
 swine, down the precipice into the lake of 
 fire? Sin. — Who, having brought the prisoner 
 to the gallows, persuades him to refuse a par- 
 don, and with his own hand to bar the door 
 against the messenger of mercy ? what witch 
 of hell is it that thus bewitches us ? Sin. — Who 
 nailed the Son of God to that bloody tree, and 
 who, as if it were not a dove descending with 
 the olive, but a vulture swooping down to de- 
 vour the dying, vexes, grieves, thwarts, repels, 
 drives off the spirit of God? who is it that 
 makes man in his heart and habits baser than 
 a beast ; and him who was once little lower 
 than an angel, but little lower than a devil ? 
 Sin, sin. Thou art an hateful and horrible 
 thing, that abominable thing which God hates. 
 And what wonder? Thou hast insulted his 
 holy majesty ; thou hast bereaved him of be- 
 loved children ; thou hast crucified the Son of 
 his infinite love ; thou hast vexed his gracious 
 Spirit ; thou hast defied his power ; thou hast 
 despised his grace ; and in the body and blood 
 of Jesus, as if that were a common thing, thou 
 hast trodden under foot his matchless mercy. 
 Surely, brethren, the wonder of wonders is, 
 that sin is not that abominable thing which we 
 also hate. — Dr. Guthrie. 
 
 SIN, its Wages. 
 Whatever Christ suffered was not upon His 
 own personal account, but for sin . . . In 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 567 
 
 Him God shows us what our sins deserve ; 
 infamy, reproach, and utmost scorn and con- 
 tempt the agonies of the mind, the pain and 
 torments of the body, and death itself. It was 
 sin that was crucified, that was exposed to all 
 this shame and suffering in the person of our 
 Saviour ; and therefore in His sufferings we 
 have a lively image of the evil and deserts of 
 sin . . . Death and the destruction of sin is 
 represented in that very sacrifice which expiates 
 our sin, and must be acted over again in us, in 
 the real crucifixion and death of sin, before we 
 can have any interest in the expiation of Christ's 
 death.— fK Sherlock. 
 
 SIN, 
 KUl it Before it Kills You. 
 Use sin as it will use you ; spare it not, for it 
 will not spare you ; it is your murderer, and 
 the murderer of the whole world. Use it, 
 therefore, as a murderer should be used ; kill 
 it before it kills you ; and though it bring you 
 to the grave, as it did your Head, it shall not 
 be able to keep you there. You love not 
 death ; love not the cause of death. — Baxter. 
 
 SIN Leadeth to Death. 
 
 If thy heinous sins could sink thee to the bot- 
 tom of hell, yet that mercy which is above the 
 heavens can fetch thee up again .... 
 Wherefore came the Saviour ? Wherefore suf- 
 fered He ? If thy sin remains, wherefore 
 serves His blood ? . . . If thou still be 
 captive to sin and death, wherefore was that 
 dear ransom paid ? Why did He stretch forth 
 His blessed hands upon the cross, but to re- 
 ceive thee ? Why did He bow down His head 
 but to invite thee? Why was His precious 
 side opened, but that He might take thee into 
 His heart ? O keep thine eye upon His tran- 
 scendant mercy, to keep thee from the depth 
 of sorrow and desperation ! —Bishop Hall. 
 
 SIN, of Two Kinds. 
 
 There are two kinds of sin ; one is bom of 
 poverty, and the other of excess. The sins of 
 poverty and want are servile and timid. When 
 a poor man steals, he hides himself, he trem- 
 bles when he is discovered : he would not dare 
 to vindicate his crime, too happy if he can 
 evade its consequences, by shrouding himself 
 
 in darkness and concealment. But the sins of 
 abundance are proud and bold : they defy cen- 
 sure, they are indignant at it, and do not want 
 flatterers to approve and encourage them. — 
 St. Augustine. 
 
 SIN, One. 
 
 Many afflictions will not cloud and obstruct 
 peace of mind so much as one sin : therefore, 
 if you would walk cheerfully, be most careful 
 to walk holily. All the winds about the earth 
 make not an earthquake, but only that within. 
 — Archbishop Leighton. 
 
 SIN, Presumptuous. 
 
 The reflection that we have deliberately and 
 presumptuously offended that Being from whose 
 power there is no escaping, from whose wrath 
 nothing can deliver us, must fill our hearts 
 with terror and dismay. But though we have 
 offended a terrible and almighty God . . . 
 He still retains the affections as well as the 
 name of a Father. Of all fathers He is the 
 most merciful. His omnipotence will teach us 
 humanity and contrition ; His infinite goodness 
 will inspire faith and hope. — Shepherd. 
 
 SINS, Small, to be Avoided. 
 
 He that will not be persuaded to leap down 
 from an high chamber at once, cometh wil- 
 lingly down by the stairs : and yet the declin- 
 ing degrees of his winding descent make it not 
 less downward to him, but less perceived of 
 him. His leap might have brought him down 
 sooner, it could not have brought him down 
 lower. As I am, then, fearfid to act great sins, 
 so I will be careful to avoid small sins. He 
 that contemns a small fault commits a great 
 one. I see many drops make a shower : and 
 what difference is it, whether I be wet either 
 in the rain or in the river, if both be to the 
 skin? There is small benefit in the choice 
 whether we go down to hell by d^rees or at 
 once. — Arthur Warwick. 
 
 SIN, the Blemish of our Nature. 
 
 Sin is the shame and blemish of thy nature, 
 the reproach and disgrace of thy understanding 
 and reason, the great deformity and disease of 
 thy soul, and the eternal enemy of thy rest and 
 peace. It is thy shackles and thy fetters, the 
 
568 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 tyrant that oppresses thee and restrains thee of 
 thy liberty, and condemns thee to slavery and 
 the vilest drudgery. It is the unnatural and 
 violent state of thy soul, the worm that perpe- 
 tually gnaws thy conscience, the cause of all 
 thy fears and troubles, and of all the evils and 
 miseries, all the mischief and disorders that are 
 in this world ; it is the foundation and fuel of 
 hell ; it is that which puts thee out of the pos- 
 session and enjoyment of thyself, which doth 
 alienate and separate thee from God, the foun- 
 tain of bliss and happiness, which provokes him 
 to be thine enemy, and lays thee open every 
 moment to the fierce revenge of his justice. 
 
 Remember all this, and reflect that if thou 
 dost persist and continue in it, it will finally 
 sink and oppress thee under the insupportable 
 weight of his wrath, and make thee so weary 
 of thyself that thou shalt wish a thousand 
 times thou hadst never been ; and will render 
 thee so perfectly miserable that thou wouldst 
 esteem it a great happiness to change thy con- 
 dition with the most wretched and forlorn person 
 that ever lived upon the earth, to be perpetually 
 upon a rack, and to lie down for ever under 
 the rage of all the most violent diseases and 
 pains that ever afflicted mankind. — Tillotson. 
 
 SIN, Vileness of. 
 
 By the death of Christ we are greatly stirred 
 up, both to a caution against, and a detestation 
 of sin : for that must needs be deadly which 
 could be healed in no other way than by the 
 death of Christ. Who, therefore, seriously 
 considering that his sins could be no other 
 ways expiated than by the death of the Son of 
 God himself, would not tremble to tread as it 
 were this most precious blood under foot by 
 daily sinning? — Bishop Davenant. 
 
 SINCERITY. 
 
 And yet, God knows, look human nature 
 
 through, 
 (And in due time the world shall know it too) 
 That since the flowers of Eden felt the blast. 
 That after man's defection laid all waste, 
 Sincerity towards the heart-searching God, 
 Has made the new-bom creature her abode, 
 Nor shall be found in unregenerate souls, 
 Till the last fire burn all between the poles. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 SINCERITY Greatest, 
 Humility Greatest. 
 ** Be not righteous overmuch." Who can be 
 so ? He that thinks he is so ; that trusts in 
 himself, and imagines he is not like other men ; 
 for ever, where there is the greatest sincerity, 
 there is the greatest humility ; and where the 
 least truth, there is the greatest pride . . . For 
 when all is done, the best man is but the re- 
 semblance of a just man ; he may fall, as 
 David did ; he may sin, as did Peter ; he 
 carries flesh about him that doth and will 
 pollute his best actions. Wash in Abanah and 
 Parphar, and all the rivers of Damascus, dip 
 thyself in Jordan seven times, yet this leprosy 
 of sin will not off, still cleaves to, and will yet 
 dwell in the flesh. Either, then, a mortal must 
 depose the nature of man, or confess himself a 
 sinner ; except he will deceive himself and 
 deceive others ; except he will "make God a 
 liar," and His word a lie. — Archd. Nicholson. 
 
 SINFULNESS, Natural. 
 When you see not your wickedness, and sin 
 grieveth you not ; neither have you faith, nor 
 hope in your Saviour, and therefore are care- 
 less, and study not for amendment in life ; — 
 then you are in a heavy case, and then you 
 have reason to cry and lament your wretched- 
 ness, for truly you are not in the book of life, 
 but the devil hath power over you as long as 
 you are in such a state. — Bp. Latimer. 
 
 SINGING. 
 Music in its origin is composed merely of cries 
 of joy or expressions of grief and pain ; in 
 proportion as men become civilized their sing- 
 ing advances to perfection, and that which was 
 at first an accent of passion only becomes at 
 length the result of art. There is, doubtless, 
 a vast distance between the ill-articulated 
 sounds which issue from the throat of a woman 
 of Nova Zembla, and the fioritures of Mes- 
 dames Malibran and Sontag ; but it is no less 
 certain that the melodious singing of the latter 
 has the croaking of the former for its rudi- 
 ments. — Fetis. 
 
 SINGLE Life. 
 O FIE upon this single life : forego it. 
 We read how Daphne, for her peevish flight, 
 Became a fruitless bay-tree : Syrinx turn'd 
 To the pale empty reed : Anaxarate 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 569 
 
 Was frozen into marble ; whereas those 
 ' Which manied, or proved kind unto their 
 
 friends, 
 Were, by a gracious influence, trans-shaped 
 Into the olive, pomegranate, mulberry ; 
 Became flowers, precious stones, or eminent 
 
 stars. Webster. 
 
 SINGLE-HEARTEDNESS. 
 
 True Christian religion teaches and tutors 
 the soul to a high reverence and veneration of 
 Almighty God ; a sincere and upright walk- 
 ing, as in the presence of the invisible, all- 
 seeing God ; it makes a man truly to love, to 
 honour, to obey Him, and therefore to know 
 what His will is ; it gives the law, not only to 
 his words and actions, but to his very thoughts 
 and purposes ; it gives a man a right estimate 
 of this present world, and sets his heart and 
 hopes above it, so that he never loves it more 
 than it deserves ; it brings a man to that 
 frame . . . that righteousness, justice, honesty, 
 and fidelity are, as it were, parts of his 
 nature ; he performs all his duties to God in 
 sincerity, integrity, and constancy ; in sum, it 
 restores the image of God unto the soul, in 
 righteousness and true holiness. — Sir M. Hale. 
 
 The works of nature show God's wisdom 
 and power ; but it is His peculiar care of 
 mankind, most eminently discovered in His 
 promises to them, that shows His bounty and 
 goodness ; and consequently engages their 
 hearts and affection to Him. This oblation of 
 a heart fixed with dependence and affection 
 on Him is the most acceptable tribute we can 
 pay Him, the foundation of true devotion, and 
 life of all religion. — Locke, 
 
 SINGULARITY, The Love of. 
 
 Such is the value and importance of moral 
 principle, that the man is to be commended 
 who resolutely refuses to sacrifice it to any cus- 
 tom, however prevalent, or any consideration 
 of expediency, however plausible. The Chris- 
 tian, too, who yields a full and unreserved sub- 
 mission to his Lord and Master, ought to be 
 honoured for his firmness and magnanimity in 
 refusing to follow a multitude to do evil. But 
 every virtue has its counterfeit, and every ex- 
 cellence is imitated by some hollow, worthless, 
 painted semblance. Though most men glide 
 down the stream of custom, there are some who 
 absurdly love singularity for its own sake. 
 
 This passion, when subjected to an exact and 
 nice analysis, will usually appear to be com- 
 pounded of pride, conceit, and ill-nature. It 
 must indeed be granted that a native littleness 
 and obliquity of mind has, in some instances, 
 considerable influence. He who, in matters 
 purely indifferent, deviates from the course of 
 conduct pursued by those among whom his lot 
 is cast, may be only a weak or a wrong-headed 
 man. ** The love of singularity," says Logan, 
 ** proceeds from a restless mind, possessing 
 some portion of genius and a large portion of 
 vanity. It prefers novelties to truths, and aims 
 at being distinguished for its talents rather than 
 its deserts. It is a copious source of error, as 
 it despises nothing so much as obvious facts, 
 and as the sophisms and paradoxes in which it 
 most delights may, in a few sentences, occa- 
 sion more perplexities and embarrassments to 
 the mind than it is in the power of volumes 
 to remove." Genius is doubtless sometimes 
 found allied with this peculiarity of character, 
 and the author whose words are above given 
 might have pointed to Rousseau in proof of 
 the justice of his remark. 
 
 In most cases, where conscience is not con- 
 cerned, we shall find pride to be at the root of 
 singularity. * * Eagles," said Sir Philip Sydney, 
 "alway fly alone." The proud man adopts 
 this maxim, and conceives that by separating 
 himself from others he shall rise above them. 
 *' The vulgar herd," says he, ** tread in beaten 
 tracks ; genius loves to find or make a new 
 route. Some are bom to be imitators, but it 
 is my destiny to be an original." We need 
 not be surprised that self-importance should 
 sometimes take this direction. He that mixes 
 in a crowd is xmmarked, but he that mounts a 
 pedestal with a coat of many colours on is sure 
 of attracting a thousand eyes ; and when once 
 he perceives that he is distinguished, it is a 
 short and easy step in the process of his logic, 
 to infer that it must be for some superiority. 
 But with conceit, and all the flatvdences and 
 ill-digested humours which it breeds, there is 
 often blended no small portion of moroseness 
 and malignity. The proud and peevish man 
 exacts a deference from others, which they feel 
 themselves neither fairly bound nor disposed to 
 pay ; he stings them, and gets stung to the 
 quick in return ; till, filled with disgust, he 
 retires, and outrages the rules and properties 
 of decorum, as an expression of his contempt 
 for society. Eccentric characters, as we have 
 before intimated, often attract great attention ; 
 they are, in the moral scenery which the 
 
570 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 living world exhibits, what insulated rocks or 
 mutilated towers are in the landscape ; they 
 are admired, not for their beauty or use, but 
 for the sake of contrast. When singularity 
 has selfishness or misanthropy for its basis, as 
 in Diogenes and Timon of Athens, or Dancer 
 and Elwes, of our own country, though men 
 talk of it as they do of vile and savage monsters, 
 no possible combination can render it the 
 object either of respect or attachment. When 
 it has more connection with the head than the 
 heart, we often see a fantastic strangeness of 
 conduct which approximates the borders of 
 insanity. It is true, a starched old bachelor 
 or spinster may be full of whims to a proverb ; 
 and yet after all be a very harmless sort of 
 creature. If a man chooses to have his house 
 built in the shape of a Chinese temple, and fur- 
 nished like a hermit's cell, or to have his 
 garden-hedge and his clothes cut after an 
 antiquated fashion, let him use his privilege of 
 British freedom in any form, dress, or disguise 
 he likes best ; but if his hours and his humours, 
 when business is to be transacted, or social 
 intercourses maintained, must thwart the 
 times and tempers of the other people, he has 
 no right to expect the same indulgence. He 
 claims accommodations without making any 
 adequate returns. The wheels of his mind, to 
 borrow a figure from Lord Bacon, are not con- 
 centric with the wheels of ordinary usage, and 
 the consequence is, harsh, irregular, clashing 
 motions. 
 
 But it may be said, singularity is sometimes 
 associated with pre-eminent talent and dis- 
 tinguished benevolence. In such examples, 
 we admit, great and good qualities are to be 
 taken with the alloy ; but then they would be 
 still more valuable without it. Mezeray, an 
 eminent French historian, is said to have 
 studied with his shutters closed and his candle 
 burning all day long ; and Abraham Sharp, 
 one of our philosophical countrymen, was 
 accustomed to walk out with his hands full of 
 money held behind his back, while boys and 
 girls followed him to scramble and gather the 
 spoil ; but would their labours and alms have 
 been a whit the worse, if one had preferred the 
 sun to his taper, and the other, in the distri- 
 bution of his charity, had used his eyes as well 
 as his hands? The little eccentricities of 
 great men are readily pardoned ; common- 
 place characters are not entitled to the same 
 treatment. 
 
 But no class of persons ought more studiously 
 to avoid every appearance of needless and 
 
 repulsive singularity than serious Christians. 
 Allegiance to their Sovereign, submission to 
 his laws, and habitual regard to their ultimate 
 ends, the promotion of his glory and their own 
 eternal happiness, forbid them to join in the 
 corrupt practices and pleasures of the infatuated 
 multitude. An express precept requires that 
 they be not conformed to this world, but be 
 transformed by the renewing of their minds, 
 that they may stand perfect and complete in 
 all the will of God. But they should be con- 
 cerned to preserve their principles, without 
 unnecessarily irritating the passions or in- 
 creasing the prejudices of worldly men, by 
 outraging any of the decencies or proprieties 
 of established intercourse. They must not run 
 with them into excess of riot ; but civil and 
 commercial affairs, literary pursuits, and many 
 matters, both of science and taste, present a 
 sort of neutral ground, on which they may 
 meet them, and reciprocate kindness, without 
 one compliance inconsistent with duty. As 
 real religion raises and fortifies the mind, it 
 likewise quickens and refines the sensibilities of 
 the heart ; disposing those who act under its 
 influence to prefer a mild, gentle, amiable, 
 and conciliating deportment to anything 
 which resembles a cynical and monkish 
 austerity. It may be said, indeed, we live in 
 an age and country little exposed to the 
 dangers of excessive strictness ; the whole 
 weight of caution is wanted to guard us on the 
 opposite side. But is it, I would ask, ever 
 quite safe to guard one side only ? An 
 inspired teacher recommends us to have the 
 armour of righteousness on the right hand and 
 on the left. There are among us many good 
 men, especially in the smaller sects which 
 divide the Christian community, who are apt 
 to contract a narrow mode of thinking, and a 
 harsh repulsive style of address, by the very 
 circumstances in which they are placed. And 
 if this be the case, where piety prevails, we 
 need not wonder that formalists in our day 
 should as anxiously strain at a gnat, and as 
 eagerly swallow a camel, as the Pharisees of 
 old did. Let the servants of God, then, be 
 concerned to show, out of a good conversation, 
 their works with meekness of wisdom ; and, 
 if possible, give no offence to Jew or Gentile 
 or the Church of God.— 7?. 
 
 SINNER, his Cowardice. 
 Gideon's army, whose ** hearts melted and 
 became as water," represents the Church visi- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 571 
 
 ble and invisible ; for as, in his armie, all the 
 company marched alike and used the same 
 military discipline, and yet two and twenty 
 thousand were cowards, and returned from 
 him for feare, at the well Harodh, which it may 
 be was called Harodh or feare, from their fear- 
 fulnesse ; so in the Church visible, men use 
 the same word, the same sacraments, and the 
 same outward profession, yet are many of them 
 but cowards in Christ's warfare when it comes 
 to the trial! .—y. Lightfoot. 
 
 SINNER, his Punishment. 
 
 God deals with sinners as he did with His 
 vineyard the house of Israel ; He does all that 
 can be done for their conversion, consistently 
 with the freedom of their nature. But if His 
 grace be received in vain, and instead of the 
 fruit of good works, which God delights in, 
 nothing is produced but folly and wickedness. 
 He tries to reform them by his judgments ; 
 He will visit their offences with a rod, and 
 their sin with scourges. — Nourse. 
 
 SINNER'S, The, Encouragement. 
 
 When thy conscience is thoroughly afraid with 
 the remembrance of thy past sins, and the devil 
 assaileth thee with great violence, going about 
 to overwhelm thee with neaps, floods, and 
 whole seas of sins, to terrify thee and draw 
 thee from Christ, then arm thyself with such 
 sentences as these : — 
 
 '* Christ, the Son of God, was given not for 
 the holy, righteous, worthy, and such as were 
 his friends ; but for the wicked sinners and for 
 his enemies." 
 
 Wherefore, if Satan say, "Thou art a sin- 
 ner, and therefore must be condemned," then 
 answer thou, and say, 
 
 " Because thou sayest I am a sinner, there- 
 fore will I be righteous, and be saved." 
 
 And if he reply, " Nay, but sinners must be 
 condemned ; " then answer thou and say, 
 
 ** No, for I fly to Christ, who hath given 
 himself for my sins, and therefore, 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" — Luther. 
 
 SKELETON, A. 
 
 Beneath this mouldering canopy 
 
 Once shone the bright and busy eye ; 
 
 But start not at the dismal void. 
 
 If social love that eye employed — 
 
 If with no lawless fire it gleamed. 
 
 But through the dew of kindness beamed, 
 
 The eye shall be for ever bright 
 
 When stars and suns have lost their light. 
 
 Here in this silent cavern hung 
 
 The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue ; 
 
 If falsehood's honey it disdained. 
 
 And where it could not praise was chained- 
 
 If bold in virtue's cause it spoke. 
 
 Yet gentle concord never broke — 
 
 That tuneful tongue shall plead for thee 
 
 When death unveils eternity. 
 
 Say, did these fingers delve the mine, 
 Or with its envied rubies shine ? 
 To hew the rock or wear the gem. 
 Can nothing now avail to them ; 
 But if the page of truth they sought. 
 Or comfort to the mourner brought. 
 These hands a richer meed shall claim 
 Than all that waits on wealth or fame. 
 
 Avails it whether bare or shod 
 These feet the path of duty trod ? 
 If from the bow'rs of joy they fled, 
 To soothe affliction's humble bed — 
 If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned. 
 And home to virtue's lap returned — 
 These feet with angels' wings shall vie 
 And tread the palace of the sky. 
 
 Behold this ruin ! — 'twas a skull, 
 Once of ethereal spirit full. 
 This narrow cell was life's retreat — 
 This space was thought's mysterious seat : 
 What beauteous pictures filled this spot ! 
 What dreams of pleasure long forgot ! 
 Nor love, nor joy, nor hope, nor fear. 
 Has left one trace or record here ! Anon. 
 
 SKY, its Varied Aspects. 
 Fair sky ! what hast thou in the time of 
 
 spring ? 
 Birds borne along on the joyous wing, 
 Feathery clouds and fleeting showers, 
 Odovirs breathed up from the fresh-blown 
 
 flowers ; 
 Echoes of voices and song on earth. 
 Of the child's light laugh and the peasant's mirth; 
 Blue gleams bright from the sun -rays' kiss. 
 And trembling as if with excess of bliss. 
 
572 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 And what is thine in the summer eve, 
 When the full bright sun has taken his leave ? 
 Clouds that are rich as young Hope's dreams, 
 Rainbows colouring and amber beams, 
 Flushes of crimson glory growing. 
 Like a maiden's blush, more intensely glowing, 
 Beneath the ardent gazer's view, 
 Purple twilight and fragrant dew. 
 
 What hast thou in the depth of night ? 
 Grandeur, and beauty, and calm moonlight ; 
 Stars — bright stars, on their thrones on high, 
 Making their voiceless melody ; 
 Prayers sent up from the sleepless bed, 
 Sounds of the weary sentinel's tread, 
 Murmurs from forests by light winds stirred. 
 And sweet, sweet music from night's own bird. 
 
 What is below thee ? A land of sin. 
 Where Sorrow and Death have entered in ; 
 Where tears have darkened the brightest eyes. 
 And the rosiest lip breathes forth sad sighs ; 
 Where the sunny curls blanch with the hand 
 
 of Time, 
 And the purest spirits are tinged with crime ; 
 Where the flowers, and the trees, and the birds 
 
 must die. 
 And all things tell of mortality. 
 
 What is beyond thee? A world where the 
 power 
 
 Of Time cannot wither a single flower ; 
 
 Where the earthy stains of our human clay 
 
 In the streams of mercy are washed away ; 
 
 Where there comes not a shade o'er the tran- 
 quil brow. 
 
 And the voice never sounds in one tone of woe. 
 
 Fair sky ! we forget our sorrow and care. 
 
 When we gaze upon thee, and think heaven 
 is there. Literary Gazette. 
 
 SKYLAEK. 
 
 Happy songster ! poised in air. 
 Fluttering o'er thy grassy nest. 
 
 Free from sorrow, pain, or care. 
 Joyous warblings fill thy breast : 
 
 To any other heart than mine 
 
 Those notes were melody divine. 
 
 Happy songster ! thou art free, 
 Floating on thy downy plume ; 
 
 I, o'erwhelmed with misery. 
 Hasten to my final doom. 
 
 Cease then, songster, cease thy strain ; 
 
 It wounds the soul and mocks my pain. 
 
 Happy songster ! why should I 
 Bid thy music cease to flow ! 
 
 Had I wings like thee, I'd fly 
 
 Far from scenes of grief and woe : 
 
 My spirit then would soar away 
 
 On the bright beams of endless day. 
 
 Songster ! seek my last retreat. 
 There thy trembling pinions wave, 
 
 Pour those notes so wild and sweet, 
 Chaunt a requiem o'er my grave ; 
 
 Then, sweet songster, then like thee. 
 
 Shall I be blest with liberty ! 
 
 Literary Gazette. 
 
 SKYLARK, his Haunts. 
 
 A GREEN and silent spot amid the hills, 
 A small and silent dell ! O'er stiller place 
 No singing skylark ever poised himself. 
 The hills are heathy, save that swelling slope, 
 Which hath a gay and gorgeous covering on, 
 All golden with the never-bloomless furze. 
 Which now blooms most profusely : but the 
 
 dell. 
 Bathed by the mist, is fresh and delicate 
 As vernal corn-field, or the unripe flax. 
 When, through its half-transparent stalks, at 
 
 eve 
 The level sunshine glimmers with green light. 
 Oh, 'tis a quiet, spirit-healing nook ! 
 Which all, methinks, would love ; but chiefly 
 
 he. 
 The humble man, who, in his youthful years^ 
 Knew just so much of folly as had made 
 His early manhood more securely wise ! 
 Here he might lie on fern or withered heath. 
 While from the singing-lark (that sings unseen — 
 The minstrelsy that solitude loves best). 
 And from the sun, and from the breezy air. 
 Sweet influences trembled o'er his frame ; 
 And he, with many feelings, many thoughts. 
 Made up a meditative joy, and found 
 Religious meanings in the forms of nature ! 
 And so, his senses gradually wrapt 
 In a half sleep, he dreams of better worlds. 
 And dreaming hears thee still, O singing-lark. 
 That singest like an angel in the clouds ! 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 SLANDERER, his Venom. 
 
 The Psalmist doth not slander the slanderers, 
 when in a good description of their bad natures, 
 he saith, "Their throat is an open sepulchre, 
 the poison of asps is under their lips," For 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 573 
 
 what more loathsome stench and noisome 
 smells can a new-opened sepulchre belch out 
 than these venomous, open- throated slanderers? 
 and well may their lips contain the poison of 
 asps, of which Lucan saith, in nulla plus est 
 serpents veneni, when a few words of theirs 
 shall (like a witch's spell) charm and strike 
 dead a man's dearest reputation. I will there- 
 fore endeavour to make my actions of that 
 virtue, that, as an antidote of Mithridates his 
 best confection, they may repel the worst in- 
 fection those serpents shall spit at me. And 
 albeit I cannot be free from their assaults 
 (from which none is freed) yet I will not, with 
 Cleopatra, set those asps so near my heart that 
 they may stop my vital spirits with their poison. 
 And since I must pass through this Africa of 
 monsters and harmful beasts, I will carefully 
 fear and shun the worst of tame beasts, the 
 flatterer, and wild beasts, the slanderer. — A. 
 Wanvick. 
 
 SLEEP. 
 
 Men have called thee Death's semblance, 
 sleep? 
 
 But thy realm is not, even in part. 
 As clayey, and rayless, and hueless, and deep, 
 
 As the tyrant's whose emblem thou art 
 
 Thou hast hours that are bland and bright, 
 
 When we put on a being ideal ; 
 And the free mind may bask beneath Fancy's 
 light, 
 
 Unchill'd by the shadowy reaL 
 
 Yet awful at times thou can'st be. 
 
 When we cling to some cloud-crested height. 
 While beneath waits a yawning and billowy 
 sea. 
 
 To engulph us in morrowless night 
 
 But visions thou knowest more dread 
 
 Than the foaming and threatening wave ; 
 
 When the lean ashy hands of the once known 
 dead. 
 Seem beckoning into the grave. 
 
 And their cold lips bluely swelling, 
 Seem faintly to mutter our doom ; 
 
 While their glassy and motionless eyes are 
 telling 
 A tale of the silent tomb. 
 
 Then our heart's rapid pulses stop, 
 And our spirits before them bow. 
 
 And the big rain of horror, cold, drop by drop, 
 In agony rolls from the brow : 
 
 For we think of the hour so near, 
 
 When the slimy and loathsome worms 
 
 That writhe through Death's mansions so 
 earthy and drear, 
 Shall feed on our perishing forms : 
 
 When nature so beauteous and rife, 
 
 And the bright sun's genial ray. 
 And the ties, and the cares, and the pleasures 
 of life. 
 Are exchanged for corruption and clay ! 
 
 Omicron. 
 
 SLEEP, Emblem of Death. 
 
 It is that death by which we may be literally 
 said to die daily ; a death which Adam died 
 before his mortality, a death whereby we live 
 a middle and moderating point between life 
 and death. In fine, so like death, I dare not 
 trust it without my prayers and a half adieu 
 imto the world, and take my farewell in a 
 colloquy with God. 
 
 The night is come, like to the day, 
 Depart not thou, great God, away ; 
 Let not my sins, black as the night. 
 Eclipse the lustre of thy light 
 Keep still in my horizon, for to me 
 The sun makes not the day, but thee. 
 Thou, whose nature cannot sleep. 
 On my temples sentry keep ; 
 Guard me 'gainst those watchful foes 
 Whose eyes are open while mine close. 
 Let no dreams my head infest. 
 But such as Jacob's temples blest : 
 While I do rest, my soul advance. 
 Make my sleep a holy trance, 
 That I may, my rest being wrought. 
 Awake into some holy thought. 
 And with as active vigour run 
 My course, as doth the nimble sun. 
 Sleep is a death ! O, make me try. 
 By sleeping, what it is to die ; 
 And as gently lay my head 
 In my grave, as now my bed. 
 Howe'er I rest, great God, let me 
 Awake again, at last, with thee ; 
 And, thus assured, behold I lie 
 Securely, or to wake or die. 
 These are my drowsie days, in vain 
 I do now wake to sleep again. 
 O come that hour, when I shall never 
 Sleep again, but wake for ever ! 
 
 Religio Medici. 
 
574 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 SLEEP, Ode to. 
 Hail, gentle god, that lov'st the night, 
 And spurn'st the glaring rays of light ; 
 Come hither, lead thy pleasing train. 
 And bring to view what poets feign : 
 Parent of dreams ! in fancy's magic skill'd, 
 With thee be all my weary moments fill'd. 
 
 My soul, when wrapt in rest, inspire 
 With every pleasing, fond desire ; 
 Let soft ideas, uncontroU'd, 
 My vague and wand'ring fancy hold. 
 That then at least, when I supinely rest, 
 May be supremely great, supremely blest. 
 
 Diffuse thro' ev'ry latent part, 
 
 Each thought that charms the youthful 
 heart ; 
 
 Bear some glad image to my view. 
 
 Will please the mind and fancy too ; 
 And if to thee indiff rent be th' affair, 
 Be Delia, charming Delia, then your care. 
 
 Let now in all her beauty shine. 
 Where ev'ry grace and charm combine 
 To form complete the lovely frame. 
 And give to her fair beauty's name : 
 Let her that soft and wonted kindness show, 
 Which makes my soul in such high transports 
 flow! 
 
 Then grateful thanks to thee I'll give, 
 While in this mortal frame I live, 
 And on thy goodness blessings pour, 
 'Till hoary time shall be no more : 
 For oh ! what fancied gift can equal thine. 
 That shows me all that's fair, all that's divine ? 
 
 R. L. B. 
 
 SLEEP of Death. 
 
 Baby mine — thou sleepest 
 In thy long white shroud, 
 While thy mother keepest 
 Watch the while, and weepest 
 Low awhile, till memories crowd, 
 And her grief will cry aloud ; 
 Yet thou stirrest ne'er the more. 
 Still thou sleepest as before. 
 
 Thy father, he returneth. 
 My babe, what shall I say ? 
 Look up ! thy father mourneth 
 His absence, while he bumeth 
 To sport him in thine infant play. 
 Wake, baby mine ; this voiceless clay 
 I cannot offer him for thee. 
 The babe he left so full of glee ! 
 
 *' Where hast thou laid my darling one, 
 
 My beautiful?" he'll cry, 
 
 * * Where hath our gentle angel gone ?" 
 
 How can I see him thus alone ? 
 
 I dare not meet thy father's eye ; 
 
 O death ! I loved too trustfully ! 
 
 life ! I knew not of love's store, 
 
 1 thought not I could love thee more ! 
 
 Wake up ! this is not death ! 
 
 Thou wert so full of glee, 
 
 I cannot think, for all it saith. 
 
 Such love can hang upon a breath : 
 
 Thou art too beautiful to be 
 
 By ruthless spoiler snatched from me ! 
 
 Thy father cometh ! wake, my child ! 
 
 Look as when last on him thou smiled. 
 
 Vain, vain deceit of grief ! 
 Thou wilt no more revive ; 
 Vain show of unbelief. 
 Vain hope, too blind and brief ! 
 Come, my beloved, look our last, 
 The bitterness of death is past ; 
 Thou wak'st again no more to me. 
 But I, my babe, shall wake with thee. 
 Anonymous. 
 
 SLEEP of the "Wretched. 
 
 Then down the lonely road he wandered yet, 
 Following the vanished lights, he scarce knew 
 
 why. 
 Till he began his sorrows to forget. 
 And, steeped in drowsiness, at last drew nigh 
 A grassy bank, where, worn with misery. 
 He slept the dreamless sleep of weariness. 
 That many a time such wretches' eyes will bless. 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 SLEEP, the Child of Silence. 
 
 Sleep, silence' child, sweet father of soft rest. 
 Prince whose approach peace to all mortals 
 
 brings. 
 Indifferent hosts to shepherds and to kings. 
 Sole comforter of minds which are opprest. 
 Lo ! by thy charming rod all breathing things 
 Lie slumbering, with forgetfulness possest. 
 And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wings 
 Thou spar'st, alas, who cannot be thy guest. 
 Since I am thine, O come, but with that face 
 To inward light which thou art wont to show. 
 With feigned solace ease a true-felt woe ; 
 Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace. 
 Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath, 
 I long to kiss the image of my death. 
 
 Drummond oj Hawthornden. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 575 
 
 SLEEP, the Honey-Heavy Dew of. 
 
 Boy ! Lucius ! — fast asleep ? It is no matter : 
 Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber : 
 Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies 
 Which busy care draws in the brains of men ; 
 Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 SLEEP, Time for. 
 
 When the Jesuits settled the plan of education 
 in the College of Clermont, the physicians 
 were consulted on the portion of time which 
 the students should be allowed for sleep. They 
 declared that five hours were sufficient, six an 
 abundant allowance, and seven as much as a 
 youthful constitution could bear without injury. 
 —Butler. 
 
 SLEEP, To. 
 
 Welcome, sweet sleep, to this sad tortured 
 
 breast ! 
 Welcome, fair dreams ! ye place me for a 
 
 while 
 In a new world, where no dark cares molest 
 Joy's blissful reign, or cloud love's beamy 
 
 smile. 
 Welcome, sweet sleep ! — for thou alone hast 
 
 power 
 To twine past pleasures with the present hour. 
 
 The absent and the dead are in thy train ; 
 
 And who shall tell the speechless extasy 
 That fires the soul, when she beholds again 
 
 Those of whom length of years, or clime, 
 or sea. 
 Or death's rapacity, have her despoiled. 
 And her best hopes and expectations foiled ! 
 
 Soft is thine influence on man's earth-born 
 frame, 
 More soft, more genial, on his heaven-formed 
 mind ; 
 And they are madmen, idiots, who name. 
 
 Thee, image of the scourge of human kind : 
 A sweeter, happier life 'tis thine to give, 
 And wert thou death — ah ! who would ask to 
 live? M. S. B. 
 
 SLIDING, Lurking Peril in. 
 
 Again night passes, and severer frost 
 Binds fast impeded nature. Soon as mom 
 Kindles, the village younker tries his foot 
 Upon the frozen margin of the pool, 
 
 Fearful to venture on the slippery floor, 
 Lest, bursting with abrupt and hideous crash. 
 It drown his instep and his naily shoe 
 Drench with the chilly element below. 
 Bold with success, he tries a daring stroke 
 Along its verge, and now magnanimous 
 Darts o'er the fragile centre of the flood 
 His long resounding slide. Safe borne to shore. 
 He turns impatient, and with rushing heel 
 Shapes o'er the pond his parallel return. 
 Then round and round he leads his gliding team 
 Of schoolmates well-assured, and panting sport 
 Glows with her effort, nor bestows a thought 
 Upon the lurking peril of her game. 
 
 Hurdis. 
 
 SNAIL, an Exclusive. 
 
 Within his house secure he hides. 
 When danger imminent betides 
 Of storm, or other harm besides 
 
 Of weather. 
 
 Give but his horns the slightest touch, 
 His self-collecting power is such, 
 He shrinks into his house with much 
 
 Displeasure. 
 
 Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone. 
 Except himself has chattels none, 
 Well satisfied to be his own 
 
 Whole treasure. 
 
 Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads, 
 Nor partner of his banquet needs, 
 And, if he meets one, only feeds 
 
 The faster. 
 Cowpe}'. 
 
 SNOW. 
 
 In winter's bleak uncomfortable reign 
 
 A snowy inundation hides the plain ; 
 
 Jove stills the winds, and bids the skies to 
 
 sleep ; 
 Then pours the silent tempest thick and deep : 
 And first the mountain tops are covered o'er. 
 Then the green fields, and then the sandy 
 
 shore ; 
 Bent with the weight the nodding woods are 
 
 seen. 
 And one bright waste hides all the works of 
 
 men : 
 The circling seas alone, absorbing all. 
 Drink the dissolving fleeces as they fall. 
 
 FoJ>e. 
 
576 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 SNOW, its Frail Beauty. 
 Surely, of all things that are, snow is the 
 most beautiful and the most feeble. Born of 
 air-drops, less than the fallen dew, disorga- 
 nised by a puflf of warmth, driven eveiy- 
 whither by the least motion of the winds, each 
 particle light and soft, and falling to the earth 
 with such noiseless gentleness, that the wings 
 of ten million times ten million make no sound 
 in the air, and the footfall of thrice as many 
 makes no noise upon the ground, — what can be 
 more helpless, powerless, harmless ? But not 
 the thunder itself speaks God's power more 
 than this very snow. It bears his omnipo- 
 tence, soft and beautiful as it seems ! While 
 it is yet in the air, it is lord of the ocean and 
 the prairies. Ships are blinded by it. It is a 
 white darkness. All harbours are silent under 
 this plushy embargo. The traveller hides. 
 The prairies are given up to its behest, and 
 woe to him that dares to venture against the 
 omnipotence of soft-falling snow upon those 
 trackless wastes ! In one night it hides the 
 engineering of a hundred years. It covers 
 down roads, hides bridges, fills up valleys. The 
 plough cannot find its furrows. Towns and 
 villages yield up the earth and obey this white 
 diffusive despot. Then, when it has given the 
 earth a new surface, and changed all vehicles, 
 it submits itself again to the uses of man, and 
 becomes his servant, in its age, whom it ruled 
 and defied in its birth. But, when flake is 
 joined to flake, and the frosts within the soil 
 join their forces to the frosts descended from 
 the clouds, who shall unlock their clasped 
 hands ? Who shall disannul their agreement ? 
 or who shall dispossess them of their place ? 
 Gathered in the mountains, banked and piled 
 till they touched the very clouds again in which 
 once they were bom and rocked, how terrible 
 is their cold, and more terrible their stroke, 
 when, slipping, some avalanche comes down 
 the mountain side, the roar and the snow- 
 stroke loud as thunder and terrible as light- 
 ning ! God gives to the silent snow a voice, 
 and clothes its innocence and weakness with a 
 power like his own. — H. W. Beecher. 
 
 SNOW, On, 
 That Melted on a Lady's Breast. 
 Those envious flakes which came in haste, 
 
 To prove her breast so fair, 
 Grieving to find themselves surpassed, 
 Dissolv'd into a tear. Anon. 
 
 SNOW-STORM. 
 
 How gloom the clouds ! quite stifled is the ray. 
 Which from the conquered sun would vainly 
 
 shoot 
 Through the blank storm, and though the 
 
 winds be mute, 
 Lo ! down the whitening deluge finds its way, 
 Look up ! — a thousand thousand fairy motes 
 Come dancing downwards, onwards, sideways 
 
 whirled, 
 Like flocks of down or apple-blossoms curled 
 By nipping winds. See how in ether floats 
 The light-winged mass,— then, mantling o'er 
 
 the field, 
 Changes at once the landscape, chokes the rill, 
 Hoaries with white the lately verdant hill. 
 And silvers earth. All to thine influence yield. 
 Stern conqueror of blithe autumn ; yearly still 
 Of thee, the dread avatar is revealed. 
 
 Delta, 
 
 SOCIAL Science. 
 There is a great deal said nowadays under the 
 captivating title of "Social Science;" but 
 much of what is said and written warrants a 
 doubt of even the existence of such a science. 
 Still more does it warrant the doubt that those 
 who attempt the discussion of social topics 
 have, even admitting the existence of such a 
 science, ever mastered the first rudiments of it. 
 
 The wordy and weak discussions which have 
 filled up the time of the so-called "Social 
 Science Conventions" have not availed to fix 
 public attention upon social evils more strongly 
 than before they were uttered. The few sug- 
 gestions made for reform, and the correction 
 of acknowledged existing evils, have been of 
 the most impracticable kind, and showed most 
 glaringly superficiality of thought in those who 
 uttered them. If there be not now, it is high 
 time there ought to be such a thing as social 
 science. 
 
 It is painfully evident that society is in some 
 respects going from bad to worse. We will 
 not say that on the whole it is deteriorating ; 
 but granted even that it is growing in virtue 
 and increasing in knowledge, that its sanitary 
 condition is improving, and its moral health 
 better than in the dark ages— all this is not 
 enough. 
 
 It is sad to reflect that whatever progress 
 has been made, or is now making, is the result 
 of bitter experience to those who have gone 
 before us, and whose blood and tears have 
 stained the pages of history for ages. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 S77 
 
 Is there no way to adjust society on immuta- 
 ble principles? Must all progress be in the 
 future as in the past secured by experiment ? 
 And must what we call social science be for 
 ever a mass of ill-assorted facts culled from 
 history ? Surely there is some more solid basis 
 than this for social organization. 
 
 Did we want proof that nothing like social 
 science exists among us, it is foimd in all that 
 surrounds us. Very little that passes current in 
 society will stand the test of reason. Our eat- 
 ing, our working, our dress, and even our sleep- 
 ing, are alike performed with a general disre- 
 gard to physical law. Pauperism has become a 
 profession. Disease though on the average, 
 perhaps, not so deadly as it was a century ago, 
 is, if not more general, still not less diffused. 
 Perfectly healthy people are the exception, not 
 the rule. The professions of law and medicine 
 still find enough in the misery and crime of hu- 
 manity to amply sustain them. The administra- 
 tion of justice too is often a mockery, and 
 legislation has become a matter of barter and 
 sale. The drones of society are on the increase, 
 and honest hard-working producers are com- 
 pelled to contribute to their support. 
 
 Could these things be if social organization 
 had been reduced to a science ? Blackstone, in 
 his "Commentaries," has laid down some 
 general principles upon which all society must 
 be based, and any departure from which is a 
 step toward anarchy ; but these principles 
 underlie the civil rights of people united in a 
 national compact They leave untouched great 
 and fundamental physiological and biological 
 laws, the disregard of which has burdened 
 society with the greatest evils under which it 
 now groans. 
 
 Until some prophet arises capable of grap- 
 pling with this subject from a physical and 
 biological, as well as a political point of view, 
 and tells us how society may be constructed in 
 harmony with all the conditions of pure living, 
 r^ardless of creeds, conventionalities, or tradi- 
 tions, let us not flatter ourselves that such a 
 thing as social science exists. A heterogeneous 
 mass of facts does not constitute a science, any 
 more than a rude heap of stones, and sand, 
 and lime may be called a temple. — S. 
 
 SOCIETY, 
 
 Amelioration of, Begins at Home. 
 
 We cannot new model society, nor new mould 
 
 or purify the public heart, but we can begin 
 
 amelioration by a firm and wise government of 
 our own. Let us mainly study this effect, and 
 a new spirit and temper would soon warm into 
 action about us, wdth all the buds and bloom 
 of a fresh moral spring. No one knows how 
 much good he may do by his own quiet and 
 unobtruding good example. Our eyes are 
 always on each other, and if we took but half 
 as much pains to make our dispositions and 
 feelings pleasing to each other as we do to 
 make our complexions, persons, and dress 
 agreeable, we should be half seraphs ourselves, 
 and be ever unconsciously educating and aiding 
 others to become such. By improving our- 
 selves, we should be silent and secret benefac- 
 tors to all with whom we intermingle and 
 associate. We cannot well avoid more or less 
 imitating each other. Those who see and feel 
 in another what they like, what they perceive 
 to be pleasing, are imperceptibly attracted to 
 do what they find from their own sensations to 
 be gratifying, and what they hear to be 
 approved of by those who observe it. No one, 
 therefore, acts rightly without acting bene- 
 ficently in so doing. He scatters the seed of a 
 sweet flower, that will spring up again in some 
 other bosom, sure to multiply itself in the same 
 way for ever. — Turner. 
 
 SOCIETY, Evil, No Security in. 
 
 There is no security in evil society, where the 
 good are often made worse, the bad seldom 
 better ; for it is the peevish industry of wicked- 
 ness to find or make a fellow. 'Tis like, they 
 will be birds of a feather that use to flock toge- 
 ther. For such commonly doth their conver- 
 sation make us, as they are with whom we use 
 to converse. I cannot be certain not to meet 
 with evil company, but I will be careful not to 
 keep with evil company. I would willingly 
 sort myself with such as should either teach or 
 learn goodness ; and if my companion cannot 
 make me better, nor I him good, I will rather 
 leave him ill than he shall make me worse. — 
 A. IVarwick. 
 
 SOCIETY, Progress of. 
 
 Society is making a rapid, and in many 
 respects a gratifying advance in wealth, in 
 civilization, in intellect : let us do our utmost, 
 that the moral and religious virtues may follow 
 in the train, encouraging the development of 
 all that is really good, and counteracting what 
 
578 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 is evil. Let us leave the world wiser and better 
 than we found it, and we shall leave it happier. 
 It may be urged that our single exertions can- 
 not do much to stem the vast tide of human 
 passions and vices which the vortex of society 
 sets in motion. I answer, that it is only by 
 each individual doing his utmost in the line of 
 his duty, without stopping to inquire to what 
 degree others may be disposed to co-operate 
 with him, that any extensive amelioration of 
 public manners can take effect. Let us not 
 forget, then, that a good example is the best 
 of all possible instruction which we can convey 
 to others. The life of a truly good man — I 
 mean, of course, of a sincere and humble- 
 minded Christian — affords the most convincing 
 of all public lessons. Many and many a 
 Christian has existed, who, with no other 
 object than that of standing one day before 
 God with an unsullied conscience, has gone 
 through his unobtrusive course, wholly un- 
 suspicious of the benefits he was conferring, 
 though meanwhile the silent operation of his 
 example was quietly and imperceptibly mould- 
 ing men's minds to a conformity of feeling, and 
 rendering a good life more generally prevalent, 
 by making it more familiar and more amiable. 
 —Shuttleworth. 
 
 SOLACE in Memory. 
 Still some lingering sweetness seemed to bless 
 The hard life left of toil and loneliness. 
 Like a past song, too sweet, too short, and yet 
 Enmeshed for ever in the memory's net. 
 
 Wtn. Morris. 
 
 SOLDIER, his Life. 
 Her father lov'd me ; oft invited me ; 
 Still question'd me the story of my life, 
 From year to year, — the battles, sieges, for- 
 tunes 
 That I had pass'd. 
 
 I ran it through, even from my boyish days 
 To the very moment that he bade me tell it : 
 Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, 
 Of moving accidents by flood and field ; 
 Of hairbreadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly 
 
 breach ; 
 Of being taken by the insolent foe 
 And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, 
 And portance in my travel's history : 
 Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle. 
 Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads 
 
 touch heaven. 
 It was my hint to speak. Shakespeare. 
 
 SOLDIERS, The Two. 
 
 How goes the soldier forth to fight 
 The soldier of an earthly power ? 
 
 In shining, costly garments dight, 
 And plumes upon his helmet tower. 
 
 At beat of drum, at sound of horn. 
 At fife and trumpet's call he goes. 
 
 And eager for the battle-morn 
 
 Prepares to meet his country's foes. 
 
 With various arms he seeks the fight, 
 With sword and musket, dirk and spear, 
 
 Nor can he mourn to see at night 
 
 Those arms distain'd with blood appear. 
 
 And if his powers by all confest 
 Exalt him high in martial fame, 
 
 Lo ! earthly glory gilds his crest, 
 And lofty poeans laud his name. 
 
 Then, if in fight the hero fall, 
 A nation's tears his bier bedew, 
 
 While thus is breathed the grateful call — 
 "Come! mourn for him, who died for you ! " 
 
 How goes the soldier forth to fight. 
 The soldier of the Heavenly King? 
 
 No costly garb and helmet bright 
 
 Round him an earthly splendour fling. 
 
 No tuneful sounds, no martial din, 
 His courage and his ardour raise. 
 
 He hears a calling voice within. 
 And he that " still small voice " obeys. 
 
 And ne'er does he with heart elate 
 
 To seek his field of fight prepare, 
 But loves his Saviour's aid to wait 
 
 In humble awe and secret prayer. 
 And when his holy fight is o'er, 
 
 No brother's blood his arms have shed, 
 No victims of his conquering power 
 
 He sees in sin and trespass dead. 
 Round him this victor only sees 
 
 Cheeks that with conscious error glow, 
 The clasping hands, the bended knees, 
 
 And deep contrition's tearful woe. 
 His aim is not to kill, but save — 
 
 He breaks the heart, to heal the soul, 
 And bid, o'er Sin's polluted slave. 
 
 Salvation's healing waters roll. 
 But, though resistless be his power. 
 
 Though countless hearts his influence own, 
 No public homage waits that hour. 
 
 Which gives to him the conqueror's crown. 
 No hailing crowds on him attend, 
 
 No votive gift, no poet's lay, 
 But secret prayers for him ascend, 
 
 Him grateful hearts in blessings pay. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 579 
 
 And if, amidst his holy war, 
 
 The soldier of the Lord must die, 
 
 On no proud bier, or funeral car. 
 In state his breathless relics lie ; 
 
 No plaintive strains and muffled drums. 
 While mourning crowds the requiem swell. 
 
 Proclaim his passage to the tomb, 
 And speak a nation's fond farewell. 
 
 Perhaps in some far distant land 
 
 The Saviour's soldier yields his breath. 
 
 Obscurely bows to fate's command. 
 And e'en unwept resigns to death. 
 
 But when from mortal conflict freed, 
 His spirit seeks the realms of love. 
 
 Oh ! — his is then a glorious meed. 
 All earthly praise all fame above ! 
 
 Hark ! angels' wings, which welcome sound, 
 
 Breathe music o'er his raptur'd soul. 
 While they his soaring form surroimd. 
 
 And bear him where life's waters roll. 
 And rescued spirits wait him there. 
 
 For whom on earth he toiled and fought, 
 Releas'd from Satan's dreadful snare. 
 
 And to their God in triumph brought. 
 How dear their welcome's fond acclaim. 
 
 Ere lost in saints' and seraphs' songs. 
 Who with the blest inscribe his name. 
 
 And bid him join their countless throngs. 
 
 And hark ! a voice through heaven's high 
 dome 
 Breathes those blest words Emmanuel 
 spake : 
 "Well done, thou faithful servant ! come ! 
 And in thy Saviour's joy partake ! " 
 
 Opie. 
 
 SOLITUDE. 
 
 He had need to be well underlaid that knows 
 how to entertain the time and himself with his 
 own thoughts. Company, variety of employ- 
 ments or recreations, may wear out the day 
 with the emptiest hearts ; but when a man 
 hath no society but of himself, no task to set 
 himself upon but what arises from his own 
 bosom, surely, if he have not a good stock of 
 former notions, or an inward mint of new, he 
 shall soon nm out of all, and, as some forlorn 
 bankrupt, grow weary of himself. — Bp. Hall. 
 Go, empty joyes 
 With all your noyse. 
 
 And leave me here alone 
 In sweet sad silence to bemoane 
 
 Your vaine and fleet delight, 
 
 Whose danger none can see aright. 
 
 Whilst your false splendour dimmes his sight. 
 
 Goe and insnare 
 With your false ware 
 
 Some other easie wight. 
 And cheat him with your flattering light ; 
 
 Rain on his head a shower 
 Of honours, favour, wealth, and power, 
 Then snatch it from him in an houre. 
 
 Fill his big minde 
 With gallant winde 
 
 Of insolent applause : 
 Let him not feare all curbing lawes, 
 
 Nor king and peoples frowne, 
 But dreame of something like a crowne, 
 And climbing towards it, tumble downe. 
 
 Let him appeare 
 In his bright sphere, 
 
 Like Sc)mthia in her pride, 
 With star-like troups on every side ; 
 
 Such for their number and their light 
 As may at last o'erwhelme him quite 
 And blend us both in one dead night. 
 
 Welcome sad night. 
 Griefs sole delight. 
 
 Your mourning best agrees 
 With honour's funerall obsequies : 
 
 In Thetis' lap he lies 
 Mantled with soft securities. 
 Whose too-much sunshine blinds his eyes. 
 
 Was he too bold 
 That needs would hold 
 
 With curbing raines the day, 
 And make Sol's fiery steeds obey ? 
 
 Then sure as rash was I 
 Who with ambitious wings did fly 
 In Charles his Waine too loftily. 
 
 I fall, I fall, 
 Whom shall I caU? 
 
 Alas ! can he be heard 
 Who now is neither loved nor feared ? 
 
 You, who were wont to kisse the ground 
 Where e're my honoured steps were found. 
 Come, catch me at my last rebound. 
 
 How each admires 
 Heav'n's twinkling fires, 
 
 When, from their glorious seat. 
 Their influence gives life and heat : 
 
 But O ! how few there are, 
 (Though danger from that act be far) 
 W^ill stoop and catch a falling star. 
 
58o 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Now 'tis too late 
 To imitate 
 
 Those lights, whose pallidnesse 
 Argues no inward guiltinesse : 
 
 Their course one way is bent : 
 The reason is, there's no dissent 
 In Heaven's High Court of Parliament. 
 
 Earl of Strafford. 
 
 SOLITUDE and Religion. 
 
 Solitude powerfully assists general impres- 
 sions of religion. When a man finds himself 
 alone in communication with his Creator, his 
 imagination becomes filled with a conflux of 
 awful ideas concerning the universal agency 
 and invisible presence of that Being ; concern- 
 ing what is likely to become of himself, and of 
 the superlative importance of providing for the 
 happiness of his future existence, by endeavours 
 to please Him who is the arbiter of his destiny ; 
 which, whenever they gain admittance, for a 
 season overwhelm all others ; and leave, when 
 they depart, a solemnity upon the thoughts that 
 will seldom fail, in some degree, to affect the 
 conduct of life. — Paley. 
 
 SOLITUDE, a Wild. 
 
 A SOLITUDE more wild 
 Than ever shrouded guilt, or gave to peniterice 
 A couch of tears whereon to weep and pray. 
 Cain might have hidden there his branded 
 
 forehead, 
 Free from the maledictions of his kind : 
 Or Adam, shrinking from his Maker's presence, 
 Have hoped to veil his shame, and shun th' All- 
 seeing. E. Smedley. 
 
 SOLITUDE, Devotional. 
 
 *' Jesus went up into a mountain : " for what 
 purpose? To view the Judean landscape 
 while the setting sun was flushing the lake of 
 Genneseret, and flinging his yellow radiance 
 over the wilderness ? " No. 
 
 "When the evening was come, Jesus was 
 there alone." Why? That he might watch 
 the rising of the evening star, and mark the 
 lamps of heaven kindling in clusters and con- 
 stellations throughout the hemisphere? No. 
 Did he, then, ascend the mountain to enjoy 
 repose ? The Saviour needed rest at the time ; 
 for he had spent the day in healing the sick 
 
 and feeding the hungry, under a scorching sun 
 and amidst a crowding multitude. But it was 
 not for rest that he retired : * * He went up to 
 a mountain apart to pray." Was this devo- 
 tional exercise less sublime than gazing on the 
 gilded landscape and the glowing firmament ? 
 Those who ascend mountains, voluntarily and 
 alone, do so in general to indulge poetic or 
 scientific taste ; to command the prospect, and 
 to commune with nature in silence and soli- 
 tude. Jesus ascended to pray ; and, by prayer, 
 to commune with God. A nobler communion 
 than poets or philosophers ever had with 
 nature, in her majestic or lovely scenes. And 
 yet how few are alive to the sublimity of devo- 
 tional solitude ! Praying in secret to the 
 Father who seeth in secret is an exercise 
 equally solemn and august ; but how little in- 
 terest it excites to say of a man he is alone 
 praying ! 
 
 Tell men of taste that their favourite poet is 
 alone amidst the scenery of the Lakes or the 
 Grampians ; alone on the Alps or the Andes ; 
 alone in the Coliseum of Rome, or amidst the 
 Pyramids of Egypt ; and immediately his ad- 
 mirers will realise his emotions, and dwell with 
 him in spirit, amidst clouds and cataracts, rocks 
 and ruins ; and feel as if he were more than 
 mortal. But tell them that he is alone praying, 
 and that moment the charm will be dissolved, 
 and the man pitied as insane or despised as 
 fanatical. So lightly is devotional solitude 
 esteemed. 
 
 Tell scientific men that the first astronomer 
 of the age is alone in the chief observatory in 
 the world, with the most powerful telescopes 
 ever lifted to the Heavens, and all kindred 
 minds will at once kindle in prospect of his 
 discoveries. The silence and solitude of his 
 post are held sublime, and felt to be in high 
 harmony with the silent sweep of the celestial 
 orbs and the music of the spheres. But tell his 
 admirers that he often pauses, amidst the roll 
 and radiance of the heavenly bodies, to pray ; 
 and although one of their own poets has said 
 that 
 
 An undevout astronomer is mad, 
 
 his devotion will be esteemed madness or 
 weakness. 
 
 The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 
 
 Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to 
 heaven, 
 
 and is almost adored ; but the penitent's eyes, 
 swimming in tears of contrition and hardly 
 daring to look up, even when alone before 
 God, are despised by the generality of man- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 581 
 
 kind. But " a broken and a contrite heart, O 
 God, thou wilt not despise." The astronomer 
 tracing the stars in their courses, and tracking 
 the devious comet in its flight, is held to be a 
 star of the first magnitude in the mental sys- 
 tem — strong in understanding, and lofty in 
 genius. But the Christian, retired to pray, 
 is held to be almost mean-spirited. And yet 
 — he lifts his adoring eyes to a Heaven, of 
 which the incarnate "brightness of the Father's 
 glory" is both "the morning star " and "the 
 sun of righteousness ;" and in his light sees 
 the landscape of eternity illuminated — the 
 valley of the shadow of death irradiated with 
 the Divine presence, and all the intermediate 
 track of time basking under the eye of Provi- 
 dence. Often, when alone praying, he finds 
 his closet the very gate of Heaven, and feels 
 as if "open vision " would follow his intimate 
 communion with God and the Lamb. What- 
 ever, therefore, may be thought or said, by 
 taste, science, or ignorance, of going apart 
 and being alone to pray, devotional solitude 
 is often exhilarating and always soothing. 
 
 It is commended by the high example and 
 commanded by the high authority of the 
 Saviour — 
 
 Cold mountains and the midnight air 
 Witnessed the fervour of his prayer. 
 
 His example does not, of course, enforce an 
 ascent to a mountain in order to pray. He 
 went up into the mountain from necessity — not 
 from choice ; because, as the Son of Man, he 
 had not where to lay his head ; no home or 
 closet. To those who have both, his com- 
 mand is, "Enter into thy closet." And we 
 learn from his example that inconvenience 
 must not prevent secret prayer. Here was the 
 Saviour upon a lonely mountain — exposed to 
 the cold winds and dews of night : the ground 
 damp beneath his knees, and the air chill 
 around him ; and yet he prayed — prayed long : 
 the morning star often finding him where the 
 evening star had left him. "We have not such 
 inconveniences to surmount. What is a cold 
 room in winter, or a close room in summer, 
 compared to the hoary side of a bleak and 
 dreary mountain at midnight ? And yet, how 
 often are cold and heat allowed to hinder or 
 hurry over secret prayer? Let sloth look to 
 the Saviour's retirement, and blush. God 
 might have enjoined us to ascend such a moun- 
 tain whenever we prayed ; and if he had com- 
 manded it, the duty would have been indis- 
 pensable ; but in tender accommodation to our 
 comfort, he has granted us, what he withheld 
 
 from his incarnate son — a house ; and says, 
 "Enter into thy closet." 
 
 The Saviour's example proves that the 
 fatigue of labour must not prevent secret 
 prayer. He had spent the day, until the even- 
 ing, in active exertion amongst the multitude 
 that followed him into the wilderness. During 
 all the time he had been under a burning 
 sun in a sandy desert, and had afterwards 
 to ascend the mountain alone. And there 
 neither shelter nor refreshment awaited him ; 
 but although thus exhausted and exposed, he 
 closed the labours of the day by prayer. Now, 
 his example ought to have all the authority of 
 a law — all the influence of a charm upon his 
 disciples. We do not come home more fa- 
 tigued than he was. He had no house — no do- 
 mestic comforts —neither shelter nor pillow for 
 his sacred head ; and yet he went apart to 
 pray. He will remind the prayerless of this 
 fact. 
 
 The Saviour's example proves that even 
 deeds of charity and great exertions for the 
 poor afflicted must not set aside secret prayer. 
 He closed a day of mighty effort in behalf of 
 suffering humanity by going apart to pray. 
 And surely if serving others must not prevent 
 devotional solitude, serving ourselves must not 
 be allowed to do so : if acts of charity will not 
 excuse neglect, the labours of industry cannot . 
 If giving money to the poor be no plea for the 
 omission of prayer, making money is not a 
 valid one. Accordingly, while ' ' diligence 
 in business " is expressly enjoined, "fervency 
 of spirit " in prayer rests upon the same high 
 and unalterable authority. Pray, or perish, 
 is the alternative set before us in the Gospel. 
 
 The Saviour's example proves that no 
 strength of character or of grace may render 
 devotional solitude unnecessary. He who had 
 the spirit without measure — who knew no sin 
 — who was full of grace, and in whom Satan 
 could find nothing to work upon — he went 
 apart to pray. He held neither the fulness of 
 his godhead, nor the perfection of his humanity, 
 as a reason for restraining prayer. And surely 
 nothing that we have "attained" can render 
 us independent of secret devotion ? " The ser- 
 vant is not greater than his Lord." If, there- 
 fore, Satan, or sloth, or pride, say, we may do 
 with less prayer than at first, let us hear the 
 insinuation, as we should the assertion, that 
 we can do with less glorying in the Cross than 
 we began with. 
 
 But here an important question forces itself 
 upon the mind. Why did the Saviour pray ? 
 
582 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 He did pray often and fervently ; and the fact 
 has been perverted into an argument against 
 his proper divinity. But remember what he 
 prayed for : it was chiefly for others ; and, 
 when it was for himself, never for ability to 
 save — never for virtue to give efficacy to his 
 atonement — never for strength to redeem. 
 No — all his petitions, in his own behalf, were 
 for the helps required by his human nature. 
 He could, indeed, have drawn on the resources 
 of his own personal godhead ; but it was ne- 
 cessary that the co-operation of the Father in 
 the work of redemption should appear ; and 
 therefore all the dependance of his humanity 
 was thrown on the Father's goodwill ; and 
 thus prayer was rendered both necessary and 
 proper. Besides, secret devotion is more than 
 prayer : it is also communion with God. Now, 
 what is more natural, and consistent, and beco- 
 ming than that the Son should retire to com- 
 mune with the Father ? For, having dwelt in 
 his bosom from eternity, it might be expected 
 that he would maintain the original intimacy, 
 both for its own sake, and that it might be 
 known that neither distance nor incarnation 
 had interrupted their fellowship. Instead, 
 therefore, of derogating from his divinity, such 
 prayer harmonizes with the highest ideas of 
 godhead — being, in fact, a specimen of devout 
 communion. Besides, in praying, as in all 
 practical duty, the Saviour was acting as the 
 example of his followers. He had taught his 
 disciples to pray ; and he illustrated and en- 
 forced the lesson by his own devotional habits ; 
 and if it was worthy of his divinity to inculcate 
 devotion, it could not be unworthy of him to 
 exemplify it. " When he putteth forth his 
 own sheep, he goeth before them :" he sent 
 them into secret to pray, and he himself went 
 apart to pray. 
 
 The Saviour consulted our interests, as well 
 as his Father's glory, when he enjoined devo- 
 tional solitude upon his disciples. For, in the 
 best frame of mind, a Christian requires to be 
 alone at times. The privacy of the domestic 
 altar is not sufficiently "apart," when the 
 heart is full and overflowing with adoring and 
 melting views of sovereign and free grace. 
 The fuU-souled exclamation, " Why me. Lord !" 
 with its tones and tears, is fit only for the ear 
 of God. And when the witness of the spirit 
 is strong, and the seal of the spirit bright ; 
 when the soul is borne away amongst **the 
 deep things of God," and the dazzling scenes 
 of eternity — we must be alone, or lose one half 
 of the enjoyment. Even a family, however 
 
 endeared, would be a check, at these sacred 
 moments, on the full flow of devotional feeling, 
 and on the flush of a hope full of immortality. 
 Solitude is the real element of these raptures. 
 But then — the Christian is not alone : the 
 mount of communion is covered with "horses 
 of fire, and chariots of fire." He is alone — 
 "with an innumerable company of angels, and 
 with the spirits of just men made perfect." 
 
 Solitude is also peculiarly suitable to the 
 worst frames of a Christian's mind. The tones 
 and terms in which backsliding, or indeed any 
 sin, can be deplored in the domestic or social 
 circle, are both too general and tame for the 
 emotions of a contrite spirit. David was 
 alone, when he said, ' ' I have gone astray like 
 a lost sheep." Asaph was alone, when he 
 said, * ' I was as a beast before thee. " Ephraim 
 was alone, when he smote upon his thigh, and 
 acknowledged that he had been as " a bullock 
 unaccustomed to the yoke." And our secret 
 sorrows and shame are not fit even for the ear 
 of our families. They might be misunderstood 
 and misinterpreted by others : whereas, he 
 who heareth in secret can heal in secret. 
 And what a sanctuary is solitude for the ex- 
 pression of all those feelings which, even at 
 home, can only be breathed in general and 
 gentle terms ! It will not do to utter before 
 our families all our fears of death, nor all our 
 anxieties for them. It will not do to unburden 
 and unbosom all the heart to anyone but God. 
 God seeth and heareth in secret. What a 
 mercy ! What a wise and kind arrangement 1 
 " It is good for me to draw nigh unto God.'* 
 — Evanzelist. 
 
 SOLITUDE, Dread of, Banished. 
 
 In our early years, or more mature age, the 
 power of employing ourselves in the retirement 
 of our closet with any useful or agreeable 
 occupation banishes the dread of solitude. 
 When soured by disappointment, we must 
 endeavour to pursue some fixed and pleasing 
 course of study. We never read without 
 profit, if, with the pen or pencil in our hand,, 
 we mark such ideas as strike by their novelty,, 
 or correct those we ah-eady possess. Reading 
 soon becomes fatiguing, unless undertaken with 
 an eye to our own advantage, or that of others, 
 and when it does not enrich the mind with new 
 ideas. But this habit is easily acquired by 
 exercise, and then books aff"ord the surest re- 
 lief, in the most melancholy moments. Pain- 
 ful and disagreeable ideas vanish from the 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 583 
 
 mind that can fix its attention upon any sub- 
 ject. The sight of a noble and interesting 
 object, the study of a useful science, the varied 
 pictures of the different revolutions exhibited 
 in the history of mankind, the improvements 
 in any art, are capable of arresting the atten- 
 tion, and charming every care ; and it is thus 
 that man becomes sociable with himself ; it is 
 thus that he finds his best friend within his own 
 bosom. — Zimmermann. 
 
 SOLITUDE, Holy. 
 
 Happy is the man who betimes acquires a 
 relish for holy solitude, and accustoms himself 
 to bear the yoke of Christian discipline in his 
 youth : who can sit alone and keep silence, 
 and seek wisdom diligently where she may be 
 found, in the scriptures of truth and in the 
 writings of the saints. From these flowers of 
 paradise, he extracts the honey of knowledge 
 and divine love, and therewith fills every cell 
 of his understanding and affections. The 
 winter of affliction, disease, and old age will 
 not surprise him in an unprovided state. Pre- 
 cious beyond rubies are the hours of youth and 
 health ; O let none of them pass unprofitably 
 away ! " — Bishop Harm. 
 
 Be carefiil to preserve upon your minds a 
 serious regard and reverence to things sacred ; 
 that is, reflect in solitude on every thing that 
 bear a relation to God and His religion, par- 
 ticularly His word. His name. His day. His 
 house, and ordinances, and His ministers. 
 For these are visible memorials of God upon 
 earth ; and as they are the standing means of 
 communing with God, a serious regard to them 
 is a necessary means of keeping the mind up 
 in habitual reverence of God. — Bp. Gibson. 
 
 SOLITUDE, 
 Monastic, Engendereth Sin. 
 More and greater sins are committed when 
 men are alone than when they keep them- 
 selves in fellowship. When Eve, in Paradise, 
 walked alone, then came the evil one and de- 
 ceived her. Whoever is amongst men, and 
 in honest company, is ashamed to sin ; or, at 
 least, he has no place or opportunity to do so. 
 When King David was alone and idle, and 
 went not out into the wars, he fell into 
 adultery and murder ; and I have myself 
 
 found that I have never fallen into more sin 
 than when I was alone. Solitariness invite th 
 to melancholy ; and a person alone hath often 
 some heavy and evil thoughts ; so hath he 
 strange thoughts, and construeth everything 
 in the worst sense. Melancholy is an instru- 
 ment of the devil, by which he accomplishes 
 his wicked purposes. The deeper a person is 
 plunged into that state, the more power the 
 devil hath over him. To live in an open, 
 public state, is the safest. Openly, and 
 amongst other persons, a man must live civilly 
 and honestly ; must appear to fear God, and 
 do his duty towards men. — Luther, 
 
 SOLITUDE, 
 
 Necessary to Mature Thought. 
 
 Let the scholar know that the world is his, 
 but he must possess it by putting himself into 
 harmony with the constitution of things. He 
 must be a solitary, laborious, modest, and 
 charitable soul. He must embrace solitude as 
 a bride. He must have his glees and his glooms 
 alone. His own estimate must be measure 
 enough, his own praise reward enough for him. 
 And why must the student be solitary and 
 silent ? That he may become acquainted with 
 his thoughts. If he pines in a lonely place, 
 hankering for the crowd — for display, he is not 
 in the lonely place ; his heart is in the market ; 
 he does not see ; he does not hear ; he does not 
 think. But go cherish your soul ; expel com- 
 panions ; set your habits to a life of solitude ; 
 then will the faculties rise fair and full within, 
 like forest trees and field-flowers ; you will 
 have results which, when you meet your fellow- 
 men, you can communicate, and they will 
 gladly receive. 
 
 Do not go into solitude only that you may 
 presently come into public. Such solitude 
 denies itself : is public and stale. The public 
 can get public experience, but they wish the 
 scholar to replace to them those private, sincere, 
 divine experiences, of which they have been 
 defrauded by dwelling in the street. It is the 
 noble, manlike, just thought, which is the 
 superiority demanded of you, and not crowds 
 but solitude confers this elevation. See, dis- 
 tinctly, that it is not insulation of place, but 
 independence of spirit that is essential, and it 
 is only as the garden, the cottage, the pasture, 
 and the rock are a sort of mechanical aids to 
 this that they are of value. Think alone, and 
 all places are friendly and sacred. The poets 
 
584 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 who have lived in cities have been hermits still. 
 Inspiration makes solitude anywhere. Pindar, 
 Raphael, Angelo, Dryden, De Stael dwell in 
 crowds, it may be, but the instant thought 
 comes, the crowd grows dim to their eye ; their 
 eye fixes on the horizon — on vacant space ; 
 they forget the bystanders ; they spurn personal 
 relations ; they deal with abstractions, with 
 verities, with ideas. They are alone with the 
 mind. Of course, I would not have any super- 
 stition about solitude. Let the youth study 
 the uses of solitude and pf society. Let him 
 use both, not serve either. The reason why an 
 ingenious soul shuns society, is to the end of 
 finding society. It repudiates the false out of 
 love of the true. You can very soon learn all 
 that society can teach you for one while. Its fool- 
 ish routine, an indefinite multiplication of balls, 
 concerts, rides, theatres, can teach you no more 
 than a few can. Then accept the hint of shame, 
 of spiritual emptiness and waste, which true 
 nature gives you, and retire and hide ; lock the 
 door, shut the shutters ; then welcome falls 
 the imprisoning rain — dear hermitage of nature. 
 Re-collect the spirits. Have solitary prayer 
 and praise. Digest and correct the past expe- 
 rience. Blend it with the new and divine life, 
 and grow with God.— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
 
 SOLITUDE, On. 
 
 All hail ! ye venerable shades, 
 Ye gloomy groves, romantic glades. 
 
 To your retreats I fly ; 
 Remote from Pride's disdainful sneer, 
 And Folly's rude, unmeaning leer. 
 
 And Slander's whisper'd lie. 
 Wild nymphs ! amid the woody dell. 
 Or in the dripping caves that dwell, 
 Propitious guide my wandering feet, 
 To Solitude's serene retreat. 
 O ! have ye seen the meek-ey'd maid, 
 
 Her loose locks waving to the wind, 
 Like a young shepherdess array'd, 
 
 Amid the mossy cave reclin'd. 
 Where the fragrant woodbine blows. 
 And a limpid fountain flows 
 
 Murmuring thro' the vale, 
 While far amid the deepening grove, 
 Lorn Philomel attunes her love. 
 In wild notes warbling to th' according gale? 
 There musing Melancholy reigns. 
 And as she breathes her solemn strains, 
 The pensive thoughts in soft succession rise, 
 Heaves the warm heart, and swim the tearful 
 
 eyes. 
 
 O Solitude ! conduct my feet 
 To contemplation's calm retreat. 
 The holy hermit loves to dwell 
 Far from the daisy-sprinkled dell, 
 Sequester'd on the mountain hoar, 
 Where forests wave and torrents roar, 
 Incumbent o'er the rocky steep, 
 He views afar the boundless deep ; 
 And when the waves of ocean roll. 
 Sublime delight suspends his soul. 
 Tutor'd by him th' unfetter'd mind 
 Leaves narrow prejudice behind ; 
 Soars high above the midnight glooms 
 Where fearful superstition roams ; 
 Th' enthusiast's fancied fire contemns ; 
 Scorns the keen zealot's mystic dreams ; 
 Beyond the shrieks and shades of night. 
 Guides unappall'd her eagle flight, 
 To meet religion's genuine ray ; 
 While. . .'s spirit leads the way. 
 
 But soon as genial suns and showers 
 Revive the many-tinctur'd flowers, 
 The vale invites me to explore 
 Of herbs and flowers the curious lore : 
 How the mild fostering juices rise 
 Beneath the smiles of vernal skies. 
 To swell the shooting stem, to bind 
 Nervous and firm the guardian rind. 
 To spread the leaves, expand the bloom. 
 And breathe a gale of sweet perfume ; 
 And how the cavern'd earth contains 
 The treasures of descending rains. 
 Of snows and vapours dank that flow 
 In torrents from th' aerial brow 
 Of mountains, or in rills that steal 
 Meandering thro' the primros'd vale. 
 
 Nor seldom may I hear the song 
 Caroll'd by many a tuneful tongue 
 Of bards who charm'd Sicilian meads. 
 Warbling the notes of pastoral reeds ; 
 Pan with the Satyrs danc'd around. 
 And Oreads listen'd to the sound. 
 Now, sweetly-dittied pipe, be mute : 
 More elevated strains salute 
 My raptur'd fancy. Haste ! prepare 
 The neighing steed, the burnish'd car ; 
 By angry Xanthus' sounding shores 
 The direful din of battle roars j 
 Pelides arms ! ye sons of Troy, 
 Fly from his flaming vengeance, fly ! 
 The maids of Ilion weep, and tear 
 Their heaving breasts, their flowing hair ; 
 Ah ! lovely maids, in vain your tears. 
 Nor young nor brave his fury spares. 
 
 Thus far from vanity and state. 
 Let me enjoy the lone retreat. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 58s 
 
 Mean hopes ! and wishes unrefin'd, 
 Skill'd to seduce th 'ignoble mind ; 
 To climb ambition's faithless way, 
 And shine, the pageant of a day ; 
 Or headlong, from the giddy height, 
 Whirl'd infamous, t' abhor the light, 
 And seek oblivion's gloom, by fear 
 Pursu'd, the victim of despair ; 
 Go, mingle with the cares that crowd 
 The garter'd peer's superb abode ; 
 Go, flutter round the rooms of state ; 
 Counsel the rich, delude the great ; 
 Nor tempt the shepherd swain who loves 
 The echoing green-hill and the groves. 
 Scots Magazine. 
 
 Hail, old patrician trees, so great and good ! 
 Hail, ye plebeian underwood ! 
 
 Where the poetic birds rejoice, 
 And for their quiet nests and plenteous food 
 
 Pay with their grateful voice. 
 
 Hail, the poor Muse's richest manor-seat ; 
 Ye country houses and retreat, 
 
 Which all the happy gods so love, 
 That for you oft they quit their bright and great 
 
 Metropolis above. 
 
 Here Nature does a house for me erect, 
 Nature ! the wisest architect. 
 
 Who those fond artists does despise 
 That can the fair and living trees neglect, 
 
 Yet the dead timber prize. 
 
 Here let me, careless and unthoughtful lying. 
 Hear the soft winds above me flying 
 
 With all their wanton boughs dispute, 
 And the more tuneful birds to both replying 
 
 Nor be myself, too, mute. 
 
 A silver stream shall roll his waters near, 
 Gilt with the sunbeams here and there. 
 
 On whose enamelled banks I'll walk, 
 And see how prettily they smile. 
 
 And hear how prettily they talk. 
 
 Ah ! wretched, and too solitary he 
 Who loves not his own company ! 
 
 He'll feel the weight oft many a day, 
 Unless he call in sin or vanity 
 
 To help to bear't away. Cowley. 
 
 SONG of the Misanthrope. 
 What well-advised ear regards 
 
 What earth can say ? 
 Thy words are gold, but thy rewards 
 
 Are painted clay : 
 Thy cunning can but pack the cards, 
 
 Thou can'st not play : 
 
 Thy game's at weakest, still thou vy'st ; 
 
 If seen ; and thou revy'd, denys't: 
 
 Thou art not what thou seem'st ; false world, 
 
 thou ly'st. 
 Thy tinsel bosom seems a mint 
 
 Of new-coin'd treasure ; 
 A paradise that has no stint. 
 
 No change, no measure : 
 A painted cask, but nothing in't, 
 
 Nor wealth, nor pleasure : 
 Vain earth, that falsely thus comply'st 
 With man — vain man, that thou rely'st 
 On earth : vain man, thou doat'st : vain earth, 
 
 thou ly'st. 
 What mean dull souls in this high measure 
 
 To haberdash 
 In earth's base wares, whose greatest treasure 
 
 Is dross and trash ; 
 The height of whose enchanting pleasure 
 
 Is but a flash ? 
 Are these the goods that thou supply'st 
 Us mortals with ? Are these the high'st ? 
 Can these bring cordial peace? False world, 
 thou ly'st. Quarks. 
 
 SONG, Reqiiisites of. 
 
 The three requisites of song : Thought that 
 shows genius, fancy directed by art, and truth. 
 
 The three embellishments of song : Fine 
 invention, happy subject, and a masterly har- 
 monious composition. 
 
 The three excellences of song : Simplicity of 
 language, simplicity of subject, and simplicity 
 of invention. 
 
 The three necessaries of song : Dignified in- 
 tention, thought, and matter. 
 
 The three commendables of song : Praise 
 without flattery, pleasantry without obscenity, 
 and satire without abuse. 
 
 The three diversities of song : Diversity of 
 thought, language, and versification. 
 
 The three beauties of song : Attraction, 
 eloquence, and boldness. 
 
 The three sweets of song : Facility of com- 
 prehension, sprightliness of language, and 
 .sweetly soothing thoughts. 
 
 The three agreements that ought to be in 
 song : Between digression and uniformity, 
 between elevated and common language, and 
 between truth and the marvellous. 
 
 The three things that improve song : The 
 studying it thoroughly, the examining of it 
 frequently, and exerting it to the utmost. 
 
 The three appropriates of song : Its quantity, 
 its purpose, and its occasion. 
 
586 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 The three properties of song : Correct fancy, 
 correct order, and correct metre. 
 
 The three honours of song : The verity of the 
 thing treated of, the excellency of it, and the 
 ingenuity of the manner in which it is managed. 
 
 The three attractions of song : Novelty, com- 
 prehension, and correct poetry. 
 
 The three things which ought to pervade 
 song : Perfect learning, perfect vigour, and per- 
 fect nature. 
 
 The three intentions of song: To improve 
 the understanding, to improve the heart, and 
 to soothe the mind. 
 
 The three materials of song : Language, in- 
 vention, and art. — Catherall. 
 
 SON of God. 
 
 Vitiated hearts will not change themselves ; 
 not easily, not frequently, not naturally, per- 
 haps not possibly. Yet '* without holiness no 
 man shall see God. " How, then, are the unholy 
 to become holy ? Holiness is a thing of the 
 heart and soul. It is not a few forced, con- 
 strained actions, though good as actions, which 
 constitute holiness. It must reside within us ; 
 it is a disposition of soul. To acquire, there- 
 fore, that which is not yet acquired, to change 
 that which is not yet changed, to go to the 
 root of the malady, to cleanse and purify the 
 inside of the cup, the foulness of our mind, — 
 is a work of the Spirit of God within us. . . . 
 God is propitious. He has promised it to 
 prayer : to prayer really and truly such, to 
 prayer, namely, issuing from the heart and 
 soul ; for no other is ever meant. . . . And 
 following the suggestions of the Spirit, ye shall 
 live : for "as many as are led by the Spirit of 
 God," as many as yield themselves to its guid- 
 ance and protection, "they are the sons of 
 
 SORROW. 
 
 His wanderings and his musings, hopes, and 
 
 fears, 
 His keen-felt pleasures and his heart-wrung 
 
 tears, 
 Are past ; — the grave closed on him ere those 
 
 days 
 Had come, when on the scalp the snow-wreath 
 
 plays. 
 He perish'd ere his prime ; but they who know 
 What 'tis to battle with a world of woe. 
 
 From youth to elder manhood, feel too well 
 That grief at last within the deepest cell 
 Of the poor heart, will bring decay, and shake 
 So fierce the soul, that care like age will make 
 ** The grasshopper a burden." Slowly came 
 The mortal stroke, but to the end the flame 
 Of poesy burnt on. With feeble hand 
 He touch'd his harp, but not at his command 
 Came now the ancient music. Faintly fell 
 On his pained ear the strains he lov'd so well, 
 And then his heart was broken ! 
 
 Carrington. 
 
 SORROW, a Languid Flower. 
 
 When the lily, languid flower 
 Crush'd by heavy ploughshare lies, 
 
 Seemeth bud nor leaf have power 
 Ever more from Earth to rise ; 
 
 But let Heav'n bathe anew 
 
 The prostrate flower with morning dew, 
 
 Lo ! the bent stalk up again 
 
 Riseth gradual from the plain ; 
 
 And the splendour, snowy-white, 
 
 Steepeth all her petals bright. 
 
 Metastasio. 
 
 SORROW, Child of. 
 
 King, since I could walk a yard or twain. 
 Or utter anything but cries of pain. 
 
 Death was before me ; yea, on the first morn 
 That I remember aught, among the corn 
 
 1 wandered with my nurse ; behind us lay 
 The walls of Vannes, white in the summer day. 
 The reapers whistled, the brown maidens sung. 
 As on the wain the topmost sheaf they iiung. 
 The swallow wheeled above high up in air. 
 And 'midst the labour all was sweet and fair ; 
 When on the winding road between the fields 
 I saw a glittering line of spears and shields. 
 And pleased therewith called out to some one by 
 E'en as I could : he scarce for fear could cry 
 
 *' The French ! the French !" and turned and 
 
 ran his best 
 Toward the town gates, and we ran with the 
 
 me, 
 I wailing loud, who knew not why at all. 
 But ere we reached the gates my nurse did fall, 
 I with her, and I wondered much that she, 
 Just as she fell, should still lie quietly ; 
 Nor did the coloured feathers that I found 
 Stuckin her side, as frightened I crawled round, 
 Tell me the tale ; tho' I was sore afeard 
 At all the cries and wailing that I heard. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 587 
 
 I say, my Lord, that arrow-flight now seems 
 The first thing rising clear from feeble dreams. 
 And that was death : and the next thing was 
 
 death, 
 For thro' our house all spoke with 'bated breath 
 And wore black clothes ! withal they came to 
 
 me, 
 A little child, and did off hastily 
 My shoon and hosen, and with that I heard 
 The sound of doleful singing, and afeard 
 Forebore to question, when I saw the feet 
 Of all were bare, like mine, as toward the street 
 We passed, and joined a crowd in such-like 
 
 guise. 
 Who thro' the town sang woeful litanies, 
 Pressing the stones with feet unused and soft, 
 And bearing images of saints aloft, 
 In hope 'gainst hope to save us from the rage 
 Of that fell pest that as an unseen cage 
 Hemmed France about, and me, and such as 
 
 me. 
 They made partakers of their misery. 
 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 SORROW, Rejoicing in. 
 
 As Solomon says, ** In the midst of laughter 
 the heart is sorrowful," so in the midst of sorrow 
 here the heart may rejoice : for while it mourns, 
 it reads that those that mourn shall be com- 
 forted ; and so while the penitent weeps with 
 one eye, he views his deliverance with the 
 other. But then for the external expressions 
 and vent of sorrow, we know that there is a 
 certain pleasure in weeping ; it is the discharge 
 of a big and swelling grief, of a full and 
 strangling discontent ; and therefore he that 
 never had such a burthen upon his heart as to 
 give him opportunity thus to ease it has one 
 pleasure in this world yet to come. — South. 
 
 SORROW, Song of. 
 
 Sing me a lay, — not of knightly feats, 
 
 Of honour's laurels, or pleasure's sweets ; 
 
 Not of the brightness in beauty's eye, 
 
 Not of the splendours of royalty, 
 
 But of sorrow, and suff'ring, and death, let it 
 
 tell— 
 Of the owlet's shriek, and the passing bell, 
 Of joys that have been, and have ceas'd to be ; — 
 That is the lay — the lay for me. 
 
 'Twine me a wreath — but not of the vine, 
 Of primrose, or myrtle, or eglantine ; 
 
 Let not the fragrant rose breathe there, 
 Or the slender lily her white bosom bare, 
 But twine it of poppies so dark and red. 
 And cypress, the garland that honours the 
 
 dead; 
 And ivy, and nightshade, and rosemary ; — 
 That is the wreath — the wreath for me. 
 
 Bring me a robe — not such as is worn 
 
 On the festal eve or the bridal morn. 
 
 Yet such as the great and the mighty must 
 
 wear ; 
 Such as wraps the limbs of the brave and the 
 
 fair. 
 Such as Sorrow puts on, and she ceases to weep ; 
 Such as Pain wraps round him, and sinks to 
 
 sleep : 
 The winding-sheet my garment shall be ;• 
 That is the robe — the robe for me. 
 
 Oh ! for a rest — not on beauty's breast, 
 Not on the pillow by young Hope prest. 
 Not 'neath the canopy Pomp has spread, 
 Not in the tent where shrouds Valour his head 
 Where grief gnaws not the heart, tho' the worm 
 
 may feed there. 
 Where the sod weighs it down, but not sorrow 
 
 or care : 
 The grave, the grave, the home of the free ; — 
 That is the rest — the rest for me. 
 
 Henry Neele. 
 
 SORROW, Unavailing. 
 
 Fruitless is sorrow for having done amiss, if 
 it issue not in a resolution to do so no more. 
 And in forming this resolution no time is to 
 be lost. He who doth not resolve to-day will 
 be much less disposed to resolve to-morrow. 
 Procrastination in many cases is dangerous : 
 in this, it is often fatal. — Bishop Home. 
 
 SORROW, Useless. 
 Come not, when I am dead. 
 
 To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave. 
 To trample round my fallen head, 
 
 And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not 
 save. 
 There let the wind sweep and the plover cry ; 
 But thou, go by. 
 
 Child, if it were thine error or thy crime 
 I care no longer, being all unblest ; 
 
 Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time, 
 And I desire to rest. 
 
 Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie : 
 Go by, go by. Tennyson. 
 
588 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 SORROWS of Poor Men. 
 There is something most affecting in the 
 natural sorrows of poor men, as, after a few 
 days' wrestling with affliction, they appear 
 again at their usual work, melancholy, but not 
 miserable. The rich too often look upon life, 
 more or less, as a scene of enjoyment, and 
 amusement, and delight. Some are apt to get 
 selfish in their sensibilities. They cherish and 
 encourage habits of thought and feeling that 
 are most adverse to obedience and resignation 
 to the decrees of the Almighty, when these 
 decrees dash in pieces small the idols o' their 
 earthly worship. • • There's no thoughtless 
 clamour in kintra houses, when the cloud o' 
 God's judgment passes over them, and orders 
 are given for a grave to be dug in the kirk- 
 yard. All the house is hushed and qniet — 
 just as if the patient were still sick, and no 
 gone away — the father, and perhaps, the 
 mother, the brothers, and the sisters are all 
 ganging about their ordinary business, with 
 grave faces, no doubt, and some of them now 
 and then dashing the drops from their eyes ; 
 but, after the first black day, little audible 
 weeping, and no indecent and impious outcries. 
 And so people think how callous, how 
 insensible are the poor ! that nature has kindly 
 denied to them those fine feelings that belong 
 to cultivated life ! But if they heard the 
 prayer o' the auld man at night, when the sur- 
 viving famfly were on their knees around the 
 wall, and his poor wife next him in the holy 
 circle, they would ken better, and confess that 
 there is something as sublime, as it is sincere 
 and simple, in the resignation and piety of 
 those humble Christians, whose doom it is to 
 live by the sweat of their brow, and who are 
 taught, almost from the cradle to their grave, 
 to feel every hour they breathe that all they 
 enjoy and all they suffer is dropt down from 
 the hand of God, almost as visibly as the dew, 
 or the hail ; and hence their faith in things 
 unseen and eternal is firm as their belief in 
 things seen and temporal, and that they all 
 feel when letting down the coffin into the 
 grave. — Professor Wilson. 
 
 SOT, Character of a. 
 A SOT has found out a way to renew, not 
 only his youth, but his childhood, by being 
 stewed, like iEson, in liquor ; much better 
 than the virtuoso's way of making old dogs 
 
 young again : for he is a child again at second 
 hand, never the worse for the wearing, but as 
 purely fresh, simple, and weak as he was at 
 first. He has stupified his senses by living in 
 a moist climate, . . . He measures his time 
 by glasses of wine, as the ancients did by water- 
 glasses ; he is like a statue placed in a moist 
 air ; all the lineaments of humanity are moul- 
 dered away, and there is nothing left of him 
 but the rude lump of the shape of a man, and 
 no one part entire. He has drowned himself 
 in a butt of wine, as the Duk'C of Clarence was 
 served by his brother. He has swallowed his 
 humanity, and drunk himself into a beast. He 
 is like a spring-tide : when he is drunk to his 
 high-water mark, he smells and looks big, runs 
 against the stream, and overflows everything 
 that stands in his way ; but when the drink 
 within him is at ebb he shrinks within his 
 banks, and falls so low and shallow that cattle 
 may pass over him. — Samuel Butler. 
 
 SOUL. 
 
 Who ever saw his own soul ? No man. Yet, 
 what is there more present, or what to each 
 man nearer, than his own soul? .Spiritual 
 things are not to be seen, but with the eye of 
 the Spirit. Therefore he that in earth will 
 see the Godhead of Christ, let him open the 
 eyes, not of his body, but of his mind, but of 
 his faith, and he shall see Him present, whom 
 eye hath not seen ; he shall see Him present, 
 and in the midst of them, wheresoever two or 
 three be gathered together in His name ; he 
 shall see Him present with us, even unto the 
 end of the world. What said I ? Shall he 
 see Christ present? Yea, he shall both see 
 and feel Him, dwelling within him in such 
 sort as he doth his own proper soul. For 
 Christ dwelleth and abideth in the mind and 
 heart of him who fasteneth all his trust in Him. 
 — Edward VI. 
 
 SOUL, a Deathless Principle. 
 Deathless principle, arise ! 
 Soar, thou native of the skies ! 
 Pearl of price, by Jesus bought, 
 To his glorious likeness wrought, 
 Go, to shine before his throne — 
 Deck his mediatorial crown ! 
 Go, his triumphs to adorn — 
 Made for God, to God return ! 
 
 Lo, He beckons from on high ! 
 Fearless to his presence fly — 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 589 
 
 Thine the merit of his blood, 
 Thine the righteousness of God ! 
 Angels, joyful to attend. 
 Hovering, round thy pillow bend ; 
 Wait to catch the signal given, 
 And escort thee quick to heaven ! 
 
 Is thy earthly house distrest, 
 Willing to retain its guest ? 
 'Tis not thou, but it, must die — 
 Fly, celestial tenant, fly, 
 Burst thy shackles — drop thy clay — 
 Sweetly breathe thyself away — 
 Singing, to thy crown remove — 
 Swift of wing, and fired with love ! 
 
 Shudder not to pass the stream, 
 Venture all thy care on Him ; 
 Him — whose dying love and power 
 Still'd its tossing, hush'd its roar : 
 Safe is the expanded wave, 
 Gentle as a summer's eve ; 
 Not one object of his care 
 Ever suffer'd shipwreck there ! 
 
 See the haven full in view ! 
 
 Love divine shall bear thee through : 
 
 Trust to that propitious gale, 
 
 Weigh thy anchor, spread thy sail I 
 
 Saints in glory perfect made 
 
 Wait thy passage through the shade : 
 
 Ardent for thy coming o'er. 
 
 See, they throng the blissful shore ! 
 
 Mount, their transports to improve — 
 Join the longing choir above — 
 Swiftly to their wish be given — 
 Kindle higher joy in heaven ! 
 Such the prospects that arise 
 To the dying Christian's eyes ! 
 Such the glorious vista Faith 
 Opens through the shades of death ! 
 
 A. Top lady. 
 
 SOUL and Body, 
 The Connection Between. 
 
 Scarcely can I conceive even to myself this 
 union between my body and my soul. How 
 is it that I bear upon me the stamp of the 
 Divinity, and that at the same time I grovel in 
 the dust? Is my body in health, it wars against 
 me. Is it sick, I languish with it in sympathy. 
 It is at once a companion that I love and an 
 enemy that I dread. It is a prison, that 
 frightens me, a partner with whom I dwell. 
 If I weaken it by excess, I become incapable 
 of anything noble ; if I indulge it, or treat it 
 
 with too much consideration, it revolts, and 
 my slave escapes me. It fastens me to the 
 earth by ties which I cannot break ; and pre- 
 vents me from taking my upward flight to 
 God, for which end alone I was created. It is 
 an enemy that I love, a treacherous friend 
 whom it is my duty to distrust. To fear and 
 yet to love ! At once what union and what 
 discord ! For what end, with what secret 
 motive, is it that man has been thus organised? 
 Is it not that God has seen it fit by this means 
 to humble our pride, which may otherwise have 
 carried us to the height of disdaining even our 
 Creator, in the thought that, being derived from 
 the same fount of being, we might be permitted 
 to regard ourselves as on terms of equality with 
 Him ? It is then to recall us incessantly to the 
 sense of our entire dependence on him that 
 God has reduced our bodies to this state of 
 frailty, which exposes it to perpetual combats ; 
 balancing our nobleness by our baseness ; 
 holding us in suspense between death and 
 immortality, according to the affection which 
 inclines us to the body or the soul : so that if 
 the excellences of our souls should inspire us 
 with pride, the imperfections inseparable from 
 our bodies may bring us back to humility. — 
 -5"/. Gregory. 
 
 SOUL, Delights in. 
 
 The soul of man is not only delighted with 
 knowledge, but if she be in a healthful and 
 natural condition she is delighted also with the 
 act of learning. But that this act should be 
 either agreeable or efficacious, it is necessary 
 that we should do it for ourselves ; what is 
 merely didactic is always wearisome, and the 
 most effectual advances are made, and our 
 progress is then most pleasurable, when, with 
 no more assistance from others than is abso- 
 lutely necessary, we master every difficulty by 
 our own resources, and associate in our recol- 
 lection the beauty of truth with the triumph of 
 successful inquiry." — Bp. Heber. 
 
 SOUL, Possessing the, in Patience. 
 
 I HAVE heard of a good man whose soul pros- 
 pered alike in temporal prosperity and adver- 
 sity. 
 
 He had an intimate friend, who used to make 
 free with him ; and, observing his prosperity, 
 one day thus addressed him : "Do not you 
 find the smiles of the world, my friend, to be a 
 
590 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 snare to you ?" He paused and said, ** I am 
 not conscious that I do ; for, though I enjoy 
 much of this world, I think I enjoy God in all 
 things." By-and-by, Providence turned ano- 
 ther way ; he lost all his prosperity and sunk 
 into indigence ; he had scarcely a competency 
 left to support him. 
 
 His old friend thus addressed him, *' Well, 
 my friend, how is it with you now? Do not 
 you find your heart dejected in these circum- 
 stances?" **I am not conscious," said he, 
 "that I do ; as before I enjoyed God in all 
 things, now I enjoy all things in God ; I find 
 God to supply all my wants, and a little with 
 his blessing, isenougli." This, my friend, is a 
 prosperous soul. A soul of this description 
 might well bear prosperity, and his friend 
 might well follow the example of John with 
 respect to Gains, and say, *' Beloved, I wish 
 above all things that thou mayest prosper, 
 and be in health, even as thy soul prospereth." 
 — A. Fuller. 
 
 SOUL, Ee-clothed in Human Form. 
 
 Sudden arose 
 
 lanthe's soul ! It stood 
 
 All beautiful in naked purity, 
 The perfect semblance of its bodily frame, 
 Instinct, with inexpressible beauty and grace, 
 
 Each stain of earthliness 
 Had passed away ; it re -assumed 
 Its native dignity, and stood 
 
 Immortal amid ruin ! Shelley. 
 
 SOULS of Men and Animals, 
 
 Difference between the. 
 
 We will endeavour to show the essential dif- 
 ference between the souls of men and the souls 
 of beasts ; but as we have no data from which 
 to reason on this subject, we must deduce our 
 conclusions from observations on the actions 
 of beasts and men. 
 
 It is evident that beasts are provided with 
 the means of receiving sensations. Quadru- 
 peds and birds have as many senses as human 
 beings ; they want neither sight, hearing, 
 smelling, taste, nor feeling. Indeed, there are 
 some beasts which possess certain senses in 
 much greater perfection than men. Many of 
 the actions of beasts resemble those that spring 
 from the free-will of men. They consult their 
 own ease, they follow their own peculiar incli- 
 nations, without any external impulse. They 
 
 possess consciousness ; and they remember 
 things which they have seen, heard, smelt, 
 tasted, felt, and done. They are also capable 
 of being taught certain things. From hence 
 we conclude, in opposition to Des Cartes, that 
 beasts are not mere machines ; but that they 
 are capable of forming some ideas, and conse- 
 quently possess a soul. But here comes our 
 question. In what respects does this soul differ 
 from the reasonable soul of man ? 
 
 Beasts have not the power of holding with 
 each other a reasonable and connected dis- 
 course. It may perhaps be replied that the 
 sounds which they utter are to them in place 
 of speech. This cannot altogether be denied. 
 On the contrary, it must be granted that by 
 their various tones they signify feelings and 
 inclinations which men express by words. But 
 on this point we must make some important 
 remarks. 
 
 The sounds uttered by beasts are not very 
 numerous ; they bear no proportion to the 
 great number of words which men are obliged 
 to employ for the purpose of a reasonable con- 
 versation. A nightingale can vary her tones 
 more than any other bird ; but it cannot be 
 perceived that she possesses more than twenty 
 variations. Among dogs we can scarcely 
 reckon ten. An ape, though in his form he 
 approaches the nearest to man of all brutes, 
 and though by his actions it is evident that he 
 has very lively ideas, yet has very few different 
 tones in his voice. Such a deficiency of the 
 power of communicating ideas is a strong 
 presumption that their souls are of a meaner 
 sort than those of men. We will, however, 
 endeavour to prove it more clearly. 
 
 There are birds which have learned to 
 whistle certain airs. In these cases they exhi- 
 bit a greater number of variations in their 
 voices than they do with only their natural 
 songs ; by which it appears that their vocal 
 organs have the power of producing more 
 tones, and of connecting them in a more com- 
 plicated manner than is required by their 
 natural songs. Yet, notwithstanding this 
 power, it has never been found that such a 
 bird has invented a new melody. They whistle 
 nothing that they have not learnt ; and, too, 
 if they are taught more than one air, it seldom 
 happens that they are skilful enough to sing 
 each air perfectly, and without confusing it 
 with the others. Hence we perceive that they 
 not only pay little attention to the sounds they 
 utter, but that they are absolutely without the 
 faculty of invention. On the other hand, a 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 591 
 
 man, even though he has never learned music, 
 is able to compose various melodies, and also 
 to sing them correctly. And though a bird 
 can scarcely learn two or three melodies, and 
 sing these but imperfectly, yet a child of three 
 or four years old can learn more melodies, and 
 sing them through without the least mistake. 
 No bird would do this though he should live 
 to be a hundred. 
 
 We will take yet one more instance of this 
 proof of the inferiority of the irrational animals. 
 There are birds whose tongues are of so perfect 
 a formation as to enable them to pronounce 
 many articulate words. For example, a parrot 
 learns many words sometimes singly, some- 
 times connected into sentences, and frequently 
 utters them as distinctly and correctly as a 
 man ; yet he cannot be made to use them 
 according to their meaning, or in any way that 
 shows he attaches rational ideas to them. It 
 is merely by chance if he ever rightly applies 
 them to any existing circumstances ; but a 
 child, when he knows but a few words, always 
 uses them to express his ideas, and very easily 
 catches their meaning. 
 
 Similar deductions respecting their inferior 
 nature may like^vise be drawn from other birds ; 
 from bees, spiders, and various other animals, 
 at whose admirable labours we are justly asto- 
 nished. The bees build the cells in which 
 they deposit their honey ^vith surprising and 
 mathematical accuracy. The spiders prepare 
 their webs as skilfully as if they measured them 
 with a compass. Birds build their nests with 
 such singular art that we can only wonder at 
 them ; and the actions of many beasts are 
 equally extraordinary. But they have not 
 therefore a reasonable soul. In all they do, 
 they are but following a natural impulse, as 
 will appear certain, if we only consider their 
 constant uniformity. The nests of birds, the 
 webs of spiders, and the cells of bees have all 
 the most exact mutual resemblance ; there is 
 not the smallest trace of any individual pecu- 
 liarity ; and they repeat their work every year 
 without inventing anything new. 
 
 But let us take only an apprentice who is 
 learning some trade or mechanical art. He 
 follows the instructions of his master, but that 
 is not all He reflects; he thinks he can 
 accomplish his work in some other way : he 
 invents something. He often works quite 
 differently from his master, and often surpasses 
 him in every respect. Who cannot here per- 
 ceive a great difference between the soul of a 
 man and of a beast ? And who is there that 
 
 will not acknowledge that the skill of the man 
 and of the beast arises from a mental consti- 
 tution essentially and evidently distinct? — 
 Reinbcck, 
 
 SOUL, The. 
 
 We cannot describe the natural history of the 
 soul, but we know that it is divine. All things 
 are known to the soul. It is not to be sur- 
 prised by any commvmication. Nothing can 
 be greater than it, let those fear and those 
 fawn who wilL The soul is in her native 
 realm ; and it is wider than space, older than 
 time, wide as hope, rich as love. Pusilanimity 
 and fear she refuses with a beautiful scorn ; 
 they are not for her who putteth on her coro- 
 nation robes, and goes out through universal 
 love to universal power. — R. IV. Emerson. 
 
 SOUND is Broken Air. 
 
 SOUND is nought but air y-broken ; 
 And every speeche that is spoken, 
 Whether loud or privy, foul or fair. 
 In his substance ne is but air ; 
 For as flame is but lighted smoke. 
 Right so is sound but air y-broke. 
 But this may be in many wise. 
 Of the which I will thee devise, 
 As sound Cometh of pipe or harp ; 
 For when a pipe is blowen sharp 
 The air is twist with violence. 
 And rent ; — lo ! this is my sentence : — 
 Eke, when that men harp-stringes smite. 
 Whether that it be much or lite, 
 Lo ! Avith the stroke the air it breaketh ; 
 And right so breaketh it when men speaketh. 
 
 Chaucer. 
 
 SOUND Spreads. 
 
 If that thou 
 Throw in a water now a stone. 
 Well wottest thou it will make anon 
 A little roundel as a circle, 
 Per'venture as broad as a covercle ; 
 And right anon thou shalt see weel 
 That circle cause another wheel. 
 And that the third, and so forth, brother, 
 Every circle causing other 
 Much broader than himselfen was ; 
 And thus, from roimdel to compass, 
 Each abouten other going 
 Y-causeth of others stirring, 
 
592 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 And multiplying evermo, 
 Till that it be so far y-go 
 That it at bothe brinkes be ; 
 
 And right thus every word, I wis, 
 That loud or privy spoken is, 
 Y-moveth first an hour about. 
 And of his moving, out of doubt. 
 Another air anon is moved. 
 As I have of the waters proved 
 That every circle causeth other ; 
 Right so of air, my lieve brother. 
 Every air another stirreth 
 More and more, and speech upbeareth. 
 Or voice, or noise, or word, or soun', 
 Aye through multiplication. 
 
 Chatuer. 
 
 SOWING to the Flesh. 
 
 The generality, alas ! are sowing to the flesh, 
 and the harvest to such will be shame and cor- 
 ruption ; but, for our parts, let us sow to the 
 Spirit liberally and largely, and have our fruit 
 unto holiness, that we may thus inherit ever- 
 lasting life. — Doddridge. 
 
 O WORLD ! how little do thy joys 
 
 Concern a soul that knows 
 Itself not made for such low toys 
 
 As thy poor hand bestows ! 
 
 Then take away thy tinsel wares. 
 
 That dazzle here our eyes : 
 Let us go up above the stars, 
 
 "Where all our treasure lies. 
 
 The way we know ; our dearest Lord 
 
 Himself has gone before : 
 And has.,£ngaged His faithful word 
 
 To open wide the door. 
 
 But, O my God, reach out Thy hand 
 
 And take us up to Thee ; 
 That we about Thy throne may stand. 
 
 And all Thy glory see. Hlckes. 
 
 SPACE, Plenitude of. 
 
 Who will dare make the assertion that the 
 space which they call too vast and useless 
 between Saturn and the fixed stars is void of 
 other bodies belonging to the universe? Must 
 it be so because we do not see them ? then I 
 suppose the four Medicean planets and the 
 companions of Saturn came into the heavens 
 when we first began to see them, and not 
 before ! and by the same rule, the other 
 
 mnumerable fixed stars did not exist before 
 men saw them. The nebula; were till lately 
 only white flakes, till with the telescope we 
 have made of them constellations of bright and 
 beautiful stars. Oh presumptuous ! rather, oh 
 rash ignorance of man !" — Galileo. 
 
 SPARING, Regulation of. 
 
 He that spareth in everything is an inexcusable 
 niggard. He that spareth in nothing is an in- 
 excusable madman. The mean is to spare in 
 what is least necessary, and to lay out more 
 liberally in what is most required in our several 
 circumstances. — Lord Halifax. 
 
 SPEAKING, a Time for, and Not. 
 Most men speak when they do not know how 
 to be silent. He is wise who knows when to 
 hold his peace. Must we then be dumb? 
 No ; for there is a time to speak and a time 
 to be silent. And if we must give an account 
 of every idle word, take care lest you have to 
 answer also for idle silence. Nevertheless, 
 tie your tongue, lest it be wanton and luxuri- 
 ant : keep it within the banks : a rapidly-flow- 
 ing river soon collects mud. — Ambrose of 
 Milan. 
 
 SPEAKING, Extemporaneous. 
 
 But the power of extempore speaking is not 
 less singular, though more frequently displayed, 
 at least in this country. A practised orator 
 will declaim in measured and in various periods 
 — will weave his discourse into one texture — 
 form parenthesis within parenthesis — excite the 
 passions, or move to laughter — take a turn in 
 his discourse from an accidental interruption, 
 making it the topic of his rhetoric for five 
 minutes to come, and pursuing in like manner 
 the new illustrations to which it gives rise — 
 mould his diction with a view to attain or to 
 shun an epigrammatic point, or an alliteration, 
 or a discord ', and all this with so much assured 
 reliance on his own powers, and with such 
 perfect ease to himself, that he shall even plan 
 the next sentence whilst he is pronouncing off- 
 hand the one he is engaged with, adapting 
 each to the other, and shall look forward to 
 the topic which is to follow and fit in the close 
 of the one he is handling to be its introducer, 
 nor shall any auditor be able to discover the 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 593 
 
 least difference between all this and the por- 
 tion of his speech which he has got by heart, 
 or tell the transition from the one to the other. 
 — Lord Brougham. 
 
 SPEAKING, The Rationale of. 
 
 There seems to be an inveterate impression 
 on the public mind that the essence of states- 
 manship consists in the faculty of pouring forth 
 an unlimited torrent of words ; that he is the 
 wisest and greatest politician who is the 
 readiest, the most prolix, and most dexterous 
 debater. Nothing can well be more erroneous 
 than this conclusion. Speaking in public is a 
 habit, and there are few men, wise or unwise, 
 who could not become ready speakers by 
 practice. It is true, that among men equally 
 trained and accustomed to the public ex- 
 pression of their opinions, a difference in point 
 of fluency may generally be observed ; some 
 possess the faculty in an extraordinary degree, 
 while others are as remarkably deficient in it ; 
 but if we examine into the qualities of mind 
 which are the causes of this difference we shall 
 probably discover nothing to establish a con- 
 nection between soundness of judgment and 
 fluency of speech. Facility of expression 
 appears to depend very much on the predomi- 
 nant mode in which the ideas are associated. 
 If an individual's thoughts are principally 
 connected together by circumstances of time 
 and place and superficial resemblance, by 
 those casual ties, in a word, which usually 
 prevail in the mental trains of people little 
 accustomed to reflection, he possesses within 
 himself the chief elements of a great talker. 
 One idea perpetually suggests another, and as 
 they all seem equally dependent, and there is 
 no reference to any particular point on which 
 the whole series is to be brought to bear, or at 
 all events a very loose reference, no cause 
 exists why the speaker should terminate his 
 oration, except what the impatience of his 
 audience supplies ; or except, perhaps, the 
 failure of his own physical strength. On the 
 other hand, if a speaker's ideas on any subject 
 rise in his mind because they are logically de- 
 pendent, because they are strictly connected 
 with the question before him, they are self- 
 circumscribed within determinate bounds ; a 
 few words will frequently be sufficient to pre- 
 sent them to the hearer ; and as every thought 
 will have a bearing on the conclusion intended 
 to be proved, the process will naturally be 
 brief. — Bailey. 
 
 SPECULATION. 
 
 But boundless risk must pay for boundless 
 gain. Wm. Morris. 
 
 SPEECH, Accuracy of. 
 
 How many of the most mischievous falsehoods 
 and calumnies originate from the want of a 
 habit of strict accuracy. How often do sus- 
 picion and jealousy, and coolness, and even 
 enmity, originate in families and in society, 
 simply from an inaccurate description of narra- 
 tive. And how often is there reason to fear 
 that the innocent suffer and the guilty escape, 
 in our courts of justice, from similar cause?. 
 It will require but a little attention to see the 
 manner in which witnesses of real honesty, and 
 under the sanction of an oath, often give their 
 testimony, and the totally new aspect which 
 the narrative assumes, under the cross-examina- 
 tion of a new advocate, to perceive the immense 
 importance of cultivating a faculty on which 
 the life of others often depends. — Hofwyl. 
 
 SPEECH, The Faculty of. 
 
 The due and proper use of any natural faculty 
 or power is to be judged of by the end and 
 design for which it was given us. The chief 
 purpose for which the faculty of speech was 
 given to man, is, plainly, that we might com- 
 municate our thoughts to each other, in order 
 to carry on the affairs of the world ; for busi- 
 ness, for improvement in knowledge and learn- 
 ing. But the good Author of our nature 
 designed us not only necessaries, but likewise 
 enjoyment and satisfaction, in that being He 
 hath graciously given, and in that condition of 
 life He hath placed us in. 
 
 There are secondary uses of our faculties ; 
 they administer to delight, as well as to 
 necessity : and as they are equally adapted to 
 both, there is no doubt but He intended them 
 for our gratification, as well as for the support 
 and continuance of our being. The secondary 
 use of speech is to please and be entertaining to 
 each other in conversation. This is in every 
 respect allowable and right : it unites men 
 in closer aUiances and friendships ; gives us 
 a fellow feeling of the prosperity and un- 
 happiness of each other ; and is in several re- 
 spects serviceable to virtue, and to promote good 
 behaviour in the world. And, provided there 
 be not too much time spent in it, if it were 
 considered only in the way of gratification and 
 delight, men must have some strange notions 
 
 Q Q 
 
594 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 of God and of religion, to think that He can 
 be offended with it, or that it is any way 
 inconsistent with the strictest virtue. But the 
 truth is, such sort of conversation, though it 
 has no particular good tendency, yet it has a 
 general good one : it is social and friendly, 
 and tends to promote humanity, good nature, 
 and civility. 
 
 The government of the tongue, considered 
 as a subject of itself, relates chiefly to con- 
 versation ; to that kind of discourse which 
 usually fills up the time spent in friendly 
 meetings and visits of civility. And the 
 danger is lest persons entertain themselves 
 and others at the expense of their wisdom and 
 their virtue, and to the injury or offence of 
 their neighbour. If they will observe and 
 keep clear of these, they may be as free, and 
 easy, and unreserved as they can desire. — 
 Bp. Butler. 
 
 SPEED. 
 
 Joyous all follow'd, as the leader call'd, 
 Down marble steps ; pouring as easily 
 As hour-glass sand — and fast, as you might see 
 Swallows obeying the south summer's call, 
 Or swans upon a gentle waterfall. Keats. 
 
 SPHERES, Harmony of the. 
 
 The melody supposed to be sent forth by the 
 starry host in their ceaseless revolutions was a 
 favourite notion of the philosophers and poets 
 of antiquity. Apollo was represented playing 
 upon a harp of seven strings, the symbol of the 
 sun and planets, the strings representing the 
 different distances of the rolling orbs. This 
 harmony they attributed to the various propor- 
 tionate impressions acting at proper intervals ; 
 they could not conceive that such prodigious 
 bodies moving with such rapidity should be 
 silent, for the atmosphere being continually 
 impelled by them, a set of sounds must neces- 
 sarily be produced agreeable to the impressions 
 received, and the diversity and velocity of their 
 motions ; all these directed by the hand of the 
 Almighty, producing a sympathy of melodious 
 chords : the Moon, as being the lowest of the 
 planets, corresponded to mi; Mercury, to /a; 
 Venus, to sol; the Sun, to la; Mars, to si; 
 Jupiter, to ut; Saturn, to re; and the fixed 
 stars, as being the highest of all, to mi, or the 
 octave. 
 
 The allusions to this divine harmony are very 
 frequent in ancient writings : *' The stars move 
 
 in their course rejoicing." "The morning 
 stars sang together." "Thee I invoke, thou 
 self-created Being, who gave birth to nature, 
 and whom light and darkness, and the whole 
 train of globes and planets, encircle with eter- 
 nal music." Also in later times, the immortal 
 Shakespeare, in his Merchant oj Venice: 
 
 Look how the floor of heaven 
 Is thick inlaid with patterns of bright gold. 
 There's not the smallest star which thou beholdest. 
 But in his motion, like an angel, sings, 
 Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 SPHERES, Music of. 
 
 Thou seest these shining orbs 
 That wing their smooth way through the fields 
 
 of ether ; 
 And thou didst hear on earth the seas and hills 
 Giving out joyful music : — think'st thou, then, 
 These mighty worlds are voiceless ? 
 
 To thine ear, 
 Unopened, what a deep and awful silence 
 Is in these lonely realms of endless space ! 
 The murmur of a stream, the gentle cooing 
 Of a young dove, breaking upon this hush. 
 Would seem to thee as loud as a cataract ; 
 But thou shalt know that silence is not here. 
 Nor dead vacuity : throughout all space 
 Nature hath her own music ; all that gives 
 To the eye beauty, yields to gifted ears 
 A melody as beauteous. Listen, now ! 
 
 Ather stone. 
 
 SPIRIT, Holy. 
 
 Christ is the door that opens unto God's pre- 
 sence, and lets the soul into his bosom ; and 
 faith is the key that unlocks the door ; but the 
 Spirit is He that makes this key, and helps the 
 Christian to turn it in prayer. — Biinyan. 
 
 SPIRIT, Holy, Aid and Guidance of. 
 When, in thy devotions, thou findest thine 
 attention fixed, thine affections inflamed, and 
 thy heart melted within thee ; and when, while 
 the voice of God's minister, preaching the 
 saving truths of the Gospel, sounds in thine 
 ears, thou art sensible of an inward voice, 
 speaking with greater force and efficacy to thy 
 soul, to thine understanding, and thy heart : 
 then thou art sensible of the presence and aid 
 of God's Holy Spirit, whose grace alone is 
 sufficient to every purpose, and whose strength 
 is made perfect in thy weakness. — Bishop 
 Smalridze. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 595 
 
 SPIRIT, Holy, 
 
 Bringeth forth Fruit of Good Living. 
 
 Our carnal hearts are the old stock, which, 
 before the word of God be grafted in it, cannot 
 bring forth the only spiritual fruit acceptable to 
 God ; but when, by the powerful operation of 
 His Holy Spirit, the word which we hear with 
 our outward ears is inwardly grafted therein, 
 it then bringeth forth the fruit of good living. 
 So that all the bad fruits that appear in our 
 lives come from the old stock, the flesh ; and 
 if there be any good fruit of the Spirit in us, it 
 is from the virtue of that word of grace that is 
 grafted in us. — Bp. Sanderson. 
 
 SPIRIT, Holy, Our Guide. 
 
 It is part of the office of the Holy Ghost to 
 lead, direct, and govern us in our actions and 
 conversations, that we may actually do and 
 perform those things which are acceptable in 
 the sight of God. ** If we live in the Spirit," 
 quickened by His renovation, we must "walk 
 in the Spirit," following his direction, led by 
 His manuduction. And, if we "walk in the 
 Spirit, we shall not fulfil the lusts of the 
 flesh ; " for we are not only directed, but ani- 
 mated and acted on in those operations by the 
 Spirit of God, "who giveth both to will and 
 to do ; " and "as many as are thus led by the 
 Spirit of God, they are the sons of God" . . . 
 "Hereby we know that God abideth in us, by 
 the Spirit which He hath given us." As we 
 become spiritual men by the Spirit which is in 
 us, as that union with the body and the head 
 is a spiritual conjunction, so it proceedeth from 
 the Spirit ; and " he that is joined unto the 
 Lord is one Spirit." — Bp, Pearson. 
 
 SPIRIT, Holy, the Source of AIL 
 
 He, the great Father, kindled at one flame 
 The world of rationals ; one spirit poured 
 From spirit's awful fountain ; poured himself 
 Through all their souls, but not in equal stream, 
 Profuse or frugal of the aspiring god. 
 As his wise plan demanded ; and when past 
 Their various trials in their various spheres, 
 If they continue rational as made, 
 Resorbs them all into Himself again, 
 His throne their centre, and his smile their 
 crown. Young. 
 
 SPIRIT, Impartial and True. 
 
 You did commit me ; 
 For which I do commit into your hand 
 The unstain'd sword that you have us'd to 
 
 bear : 
 With this remembrance, that you use the same 
 With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit 
 As you have done 'gainst me. There is my 
 
 hand ; 
 You shall be as a father to my youth, 
 My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine 
 
 ear; 
 And I will stoop and humble my intents 
 To your well-practis'd, wise directions. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 SPIRIT, its Help. 
 
 I STRIVE to rise — sin keeps me down ; 
 
 I fly from sin, — sin follows me ; 
 My will doth reach at glory's crown : — 
 
 Weak is my strength, — it will not be : 
 See how ray fainting soul doth pant ! 
 Oh, let Thy strength supply my Avant. 
 
 Davison. 
 
 SPIRIT of God lUumines. 
 The same Spirit . . . doth also illuminate the 
 understanding of such as believe, that they 
 may receive the truth ; for faith is the gift of 
 God . . . This gift is a gift of the Holy Ghost, 
 working in us an assent unto that which by 
 the word is propounded unto us ; by this, the 
 Lord opened the heart of Lydia, that she 
 " attended unto the things which were spoken 
 of Paul ; " by this the word preached profiteth, 
 " being mixed with faith in them that hear it." 
 — Bp. Pearson. 
 
 SPIRIT of God, its True Guidance. 
 
 Contemplate the servant of Jesus, resigning 
 himself to the guidance of the Holy Spirit of 
 God. You see him advance through this vale 
 of tears, gradually throwing off the load of his 
 sins ; you see a soldier taught to fight the good 
 fight of faith, and trained to victory amidst 
 hardships, dangers, and death; a pilgrim 
 travelling through the wilderness with steady 
 eye fixed on the heavenly Canaan ; a pupil of 
 God, instructed in the school of His provi- 
 dence ; an heir of immortality, rendered, by 
 the discipline of his mortal state, " meet for 
 the inheritance of the saints in light"— 
 H. Duncan. 
 
596" 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 SPIRIT of God, Sanctifleth. 
 Sanctification being opposed to our im- 
 purity and con-uption, . . . whatsoever 
 Ls wanting in our nature of that holiness and 
 perfection must be supplied by the Spirit of 
 God. Wherefore, being by nature totally 
 devoid of all saving truth, and under an im- 
 possibility of knowing the will of God ; being 
 as "no man knoweth the things of a man, 
 save the spirit of man which is in him ; " 
 even so none knoweth the things of God, but 
 the Spirit of God ; this "Spirit searcheth all 
 things, yea, the deep things of God," and 
 revealeth them unto the sons of men ; so that 
 thereby the darkness of their understanding is 
 expelled, and they are enlightened with the 
 knowledge of their God. . . . When it 
 pleased God "in the last days \.o speak unto 
 us by his Son," even that Son sent his Spirit 
 into the Apostles, "the Spirit of Truth, that 
 he might guide them into all truth," " teaching 
 them all things, and bringing all things to 
 their remembrance, whatsoever Christ had 
 said unto them." By this means it came to 
 pass that " all Scripture was given by inspira- 
 tion of God," that is, by the motion and 
 operation of the Spirit of God ; and so what- 
 soever is necessary for us to know and believe 
 was delivered by revelation. — Bp. Pearson. 
 
 SPIRIT of Purity, its Strength. 
 
 Naturalists observe that when the frost 
 seizes upon wine, they are only the slighter 
 and more watery parts that are subject to be 
 congealed ; but still there is a mighty spirit, 
 which can retreat into itself, and there within 
 its own compass be secure from the freezing 
 impression of the element around it ; and just 
 so it is with the spirit of man ; while a good 
 conscience makes it firm and impenetrable, 
 outward affliction can no more benumb or 
 quell it than a blast of wind can freeze up the 
 blood in a man's veins, or a little shower of 
 rain soak into his heart and quench the prin- 
 ciple of life itself. — South. 
 
 SPIRIT, Philosophic. 
 
 The true philosophic spirit is more valuable 
 than any limited attainments in philosophy. 
 It is a spirit which is quick to pursue what- 
 ever is within reach of human intellect, but is 
 not less quick to discern the bcunds that limit 
 
 every human inquiry, and which, therefore, in 
 seeking much seeks only what man may learn, 
 which knows how to distinguish what is just 
 in itself from what is merely accredited by 
 illustrious names, adopting a truth which no 
 one has sanctioned, and rejecting an error of 
 which all approve, with the same calmness as 
 if no judgment were opposed to its own ; but 
 which, at the same time alive with congenial 
 feeling to every intellectual excellence, and 
 candid to the weaknesses from which no 
 excellence is wholly privileged, can dissent 
 and confute without triumph, as it admires 
 without envy, applauding gladly whatever is 
 worthy of applause in a rival system, and 
 venerating the very genius which it demon- 
 strates to have erred. — Dr. T. Brown. 
 
 SPIRIT, The Happy. 
 
 Weep not, my mother, weep not, I am blest. 
 But must leave heaven if I return to thee ; 
 
 For I am w^here the weary are to rest, 
 The wicked cease from troubling.— Come to me ! 
 Old Epitaph. 
 
 Why do ye weep ? — to know that dust 
 
 No longer dims my soul ? 
 To know that I am render'd just — 
 
 A victor at heaven's goal ? 
 
 weep ye that I weep no more — 
 That sorrow's living reign is o'er ? 
 Father — art thou a man of tears, 
 
 Because thy child is free 
 From the earthly strifes and human fears, 
 
 Oppressive e'en to thee? 
 Nay, triumph that thou bad'st me love 
 The rest that I have found above. 
 My mother, weep not— tears will hide 
 
 My glory from thy view ; 
 If thou hadst taught me guile or pride, 
 
 Then tears of blood were due ; 
 But thy fond lips spoke truths divine : 
 Rejoice, that now their meed is mine. 
 Sister, sweet sister, leave my tomb, 
 
 Thy loved one is not there, 
 Nor will its planted flow'rets bloom 
 
 Whilst wept on by despair ; 
 
 1 dwell in blissful scenes of light : 
 Rejoice, that thou didst aid my flight. 
 
 Let faith's resplendent sun arise, 
 
 And scatter from each soul 
 The clouds that veil its native skies. 
 
 The mists that round it roll : 
 Rejoice that I have found a home. 
 Whence never more my feet will roam. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 597 
 
 Tears for the dead who die in sin, 
 
 And tears for living crime : 
 Tears when the conscience wakes within 
 
 First in expiring time ; 
 Tears for the lost — but Heaven's own voice 
 Says for the Christian dead — Rejoice. 
 
 Jcwsbiiry. 
 
 SPIRIT, The Holy, Renews Us. 
 
 By the Holy Spirit we are restored into Para- 
 dise, we regain the kingdom of Heaven, we 
 return to the adoption of sons. 
 
 We are called in the sanctification of the 
 Spirit, as the Apostle teacheth. This (the 
 Spirit) renews us, and makes us again the 
 image of God ; and by the laver of regeneration, 
 and the renewing of the Holy Ghost, we are 
 adopted to the Lord, and the new creature 
 again partakes of the Spirit, of which being 
 deprived, it had waxed old. And thus man 
 becomes again the image of God, for he had 
 fallen from the Divine similitude, and was be- 
 come like the beasts that perish. — St. Basil. 
 
 SPIRIT, The Living, its Power. 
 It is indisputable that the great movements 
 which stir society from its very foundations 
 are invariably produced by the workings of the 
 living spirit of man. The sense of moral and 
 intellectual want which disposes men to seize 
 on new opinions often lies for centuries fer- 
 menting in the fathomless depths of the heart 
 of society. At length, in the fulness of time, 
 arises one of those master-spirits endowed with 
 the genius, energy, and confidence which fit a 
 man to wield these moral forces ; to reveal to 
 his age the wants of which it had but a dim 
 and perplexed consciousness ; to interpret to it 
 its own confused and half- formed opinions, and 
 to give them shape, compactness, and strength . 
 — Ranke. 
 
 SPIRIT, 
 
 Workings of. Gentle and Gradual. 
 
 The workings of the Spirit are gentle and 
 gradual, and His assistances communicated in 
 proper times and proportions. He was given 
 by Christ to the Apostles before His ascent 
 into heaven ; and He was given again, in a 
 different manner and measure, at the day of 
 Pentecost . . . Thus are the ordinary graces 
 infused with distinction. At baptism first, at 
 
 confirmation afterwards : yet so, in each, that 
 baptism asks confirmation to finish and con- 
 summate the Christian ; and confirmation pre- 
 supposes baptism, as strength implies life, and 
 to grow, to have been born ... In baptism 
 the Spirit lists Christ's soldiers under His ban- 
 ner ; in confirmation He equips and arms them 
 for the battle. — Stanhope. 
 
 SPIRIT'S Ministerings, The. 
 There's a sound of the summer coming from 
 afar, 
 A wakening call to the earth, 
 And brightly the light of the morning star 
 
 Falls where the rose has birth : 
 There's a breath of meadows and odorous 
 
 flowers. 
 Mixed with the music of many bowers. 
 And a spirit the light and music fills, 
 The spirit of joy breathing where it wills ! 
 
 There's a gladness of heart in all human things. 
 The eye is bright and the voice is sweet, 
 
 Love is bathed in the deepest springs, 
 
 Where the mortal's life and the spirit's meet : 
 
 One happy song from the green earth swells. 
 
 The voice of hamlets and peopled dells — 
 
 'Tis the holy spirit of nature still. 
 
 Doing the Lord of Creation's will. 
 
 A mother is singing her babe to rest, 
 With the song of her quiet soul — 
 The fondest hopes that are in her breast. 
 
 An angel would not control — 
 But her heart is stirred with her own deep 
 
 prayer. 
 And the blessed thought that's settling there. 
 With the voice of a spirit sent from thence, 
 Where hearts are blessed for their innocence. 
 
 An aged man hath come ling'ring by 
 
 The home of his earliest youth. 
 And. a vision passes before his eye 
 
 Full of delight and truth— 
 There's a promise made of some sweet return. 
 And he feels his heart with the blessing burn ; 
 For a spirit comes from heaven to tell, 
 In heaven with all he loved 'tis well. 
 
 There are children round their father's bed. 
 
 And his last farewell is given — 
 There's joy in their grief— a blessing shed, 
 
 At once from their sire and heaven — 
 Deep is the peace that reigns around. 
 Where the faithful in his faith is crowned, 
 For the holiest of holies is o'er his bed— 
 The spirit of Him who wakes the dead. 
 
598 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 Oh ! 'tis the one great spirit in all, 
 
 Working His various will — 
 The bosom is blessed that hears His call— 
 
 The ocean hears and is still : 
 The summer is His with its swelling bloom, 
 The glory His of the martyr's tomb ; 
 He is the life of the world — the breath 
 Of the pure in soul, and the true in death. 
 Rev. H. Stebbinz, ALA. 
 
 SPIRITUAL Death. 
 
 Vice, as identified with death, is not neces- 
 sarily vice in its baser forms, or crime : it is 
 wilful violation of the laws of God ; whether 
 externalised into criminal act or not ; and it 
 is this which is chiefly intended by "death" in 
 Scripture. *'Life" is attainment of union 
 with God, founded on reconciliation with one's 
 self; "death" is secession from truth and good- 
 ness. When, for instance, Christ says that 
 he shall come to judge "the quick and the 
 dead," the meaning is, all mankind, both good 
 and evil. So when David exclaims, "In 
 death there is no remembrance of thee," he 
 implies, those who cease to obey God cease 
 also to think of God. ' ' Lighten mine eyes 
 lest I sleep the sleep of death," is a prayer to 
 quicken the soul with new aptitude for sacred 
 things. It is the very same death which is 
 intended in the Parable of the Prodigal Son — 
 " For this my son was dead and is alive again," 
 and which the Apostle alludes to when he 
 says, " We know that we have passed from 
 death into life." In its direst degree, this is 
 the death which on the other side of the grave 
 becomes "hell," and which begins it even in 
 this world. It is by no metaphor that men 
 who have steeped themselves in iniquities cry 
 out they suffer the tortures of the pit. As no 
 man enters heaven after the death of the 
 material body but he who has his soul in this 
 life, so "hell" is an intensifying and con- 
 solidating for ever of infernal states that have 
 already been sunk inta " Tho' this is a 
 heavenly angel," exclaims lachimo, looking at 
 Imogen asleep — "Tho' this a heavenly angel, 
 hell is here." Death, in Scripture, when sig- 
 nifying death to virtue, partially means also 
 the eternal perdition of the soul, as in James 
 V. 20 ; whence it is that we are so earnestly 
 urged to fly from it, seeing that after the 
 dissolution of the material body ability to 
 escape is at an tn±—Leo W. Grindon. 
 
 SPIRITUAL Slumber. 
 To awake from spiritual slumber, to arise from 
 dead works, are the terms on which Christ doth 
 offer that eternal, happy life ; for as the pains 
 and ignominies of His death will no wise avail 
 those who are not comformable to His death 
 in dying to sin and mortifying their lusts, so 
 will not they be concerned in the joys and 
 glories of his resurrection who are not planted 
 in the likeness thereof, by renovation of their 
 minds, and reformation of their lives ; "for as 
 He died, so He was also raised for us, that we 
 should not henceforth live to ourselves, but 
 unto Him who died and rose again for us." 
 Our Sins did slay Him ; it must be our 
 Repentance that reviveth Him to us, — our 
 Obedience that maketh Him to live in our 
 behalf. — Dr. Isaac Barroiv. 
 
 SPIRITUAL Wit. 
 Is sparkling wit the world's exclusive right ? 
 The fix'd fee simple of the vain and light ? 
 Can hopes of Heaven, bright prospects of an 
 
 hour, 
 That come to waft us out of sorrow's power, 
 Obscure, or quench a faculty, that finds 
 Its happiest soil in the serenest minds ? 
 Religion curbs indeed its wanton play. 
 And brings the trifles under rig'rous sway ; 
 But gives it usefulness unknown before, 
 And, purifying, makes it shine the moi'e. 
 A Christian's wit is inoffensive light ; 
 A beam that aids, but never grieves the sight. 
 Vigorous in age, as in the flush of youth, 
 'Tis always active on the side of truth ; 
 Temperance and peace insure its healthful 
 
 state, 
 And make it brightest at its latest date. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 SPLEEN, Ode to. 
 
 Absent in company to sit, 
 
 To mope, to groan, to sigh, to fret 
 
 These are thy gifts, O Spleen ! 
 Darkness and fogs surround thy throne, 
 Dulness, dread pow'r, is all thy own, 
 
 Thou cloud-compelling queen ! 
 Hapless, who drags thy servile chains, 
 Who still submits, yet still complains 
 
 Of thy caprice and whim : 
 The friendly chat, the social bowl, 
 "The feast of sense, the flow of soul," 
 
 Command no charms for him. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 599 
 
 Seen thro' this intellectual gloom. 
 The various ills of life assume 
 
 A larger, ampler size ; 
 Ev'n Hope withdraws the cheering ray 
 That beautifies our wintry day, 
 
 And the fair landscape dies. 
 Then, Memory, thy shadowy train, 
 Rebellious to thy lawful reign, 
 
 Revolt to Spleen and Chance : 
 Hence motley images combine, 
 Strange shapes in quaint disorder join, 
 
 And form th' ideal dance. 
 
 The pleasing forms of gay delight 
 
 On outstretch'd pinions speed their flight. 
 
 From thy infectious breath ; 
 See, in their stead, heart-vexing care. 
 And fear, and doubt, and wan despair. 
 
 And the black shade of death ! 
 
 Satan himself some men adore, 
 
 Not that they love but feel his pow'r ; 
 
 So to thy shrine I bend. 
 And O thy wayward spells remove 
 Far, far from me, and those I love. 
 
 Thou peace-corroding friend ! Anon. 
 
 SPRINQ. 
 
 In that sweet season when the Year is green, 
 And hearts grow merry as spring-groves full of 
 
 birds. 
 While life for pleasure ripples as it runs ; 
 And young Earth putteth forth the lovely 
 
 things 
 She hath been dreaming through long winter 
 
 nights ; 
 Taking the May-tide in a golden swim. 
 Her blithe heart singing for the flooding cheer ; 
 And field and forest clothed in tender leaf, 
 Shower after shower, out-smile a livelier green ; 
 With dainty colour the kindling country dawns ; 
 Death lieth low ; his hidden footprints bloom ; 
 Upon his grave Life dances all in flowers : 
 And lying shell-like on our shore o' the world. 
 Thinking to music played by hidden hands. 
 We are caught up to listening ear of Heaven, 
 That leaneth down maternal meek to hear 
 Our inner murmurs of the eternal sea. 
 
 Gerald Massey. 
 
 Summer cometh, 
 The bee hummeth. 
 The grass springeth. 
 The bird singeth. 
 The flower groweth, 
 And man knoweth 
 
 The time is come 
 When he may rove 
 Thro' vale and grove. 
 No longer dumb. 
 
 There he may hear sweet voices. 
 
 Borne softly on the gale ; 
 There he may have rich choices 
 
 Of songs that never fail ; 
 The lark, if he be cheerful, 
 
 Above his head shall tower ; 
 And the nightingale, if fearful. 
 
 Shall soothe him from the bower. 
 
 If red his eye with study. 
 
 If pale with care his cheek. 
 To make them bright and ruddy. 
 
 The green hills let him seek. 
 The quiet that it needeth 
 
 His mind shall there obtain ; 
 And relief from care, that feedeth 
 
 Alike on heart and brain. Anon. 
 
 SPRING and Summer. 
 
 The golden line is drawn between winter 
 and summer. Behind, all is blackness, and 
 darkness, and dissolution. Before, is hope, 
 and soft airs, and the flowers, and the sweet 
 season of hay ; and people will cross the fields, 
 reading, or walking, with one another ; and 
 instead of the rain that soaks death into the 
 heart of green things, will be the rain which 
 they drink with delight ; and there will be 
 sleep on the grass at mid-day, and early rising 
 in the morning, and long moonlight evenings 
 with quiet walks ; and we shall sit with our 
 window open, and hear the rooks. 
 
 Already the rains are well-tempered. We 
 care not for the chillness, for it is vernal — the 
 cold of a young hand instead of an old one ; 
 and at noon, when the sun slips from out a 
 blue interval of sky, w§ feel him warm on our 
 backs. 
 
 Passing the top of the green lane, a gush 
 of song bursts out upon us from the ivy-bush 
 that clothes the sides of the old house. 
 
 See ! — birds come by fives and tens in the 
 meadows, agile, unseen before, springing away 
 with a song. And the tops of the horse- 
 chesnut boughs look as if they glowed into the 
 air with life. — L. Hunt. 
 
6oo 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 SPRING, Breathings of. 
 What waks't thou, Spring ? — sweet voices in 
 
 the woods, 
 And reed-like echoes that have long been 
 
 mute ; 
 Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes. 
 The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless 
 
 flute, 
 Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or 
 
 glee, 
 
 Ev'n as our hearts may be. 
 And the leaves greet thee, Spring ! — the joy- 
 ous leaves. 
 Whose tremblings gladden many a copse and 
 
 glade. 
 Where each young spray a rosy flush receives. 
 When thy south wind hath pierced the whis- 
 
 pery shade. 
 And happy murmurs, running through the 
 
 grass. 
 
 Tell that thy footsteps pass. 
 And the bright waters, — they too hear thy 
 
 call ;— 
 Spring, the awakener ! — thou hast burst their 
 
 sleep ; 
 Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall 
 Makes melody, and in the forests deep, 
 Where sudden sparkles and blue gleams betray 
 
 Their sudden windings to the day. 
 And flowers — the fairy-peopled world of 
 
 flowers ; 
 Thou from the dust hast set that glory free. 
 Colouring the cowslip with the sunny hours, 
 And pencilling the wood anemone : 
 Silent they seem, yet each, to thoughtful eye, 
 
 Glows with mute poetry. 
 But what awak'st thou in the heart, O Spring? 
 The human heart, with all its dreams and 
 
 sighs ? 
 Thou that giv'st back so many a buried 
 
 thing. 
 Restorer of forgotten harmonies ! 
 Fresh songs and scents break forth where'er 
 
 thou art — 
 
 What wak'st thou in the heart ? 
 Vain longings for the dead ! — why come they 
 
 back 
 With thy young birds, and leaves, and living 
 
 blooms ? 
 Oh ! is it not, that from thine earthly track 
 Hope to the world may look beyond the 
 
 tomb? 
 Yes ! gentle Spring ; no sorrow dims thine air, 
 Breathed by our loved ones there ! 
 
 New Monthly Magazine. 
 
 SPRING Evening, The. 
 
 The tender blossoms trembling waft 
 
 Their pearly drops of dew ; 
 And Spring's sweet landscape glitters soft, 
 
 Seen in yon streamlet blue. 
 
 Fair is the flower, the tree, the stream, 
 The grove illumed with gold ; 
 
 And fair, the stars just seem to beam 
 On evening's mantle fold. 
 
 The bushy vale, the meadows green. 
 
 The hillock robed in flow'rs ; 
 The shadow'd brook, the lake serene, 
 
 Enshrin'd in comeliest bow'rs. 
 
 How varied these, yet one vast love 
 
 Unites them in its band ; 
 Yon glowworm and the hosts above 
 
 Have one creating hand. 
 
 Thou seest, if from its wonted place, 
 
 A leaf should vanish here ; 
 Thou seest, if in yon boundless space, 
 
 A sun should disappear ! 
 
 From the German of Matthisson. 
 
 SPRING, Music of. 
 
 His own shrill matin joined the various notes 
 Of nature's music, from a thousand throats ; 
 The Blackbird strove with emulation sweet. 
 And Echo answered from her close retreat ; 
 The sporting Whitethroat, on some twig's-end 
 
 borne. 
 Poured hymns to freedom and the rising morn ; 
 Stopt in her song, perchance, the starting 
 
 Thrush 
 Shook a white shower from the black- thorn 
 
 bush. 
 Where dew-drops thick as early blossoms 
 
 hung, 
 And trembled as the minstrel sweetly sung. 
 Across his path, in either grove to hide, 
 The timid rabbit scouted by his side ; 
 Or pheasant boldly stalked along the road. 
 Whose gold and purple tints alternate glowed. 
 
 Bloomfield. 
 
 SPRING, Ode to. 
 
 Young Spring ! thou sittest on that daisy 
 knoll. 
 
 With wreaths of infant green upon thy brow. 
 The new birds, fearless of the chill control 
 
 Of frosts and heavy skies, are blythesome 
 
 i 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 6oi 
 
 Music is pealing from each feathery throat. 
 To greet thy coming, at thy smile serene 
 New life and universal beauty glows. 
 
 And round thy presence float 
 Airs that are telling of the healthful 
 green, 
 White hedge and blossoming rose. 
 
 Thine handmaid, the gay Flora, trips along, 
 Garlanded round with bloom, elate with 
 glee. 
 Strewing the earth with flowers, that wake the 
 song 
 Of their meek lover, the industrious bee ; 
 She paints the blossom of the purple plum. 
 The downy peach, bright cherry, luscious 
 pear, 
 
 And all the nurslings of the southern 
 breeze ; 
 When autumn days are come 
 The pulpy fniit shall hang in ripeness 
 there. 
 The treasure of the trees. 
 
 All nature breathes luxuriance, and man 
 
 Catches the feeling from her ample page. 
 And Fancy builds some rainbow-coloured plan. 
 Like those we know in youth — smile at in 
 age; 
 The sloping hill and the sheep-spotted mead, 
 Touch'd by thy sunny pencil, mantle o'er 
 With verdure, and black clouds have 
 left the sky ; 
 Gone is the oaten reed. 
 But thou canst glad man's heart unto 
 the core. 
 And brighten sorrow's eye ! 
 
 Omicron. 
 
 SPRING, Pastime o£ 
 
 How beautiful the pastime of the Spring ! 
 Lo ! newly waking from her wintry dream. 
 She, like a smiling infant, timid plays 
 On the green margin of this sunny lake. 
 Fearing, by starts, the little breaking waves 
 (If riplings rather known by sound than sight. 
 May haply be so named) that in the grass. 
 Soon fade in murmuring mirth. 
 
 John Wilson. 
 
 SPRING, Return ot 
 
 The earth, late chok'd with showers. 
 
 Is now array'd in green, 
 Her bosoms springs with flowers. 
 
 The air dissolves her teen ; 
 
 The woods are deck'd with leaves. 
 
 And trees are clothed gay ; 
 And Flora, crown'd with sheaves. 
 
 With oaken bough doth play. 
 The birds upon the trees 
 
 Do sing with pleasant voices. 
 And chaunt in their degrees 
 
 Their lovely and lucky choices. 
 
 Lodge. 
 
 Now each creature joys the other. 
 
 Passing happy days and hours ; 
 One bird reports unto another. 
 
 In the fall of silver showers ; 
 Whilst the earth, our common mother. 
 
 Hath her bosom deck'd with flowers : 
 Whilst the nearest torch of heaven 
 
 With bright rays warms Flora's lap. 
 Making nights and days both even. 
 
 Cheering plants with freshness' sap. 
 Danid. 
 
 The budding floweret blushes at the light. 
 The meads be sprinkled with the yellow hue. 
 In daisied mantles is the mountain dight. 
 The neshe young cowslip bendeth with the 
 
 dew; 
 The trees enleafed, into heaven straught. 
 When gentle winds do blow, to whistling din 
 is brought 
 
 The evening comes, and brings the dew 
 
 along. 
 The rodie welkin sheeneth to the eyne. 
 Around the alestake minstrels sing the song. 
 Young ivy round the door-pq^t doth entwme; 
 I lay me on the grass : yet to my will. 
 Albeit all is fair, there lacketh something still. 
 
 Chatt€rton. 
 
 Now in her green mantle blythe Nature 
 
 arrays. 
 And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the 
 
 braes. 
 While birds warble welcomes in ilka green 
 
 shaw ; 
 Bat to me it's delightless — my Nannie's awa. 
 
 The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands 
 
 adorn. 
 And violets bathe in the weet o' the mom : 
 They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they 
 
 blaw. 
 They mind me o'Nannie — my Nannie's awa. 
 
 Thou laverock, that springs irae the dews o* 
 
 the lawn. 
 The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking 
 
 dawn. 
 
602 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 And thou, mellow mavis, that hails the 
 
 night-fa', 
 Gie over for pity — my Nannie's awa. 
 
 Come Autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and 
 
 gray, 
 And soothe me wi' tidins o' Nature's decay ; 
 The dark, dreary Winter, and wild-driving 
 
 snaw, 
 Alane can delight me — now Nannie's awa. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 Ah, woe is me ! Winter is come and gone. 
 But grief returns with the revolving year ; 
 The airs and streams renew their joyous 
 
 tone ; 
 The ants, the bees, the swallows, re-appear; 
 Fresh leaves and flowers deck the dead 
 
 seasons' bier. 
 The amorous birds now pair in every brake. 
 And build their mossy homes in field and 
 
 brere ; 
 And the green lizard, and the golden snake. 
 Like unimprisoned flames, out of their trance 
 
 awake. 
 
 Through wood and stream and field and hill 
 
 and ocean, 
 A quickening life from the earth's heart has 
 
 burst, 
 As it has ever done, with change and 
 
 motion, 
 From the great morning of the world when 
 
 first 
 God dawned on Chaos ; in its stream 
 
 immersed. 
 The lamps of heaven flash with a softer 
 
 light ; 
 All baser things pant with life's sacred thirst ; 
 Diff"use themselves ; and spend in love's 
 
 delight 
 The beauty and the joy of their renewed might. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 SPEING, The. 
 
 Winter is not without many and majestic 
 tokens of a present and presiding Deity. He 
 rides upon its whirlwinds, and directs its 
 storms. He giveth the snow like wool, and 
 scattereth the hoar frost like ashes. ** Who 
 can stand before his cold?" David was so 
 struck by the awful glories of winter, as to call 
 on "hail, snow, vapour, and stormy wind" to 
 unite with his own harp and all the harmonies 
 of nature in praising Jehovah. And there are 
 contrasts and combinations during that season 
 
 of the year, which, if duly observed, could not 
 fail to raise the mind to that Eternal Power 
 which rolls all the seasons around the circle of 
 the year. Under his high direction, how the 
 aspect of the heavens fluctuates in winter ! At 
 one time, the whole sky is one dull and dense 
 sheet of murky vapour, which the sun itself 
 can hardly penetrate, even at noon-day : at 
 another time the firmament is one vast trans- 
 parency, so bright and sear that the twinkling 
 of the stars seems almost audible. Now 
 the snow-flakes fall as silently as the dew 
 of the morning — and anon, the hail rushes, like 
 arrows on the wings of the wind. In the even- 
 ing, the hoar frost collects insensibly, and at 
 midnight the crisped snow drifts like a sandy 
 whirlwind of the desert. 
 
 Not to acknowledge the hand of God in these 
 transactions of nature would argue something 
 worse than intellectual dulness, especially as 
 by these changes God is preparing the earth 
 to bud and bring forth food for man and beast. 
 It is, however, the feeling of awe that is chiefly 
 called forth by winter. The season itself is com- 
 paratively comfortless, even to those who are 
 best sheltered from its inclemency ; and on the 
 spirits of the humane it has a depressing in- 
 fluence. They can hardly enjoy their own lot 
 because of the privations and suff'erings of the 
 poor. The imagination of the merciful is 
 haunted by the visions of damp cellars, where 
 the scanty embers are dying on the hearth; 
 and of open garrets where the piercing wind 
 penetrates the half- covered beds. But now, 
 " Lo, the winter is past ! " In regard to the 
 poor, the worst is over again, and now their 
 earnings may be almost wholly applied to pro- 
 cure food and raiment, because every day is 
 lessening the expenses of fuel, and furnishing 
 the materials of cheaper food. 
 
 In regard also to the sick, it is gratifying to 
 hope that, as they have been enabled to strug- 
 gle through the winter, the spring will restore 
 and confirm their health ; light up again the 
 languid eye, shoot freshness into the pallid 
 cheek, and send all over the relaxed frame a 
 new tone of vitality and vigour. The delicate 
 and infirm also, who have been confined during 
 the wintry months, begin to anticipate their 
 return to the house of God, and are preparing 
 to quit again the solitary "dwellings of Jacob" 
 for the * ' sacred gates of Zion. " Thus it is 
 that the passing off" of winter is the signal for 
 the passing away of many chronic disorders ; 
 and the return of spring, the return of spirits to 
 the low, and of health to the languid. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 603 
 
 Now, either for ourselves or for some of our 
 friends, we have been looking forward to the 
 spring with fond anticipations and sanguine 
 hopes ; and, now that the vernal season is 
 opening mildly, it becomes us to welcome its 
 soft approach with songs of gratitude to God. 
 The angel of spring has rolled off the polar 
 mantle from the air and the earth, and is again 
 breathing the kindling spirit of vitality into 
 man and nature. 
 
 But spring is more than a welcome transi- 
 tion from coldness to genial warmth ; it is a 
 change from the barrenness and tameness of 
 the earth, to beauty and variety in the aspect 
 of nature. Now "the flowers begin to appear 
 on the earth." And there are many reasons 
 why this should be devoutly marked and grate- 
 fully acknowledged. "The eyes of all things 
 wait on God, and he giveth them their food in 
 due season ;" and this is the season when he 
 begins to replenish the exhausted table of man 
 and beast. The pastures of the wilderness are 
 turning green again around the sheepfolds ; 
 and the parks and meadows shooting forth their 
 rich herbage for the cattle ; and all under the 
 agency of God. Yes, He who spreads the 
 banquet of immortality for saints and angels in 
 Paradise "hears the young ravens when they 
 cry," and opens his hand to supply the wants 
 of every creature from the archangel down to 
 the insect. And, dependant as we are for food 
 upon the herds and flocks which derive their 
 nourishment from herbs and flowers, it would 
 ill become us to be indifferent to the means of 
 their sustenance. A well-disposed mind will 
 even be glad in their happiness — now that they 
 are let loose again amongst the fresh verdure 
 and shaking themselves in the free air, and 
 cropping the young grass with a keen relish, 
 and sending the bleat and hum of joy from hill 
 to hill and from field to field ; for thus they 
 are preparing to minister to our life and enjoy- 
 ment. I cannot, therefore, see them bounding 
 and browzing in their green pastures, without 
 feeling the force of the Saviour's fine appeal : 
 * ' If God so clothe the grass of the fields, shall 
 he not much more clothe you, O ye of little 
 faith?" 
 
 Nor is this the only point of view in which 
 the verdure and flowers of spring are interesting 
 and instructive. The sweet influence of the 
 season and its scenery is calculated to draw us 
 from the bed of sloth in the morning, and from 
 the bustle of life in the evening, into the garden 
 or the fields to meditate. For, when the varied 
 beauties of vegetable life shall expand ai'ound 
 
 us — the dewy primrose nestling in the moss — 
 the modest violet betraying its retreat by its 
 fragrance — the water lily floating on the lakes 
 — the wild-rose nodding over the rock, and 
 gemming the hedges — the hare-bell waving in 
 the wind, and the daisy speckling the lawns ; 
 when the banks, the hedge-rows and the fields 
 are thus garnished by the hand of God, it is 
 almost impossible, when alone, to refrain from 
 reflection, and prayer. For, when all is balm 
 and bloom around, stillness steals upon the 
 spirits, until there is a respite from care in the 
 mind, and a feeling of peace in it, like dew on 
 the tender herb, refreshing and purifying. And 
 in this tranquil frame, prayer and praise 
 become almost natural, both to the heart and 
 the lips ; so that we retire to our closets, or 
 return to our employment with new life and 
 delight. Besides, to a spiritual mind, Spring 
 is fraught with consecrated and expressive 
 emblems of the Saviour and salvation ; for 
 the lily and the rose, the vine and the pine- 
 apple are to us what the lamb and the 
 altar were to the Jewish Church, types of 
 his beauty and fulness. And to those who, 
 like David, must faint, if they did not hope 
 " to see the goodness of the Lord in the land 
 of the living ;" Spring exhibits both the em- 
 blems and pledges of the eventual and univer- 
 sal spread of the everlasting gospel. The 
 moral winter of the world has been long : it is 
 dreary ; but it will not be eternal ! There are 
 concentrated beams in the sun of righteousness, 
 and sweet influences in the residue of the spirits 
 which shall shine and shower down on the 
 wilderness of sin and idolatry, until it blossom 
 like the rose, and bear fruit to the glory of 
 God. 
 
 But, to improve this season aright, it is ne- 
 cessary to take more pointed and personal 
 views of the spring. " Lo, the winter is past ! " 
 thus an important period of our time is gone. 
 For, although the season of winter is unfa- 
 vourable to that improvement of the mind 
 which arises from meditative walks amongst 
 rural sights and sounds, it is peculiarly favour- 
 able for reading and meditation. Its long 
 evenings and fireside comforts furnish ample 
 opportunity for storing the mind with useful 
 information, and for disciplining it to fixed 
 habits of thinking. The word of God might 
 have been read, as a whole, during the months 
 of winter; and thus have "dwelt richly in us, 
 in all wisdom and spiritual understanding." 
 The history of the church of Christ also might 
 have been perused and pondered ; and thus 
 
6o4 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 our faith, both in the providence and truth of 
 God, increased and confirmed by a review of 
 her trials and triumphs, and how much self- 
 knowledge might have been acquired by self- 
 examination ? Even in the retirement of the 
 family, we might have often retired into our 
 own hearts to search them ; and while appa- 
 rently reading the book before us, have been 
 really reading the books of our own memory, 
 consciousness, and conscience ; and thus enlarg- 
 ing our intimacy with the plagues of our 
 hearts, and with the remedies for them. Thus, 
 also, we should have been prepared to meet 
 the duties and trials of life with more firmness 
 and patience. But, "Lo, the winter is past !' 
 And the lost time cannot be recalled by those 
 who have misspent it. It is now in the urn of 
 eternity, like the years beyond the flood ; and 
 only the records of it will ever meet our eyes 
 again. But although lost time cannot be re- 
 called, it may be repented of, and the loss 
 repaired by present and future diligence. Not 
 indeed, that any diligence or repentance can 
 atone for the sin of misspending precious time, 
 and neglecting eternal things ; but, what is 
 far better, present time may be employed in 
 acquiring the knowledge of the atonement, the 
 blood of which cleanseth from all sin, and pro- 
 motes all holiness. For although the winter 
 is past, the day of grace is not past — the space 
 for repentance is not past — the accepted time 
 and the day of salvation are not past ! The 
 angel of the everlasting gospel, although flying, 
 is not past — but still in the midst of our heaven, 
 bending to beseech us to be reconciled unto 
 God by the blood of the Lamb. But beware, 
 lest that which is spoken by the prophet be 
 said of us before another winter arrive — "The 
 harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we 
 are not saved;" for now only is the day of 
 salvation. — Evangelist. 
 
 SPRINGr, The Voice of. 
 
 I COME, I come, ye have called me long ; 
 I come o'er the mountains with light and 
 
 song! 
 Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth. 
 By the winds which tell of the violet's birth. 
 By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, 
 By the green leaves opening as I pass. 
 
 I have breathed on the South, and the ches- 
 
 nut flowers 
 By thousands have burst from the forest 
 
 bowers, 
 
 And the ancient groves, and the fallen fanes. 
 Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains ; 
 But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom. 
 To speak of the ruin on the tomb. 
 
 I have pass'd o'er the hills on the stormy 
 
 North, 
 And the larch has hung all his tassels forth ; 
 The fisher is out on the sunny sea, 
 And the reindeer bounds thro' the pasture 
 
 free ; 
 And the pine has a fringe of softer green. 
 And the moss looks bright where my step 
 
 has been. 
 
 I have sent thro' the wood-paths a gentle 
 
 sigh. 
 And called out each voice of the deep blue 
 
 sky. 
 From the night bird's lay thro' the starry 
 
 time. 
 In the graves of the soft Hesperian clime, 
 To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes. 
 When the dark fir bough with verdure 
 
 breaks. 
 
 From the streams and founts I have loosed 
 
 the chain. 
 They are sweeping on to the silvery main ; 
 They are flashing down from the mountain- 
 brows. 
 They are flinging spray on the forest boughs ; 
 They are bursting fresh from their sparry 
 
 caves, 
 And the earth resounds with the joy of waves. 
 
 Come forth, O ye children of gladness, 
 
 come ! 
 Where the violets lie may be now youi* 
 
 home ; 
 Ye of the rose-cheek and dew-bright eye. 
 And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly ; 
 With the lyre and the wreath, and the joyous 
 
 lay, 
 Come forth to the sunshine — I may not stay. 
 New Monthly Magazine. 
 
 STAR, Evening. 
 
 Star that bringest home the bee. 
 And sett'st the weary labourer free, 
 If any star shed peace, 'tis thou, 
 
 That send'st it from above ; 
 Appearing when heaven's breath and brow 
 
 Are sweet as hers we love. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 605 
 
 Come to the luxuriant skies, 
 Whilst the landscape's odours rise ; 
 Whilst far off lowing herds are heard, 
 
 And songs, when toil is done, 
 From cottages whose smoke unstirr'd 
 
 Curls yellow in the sun. 
 
 Star of love's soft interviews, 
 Parted lovers on thee muse ; 
 Their remembrancer in heaven. 
 
 Of thrilling vows thou art. 
 Too delicious to be riven 
 
 By absence from the heart. 
 
 T. Campbdl. 
 
 STAR, Fixed. 
 
 That little gem, how large ! a weight let 
 
 fall 
 From a fix'd star, in ages can it reach 
 This distant earth ? 
 
 How distant some of these nocturnal suns ! 
 So distant (says the sage), 'twere not absurd 
 To doubt, if beams, set out at Nature's 
 
 birth. 
 Are yet arrived at this so foreign world ; 
 Though nothing half so rapid as their flight. 
 
 O let me gaze ! — of gazing there's no end. 
 O let me think ! — thought too is 'wildered 
 
 here ; 
 In mid-way flight Imagination tires ; 
 Yet soon reprunes her wings to soar anew. 
 Her point unable to forbear or gain. 
 
 Yojmg. 
 
 STAR, its Modest Light. 
 
 How sweet thy modest light to view. 
 
 Fair star ! to love and lovers dear ; 
 W^hile trembling on the falling dew. 
 
 Like beauty shining through the tear ; 
 Or hanging o'er that mirror-stream 
 
 To mark each image trembling there. 
 Thou seem'st to smile with softer gleam 
 
 To see thy lovely face so fair. 
 
 Though blazing o'er the arch of night, 
 
 The moon thy timid beams outshine. 
 As far as thine each starry night — 
 
 Her rays can never vie with thine. 
 Thine are the soft enchanting hours. 
 
 When twilight lingers on the plain. 
 And whispers to the closing flow'rs 
 
 That soon the sun will rise again. 
 
 Thine is the breeze that murmuring, bland 
 
 As music, wafts the lover's sigh. 
 And bids the yielding heart expand 
 
 In love's delicious ecstacy. 
 Fair star ! though I be doom'd to prove 
 
 That rapture's tears are mixed with pain ; 
 Ah ! still I feel 'tis sweet to love — 
 
 But sweeter to be lov'd again. 
 
 Leyden. 
 
 STAR, The. 
 
 How brilliant on the Ethiop brow of Night 
 Beams yon fixed Star! whose intermitting blaze. 
 Like woman's changeful eye, now shims our 
 gaze, 
 
 Then sparkles forth in loveliness of light. 
 
 Still-twinkling speck ! thou seemest to my 
 sight 
 In size a spangle on the Tyrian stole, 
 
 Of majesty, 'mid hosts more mildly bright, 
 Altho' of worlds the centre and the soul ! 
 
 Sure 'twas a thing for angels to have seen, 
 When God did hang those lustres thro' the 
 sky — 
 Suns, founts of life ! and Darkness sought to 
 screen 
 With dusky wing her glazed and haggard 
 eye — 
 In vain, for, pierced with myriad shafts, she 
 died ; 
 And now her timid ghost dares only brood 
 O'er planets in their midnight solitude — 
 Doomed all the day in Ocean's cave to hide. 
 
 Thou burning axle of a star- verged wheel ! 
 Dost thou afflict the beings of thy ray 
 
 With feelings such as earth-born wretches 
 feel- 
 Pride, passion, hate, distrust, and agony? 
 
 Do any weep o'er blighted hopes — or curse 
 The hour thy light first ushered them to life ? 
 Doth Malice, keener than assassin's knife. 
 Stab in the dark? or seeming friendship, 
 worse — 
 Skilled round the heart with serpent coil to 
 
 wind — 
 Forsake and leave his sleepless sting behind ? 
 No ! if I deemed it, I should cease to look 
 Beyond the scene where thousands know those 
 ills; 
 Nor longer read that brightly-lettered book 
 Which heaven unfolds — whose page of beauty 
 fills 
 The breast with hope of an immortal lot. 
 When tears are dried, and injuries forgot ! 
 
6o6 NOBTF THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Oh ! when the soul, no longer earthward 
 
 Wert thou the star of opening youth? 
 
 weighed, 
 
 And is it, then, for thee. 
 
 Exults tow'rd heaven on swift, seraphic wing, 
 
 Its frank glad thoughts, its stainless truth. 
 
 Among the joys past man's imagining. 
 
 So early cease to be ? 
 
 It may be one to scan, o'er space displayed, 
 
 Of hope ? and was it to express 
 
 Those wondrous works our blindness now 
 
 How soon hope sinks in shade ? 
 
 debars — 
 
 Or else of human loveliness. 
 
 The awful secrets written in the stars ! 
 
 In sign how will it fade ? 
 
 Literary Gazette. 
 
 How was thy dying like the song, 
 
 
 In music to the last. 
 An echo flung the winds among, 
 
 
 STAR, The Evening. 
 
 And then for ever past ? 
 
 Methinks if you would know 
 
 Or didst thou sink as stars whose light 
 
 How visitations of calamity 
 
 The fair moon renders vain ? 
 
 Affect the pious soul, 'tis shown you there. 
 
 The rest shine forth the next dark night, 
 
 Look yonder at that cloud, which through the sky 
 
 Thou didst not shine again. 
 
 Sailing alone, doth cross in its career 
 
 Didst thou fade gradual from the time 
 
 The Evening Star. I watch'd it as it came, 
 
 The first great curse was hurled. 
 
 And deemed the deep opaque would blot her 
 
 Till lost in sorrow and in crime, 
 
 beams ; 
 
 Star of our early world ? 
 
 But, melting like a wreath of snow, it hangs 
 
 Forgotten and departed star \ 
 
 In folds of wavy silver round ; and clothes 
 
 A thousand glories shine 
 
 The orb in richer beauties than her own, 
 
 Round the blue midnight's regal car, 
 
 Then passing, leaves her in her light serene. 
 
 W^ho then remembers thine ? 
 
 Soiithey. 
 
 Save when some mournful bard like me, 
 
 The Evening Star illumes the blue south, 
 
 Dreams over beauty gone. 
 
 Twinkling in loveliness. 0, holy star ! 
 
 And in the fate that waited thee, 
 
 Thou bright dispenser of the twilight dews ; 
 
 Reads what will be his own. Landoiu 
 
 Thou herald of night's glowing galaxy, 
 And harbinger of social bliss, how oft, 
 
 
 
 Amid the twilight of departed years, 
 
 STAR, the Polar. 
 
 Resting beside the river's mirror clear, 
 
 Shine on, thou bright beacon. 
 
 On trunk of massy oak, with eyes upturned 
 
 Unclouded and free. 
 
 To thee in admiration, have I sat. 
 
 From thy high place of calmness, 
 
 Dreaming sweet dreams, till earth-born tur- 
 
 O'er life's troubled sea ; 
 
 bulence 
 
 Its morning of promise, 
 
 Was all forgot ; and thinking that in thee. 
 
 Its smooth seas are gone. 
 
 Far from the rudeness of this jarring world, 
 
 And the billows rave wildly — 
 
 There might be realms of quiet happiness. 
 
 Then, bright one, shine on. 
 
 Blackwood's Magazine. 
 
 The wings of the tempest 
 
 
 May rush o'er thy ray ; 
 
 
 But tranquil thou smilest, 
 
 STAR, the Lost. 
 
 Undimm'd by its sway : 
 
 A Light is gone from yonder sky. 
 
 High, high o'er the world, 
 
 A star has left its sphere ; 
 
 Where storms are unknown. 
 
 The beautiful, and do they die 
 
 Thou dwellest, all beauteous. 
 
 In yon bright world, as here ? 
 
 All glorious, alone. 
 
 Will that star leave a lonely place, 
 
 From the deep womb of darkness. 
 
 A darkness on the night ? 
 
 The lightning- flash leaps. 
 
 No : few will miss its lovely face, 
 
 O'er the bark of my fortunes 
 
 And none think heaven less bright ! 
 
 Each mad billow sweeps ; 
 
 What wert thou star of, vanished one 1 
 
 From the port of her safety 
 
 What mystery was thine ? 
 
 By warring winds driven. 
 
 Thy beauty from the east is gone : 
 
 And no light o'er her course, 
 
 What was thy sway and sign ? 
 
 But yon lone one of heaven. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 607 
 
 But, bark of eternity, 
 
 Where art thou now ? 
 The tempest-wave shrieks 
 
 O'er each plunge of thy prow. 
 On the world's dreary ocean 
 
 Thus shatter'd and tost,— 
 Then, lone one, shine on, 
 
 **IfI lose thee, I'm lost." 
 
 y. J. Callanan. 
 
 Chief amidst northern orbs that dost remain 
 Steadfast, like Him who hung thy lamp on 
 
 high, 
 To guide benighted barks o'er ocean's plain, 
 And point to Constancy the lover's eye. 
 Let Friendship mark thy shrine in yonder sky. 
 And shrink from breach of faith — the fickle 
 
 wind 
 Of summer promises, which wreck the mind. 
 When wintry storms of penury howl by. 
 Oh, as thy moveless ray surveys mankind. 
 Thou haply dost behold a constant few. 
 But, ah ! the rest are faithless and unkind, 
 A prowling, selfish, and misleading crew ; 
 In heaven's wide field thou hast not one com- 
 peer. 
 And worth like thine is solitary here. 
 
 R. Millhouse. 
 
 STAR, To a. 
 
 Now, from thy skiey road look down upon me, 
 Hesper, star of my sad nativity ! 
 With no unholy thought I dare to court 
 Thy lustrous eye upon me ; and as to one 
 Known in some happier hours I bid thee hail. 
 After my many wanderings. I have seen 
 Thy burning glance on bare and peopled lands, 
 Civil and savage, — on the parched plains 
 Of India, and the sands of Palestine, — 
 On tropic waters, and on iced shores, — 
 And on the far and solitary seas 
 O' the South. I've roamed this circular world, 
 
 and thou 
 Hast followed me like fate, yet never looked 
 Before with such kind aspect. Thou art now 
 Shining above my home, and hallowing 
 The sweet haunt of my infancy. I come, 
 After my toils and dangers, to seek rest. 
 And love, and welcoming eyes, and gentle 
 
 hearts. 
 Oh, thou bright Star ! be now my messenger. 
 And from thy cloudy palace (for the clouds 
 Are rolling round about thee) glance upon 
 My mother's house with thy expressive eye, 
 
 And to the dear inhabitants, gentle Star, 
 Dart smiling tidings, that the boy they loved 
 Is come indeed. Shipwrecked, and lost for 
 
 years. 
 He lives, redeemed from his watery grave, — 
 Lives, and will be a blessing. And on the 
 
 cheek 
 Of one supremely soft and beautiful. 
 Light like the cheerful ray of a summer morn- 
 ing ; 
 So may my own Olympia know that still 
 Juan, the wanderer, lives. 
 
 Barry Cortvwall. 
 
 STABS. 
 
 Now the hour 
 When Contemplation, from her sunless haunts 
 Moves forward, and with radiant finger points 
 To yon blue concave, swell'd by breath divine. 
 Where one by one the living eyes of heaven 
 Awake, quick kindling o'er the face of ether 
 One boundless blaze ; ten thousand trembling 
 
 fires 
 And dancing lustres, where the unsteady eye. 
 Restless and dazzled, wanders unconfined 
 O'er all this field of glory — spacious field. 
 And worthy of its Maker. Bale. 
 
 If a man would be alone let him look at the 
 stars. The rays that come from those heavenly 
 worlds will separate between him and vulgar 
 things. One might think the atmosphere was 
 made transparent with this design, to give man, 
 in the heavenly bodies, the perpetual presence 
 of the sublime. Seen in the streets of cities, 
 how great they are ! If the stars should appear 
 one night in a thousand years how would men 
 believe and adore, and preserve for many 
 generations the remembrance of the city of God 
 which had been shown ! But every night come 
 out these preachers of beauty, and light the 
 universe with their admonishing smile. The 
 stars awaken a certain reverence, because 
 though always present they are always in- 
 accessible ; but all natural objects make a 
 kindred impression when the mind is open to 
 their influence. Nature never wears a mean 
 appearance ; neither does the wisest man extort 
 all her secret, and lose his curiosity by finding 
 out all her perfection. Nature never became a 
 toy to a wise spirit. The flowers, the animals, 
 the mountains, reflected all the wisdom of his 
 best hour as much as they had delighted the 
 simplicity of his childhood. — R. W. Emerson, 
 
6o8 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 STARS, 
 But the Threshold of the Deity. 
 
 From Saturn's ring, 
 In which of earths an army might be lost. 
 With the bold comet, take my bolder flight, 
 Amid those sovereign glories of the skies. 
 Of independent, native lustre, proud ; 
 The soul of systems ! and the lords of life. 
 Through their wide empires ! — what behold I 
 
 now? 
 A wilderness of wonders burning round ; 
 Where larger suns inhabit higher spheres ; 
 Nor halt I here ; my toil is but begun ; 
 'Tis but the threshold of the Deity ;— 
 
 On Nature's Alps I stand, 
 And see a thousand firmaments beneath ! 
 A thousand systems, as a thousand grains ! 
 
 Yoting. 
 
 STARS, 
 
 Created out of Light Impalpable. 
 Praises to him, all bountiful, all good, 
 Creator of all beauty, all delight ; 
 The infinite, the everlasting God, 
 
 The One Pure Spirit. 
 
 He out of light, impalpable, inert, 
 
 Created us : and made us beautiful, 
 
 And bade us live. Through ages undecayed 
 
 We joy in our existence : pain or grief 
 
 Comes not to us ; but ever new delight 
 
 Meets us in all we see, and all we do. 
 
 Who made the sapphire waves of the great 
 
 deep. 
 And reared the glittering many-coloured hills? 
 Who bade the winds breathe fragrance and 
 
 sweet sounds, 
 And clothed the valleys with perfumed flowers, 
 The trees with all delicious fruits ? 'Twas he ! 
 Praises to him, all bountiful, all good, 
 Creator of all beauty, all delight ; 
 The infinite, the everlasting God, 
 The One Pure Spirit. 
 
 Glory to Him, omnipotent, all wise 
 Only Creator, of all nature Lord, 
 The omnipresent, everlasting God, 
 The One Pure Spirit. 
 
 He bade the sun arise from the deep void 
 Of long enduring night, and circled it 
 With clouds of living fire. He also made 
 The lesser worlds that in their orbits move 
 Unerringly around. The abyss of space 
 He spread out with his hands, and set therein 
 Th' innumerable multitude of stars. 
 
 At her stone. 
 
 STARS, Elevated Majesty of. 
 
 Who that hath seen these splendours roll. 
 And gazed on this majestic scene. 
 
 But sighed to 'scape this world's control. 
 Spurning its pleasures poor and mean. 
 
 To burst the bonds that bind the soul. 
 And pass the gulf that yawned between ? 
 
 Young. 
 
 STARS, Enormous Distances of the. 
 
 The only mode we have of conceiving in- 
 tervals of space between the stars at all 
 is by calculating the time which it would 
 require for light to traverse them. Now light, 
 as we know, travels at the rate of one hundred 
 and ninety-two thousand miles per second. It 
 would therefore occupy one hundred million 
 thousand seconds, or upwards of three years, 
 in such a journey, at the very lowest estimate. 
 What, then, are we to allow for the distance 
 of those innumerable stars of the smaller 
 magnitudes, which the telescope discloses to 
 us ! If we admit the light of a star of each 
 magnitude to be half that of the magnitude 
 next above it, it will follow that a star of the 
 first magnitude will require to be removed to 
 three hundred and sixty- two times its distance 
 to appear no larger than one of the sixteenth. 
 It follows, therefore, that among the countless 
 multitude of such stars, visible in telescopes, 
 there must be many whose light has taken at 
 least a thousand years to reach us ; and that 
 when we observe their places, and note their 
 changes, M'e are, in fact, reading only their 
 history of a thousand years' date, thus wonder- 
 fully recorded. — Sir y. HerscheL 
 
 STARS, Glorious Vision of. 
 
 'Twas when the world was in its prime. 
 When the fresh stars had just begun 
 
 Their race of glory, and young Time 
 Told his first birthdays by the sun : 
 
 Oh, what a vision were the stars, 
 When first I saw them burn on high, 
 
 Rolling along like living cars 
 Of light for gods to journey by ! 
 
 They were my heart's first passion ; days 
 And nights, unwearied, in their rays 
 Have I hung floating, till each sense 
 Seemed full of their bright influence. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 609 
 
 Often— so much I loved to trace 
 The secrets of this starry race — 
 Have I at mom and evening run 
 Along the lines of radiance spun, 
 Like webs, between them and the sun, 
 Untwisting all the tangled ties 
 Of light into their different dyes ; 
 Then fleetly winged I off, in quest 
 Of those, the farthest, loneliest. 
 That watch, like winking sentinels. 
 The void, beyond which chaos dwells, 
 And there, with noiseless plume, pursued 
 Their track through that grand solitude. 
 Asking intently, all and each, 
 
 "What soul within their radiance dwelt. 
 And wishing their sweet lights were speech. 
 
 That they might tell me all they felt. 
 
 Nay, oft, so passionate my chase 
 Of these resplendent heirs of space. 
 Oft did I follow — lest a ray 
 
 Should 'scape me in the farthest night — 
 Some pilgrim comet, on his way 
 
 To visit distant climes of light ; 
 And well remember how I sung 
 
 Exulting out, when on my sight 
 New worlds of stars, all fresh and young, 
 As if, just bom of darkness, sprung. 
 
 Moore. 
 
 STARS, Harmony of. 
 
 In deep of night, when drowsiness 
 Hath lock'd up mortal sense, then listen I 
 To the celestial sirens' harmony. 
 That sit upon the nine infolded spheres. 
 And sing to those that hold the vital shears, 
 And turn the adamantine spindle round. 
 On which the fate of gods and men is wound. 
 Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie. 
 To lull the daughter of Necessity, 
 And keep unsteady Nature to her law. 
 And the low world in measur'd motion draw 
 After the heavenly tune, which none can hear 
 Of human mould, with gross unpurged ear. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 STARS, Lessons of. 
 
 Stars teach as well as shine. At Nature's 
 
 birth 
 Thus their commission ran, — ** Be kind to 
 
 man." 
 Where art thou, poor benighted traveller ? 
 
 The stars will light thee, though the moon 
 
 should fail. 
 Where art thou, more benighted ! more astray ! 
 In ways immortal ? the stars call thee back. 
 And, if obeyed their counsel, set thee right 
 Carringion. 
 
 STARS, Not Without their Use. 
 
 I NOT believe that the great Architect, 
 With all these fires, the heavenly arches decked 
 Only for show, and with these glistening shields 
 T'amaze poor shepherds watching in the fields ; 
 I not believe that the least flower which pranks 
 Our garden bowers, or on oiu: common banks. 
 And the least stone that in her warming lap. 
 Oar mother Earth doth covetously wrap. 
 Hath some peculiar virtue of its own, 
 And that the glorious stars of heaven have 
 none. Sylvester's Du Bartas. 
 
 STARS, Numberless. 
 Soul of Alvar ! 
 Hear our soft suit, and heed my milder speU ; — 
 So may the gates of Paradise, imbarr'd 
 Cease thy swift toils ! Since haply thou art one 
 Of that innumerable company 
 Who in broad circle, lovelier than the rainbow. 
 Girdle this round earth in a dizzy motion. 
 With noise too vast and constant to be heard ; 
 Fitliest imheard ! For oh, ye numberless 
 And rapid travellers ! what ear unstunn'd. 
 What sense unmadden'd, might bear up against 
 The rushing of your congregated wings ? 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 STARS, Orbs of Light. 
 
 And canst thou think, poor worm ! these orbs 
 
 of light. 
 In size inunense, in number infinite. 
 Were made for thee alone — to twinkle in thy 
 
 sight ? 
 Presumptuous mortal ! can thy nerves descry 
 How far from thee they roll, from thee how 
 
 high? 
 With all thy boasted knowledge, canst thou see 
 Their various beauty, order, harmony ? 
 If not — then sure they were not made for thee. 
 
 Baker. 
 
 STARS, The. 
 Oh 'tis lovely to watch ye at twilight rise. 
 When the evening shadows have left the 
 skies, 
 
 R R 
 
6io 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Or the sun has gone down like a king to rest, 
 In the palace-halls of the golden west ; 
 Or the first pale star in the western sky 
 Calls ye forth to the midnight's solemnity. 
 
 Earth hails your light in the loveliest hour, 
 When the dew like a spirit hangs over each 
 
 flower. 
 When the glens lie hushed and the woods 
 
 are still, 
 And the Naiad heareth the fountain's thrill. 
 And the low wind wailethher anthem -hymn 
 In the ear of the night's young cherubim. 
 And oh ! the bright visions ye see from 
 
 heaven ! 
 The earth's blue shade in the gloom of even, 
 The red sea's wave as it rolleth on. 
 In the gleam of the sunset's horizon ; 
 And the beautiful hues of the rainbow air ; 
 And the spirits, like ye, that are wandering 
 
 there. 
 
 Yet oh ! there are more, — from the sunset 
 
 dells 
 Ye harken the chime of sweet vesper bells. 
 And the shepherd's hymn, and the mother's 
 
 prayer, 
 Ye hear through the hush of the midnight air, 
 And the dove's soft note in the solemn woods, 
 And eve's low moan in the solitudes. 
 
 Yet have ye a spell and a solemn power. 
 To guard the earth at the midnight's hour ; 
 To watch o'er the slumbering homes of men, 
 O'er the lamp that lighteth the student's 
 
 pen; 
 O'er the peasant's roof, and the monarch's 
 
 throne. 
 Over all that beauty hath made your own. 
 
 Ye pass in your glory o'er land and sea ; 
 Ye ride through the heavens triumphantly ; 
 O'er the boundless hills of immortal space. 
 Ye speed in the joy of your chariot race ; 
 And the sunset's beam, and the moonlight's 
 
 ray, 
 Are the paths that ye tread to the shores of 
 
 day. 
 
 And oh ! do ye gaze on that shining land, 
 Where seraph and spirit for ever stand ? 
 A white-robed choir round the golden throne, 
 With harp, and with hymn, and with orison. 
 Sounding for ever their anthem cry, 
 Through the hush of the midnight's im- 
 mensity ! 
 
 Ye are mystic and holy ! — ye may not tell 
 Of that land where the spirits of Eden dwell 
 
 Ye may not give to the winds of the earth 
 The seraph voices that hailed your birth ; 
 Round the awful throne where ye bend and 
 
 bless 
 The spirit that called ye to loveliness ! 
 
 But lo ! the deep glory of night goes by, 
 And the moon wanes low in the western sky ; 
 And the beautiful spirit whose silver wings 
 Gave songs to the night from a thousand 
 
 strings ; 
 Has pealed o'er the waves of the dark deep 
 
 sea, 
 Your dirge through the heaven's infinity ! 
 
 Yet again ye will come in the eve's dark 
 
 hours. 
 With dew to refreshen the folding flowers ; 
 With balm on your wings for the wounded 
 
 breast. 
 And hope for the mourner that finds no rest; 
 And joy for the spirit that waits afar 
 For the heaven that shineth in one night star ! 
 
 F. S. M. 
 
 STARS, the Pavement of Heaven. 
 
 Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven 
 Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold. 
 There's not the smallest orb which thou be- 
 
 hold'st 
 But in his motion like an angel sings, 
 Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins : 
 Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 
 But whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
 Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 STARS, their Multitude. 
 
 All these stupendous objects are daily around 
 us ; but because they are constantly exposed 
 to our view, they never affect our minds : so 
 natural is it for us to admire new, rather than 
 grand objects. Therefore the vast multitude 
 of stars, which diversify the beauty of this im- 
 mense body, does not call the people together ; 
 but when any change happens therein, the 
 eyes of all are fixed upon the heavens. — St. 
 Basil. 
 
 STARS, their Sublimity. 
 
 On Nature's Alps I stand. 
 And see a thousand firmaments beneath ! 
 A thousand systems ! as a thousand grains ! 
 How can man's curious spirit not inquire 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 6ii 
 
 What are the natives of this world sublime, 
 Of this so foreign, unterrestrial sphere. 
 Where mortal, untranslated, never strayed ? 
 Ye borderers on the coasts of bliss ! what are 
 
 you? 
 A colony from Heaven ? or only raised, 
 By frequent visits from Heaven's neighbouring 
 
 realms, 
 To secondary gods, and half divine ? 
 
 Carrins.ton. 
 
 STARS, Thick-sown Glories. 
 
 An eye of awe and wonder let me roll. 
 And roll for ever. Who can satiate sight 
 In such a scene, in such an ocean wide 
 Of deep astonishment? where depth, height, 
 
 breadth. 
 Are lost in their extremes ; and where to count 
 The thick-sown glories in this field of fire, 
 Perhaps a seraph's computation fails. 
 
 Young. 
 
 STARS, 
 
 Wonders of Life and Loveliness. 
 
 Those stany wonders, everlasting worlds 
 Of life and loveliness, — I saw them all. 
 As on the magic wings of mystery borne 
 Methought my unembodied spirit swept 
 Immensity ! Vast multitudes there shone 
 Of beauteous orbs, whose brightness was in- 
 tense 
 Beyond the noon in its most sunny reign. 
 Magnificent, along infinity 
 Of azure, moved these high immortal spheres, 
 Less terrible in beauty, but more shaped 
 To mortal vision ; — as they onward roll'd 
 Each sounded like a world of melody ! 
 
 Robert Montgomery. 
 
 STATION in Life 
 
 No Obstacle to God's Favour. 
 
 Low station is no obstacle to God's favour. 
 St. John was the son of a fisherman ; recom- 
 mended to our Saviour neither by refinement 
 of education nor by honourable employment, 
 he was diligently engaged in the labours of an 
 humble occupation when chosen to accompany 
 his Lord. For those, indeed, whom it hath 
 pleased God to place in the higher states of 
 life, it is right that they should endeavour to 
 perform the duties of their stations by a due 
 cultivation of their talents, by the acquirement 
 
 of suitable accomplishments, and by acting up 
 to the rank in society to which, by the good 
 providence of God, they are born and desig- 
 nated. Nor can such persons act more agree- 
 ably to the will of God, nor more effectually 
 for his glory and their own salvation. At the 
 same time the poor and lowly may reflect that 
 their poverty and lowliness does not preclude 
 them from the enjoyment of God's favour and 
 his love in Christ Jesus, provided they be dili- 
 gent in discharging the duties of their station. 
 "The beloved disciple of Jesus" was, when 
 called upon to follow him, "mending his net" 
 on the Lake of Gennesareth. — B^. Mant. 
 
 STEPS in Error, Retraced, 
 
 Their Agony. 
 
 Yet 'midst so many a wretched, hopeless thing, 
 One hope there was, if it was still a hope. 
 At last, at last to turn and scale the cope 
 Of those dread mountains we had clambered 
 
 o'er. 
 And we did turn, and with what labour sore, 
 W^hat thirst, what hunger, and what wretched- 
 ness 
 We struggled daily, how can words express ? 
 Yet amidst all, the kind God led us on 
 Until at last a high-raised pass we won. 
 And like gray clouds afar behold the sea, 
 And, weakened with our toil and misery. 
 Wept at that sight, that like a friend did seem 
 Forgotten long, beheld but in a dream. 
 When we know not if he be still alive. 
 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 STIGMA on Sportsmen. 
 
 Feeling that ridicule has little to do with 
 argument, and leaving it, as it justly deserves 
 to be left, out of the question, it is worthy of 
 inquiry, by what assimilation to reasoning 
 those who would oppose the propriety of legis- 
 lative interference for the protection of the 
 brute creation, maintain their argument. The 
 only one I have yet been able to meet with is 
 founded on a sort of quid pro quo logic. They 
 ask, with an air of triumph, whether there is 
 not as much cruelty in shooting partridges and 
 pheasants, or hunting hares, as in baiting bulls 
 or worrying badgers ; whether there is more 
 harm in the dog Billy killing a hundred rats 
 than in an angler impaling alive as many 
 fishes ? In my opinion, the answer to all this 
 is very plain. The exhibition of cruelty, for 
 
6l2 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 cruelty's sake, does not merely argue great 
 depravity of heart in the promoters, but has a 
 demoralising and brutalizing influence on the 
 lookers on. Those who can calmly contem- 
 plate animal suffering will soon be actors 
 where they were only spectators. But, as 
 regards what are termed the sports of the 
 field, the case is widely different. The idea of 
 inflicting pain is never once thought of by the 
 sportsman. The bird is shot, it falls, is 
 bagged — and there is an end of the matter ; if 
 merely wounded, it flies away, and he never 
 sees or knows the suffering he has caused. In 
 this case, at least, there is no parallel. In that 
 of the hunted hare, I own there is ; but even 
 here, unfeeling as it certainly is, health and 
 exercise may, at least, be pleaded. I acknow- 
 ledge all field sports to be unworthy of a 
 humane and generous mind ; even angling, 
 with all the fascination which honest Izaak 
 Walton has thrown around it, deserves its 
 share of condemnation ; but not any of these 
 can for a moment be compared in point of 
 cruelty with the cold-blooded delight with 
 which the brutal proselytes of bull and badger- 
 baiting, dog-fighting, and cock-fighting sur- 
 vey the agonizing misery of the hapless animals 
 thus tormented for their sport and amusement. 
 The gratification in the one case is derived 
 from the exercise of skill, and the pursuit of 
 what is deemed a healthy sport in the open 
 air ; in the other, from the indulgence of the 
 worst passions of the human breast, unalloyed 
 cruelty, and the sordid spirit of gambling. 
 The sportsman can plead the undeniable fact 
 that what he destroys is the natural food of 
 man ; the brute- tormentor has no such excuse. 
 But allowing the criminality to be equal, what 
 extenuation does it offer ? Say the shooter of 
 game is as bad as the worrier of animals, does 
 it deduct one atom from the guilt of either? 
 Of all the weak methods of rebutting an accu- 
 sation, that of recrimination is surely the 
 weakest ; for, admitting the full extent of such 
 reasoning, it forms no justification of the 
 wanton increase of suffering. "Is there not," 
 says a philanthropic contemporary, "suffer- 
 ing enough in this world — has it not enough of 
 pain and sorrow, but the stock must be in- 
 creased out of prodigal wantonness ? Are we 
 to witness black hearts revelling in the dis- 
 figurement and destruction of what is fair and 
 beautiful? Is it right to transmit to pos- 
 terity, without their virtues, the cruelties and 
 excesses of our forefathers, who might plead 
 that ignorance which we cannot urge in justi- 
 
 fication? But a want of feeling for the brute 
 creation is a sign of a wicked disposition, as it 
 for the most part argues a want of intellectual 
 power. With a state of high intellect, bar- 
 barity of feeling is seldom united. Children 
 and idiots are generally cruel. Cockfighters, 
 dog- fighters, badger and bull-baiters, and their 
 admirers, high and low, are blockheads as well 
 as barbarians." The enthusiasm of my auxi- 
 liary causes him to forget that where ignorance 
 can be pleaded, it forms its own excuse. But 
 the odium does not in fact rest here. It is not 
 to be divided among the headless multitude ; 
 nor is their depravity and hardness of heart, 
 which causes them to feel pleasure in such 
 spectacles, deserving of a hundreth part of 
 the execration which is due to the real abet- 
 tors of the iniquity ; those, I mean, who, from 
 a more refined education, have a greater facility 
 of exercising a correct judgment, but in whom 
 the debasing propensity for betting on such 
 events has neutralized their better feelings ; 
 and, above all, men of literary genius, who, 
 from the mere wantonness of mental power, 
 enlist their talents on the weakest side, and 
 stand forth the champions of vice and cruelty. 
 It is justly argued by the writer I have just 
 quoted that the pleasure afforded by spectacles 
 of barbarity, and the indifference at the in- 
 fliction of pain, are in exact proportion to the 
 deficiency of intelligence. Let the many be 
 well informed, and truth will in vain be dis- 
 torted by ingenuity. Cultivation will open 
 higher sources of pleasure ; and minds only 
 that are naturally akin to the most fei"ocious of 
 the brutes will be found to advocate such in- 
 human amusements. That period is steadily 
 advancing. It comes like the ocean, irre- 
 sistible in its progress, and sweeping before it 
 every impediment. But it has not yet arrived ; 
 and till it has, it becomes the imperative duty 
 of the Legislature to curb the ferocious passions 
 of the high and low vulgar, and by checking 
 cruelty in every shape, remove a stigma from 
 our country, which has so long attached to it 
 that it has grown into a proverb — '* England 
 is the animals' hell." — Alpha. 
 
 STILL Eain, Sorrow Compared to. 
 The good widow's sorrow is no storm, but a 
 still rain ; commonly it comes to pass that 
 that grief is quickly emptied that streameth 
 out at so large a vent ; whilst their tears that 
 but drop will hold running a long time. — 
 Fiiller. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 613 
 
 STORM. 
 
 The air grew troubled with portentous sound, 
 And mournful omens multiplied around : 
 With furious shock the elements engage, 
 And all the winds contend in all their rage. 
 From clashing clouds their mingled torrents 
 
 gush, 
 And rain and hail with rival fury rush ; 
 Bolts of loud thunder, floods of lightning rend 
 The opening skies, and into earth descend. 
 
 Hayley. 
 
 STORM, A Moorland. 
 
 Fierce, frequent, sudden, is the moorland 
 
 storm ; 
 And oft, deep shelter'd in the stream-fed vales, 
 The swain beholds upon the lessening tor 
 The heavens descend in gloom ; till mass on 
 
 mass 
 Accumulated, all the mighty womb 
 Of vapour bursts tremendous. Loud resounds 
 The torrent rain, and down the gutter'd slopes 
 Rush the resistless waters. Then the leap 
 Of headlong cataract is heard, and roar 
 Of rivers struggling o*er their granite beds. 
 — Nor these alone — the giant tempest pass'd, 
 A thousand brooks their liquid voices lift 
 Melodiously, and through the smiling land 
 Rejoicing roll. Carrington. 
 
 STORM, Description of. 
 
 When the first gusty flaw 
 Smote them and us ; but nothing would avail 
 To mend the thing, so onward did we sail. 
 But slowly, thro' the moonlit night and fair, 
 With all sails set that we could hoist in air. 
 And rolling heavily at first, for still 
 Each wave came on a glittering rippled hill. 
 And lifting us aloft, showed from its height 
 The waste of waves, and then to lightless 
 
 night 
 Dropped us adown, and much ado had we 
 To ride unspilt the wallow of the sea. 
 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 STORM, Furious. 
 
 The forest roared, the everlasting oak 
 In writhing agonies the storm bespoke ; 
 The live leaves scattered wildly everywhere, 
 Whirled round in madd'ning circles in the air; 
 The stoutest limbs were scattered all around. 
 The stoutest trees a stouter master found ; 
 
 Crackling and crashing down they thund'ring 
 
 go, 
 
 And seem to crush the shrinking rocks below: 
 Then the thick rain in gathering torrents 
 
 poured. 
 Higher the river rose, and louder roared. 
 And on its dark, quick eddying surface bore 
 The gathered spoils of earth along its shore ; 
 While trees that not an hour before had stood 
 The lofty monarchs of the stately wood, 
 Now whirling round and round with furious 
 
 course, 
 Dash 'gainst the rocks that breast the torrent's 
 
 force, 
 And shiver like a reed by urchin broke, 
 Through idle mischief, or with heedless stroke: 
 A hundred cataracts, unknown before. 
 Rush down the mountain's side with fearful 
 
 roar, 
 And as with foaming fury down they go. 
 Loose the firm rocks and thunder them below; 
 Blue lightnings from the dark cloud's bosom 
 
 sprung. 
 Like serpents, menacing with forked tongue ; 
 While many a sturdy oak that stiffly braved 
 The threat'ning hurricane that round it raved, 
 Shivered beneath its bright, resistless flash. 
 Came tumbling down amain, with fearful 
 
 crash : 
 Air, earth, and skies seemed now to try their 
 
 pow'r, 
 And struggle for the mastery of the hour. 
 
 Paulson. 
 
 STORM in a Forest. 
 
 How would each sweeping pond'rous bough 
 
 Resist, when straight the whirlwind cleaves. 
 Dashing in strengthening eddies through 
 
 A roaring wilderness of leaves ! 
 How would the prone descending show'r 
 
 From the green canopy rebound ! 
 How would the lowland torrents pour ! 
 
 How deep the pealing thunder sound ! 
 
 Bloomfield. 
 
 STORM, Land, Description of. 
 
 A CLOUD thickens the night. 
 
 Hark, how the tempest crashes through the 
 
 forest ! 
 The owls fly out in strange affright ; 
 The columns of the evergreen palaces 
 Are split and shatter'd ; 
 The roots creak, and stretch, and groan ; 
 And ruinously overthrown, 
 
6i4 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 The trunks are crush'd and batter'd 
 
 I By the fierce blast's unconquerable stress. 
 
 I Over each door crack and crash they all 
 
 In terrible and intertangled fall. 
 
 And through the ruins of the shaken mountain 
 
 The airs hiss and howl ; 
 
 It is not the voice of the fountain. 
 
 Nor the wolf in his midnight prowl. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 STREAMS and Childhood. 
 
 Meet playmate for a child, a blessed child, 
 Is a glad singing stream, heard or unheard, 
 Singing its melody of happiness 
 Amidst the reeds, and bounding in free grace 
 To that sweet chime. With what a sparkling 
 
 life 
 It fills the shadowy dingle ! Now the wing 
 Of some low-skimming swallow shakes bright 
 
 spray 
 Fonh to the sunshine from its dimpled wave ; 
 Now from some pool of crystal darkness deep. 
 The trout springs upward, with a showery 
 
 gleam 
 And splashing sound of waters. What swift 
 
 rings 
 Of mazy insects o'er the shallow tide 
 Seem, as they glance, to scatter sparks of light 
 From burnish'd films. And mark yon silvery 
 
 line 
 Of gossamer, so tremulously hung 
 Across the narrow current, from the tuft 
 Of hazels to the hoary poplar's bough ! 
 See, in the air's transparence, how it waves, 
 Quivering and glistening with each faintest 
 
 gale. 
 Yet breaking not — a bridge for fairy shapes, 
 How delicate, how wondrous ! 
 Well may we make the stream's bright winding 
 
 vein 
 Our woodland guide, for He who made the 
 
 stream 
 Made it a clue to haunts of loveliness 
 For ever deepening. O, forget Him not. 
 Dear child? that airy gladness which thou 
 
 feel'st 
 Wafting thee after bird and butterfly. 
 As 'twere a breeze within thee, is not less 
 His gift, His blessing on thy spring-time hours, 
 Than this rich outward sunshine, mantling all 
 The leaves, and grass, and mossy-tinted stones, 
 With summer glory. Stay thy bounding step, 
 My merry wanderer ! let us rest awhile 
 By this clear pool, where, in the shadow flung 
 
 From alder boughs and osiers o'er its breast, 
 The soft red of the flowering willow-herb 
 So vividly is pictured. Seems it not 
 E'en melting to a more transparent glow 
 In that pure glass ! Oh ! beautiful are streams ! 
 And, through all ages, human hearts have loved 
 Their music, still accordant with each mood 
 Of sadness, or of joy. And love hath grown 
 Into vain worship, which hath left its trace 
 On sculptured urn and altar, gleaming still 
 Beneath dim olive boughs by many a fount 
 Of Italy and Greece. But we will take 
 Our lesson e'en from erring hearts, which 
 
 bless'd 
 The river deities, or fountain nymphs. 
 For the cool breeze, and for the freshening 
 
 shade 
 And the sweet water's tune. The One Supreme, 
 The all-sustaining, ever-present God, 
 Who dower'd the soul with immortality, 
 Gave also these delights to cheer on earth 
 Its fleeting passage ; therefore let us greet 
 Each wandering flower sent as a boon to Him, 
 Each bird-note, quivering 'midst light summer 
 
 leaves. 
 And every rich celestial tint unnamed, 
 Wherewith transpierced, the clouds of morn 
 
 and eve 
 Kindle and melt away ! Felicia Hemans. 
 
 STREAM, The. 
 
 The stream, a silver line of light, 
 That bends along the meadows fair, 
 
 Brings ever gladness to my sight — 
 At morn and eve I wander there. 
 
 'Twas near its banks I sprung to birth, 
 
 And on its banks a boy I played ; 
 Though long a wanderer through the earth, 
 
 Again, my steps are there delayed. 
 And dearer is it now to me 
 
 Than one could be of prouder name. 
 For absence long, and memory. 
 
 Have added power unto its claim. 
 I shall not leave its banks again, 
 
 Though lowly, nameless, and despised ; 
 My wanderings in a world of pain, 
 
 Have made it more devoutly prized. 
 
 And where the trembling aspens sigh. 
 And where the willows bending weep, 
 
 There be my grave, there would I lie. 
 And mine would be a pleasant sleep. 
 
 R. H(nviit. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 615 
 
 STRUGGLES and No Struggles. 
 Every one at all versed in history must be ac- 
 quainted with many instances of severe and 
 protracted struggles concerning matters which 
 are now remembered only on account of the 
 struggles they occasioned ; and again of enact- 
 ments materially affecting the welfare of unborn 
 millions, which hardly attracted any notice at 
 the time, and were slipped into one of the 
 heterogeneous clauses of an act of parliament. 
 — Archbp. Whately. 
 
 STUDENT, Unavailing Study of. 
 
 He who reads 
 Incessantly, and to his reading brings not 
 A spirit and judgment equal or superior, 
 Uncertain and unsettled still remains, 
 Deep versed in books, and shallow in himself, 
 Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys, 
 As children gathering pebbles on the shore. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 STUDY, 
 From the Book of Job. 
 
 Oh ! that I were as in the days 
 
 Gone by — when God my footsteps led ; 
 
 When safe through danger's darkest ways 
 I walked — for He around me shed 
 
 That light — his own peculiar light — 
 
 Which bade me flourish in his sight. 
 
 The eye that saw me brighter grew ; 
 
 Around me all my children came ; 
 Men deemed me righteous, for they knew 
 
 That all who heard me blessed my name : 
 With fear and love men looked on me — 
 I lived and flourished like a tree ; — 
 
 A tree that by the waters grew. 
 The sun was on me all the day 
 
 Decking my blossoms, and the dew 
 All night upon my branches lay. 
 
 To me the poor and sorrowing cried. 
 
 But never cried to me in vain ; 
 And those who had no hope beside 
 
 Were calmed and comforted again ; 
 The lone, and wretched, and oppressed, 
 Found me their joy, support, and rest. 
 
 And now — because my God hath taught 
 My soul to loathe its dwelling-place, 
 
 I live, despised and set at nought 
 By children of a worthless race ; 
 
 My harp is tuned to sorrow's deep. 
 
 My voice, the voice of those who weep. 
 
 And why is this ? If I had left 
 The widow in her depth of wee. 
 
 Or seen, unmoved, her babes bereft, 
 Or made the tears of orphans flow j 
 
 If I had worshipped gold, or said 
 To wealth, *' My hope is placed on thee! 
 
 If earthly glory ere had led 
 
 My heart to that which should not be ; 
 
 If I had been the first in strife— 
 
 Or cursed even those who sought my life ; — 
 
 Then Job, the desolate, had known 
 Why thus the anger of the Lord 
 
 Had left him friendless, wretched, lone, 
 A broken reed, a loosened cord. 
 
 Whose days are numbered and whose breath 
 
 Is scarce enough to ask for death. 
 
 S. C. Hall. 
 
 STUDY, Objects of. 
 
 It is painful to reflect upon the grievous waste 
 of that royal gift of Heaven — intellectual 
 energy, — which has taken place in the world ; 
 a gift without which, indeed, capacities and 
 latent powers will enhance but little the repu- 
 tation and the happiness of their possessor. 
 To see how the potent momentum of vigorous 
 understandings has been employed and ex- 
 pended on utterly trivial and unworthy pur- 
 suits is to contemplate a subject at once 
 instructive and deeply humbling to the mind. 
 Behold Leuwenhoek, with powers of applica- 
 tion and of reasoning which might have borne 
 him successfully through the most important 
 as well as the most elaborate inquiries — I say, 
 look at him, absolutely counting out nine 
 millions one hundred and seventy-six thousand 
 eight hundred and ninety-nine eggs, in the roe 
 of a cod fish ! Let not science be degraded 
 by connecting with it the knowledge of an 
 ascertained fact like this. I know not why 
 the exact number of grains in a square mile of 
 sand on the sea shore would not be of equal 
 value in our encyclopedia:' of information— or 
 the number of leaves on a tree, or of trees on 
 Epping Forest. Swammerdam, again, was a 
 labourer in the same region of atoms. With 
 straining eye and exaggerating lens, would he 
 trace sanguinary globules through mazy con- 
 duits, in the almost viewless form of a pellucid 
 millepede, and register the steps and dorsal 
 undulations of the many-footed worm, in its 
 nine days' journey over a space of two yards 
 wide ! purchasing the knowledge which was 
 worthy only of being stored, when obtained. 
 
6i6 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 in the head of a fool, with a larger portion of 
 time and toil than discovered a new hemisphere 
 to Columbus— a new world to Herschel, in 
 the dimly distant orb which perpetuates his 
 name. 
 
 But these egregious and lamentable follies of 
 practical men, it is admitted, have not been 
 always unproductive of benefit to mankind. 
 The cost, vast as it was, of time and labour 
 was theirs ; the advantage, small as it may be, 
 which accrues from their painful diligence in 
 minute inquiries, is ours ; and it must never be 
 forgotten, that these men, whilst seeking a 
 barleycorn, have not unfrequently found a 
 jewel, the value of which has not been the 
 less because to them it was scarcely known, 
 and therefore little heeded. Had they, how- 
 ever, instead of setting, as it were, a steam- 
 engine in motion to disjoint a fly, brought 
 their mental force into operation uniformly on 
 adequate occasions, and for the furtherance of 
 wise and suitable results, what a large amount 
 of available produce would the world, by this 
 time, have reaped from their labours ! — how 
 many pages of the half-read book of Nature, 
 which at present are sealed in mystery, would 
 have been searched into and explained ! 
 Much has been done, and much is known, it 
 is true ; but still the complaint is that so 
 much remains undone and so much unknown ; 
 and if, instead of explaining the reason of this 
 state of things by always referring it to the 
 limited powers of the human mind, we were 
 sometimes to look for the cause in obliquity of 
 judgment and misdirected effort, perhaps we 
 should be nearer the truth than at present we 
 are. 
 
 But if powerful intellects have accomplished 
 comparatively little, through a want of dis- 
 crimination and due appreciation in selecting 
 objects of study, how much less, in the nature 
 of things, can be effected by those who, pos- 
 sessing only an ordinary degree of mental 
 strength and capacity, go the wrong way to 
 work, and employ it at a disadvantage? It is 
 indeed a question of far more general impor- 
 tance how may a common mind exercise its 
 abilities to most advantage? than this— How 
 shall the man of unusual talent proceed ? For 
 in the first case, the matter concerns a thousand 
 individuals, when, in the latter, it concerns 
 but one ; and that which affects the mass of 
 the community is, after all, the main chance 
 in things of this nature, as it is in political 
 economy. 
 
 It is difficult, within the scanty space 
 
 necessarily allotted to an essay, to give any 
 subject a practical bearing, or indeed to go at 
 all into detail ; else it were natural in this place 
 to ask, What are those pursuits that are least 
 or most calculated ultimately to aggrandize the 
 mind, supposing that no distinguishing natural 
 qualifications are possessed ; and by what 
 general process will a common understand- 
 ing acquire an available property in those 
 portions of knowledge which it is directed to 
 obtain ? A question of grave importance, for 
 instance, arises, and which too often appears 
 to have been ill considered and rashly decided 
 upon. Shall a youth who has exhibited no 
 peculiar mental endowments, and who will 
 probably have small occasion for their employ- 
 ment in the world of letters, spend the M'hole 
 or the greater part of his time at school, in ac- 
 quiring dead languages? Seeing that abilities 
 of a high order and a peculiar kind are needful 
 to attain eminence as a classic, and that those 
 who have had those abilities and attained the 
 eminence, have thereby, in numerous cases, 
 procured little good to themselves and others j 
 what kind and what amount of benefit can be 
 expected to reward the pains of an ungifted lad 
 who has been eight or ten years at Greek and 
 Latin ? We know well that with many a single 
 word to this effect will not be borne with : the 
 gentle and the simple, the sharp-witted and the 
 blockhead, boys intended for the learned pro- 
 fessions, and cheesemongers' sons, destined 
 shortly to take their father's stand behind the 
 greasy counter, — must all, if they learn any- 
 thing, be taught eternal Greek and Latin, or 
 nothing is done. Those sciences which would 
 most enlarge a limited understanding, and best 
 tend to provide with resources minds unfitted 
 to find their own materials for thinking, are 
 scarcely put within their reach. The poor 
 puzzled head is crammed with rules, methods, 
 and materials of speech, until it has scarcely 
 room for ideas, of which words, at last, are only 
 the representative signs. Oh were it not better, 
 even for those whose powers are best calculated 
 for the study of language, to spare a few 
 thoughts and a little time for the contemplation 
 of natural science, and those works of the Al- 
 mighty which everywhere speak his praise, so 
 that there is no nation or people where their 
 voice is not heard ? 
 
 In selecting language as a frequent example 
 of that waste of mental effort of which we had 
 previously been speaking, we are not to be 
 understood as underrating it : amongst human 
 sciences it must ever stand in the foremost rank, 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 617 
 
 since without it we can form but a very inade- 
 quate notion of the man and the philosophy of 
 his mind ; and it is certain that few have made 
 themselves conspicuous in other departments 
 of knowledge who have not made considerable 
 attainments in this. But let not men be so in- 
 tent upon acquiring the means that they lose 
 sight of the end — so absorbed in the acquisition 
 of those tongues in which Grecian and Roman 
 authors wrote as to forget to turn their attention 
 to the subjects of which they especially treated ; 
 and where talents, opportunities, and probable 
 occasions are not those which seem to favour 
 or to demand it, let no one think that he will 
 ever be rewarded or justified for the costly 
 sacrifice which a competent knowledge of lan- 
 guage will require at his hands. 
 
 But it is evident that to the general questions. 
 Does this or that natural or moral science claim 
 precedence ? and will the study of nature, as of 
 humanity, yield the richest and most substan- 
 tial benefit ? only general answers can be re- 
 turned. Many of these subjects are so con- 
 nected, and so important, that one cannot be 
 adopted to the exclusion of the other ; and he 
 indeed would make a strange figure among men 
 of knowledge who pretended, for instance, to 
 a minute and competent acquaintance with 
 theology or ethics, and yet had omitted en- 
 tirely to trace out the Deity in his visible 
 works, and to study the natural history of man 
 and of his mind. There are, however, branches 
 of these objects of inquiry, amongst which it is 
 wise and needful to pick and choose, and make 
 a careful selection — guided always by due con- 
 sideration of their relative importance ; and in 
 the next place, by those particular circum- 
 stances of fitness, opportunity, and occasion, 
 of which individuals themselves, or those who 
 have the immediate direction of their pursuits, 
 can best judge. There cannot surely be a 
 question whether astronomy or philosophy be 
 the nobler science ; yet to have set Johnson 
 star-gazing, or Newton to the organization of 
 rules for transcendental grammar, would have 
 been in each case preposterous. Geography is 
 surely of more account in the scale of value 
 than topography; but Camden and Leland, 
 and Gough and Morant, formed by nature to 
 take only views of narrow portions of the 
 earth's surface, would have done probably 
 little or nothing, had they been prevented from 
 fixing a microscropic eye on spots which in- 
 terested their peculiar predilections. 
 
 There is a great danger, on the one hand, of 
 wasting mental energies on objects which only 
 
 morbid and infirm judgments would have se- 
 lected ; and, on the other, of constraining and 
 repressing a peculiar bent of the mind so far, 
 that its elasticity is lost, and its powers of ap- 
 plication destroyed. The world, undoubtedly, 
 owes much to those who have followed, with 
 all their strength, the pursuits to which their 
 respective inclinations led them ; but surely we 
 owe more still to those who have first formed 
 an estimate of the value of the things to be 
 gained, have acquired a taste and inclination 
 for that on which an unbiassed judgment had 
 decided, and then have proceeded with the 
 combined aid of preference and conviction — of 
 natural and moral stimulus to the mind. — 
 Momus. 
 
 STUDY, Necessary to be a Christian. 
 He that will deserve the name of a Christian 
 must be such a man as excelleth through the 
 knowledge of Christ and His doctrine ; in 
 modesty and righteousness of mind, in con- 
 stancy of life, in virtuous fortitude, and in 
 maintaining sincere piety towards the one and 
 the only God, who is all in all. — Euscbius. 
 
 STUDY, Plan of, Sir William Jones's. 
 
 Some idea of the acquirements of the resolute 
 industry with which Sir William Jones pur- 
 sued his studies may be formed from the fol- 
 lowing memorandum : — 
 
 Resolved to learn no more rudiments of any 
 kind, but to perfect myself in — first, twelve 
 languages as the means of acquiring accurate 
 knowledge of — 
 
 I. History — i. Man ; 2. Nature. 
 
 II. Arts— I. Rhetoric; 2. Poetry; 3. Paint- 
 ing ; 4. Music. 
 
 III. Sciences — i. Law ; 2. Mathematics ; 
 3. Dialectics. 
 
 N.B. Every species of human knowledge 
 may be reduced to one or other of these divi- 
 sions. Even law belongs partly to the history 
 of man, partly as a science to dialectics. The 
 twelve languages are Greek, Latin, Italian, 
 French, Spanish, Portuguese, Hebrew, Arabic, 
 Persian, Turkish, German, English. 
 
 STUDY and Retirement, 
 
 Use to be Made of. 
 
 It is a means of obtaining knowledge which 
 
 may rightly influence the conduct of the indi- 
 
6i8 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 vidual. Knowledge is still the object, but it is 
 not the ultimate object ; it is not the know- 
 ledge which lies, like the miser's hoard, unpro- 
 ductive, while other heaps are accumulating ; 
 it is rather like the wealth which is continually 
 current, and is ever ministering to the necessi- 
 ties and comforts of mankind. From such a 
 description of the end of study, it follows that 
 the proper season for its cultivation is the 
 spring of life, while there is yet a future which 
 the knowledge to be acquired may influence. 
 In general, the foundations of a happy old age 
 must be laid in youth ; and in particular, he 
 who has not cultivated the reason young, will 
 be utterly unable to improve it old. — Cooke. 
 
 STUDY, Speculative, Non-useful. 
 
 Some maintain that purely speculative studies 
 are useful to prepare the way for other kinds 
 of learning, by sharpening the ingenuity of the 
 student ; and that those who understand subtle 
 questions will the more easily acquire a know- 
 ledge of less difficult subjects ; but neither of 
 these assertions is true. One reason why ques- 
 tions of this kind are considered ingenious is, 
 that they are not understood ; for it is not un- 
 common for men to admire what they do not 
 comprehend, and to think that most profound 
 which they are not able to fathom. In the 
 opinion of many, however, such subtleties are 
 only the trifling amusements of children ; being, 
 in truth, not the produce of an understanding 
 exercised and improved by erudition, but 
 springing up in an unoccupied mind from an 
 ignorance of better things, like weeds on an 
 uncultivated soil. — Vives. 
 
 SUBJECTION of the Believer. 
 
 The sincere believer will be conscious of a 
 deep and heartfelt conviction of indwelling 
 sin, and of the weakness of his own moral 
 powers ; but he will therefore only the more 
 anxiously endeavour, whilst he cries for spiri- 
 tual assistance to the throne of Grace, to use 
 those powers to the utmost in the cause of holi- 
 ness. He will aim at the attainment of a 
 degree of spiritual perfection, which at the 
 same time he will know to be in this world 
 unattainable, and will therefore combine, with 
 hopes and aspirations, the most unbounded 
 humility, and self-abasement the most sincere. 
 He will therefore tender the daily ofiering of 
 
 his feeble works of imperfect righteousness to 
 his Maker, not with the proud, self-satisfied 
 spirit of one who is presenting an adequate 
 sacrifice worthy of the Great Being to whom it 
 is presented, but with the shrinking shame and 
 diffidence of the poor widow, who followed in 
 the train of the wealthy and powerful to depo- 
 sit her solitary mite. — SJmttleivorth. 
 
 SUBLIME Destiny. 
 
 Our destiny is, even in this world, sublime, if 
 we will but serve God, and not Mammon. 
 For the "spirits of just men made perfect" 
 then come into company with us ; they "en- 
 camp " around us, and "minister" tons, even 
 as they themselves are ministered to by the 
 Lord. It is no mere fancy of a fond mother 
 that the smile of her sleeping infant comes of 
 the angel's whisper. So lovely an idea would 
 not live among the hallowed ones, were it not 
 the reflection of a heaven-sent truth : when 
 the heart in its thankful musings lifts itself 
 towards the skies it is never sent away with a 
 falsehood in it. Wonderful has been the 
 effect upon mankind, even upon this little 
 ministry. It was the smiling in her sleep of 
 Benjamin West's infant niece that led him, 
 though quite a boy, to use the pencil. He was 
 placed to watch the cradle, and, struck by the 
 innocent smiles of his little charge, drew her 
 as she lay. — Leo H. Grindon. 
 
 SUBMISSION to GocL 
 
 He that sits upon the throne of the universe, 
 who shakes heaven and earth with his voice ; 
 who has it in his power to lodge a heaven or a 
 hell in thy breast, by his smiles or frowns, 
 according as he pleases to reward thy sub- 
 mission or to punish thy discontent — who can 
 employ twelve legions of angels to be thy 
 guard, or so many devils to be thy tormentors ; 
 he that can silence thy murmurs with thunder, 
 or stop thy insolent breath with fire and brim- 
 stone, and a horrible tempest ; shall not his 
 excellency make thee afraid ? He that dwells 
 in light that is unapproachable ; before whom 
 angels veil their faces, and by so doing confess 
 his glory to be above all creature power to 
 bear ; shall I lift up my bold front against this 
 God, and charge that glory with shame, that 
 brightness with a spot, that wisdom with folly, 
 and that justice of his with iniquity? — Dr. 
 Grosvenor. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 619 
 
 SUFFERING for GocL 
 
 There is no outward thing in the world that 
 doth more assure us of the favour of God, and 
 of everlasting life, than persecution fcr the 
 righteousness of God's word. , . . Oh, 
 
 SUCCESSOR, Sir Henry Lee's. | 
 
 A CROWNED pillar stood before the temple, 
 and Sir Henry Lee, disarming himself, offered 
 up his armour at the foot of it, and then, 
 kneeling to the Queen, presented the Earl of 
 Cumberland as his successor; who, being 
 graciously accepted, was forthwith armed by 
 Sir Henry, and mounted upon his own horse. 
 To the music was sung, by *' Mr, Hales, her 
 Majesty's servant, a gentleman in that art 
 excellent, and for his voice both commendable 
 and admirable," the following very appropriate 
 song, allusive to Lee's resignation and age : — 
 
 My golden locks time hath to silver tum'd, 
 (Oh time too swift, and swiftness never 
 
 ceasing !) 
 My youth 'gainst age, and age at youth hath 
 
 spum'd. 
 But spum'd in vain; youth waneth by 
 
 encreasing. 
 Beauty, strength, and youth, flowers fading 
 
 been; 
 Duty, faith, and love, are roots, and ever 
 
 green. 
 
 My helmet now shall make a hive for bees. 
 And lovers' songs shall turn to holy psalms; 
 
 A man-at-arms must now sit on his knees. 
 And feed on prayers, that are old age's alms. 
 
 And so from court to cottage I depart ; 
 
 My saint is sure of my unspotted heart. 
 
 And when I sadly sit in homely cell, 
 
 I'll teach my swains this carol for a song — 
 Blest be the hearts that think my sovereign 
 well ; 
 Curs'd be the souls that think to do her 
 wrong. 
 Goddess, vouchsafe this aged man his right. 
 To be your beadsman now, that was your 
 knight. 
 
 SUFFERERS, Patient. 
 
 In these fair and meek, 
 And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought. 
 They see what grief must nurture for the sky. 
 What death must fashion for eternity ! 
 
 Mrs. Henians. 
 
 how desirable a thing is it for the servant to be 
 like to his Master ! Oh, how glorious a thing 
 is the cross that purchaseth eternal bliss ! 
 Verily, we are not worthy to carry the cross of 
 Christ ; the Lord, for His mercy's sake, make 
 us worthy. — Bradford. 
 
 SUFFERING from God. 
 
 Though God should seem to hide His face, 
 yet be not daunted ; yet faint not mider 
 sorrow : but as Christ Himself did, — in your 
 agony, pray more earnestly. Though He 
 suflfer you long to entreat in vain, remember 
 still that He is faithful, who hath promised, 
 that "he that shall endure tinto the end, the 
 same shall be saved." . . . Oh, by all 
 your hopes and fears, be not so soon weary of 
 the means of salvation afforded you? Abandon 
 not rashly that everlasting chain of prayer 
 which joins the soul to its Maker ; that medi- 
 tation of Divine things, by which, as by Jacob's 
 visionary ladder, our spirits even now climb 
 up to God ; and by which, ere long, we may, 
 by the grace of Jesus Christ, enter into the 
 presence of our Lord ; and hear from the lips 
 of Wisdom that praise to which all earthly 
 fame is folly, " Great is thy faith ! be it unto 
 thee even as thou wilt ! " — Bp. Heber. 
 
 SUFFERING, 
 
 Humanizes the Heart. 
 
 It has been the universal opinion of mankind 
 that personal experience of suffering humanizes 
 the heart In the school of affliction, compas- 
 sion is always supposed to be most thoroughly 
 learned ; and hence, in the laws of Moses, 
 when the Israelites are commanded not to 
 oppress the stranger, this reason is given ; 
 •* For you know the heart of a stranger, seeing 
 you were strangers yourselves in the land of 
 Egypt " — Blair. 
 
 SUFFERING, On. 
 
 Acquaint your thoughts and hearts with 
 sufferings, that when they come, thou and they 
 may agree and comply the better. Do not 
 afflict yourselves with vain fears beforehand 
 of troubles to come, and so make uncertain 
 evils a certain vexation ; but thus forethink 
 the hardest trial you are likely to be put to for 
 the name and cause of Christ, and labour for a 
 
620 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 holy stability of mind, for encountering it if it 
 should come upon you. Things certainly fall 
 the lighter on us when they fall first upon our 
 thoughts. In this way, indeed, of an imagined 
 suffering, the conquest beforehand may be but 
 imaginary, and thou mayest fail in the trial. 
 Therefore, be still humble and dependent on 
 the strength of Christ, and seek to be pre- 
 viously furnished with much distrust of thyself, 
 and much trust in him, with much denial of 
 thyself, and much love to him ; and this pre- 
 paring and training of the heart may prove 
 useful, and make it more dexterous, when 
 brought to a real conflict. In all, both before- 
 hand, and in the time of the trial, make the 
 Lord Jesus all thy strength. That is our only 
 way in all things to be conquerors, "to be more 
 than conquerors, through Him that loved us. " 
 — LeJghton, 
 
 SUMMER, Death of. 
 
 By the lengthening twilight hours, 
 By the chill and frequent showers, 
 By the flow'rets pale and faded, 
 By the leaves with russet shaded, 
 By the gray and clouded morn, 
 By the drooping ears of com, 
 Ripen'd now and earthward tending, 
 As man when full of years is bending 
 Towards his kindred dust, where he 
 Lowly soon shall withering be ; 
 By the silence of each grove, 
 Vocal late with notes of love ; 
 By the meadow overspread 
 With the spider's wavy thread, 
 By the soft and shadowy sky. 
 By the thousand tears that lie 
 Every weeping bough beneath ; — 
 Summer ! we perceive thy death. 
 Summer ! all thy charms are past ! 
 Summer ! thou art waning fast ! 
 Scarcely one of all thy roses 
 On thy faded brow reposes ; 
 Day by day more feebly shining, 
 Sees thy glorious beams declining. 
 Though thy wan and sickly smile, 
 Faintly lingers yet awhile ; 
 Thrush and nightingale have long 
 Ceased to woo thee with their song ; 
 And on every lonely height 
 Swallows gather for their flight ; 
 Streams, that in their sparkling course 
 Rippling flowed, are dark and hoarse : 
 
 While the gale's inconstant tone, 
 Sweeping through the valleys lone, 
 Sadly sighs with mournful breath, 
 Requiems for sweet Summer's death. 
 
 A. Strickland. 
 
 SUMMER, Description of. 
 
 Now simmer blinks on flowery braes. 
 And o'er the crystal streamlet plays, 
 Come, let us spend the lightsome days 
 In the Birks of Aberfeldie. 
 Bonnie lassie, &c. 
 
 While o'er their heads the hazels hing 
 The little birdies blithely sing. 
 Or lightly flit on wanton wing, 
 In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
 Bonnie lassie, &c. 
 
 The braes ascend like lofty wa's. 
 The foaming stream deep roaring fa's, 
 O'erhung with fragrant spreading shaws. 
 The Birks of Aberfeldy. 
 
 Bonnie lassie, &c. 
 
 The hoary cliffs are crown d wi' flowers. 
 White o'er the linns the burnie pours, 
 And rising, weets wi' misty showers 
 The Birks of Aberfeldy. 
 
 Bonnie lassie, &c. 
 
 Let fortune's gifts at random flee. 
 They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me, 
 Supremely blest wi' love and thee. 
 In the Birks of Aberfeldy. 
 
 Bonnie lassie, &c. Burns, 
 
 To hear the lark begin his flight, 
 And singing startle the dull night, 
 From his watchtow'r in the skies. 
 Till the dappled dawn doth rise ; 
 Then to come in spite of sorrow. 
 And at my window bid good-morrow. 
 Through the sweetbriar, or the vine. 
 Or the twisted eglantine : 
 While the cock with lively din 
 Scatters the rear of darkness thin. 
 And to the stack, or the barn-door. 
 Stoutly struts his dames before : 
 Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn 
 Cheerly rouse the slumb'ring morn. 
 From the side of some hoar hill, 
 Through the high wood echoing shrill : 
 Some time walking not unseen 
 By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green. 
 Right against the eastern gate. 
 Where the great sun begins his state. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 621 
 
 Rob'd in flames and amber light, 
 
 The clouds in thousand liveries dight, 
 
 While the ploughman near at hand 
 
 Whistles o'er the furrow'd land, 
 
 And the milkmaid singeth blithe, 
 
 And the mower whets his scythe, 
 
 And every shepherd tells his tale 
 
 Under the hawthorn in the dale. 
 
 Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures 
 
 Whilst the landscape round it measures. 
 
 Russet lawns, and fallows gray. 
 
 Where the nibbling flocks do stray, 
 
 Mountains on whose barren breast 
 
 The lab'ring clouds do often rest. 
 
 Meadows trim with daisies pied. 
 
 Shallow brooks, and rivers wide. 
 
 Towers and battlements it sees 
 
 Bosom'd high in tufted trees. 
 
 Where perhaps some beauty lies, 
 
 The cynosure of neighb'ring eyes. 
 
 Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes, 
 
 From betwixt two aged oaks. 
 
 Where Corydon and Thyrsis met. 
 
 Are at their savoury dinner set 
 
 Of herbs, and other country messes. 
 
 Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses ; 
 
 And then in haste her bow'r she leaves. 
 
 With Thestylis to bind the sheaves, 
 
 Or if the earlier season lead 
 
 To the tann'd haycock in the mead. 
 
 Sometimes with secure delight 
 
 The upland hamlets will invite. 
 
 When the merry bells ring round, 
 
 And the jocund rebecs sound 
 
 To many a youth, and many a maid, 
 
 Dancing in the chequer'd shade ; 
 
 And young and old come forth to play 
 
 On a sunshine holiday, Milton. 
 
 SUMMER, its Busy Song. 
 Loud is the Summer's busy song. 
 The smallest breeze can find a tongue, 
 While insects of each tiny size. 
 Grow teazing with their melodies. 
 Till noon burns with its blistering breath 
 Around, and day dies still as death. 
 The busy noise of man and brute 
 Is on a sudden lost and mute ; 
 Even the brook that leaps along, 
 Seems weary of its bubbling song, 
 And so soft its waters creep. 
 Tired silence sinks in sounder sleep, 
 The cricket on its bank is dumb. 
 The very flies forget to hum ; 
 
 And save the waggon rocking round. 
 
 The landscape sleeps without a sound. 
 
 The breeze is stopt, the lazy bough 
 
 Hath not a leaf that dances now ; 
 
 The taller grass upon the hill, 
 
 And spiders' threads are standing still ; 
 
 The feathers dropt from moorhen's wing. 
 
 Which to the water's surface cling. 
 
 Are steadfast, and as heavy seem. 
 
 As stones beneath them in the stream ; 
 
 Hawkweed and groundsels' fanning downs 
 
 Unruffled keep their seedy crowns j 
 
 And in the oven-heated air. 
 
 Not one light thing is floating there, 
 
 Save that to the earnest eye 
 
 The restless heat seems twittering by. 
 
 Noon swoons beneath the heat it made. 
 
 And flowers e'en within the shade. 
 
 Until the sun slopes in the west. 
 
 Like weary traveller, glad to rest. 
 
 On pillow'd clouds of many hues ; 
 
 Then Nature's voice its joy renews. 
 
 And chequered field and grassy plain, 
 
 Hum with their summer songs again 
 
 A requiem to the day's decline. 
 
 Whose sitting sunbeams coolly shine. 
 
 As welcome to day's feeble powers 
 
 As falling dews to thirsty flowers. Clan. 
 
 SUMMER, its Sylvan Beauties. 
 
 Green haunts, and deep inquiring lanes. 
 Wind through the trunks their grassy trains 
 Millions of chaplets curl unweft 
 From boughs, beseeching to be reft, 
 To prune the clustering of their groves. 
 And wreathe the brows that beauty loves. 
 Millions of blossoms, fruits, and gems, 
 Bend with rich weight the massy stems ; 
 Millions of restless dizzy things. 
 With ruby tufts and rainbow wings, 
 Speckle the eye-refreshing shades. 
 Burn through the air, or swim the glades ; 
 As if the tremulous leaves were tongues, 
 Millions of voices, sounds, and songs. 
 Breathe from the aching trees that sigh. 
 Near sick of their own melody. Darky. 
 
 SUMMER, Ode to. 
 Summer, embowered in thy rich leafiness ! 
 
 Flora and bright Pomona, weave thy crown, 
 And wreathed with flowers in every golden tress 
 That o'er thy sun-broAvn'd bosom wantons 
 down ; 
 
622 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 The silvery stream that gurgles at thy feet, 
 Chaunts a rich fytte of noontide melody ; 
 The winged people shun the scorching 
 ray, 
 But where yon branches meet 
 Full oft their glancing forms flit beauteous 
 
 by, 
 
 And swell the varied lay. 
 
 Yes, not a feathered chorister is mute, 
 
 Thine is the zenith beauty of the year, 
 Gardens have still their flowers, orchards have 
 fruit ; 
 Thy varied foliage yet is all unsere, 
 And rich thou art in many a leafy nook 
 Where the pale bard his fever'd head may 
 rest, 
 Rapt in Elysian rhapsody sublime, 
 
 Or o'er some favourite book 
 Poring, forget, in his secluded nest. 
 How speeds the fleet-wing'd Time. 
 
 Thine is the cloudless day, so long, that ni^ht 
 Seems but a twilight where the evening gray 
 Mingles with early daybreak ; carolling light, 
 The mower leaves his hut, and wends his 
 way 
 To where the long grass waits his sharpened 
 scythe ; 
 And when the sun is up in the warm hea- 
 ven. 
 In motley groups, the haymakers appear, 
 
 Seeking their labour blythe ; 
 Summer, to thee earth's richest wealth is 
 given, 
 Thou Croesus of the year ! 
 
 A 71071. 
 
 SUMMER, Prime of. 
 
 Summer was in its prime ; — the parrot flocks 
 Darkened the passing sunshine on the rocks : 
 The chrysomel and purple butterfly 
 Amid the clear blue light are wand'ring by ; 
 The humming-bird, along the myrtle bowers, 
 With twinkling wing, is spinning o'er the 
 
 flowers ; 
 The woodpecker is heard with busy bill. 
 The mock-bird sings— and all beside is still. 
 And look ! the cataract that bursts so high 
 As not to mar the deep tranquillity. 
 The tumult of its dashing fall suspends. 
 And, stealing drop by drop, in mist descends ; 
 Through whose illumined spray and sprinkling 
 
 dews. 
 Shine to the adverse sun the broken rainbow 
 
 hues. 
 
 Check'ring, with partial shade, the beams of 
 
 noon. 
 And arching the gray rock with wild festoon. 
 Here, its gay net-work, and fantastic twine. 
 The purple cogul threads from pine to pine. 
 And oft, as the fresh airs of morning breathe, 
 Dips its long tendrils in the stream beneath. 
 There, through the trunks, with moss and 
 
 lichens white. 
 The sunshine darts its interrupted light. 
 And, 'mid the cedar's darksome boughs, 
 
 illumes. 
 With instant touch, the lori's scarlet plumes. 
 Just heard to trickle through a covert near. 
 And soothing, with perpetual lapse, the ear, 
 A fount, like raindrops, filtered thro' the stone. 
 And, bright as amber, on the shallows shone. 
 Intent his fairy pastime to pursue, 
 And, gem-like, hovering o'er the violets blue, 
 The humming-bird, here, its unceasing song 
 Heedlessly murmured all the Summer long. 
 And when the Winter came, retired to rest, 
 And from the myrtles hung its trembling nest. 
 No sounds of a conflicting world were near ; 
 The noise of ocean faintly met the ear. 
 That seemed, as sunk to rest the noontide 
 
 blast. 
 But dying sounds of passions that were past ; 
 Or closing anthems, when, far off, expire 
 The lessening echoes of the distant choir. 
 
 Bowks. 
 
 SUMMER Shower. 
 
 But ever, after Summer show'r, 
 When the bright sun's returning pow'r 
 With laughing beam has chased the storm, 
 And cheered reviving nature's form ; 
 By sweet-briar hedges, bathed in dew, 
 Let me my wholesome path pursue. 
 There issuing forth the frequent snail, 
 Wears the dank way with slimy trail. 
 While as I walk, from pearled busli. 
 The sunny-sparkling drop I brush, 
 And all the landscape fair I view 
 Clad in a robe of fresher hue ; 
 From shelter deep of shaggy rock 
 The shepherd drives his joyful flock ; 
 From bowering beech the mower blithe 
 With new-born vigour grasps the scythe ; 
 While o'er the smooth unbounded meads 
 His last faint gleam the rainbow spreads. 
 T. Warl07u 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 623 
 
 SUMMER'S Eve. 
 
 Down the sultry arc of day 
 
 The burning wheels have urged their way, 
 
 And eve along the western skies 
 
 Sheds her intermingling dyes. 
 
 Down the deep, the miry lane, 
 
 Creaking comes the empty wain. 
 
 And driver on the shaft-horse sits, 
 
 "Whistling now and then by fits ; 
 
 And oft, with his accustomed call, 
 
 Urging on the sluggish Ball. 
 
 The barn is still, the master's gone 
 
 And thrasher puts his jacket on ; 
 
 While Dick upon the ladder tall 
 
 Nails the dead kite to the wall. 
 
 Here comes shepherd Jack at last, 
 
 He has penned the sheep-cote fast. 
 
 For 'twas but two nights before 
 
 A lamb was eaten on the moor ; 
 
 His empty wallet Rover carries. 
 
 Nor for Jack, when near home, tarries ; 
 
 With lolling tongue, he runs to try 
 
 If the horse-trough is not dry. 
 
 The milk is settled in the pans, 
 
 And supper messes in the cans ; 
 
 In the hovel, carts are wheeled, 
 
 And both the colts are drove a-field ; 
 
 The horses are all bedded up. 
 
 And the ewe is with the tup. 
 
 The snare for Mister Fox is set, 
 
 The leaven laid, the thatching wet ; 
 
 And Bess has slinked away to talk 
 
 With Roger in the holly walk. 
 
 K. White. 
 
 SUMMER, the Season of Joy. 
 Now comes Summer ! his face embrowned 
 with labour and glowing with brightness. 
 His head crowned with the diadem of majesty 
 — a wreath of the fiercest sunbeams. He 
 cries aloud, in the voice of his own thunder, 
 * * What meanest thou, O sleeper ? Arise, and 
 call upon thy God." Who does not, at this 
 period, admire all Nature teeming with life 
 and replete with energy ? Or, who that has a 
 soul at all in unison with beneficence, or 
 affected by beauty and truth, would not join 
 with the poet in the following apostrophe to 
 that orb, which is the source of all this life, 
 energy, and glory ? 
 In wonder risest thou, material orb ; 
 
 And youthfulness — a symbol and a sign : 
 Change, revolution, age, decay, absorb 
 
 All other essences, but harm not thine ; 
 
 In thy most awful face reflected shine 
 
 Thy mother's attributes, celestial child ! 
 
 When shapelessness ruled chaos, the Divine 
 Looked on the void tumultuous mass, and 
 
 smiled — 
 Then startedst thou to birth, and trod'st the 
 
 pathless wild. 
 Girt like a giant for the speed, the flight, 
 
 The toil of unsummed ages ; in thy zone, 
 Charmed into motion by the sacred light, 
 The glad earth danced around thee with the 
 
 tone 
 Of music — for then Eden was her own. 
 And all things breathed of beauty— chiefly 
 man 
 Drank of an angel's joy : where are ye flown, 
 Too fleeting suns ? a mortal's thought may span 
 Your course — for ye returned to whence your 
 race began. Wiffen. 
 
 SUN-DIAL, 
 
 The Truest, a "Village Spire. 
 
 In this way they went on, and on, and on — in 
 the language of the story books — until at last 
 the village lights appeared before them, and 
 the church spire cast a long reflection on the 
 graveyard grass ; as if it were a dial (alas, the 
 truest in the world !) marking, whatever light 
 shone out of Heaven, the flight of days, and 
 weeks, and years, by some new shadow on 
 that solemn ground, — Dickens. 
 
 SUN, His Glorious Light. 
 
 What were all the realms of this world but a 
 dungeon of darkness without the beams of the 
 sun ? All their fine scenes hid from our view ; 
 lost in obscurity. In vain we roll aroimd our 
 eyes in the midnight gloom. In vain we strive 
 to behold the features of amiable nature. 
 Turn whither we will, no form of comeliness 
 appears. All seems a dreary waste, an un- 
 distinguished chaos, till the returning hours 
 have unbarred the gates of light, and let forth 
 the morn. Then what a prospect opens ? The 
 heavens are paved with azure, and strewed 
 with roses. A variety of the liveliest verdures 
 array the plains. The flowers put on a glow 
 of the richest colours. The whole creation 
 stands forth, dressed in all the charms of 
 beauty. The ravished eye looks round and 
 wonders. — Hervey. 
 
624 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 SUN, Eegent of Day. 
 
 First in his east the glorious lamp was seen, 
 Regent of day, and all th' horizon round 
 Invested with bright rays, jocund to run 
 His longitude through heaven's high road ; the 
 
 gray 
 Dawn, and the Pleiades before him danced. 
 Shedding sweet influence : less bright the 
 
 moon. 
 But opposite in levell'd west was set 
 His mirror, with full face borrowing her light 
 From him ; for other lights she needed none 
 In that respect, and still that distance keeps 
 Till night ; then in the east her turn she 
 
 shines, 
 Revolved on heaven's great axle, and her reign 
 With thousand lesser lights dividual holds. 
 With thousand thousand stars, that then ap- 
 
 pear'd 
 Spangling the hemisphere : then first adorn'd 
 With their bright luminaries that set and rose. 
 Glad evening and glad morn crown'd the 
 
 fourth day. Milton. 
 
 SUN, Source of Day. 
 
 Great source of day ! best image here below 
 
 Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, 
 
 From world to world, the vital ocean round, 
 
 On Nature write with every beam. His praise, 
 
 Soul of surrounding worlds ! 
 
 'Tis by thy secret, strong attractive force, 
 
 As with a chain indissolubly bound, 
 
 Thy system rolls entire. 
 
 From far Uranus, wheeling wide his round 
 
 Of eight years, to Mercury, whose disc 
 
 Can scarce be caught by philosophic eye, 
 
 Lost in the near effulgence of thy blaze. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 SUN, The. 
 
 The sun is to us the most interesting of all the 
 heavenly bodies : the heat which he diffuses 
 animates the world, while the light he emits is 
 the source of the purest of all our sensible 
 pleasures. 
 
 Fairest of beings ! first created light ! 
 Prime cause of beauty ! from thee alone 
 The sparkling gem, the vegetable race. 
 The nobler worlds that live and breathe, 
 
 their charms. 
 The lovely hues peculiar to each tribe, 
 From thy unfailing source of splendour draw ! 
 
 Mallet. 
 
 SUN, Vitality of. 
 
 Tn'unfruitful rock itself, impregned by thee, 
 In dark retirement forms the lucid srone. 
 The lively diamond drinks thy purest rays, 
 Collected light, compact; that polished bright. 
 And all its native lustre let abroad. 
 Dares, as it sparkles on the fair one's breast, 
 With vain ambition emulate her eyes. 
 At thee the ruby lights its deepening glow. 
 And with a waving radiance inward flames. 
 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 Spnng, 
 When first she gives it to the southern gale. 
 Than the green emerald shows. But all com- 
 bined. 
 Thick through the whitening opal play thy 
 
 beams ; 
 Or, flying several from its surface, form 
 A trembling variance of revolving hues, 
 As the sight varies in the gazer's hand. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 SUNNY Day in Winter. 
 
 So bright, so beautiful the day, 
 
 So sunny and serene, 
 I almost think the month of May 
 
 Has stolen in unseen : 
 And hoary Winter flies the while 
 
 Across the stormy wave. 
 To lose the lustre of her smile 
 
 In some dark Northern cave. 
 
 The gurgling rivulets gaily run, 
 
 Freed from their icy chain. 
 As if they deemed the summer sun 
 
 Shone on the earth again. 
 And swiftly from each hill and dale, 
 
 Where'er is gently felt 
 The warm breath of the southern gale, 
 
 The snowy mantles melt. 
 
 Such sunny days in Northern climes, 
 
 Where reigns the Winter drear. 
 Gleams brightly through the storms at times. 
 
 The weary heart to cheer ; 
 And many a soothing hope they bring, 
 
 And many a tale they breathe 
 Of all the coming joys, when Spring 
 
 Her leafy crown shall weave. 
 
 Thus sometimes to the Christian's soul 
 
 E'en in a world like this, 
 Where clouds of sin and sorrow roll, 
 
 A foretaste of the bliss 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 625 
 
 Reserved for all the saints of heaven, 
 
 In realms of endless day, 
 Is kindly for a moment given 
 
 To cheer him on his way. Winsl<nv. 
 
 SUNRISE. 
 
 But yonder comes the powerful king of day. 
 Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, 
 The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow 
 Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach 
 Betoken glad. Lo ! now, apparent all. 
 Aslant the dew — bright earth, and colour 'd 
 
 air — 
 He looks in boundless majesty abroad. 
 And sheds the shining day, that bumish'd plays 
 On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering 
 
 streams, 
 High gleaming from afar. Thomson. 
 
 A DAZZLING point emerges from the sea ; 
 It spreads ; — it rises : — now it seems a dome 
 Of burning gold ; it rests upon the rim 
 Of waters ; lingers there a moment ; then 
 
 Soars up 
 
 It is the hour of noon : the god of day 
 Stands on the highest pinnacle of heaven, 
 Glorious, majestic, inexpressibly bright. 
 Atherstone. 
 
 But see ! the flushed horizon flames intense 
 With vivid red, in rich profusion streamed 
 O'er heaven's pure arch. At once the clouds 
 
 assume 
 Their gayest liveries ; these with silvery beams 
 Fringed lovely ; splendid those in liquid gold. 
 And speaks their sovereign's state. He comes, 
 
 behold ! 
 Fountain of light and colour, warmth and life ! 
 The King of Glory ! Round his head divine. 
 Diffusive showers of radiance circling flow ; 
 As o'er the Indian wave, up-rising fair, 
 He looks abroad on Nature, and invests, 
 "Where'er his universal eye surveys, 
 Her ample bosom, earth, air, sea, and sky. 
 In one bright robe, with heavenly tinctures gay. 
 
 Mallet. 
 
 Oh ! if our eyes could look into the hearts 
 Of human dwellings standing quietly 
 Beneath the sunrise in sweet rural spots. 
 Far from all stir, and haply green and bright 
 With fragi-ant growth of dewy leaves and 
 
 flowers. 
 Where bees renew their murmuring mom, and 
 
 birds 
 
 Begin again to trill their orisons. 
 Nature and life exchanging their repose 
 For music and for motion, happier both. 
 And in their happiness more beautiful 
 Than sleep with all its dreams. Oh ! if our 
 
 eyes 
 Could penetrate these consecrated 'walls, 
 Whose stillness seems to hide an inward bliss 
 Diviner than the dawn's, what woful sights 
 Might they behold ! Hands clasp'd in hopeless 
 
 prayers 
 By dying beds, or pale cheeks drench'd in tears 
 Beside cheeks paler far, in death as white 
 As the shroud-sheets on which the corpses lie ; 
 Or tossings of worse misery far, where Guilt 
 Implores in vain the peace of Penitence, 
 Or sinful passion, struggling with remorse. 
 Becomes more sinful, in its mad desire 
 To reconcile with God's forbidding laws 
 A life of cherish'd vice, or daringly 
 Doubts or denies eternal Providence ! 
 
 Where, then, would be the beauty — where 
 the bliss 
 Of dawn that comes to purify the earth 
 And all that breathes upon it, at the hour 
 Chosen for her own delight by Innocence ! 
 
 The fairest things in Nature sympathize 
 In our imaginations with our life. 
 Only so long as we are virtuous ; 
 Nor lovely seems the lily nor the rose. 
 When our white thoughts have all been streak'd 
 
 by sin. 
 Or guilt hath bathed them in appalling hues 
 Of its own crimson, such as Nature sheds 
 On no sweet flowers of hers, though they are 
 
 bright 
 On earth as setting suns are bright in heaven. 
 John Wilson, 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 The cloudlets, edged with crimson light, 
 
 Veil o'er the blue serene. 
 While swift the legions of the night 
 
 Are shadowing o'er the scene. 
 The sea-gull, with a wailing moan, 
 
 Upstarting, turns to seek 
 Its lonely dwelling-place upon 
 
 The promontory's peak. 
 
 The heaving sea, the distant hill. 
 
 The waning sky, the woods. 
 With melancholy musing fill 
 
 The swelling heart that broods 
 
 s s 
 
626 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Upon the light of other days, 
 
 Whose glories now are dull, 
 And on the visions hope could raise, 
 
 Vacant, but bountiful ! 
 
 Where are the bright illusions vain 
 
 That fancy bodied forth ? 
 Sunk to their silent caves again, 
 
 Aurora of the North ! 
 Oh ! who would live these visions o'er, 
 
 All brilliant though they seem, 
 Since earth is but a desert shore. 
 
 And life a weary dream ! Anon. 
 
 SUNSET, a Blaze of Glory. 
 
 Lo ! the sun is setting ; earth and sky 
 One blaze of glory — what but now we saw 
 As though it were not, though it had not been ; 
 He lingers yet ; and lessening to a point. 
 Shines like the eye of Heaven — then with- 
 I draws ; 
 
 And from the zenith to the utmost skirts 
 All is celestial red ! The hour is come 
 When they that sail the distant seas 
 Languish for home ; and they that in the morn 
 Said to sweet friends " Farewell," melt as at 
 
 parting. 
 When, journeying on, the pilgrim if he hears. 
 As now we hear it, echoing round the hill. 
 The bell that seems to mourn the dying day, 
 Slackens his pace and sighs, and those he 
 
 loved 
 Loves more than ever. Who but feels it not ? 
 
 Rogers. 
 
 SUNSET, a Golden. 
 
 What a sunset ! how golden ! how beautiful ! 
 The sun just disappearing, and the narrow 
 liny clouds, which a few minutes ago lay like 
 soft vapoury streaks along the horizon, lighted 
 up with a golden splendour that the eye can 
 scarcely endure, and those still softer clouds 
 which floated above them wreathing and curl- 
 ing into a thousand fantastic forms as thin and 
 changeful as summer smoke, now defined and 
 deepened into grandeur, and edged with in- 
 effable, insufferable light ! Another minute, 
 and the brilliant orb totally disappears, and 
 the sky above grows every moment more varied 
 and more beautiful as the dazzling golden lines 
 are mixed with glowing red and gorgeous 
 purple, dappled with small dark specks, and 
 mingled with such a blue as the egg of the 
 hedge-sparrow. To look up at that glorious 
 
 sky, and then to see that magnificent picture 
 reflected in the clear and lovely Loddon water 
 is a pleasure never to be described and never 
 forgotten. My heart swells and my eyes fill as 
 I write it, and think of the immeasurable 
 majesty of nature, and the unspeakable good- 
 ness of God, who has spread an enjoyment so 
 pure, so peaceful, and so intense, before the 
 meanest and the lowliest of His creatures.— 
 Mitford. 
 
 SUNSET, Autumnal. 
 
 The beauty of sunset, in a fine autumnal even- 
 ing, seems almost incapable of addition from 
 any circumstance. The various and radiant 
 colouring of the clouds, the soft light of the 
 sun, that gives so rich a glow to every object 
 on which it falls, the long but mellow shades 
 with which it is contrasted, and the calm and 
 deep repose that seems to steal over universal 
 nature, form altogether a scene which serves, 
 perhaps better than any other in the world, to 
 satiate the imagination with delight ; yet there 
 is no man who does not know how great an 
 addition this fine scene is capable of receiving 
 from the circumstance of the evening bell. In 
 what, however, does the effect of*this most 
 picturesque circumstance consist ? Is it not in 
 the additional images which are thus suggested 
 to the imagination ? images, indeed, of melan- 
 choly and sadness, but which still are pleasing, 
 and which serve most wonderfully to accord 
 with that solemn and pensive state of the mind 
 which is almost irresistibly produced by this 
 fascinating scene. — Alison. 
 
 SUNSHINE, its Gladness. 
 Sunshine, gladdening fields and flowers, 
 Rosy gardens, greenwood bowers, 
 Sparkling rivers, forests deep. 
 Tufted hills and valleys steep ; 
 Where the bee delights to stray. 
 Where the insect myriads play — 
 Let me seat thee where thou art. 
 Cheer my eye and warm my heart ; 
 For methinks I see in thee, 
 The presence of the Deity ; 
 This green bank, upon whose breast, 
 So much grace and beauty rest, 
 And that unspotted blue above, 
 
 To me proclaim 
 
 His dearest name. 
 Made known through all the world — is 
 
 Love. James Edmeston. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 627 
 
 The night wore away 
 *Mid gusts of wailing wind, the twilight gray 
 Stole o'er the sea, and wrought his wondrous 
 
 change 
 On things unseen by night, by day not strange, 
 But now half-seen and strange ; then came the 
 
 sun, 
 And therewithal the silent world and dun, 
 Waking, waxed many-coloured, full of sound, 
 As then again their heap of troubles found. 
 And woke up to their joy or misery, 
 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 SUPERSTITION and Enthusiasm. 
 
 Weakness, fear, melancholy, together with 
 ignorance, are the true sources of superstition. 
 Hope, pride, presumption, a warm indigna- 
 tion, together with ignorance, are the true 
 sources of enthusiasm. — Hume. 
 
 SUPERSTITION Ripens into Inquiry. 
 
 The causes which contributed, at the first, to 
 superstition might conduct in after times to 
 science. The Greeks, in their social infancy, 
 sought agents for their awe in nature ; so as 
 they advanced to maturer intellect, it was in 
 nature that they sought for the causes of effects 
 that appeared at first supernatural. And, in 
 either stage, their curiosity and interest are 
 excited by the phenomena around them — the 
 credulous inventions of ignorance gave way to 
 the eager explanations of philosophy. Often 
 in the superstitions of one age lies the germ 
 that ripens into the inquiry of the next. — 
 Athens, its Rise and Fall. 
 
 SUSPENSE, its Utter Weariness. 
 Well, when all things by all sides had been 
 
 said 
 
 We drew the ships again unto the sea, 
 Which those who went not with us, carefully 
 Had tended for those years we were away. 
 Which, still they said was ten months and a 
 day. Wm. Morris. 
 
 SUSPICION of Impending Evil. 
 
 Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet ! how 
 
 lovely ! 
 Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade 
 To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, 
 Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy 
 
 To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? 
 Oh yes, it doth ; a thousand-fold it doth. 
 And to conclude — the shepherd's homely 
 
 curds. 
 His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, 
 His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, 
 All which secure and sweetly he enjoys. 
 Is far beyond a prince's delicates, 
 His viands sparkling in a golden cup, 
 His body couched in a curious bed. 
 When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him. 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 %1TKlSL.Qi^, His Return. 
 
 ■ Were you in Asia ? O relate, 
 
 If there your fabled sister's woes 
 She seemed in sorrow to narrate ; 
 Or sings she but to celebrate 
 
 Her nuptials with the rose ? 
 
 I would inquire how journeying long 
 The vast and pathless ocean o'er, 
 You ply again those pinions strong, 
 And come and build anew among 
 The scenes you left before ? 
 
 But if, as colder breezes blow 
 
 Prophetic of the waning year, 
 
 You hide, though none know when or how 
 
 In the cliffs excavated brow, 
 And linger torpid here ; 
 
 Thus lost to life, what favouring dream 
 Bids you tp happier hours awake. 
 And tells, that dancing in the beam, 
 The light gnat hovers o'er the stream. 
 The May-fly on the lake. 
 
 Or if, by instinct taught to know 
 
 Approaching dearth of insect food, 
 To isles and willowy aits you go. 
 And, crowding on the pliant bough, 
 Sink in the dimpling flood. 
 
 How learn ye, while the cold waves boom 
 ^ Your deep and oozy couch above, 
 
 The time when flowers of promise bloom, 
 And call you from your transient tomb, 
 To light, and life, and love. 
 
 Alas ! how little can be known. 
 
 Her sacred veil where Nature draws ; 
 
 Let baffled Science humbly own, 
 
 Her mysteries understood alone 
 By Him who gives her laws. 
 
 C. Smith. 
 
628 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 SWALLOW Loves Fresh Air. 
 This guest of Summer, 
 The temple-hunting martlet does approve : 
 By his loved masonry, that the heav'n's breath 
 Smells wooingly here : no jutty frieze. 
 Buttress, nor coigne of 'vantage, but this bird 
 Hath made his pendent bed, and procreant 
 
 cradle : 
 Where they most breed and haunt, I have 
 
 observed 
 The air is delicate. Cowper. 
 
 SWALLOW, The. 
 
 The swallow is one of my favourite birds, and 
 a rival of the nightingale, for he cheers my 
 sense of seeing as much as the other does my 
 sense of hearing. He is the glad prophet of 
 the year ; the harbinger of the best season : he 
 lives a life of enjoyment amongst the loveliest 
 forms of nature — winter is unknown to him ; 
 and he leaves the green meadows of England 
 in autumn, for the myrtle and orange groves of 
 Italy, and for the palms of Africa; he has 
 always objects of pursuit, and his success is 
 secure. Even the beings selected for his prey 
 are poetical, beautiful, and transient. The 
 ephemera are saved by his means from a slow 
 and lingering death in the evening, and killed 
 in a moment when they have known nothing 
 but pleasure. He is the constant destroyer of 
 insects, the friend of man, and may be regar- 
 ded as a sacred bird. This instinct, which 
 gives him his appointed season, and teaches 
 him when and where to move, may be regarded 
 as flowing from a Divine source ; and he be- 
 longs to the oracles of nature, which speak 
 the awful and intelligible language of a present 
 Deity. — Sir H. Davy. 
 
 SWALLOW, the Harbinger of Summer. 
 Once in each revolving year, 
 Gentle bird ! we find thee here. 
 When Nature wears her summer vest. 
 Thou comest to weave thy simple nest ; 
 But when the chilling winter lowers. 
 Again thou seek'st the genial bowers 
 Of Memphis, or the shores of Nile, 
 Where sunny hours of verdure smile. 
 And thus thy wing of freedom roves, 
 Alas ! unlike the plumed loves 
 That linger in this helpless breast. 
 And never, never change their nest ! 
 
 Anacrcon. 
 
 Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours, 
 Of winters past, or coming, void of care. 
 Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling 
 
 flow'rs : 
 To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bow'rs^ 
 Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare. 
 And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare, 
 A stain to human sense in sin that low'rs. 
 What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs 
 (Attir'd in sweetness) sweetly is not driven 
 Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and 
 
 wrongs. 
 And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven. 
 Drummond. 
 
 SWALLOW, To a. 
 
 Twittering tenant of the sky. 
 
 Whither, whither wilt thou fly ? 
 
 Summer blithely frolics round, 
 
 Florid beauties grace the ground ; 
 
 Rosy odours, youthful gales 
 
 Still breathe from bow'rs and verdurous 
 
 vales. 
 Whither, fluttering, wilt thou fly, 
 Swiftest courser of the sky ? 
 Still in brook, or fountain spring. 
 Dip thy never weary wing ; 
 Sweep along the level mead. 
 Where fragrant herds securely feed. 
 Happy vagrant, ever free. 
 All my fancies follow thee ; 
 Mount with thee the blue serene. 
 Visit every foreign scene ! . . . . 
 And while seasons vary here. 
 With thee share summer all the year. 
 Whither, whither wilt thou fly. 
 Swiftest courser of the sky ? 
 Stay, O stay, till Autumn's hand 
 Purple o'er my native land ; 
 Mildness, health, and beauty rove 
 And fellow warblers charm the grove. 
 Southey. 
 
 SWALLOWS. 
 
 Ere Winter his somniferous power exerts 
 Six dreary months, the swallow tribes are seen 
 In various haunts concealed ; in rocks and 
 
 caves. 
 And structures rude, by cold benumbed, asleep; 
 Bill within bill inserted, clust'ring thick : 
 Or solitary some, of mate bereft. 
 But, wonderful to tell ! some lie immersed, 
 Inanimate, beneath the frigid waves, 
 As if a species of the finny kinds. Heerkens. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 629 
 
 SWALLOWS Citizens of the World. 
 Swallows are found in every country of the 
 known world, but seldom remain the whole 
 year in the same dimate : 
 
 Long, little wand'rer, be thy stay 
 
 Within our sea-girt isle ! 
 And Summer yield her softest sweets 
 To pay thy pleasing toil ! 
 And many a fresh returning year 
 Again survey thy swift career ! 
 And thy early note again 
 Haply please the rural swain. 
 While twitt'ring o'er the straw-built shed 
 Thou ** wak'st him from his lonely bed ! " 
 Dr. Shatv. 
 
 SWALLOWS, Emigration of. 
 
 Away ! away ! thou summer bird, 
 For Autumn's moaning voice is heard, 
 In cadence wild and deepening swell, 
 Of Winter's stern approach to tell. 
 
 Away ! for vapours, damp and low. 
 Are wreathed around the mountain's brow ; 
 And tempest-clouds their mantles fold 
 Around the forest's russet gold. 
 
 Away ! away ! o'er earth and sea, 
 This land is now no home for thee ! 
 Arise ! and stretch thy soaring wing, 
 And seek elsewhere the smiles of Spring ! 
 
 The wanderer now, with pinions spread, 
 Afar to brighter climes has fled. 
 Nor casts one backward look, nor grieves 
 For those sere groves whose shade he leaves. 
 
 Why should he grieve ? the beam he loves 
 Shines o'er him still where'er he roves, 
 And all those early friends are near 
 Who made his summer home so dear. 
 
 Oh ! deem not that the tie of birth 
 Endears us to this spot of earth ; 
 For wheresoe'er our steps may roam, 
 If friends are near, that place is home ! 
 No matter where our fate may guide us, 
 If those we love are still beside us ! 
 
 Literary Gazette. 
 
 SWALLOWS, Heralds of the Spring. 
 
 God shield ye, heralds of the Spring ! 
 Ye faithful swallows, fleet of wing, 
 
 Houps, cuckoos, nightingales. 
 Turtles, and every wilder bird. 
 That make your hundred chirpings heard 
 
 Through the green woods and dales^ 
 
 God shield ye, Easter daisies all. 
 Fair roses, buds, and blossoms small ; 
 
 And ye, whom erst the gore 
 Of Ajax and Narciss did print, 
 Ye wild thyme, anise, balm, and mint, 
 
 I welcome ye once more. 
 
 God shield ye, bright embroidered train 
 Of butterflies, that, on the plain. 
 
 Of each sweet herblet sip ; 
 And ye new swarm of bees that go 
 Where the pink flowers and yellow grow, 
 
 To kiss them with your lip. 
 
 A hundred thousand times I call — 
 A hearty welcome on ye all : 
 
 This season how I love ! 
 This merry din on every shore. 
 For winds and storms, whose sullen roar 
 
 Forbade my steps to rove. 
 
 Anon, 
 
 SYMPATHY 
 Benders Us Alive to Others' Troubles. 
 The delicacies of food and clothing are en- 
 joyed with little concern for those to whom 
 the necessaries of life are scarcely attainable ; 
 and it has thus passed into a proverb that 
 "one half of the world knows not what be- 
 comes of the other. " One of our first moral 
 writers has been pleased to speak in a manner 
 somewhat disrespectful of those moralists and 
 poets like Thomson, who have noticed and 
 lamented this disposition in the human mind 
 to enjoy its own blessings rather than disquiet 
 itself with the calamities of others. I allude 
 to Adam Smith ; but was he well employed 
 on this occasion ? It is the province of sym- 
 pathy to render us alive to the evils of those 
 around us. This he would admit. So it is 
 equally the province of reason and good sense 
 to save the mind from too deep an interest in 
 afilictions, which we can neither prevent nor 
 remedy. . This we concede on our part. No 
 doubt, therefore, it is the perfection of the 
 human character to be at once equal to its 
 own happiness, and yet sensible to those mise- 
 ries of our fellow-creatures which its exertions 
 can alleviate. But surely it remains to be 
 remarked that it is not in any deficiency of 
 attention to ourselves that human nature 
 oftends. This is not the weakness of mankind, 
 or the aspect under which they need to be re- 
 garded by a moralist with any pain. If there 
 be sometimes found those who are formed of 
 a finer clay, so as really to have the comibrts 
 
630 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 of their own existence diminished and inter- 
 rupted by sympathising too long and too quickly 
 with the calamities of those around them, such 
 may surely be considered as exceptions to be 
 set apart from their fellow mortals, as those 
 more amiable beings who are not likely, by 
 their example, to injure the general cause of 
 reasonable enjoyment in the world ; and whom 
 the more natural prevalence of careless selfish- 
 ness renders it not easy often to find, and 
 surely not very possible long to censure. — 
 Professor Smyth. 
 
 SYNCOPE. 
 
 Her head 
 Fell back, and nothing she remembered 
 Of all her life, yet nought of rest she had, 
 The hope of which makes hapless mortals glad ; 
 For while her limbs were sunk in deadly sleep. 
 Most like to death, over her heart 'gan creep 
 111 dreams ; so that for fear and great distress 
 She would have cried, but in her helplessness 
 Could open not her mouth, or frame a word ; 
 Altho' the threats of mocking things she heard, 
 And seemed, amidst new forms of horror bound. 
 To watch strange endless armies moving round. 
 With all their sleepless eyes still fixed on her. 
 Who from that changeless place should never 
 
 stir 
 Moveless she lay, and in that dreadful sleep 
 Scarce had the strength some few slow tears to 
 
 weep. Wm. Morris. 
 
 TABLE Talk. 
 
 Conversation should be pleasant without scurrility, 
 witty without affectation, free without indecency, 
 learned without conceitedness, novel without falsehood. 
 — Shakesjieare. 
 
 Dr. Johnson, with appropriate happiness of 
 expression, has said that this is "a. finished 
 description of colloquial excellence. It is very 
 difficult to add anything to this character of 
 table-talk ; and perhaps all the precepts of 
 Castiglione will scarce be found to compre- 
 hend a rule for conversation so justly delineated, 
 so widely dilated, and so nicely limited." 
 
 TALE-BEABERS and Hearers. 
 Merrily and wittily said Plautus, who was 
 one of the merry wits of his time, I would (said 
 he) by my will have tale-bearers and tale- 
 hearers jpunished, the one hanging by the 
 
 tongue, the other by the ears. Were his will 
 a law in force with us, many a tattling gossip 
 would have her vowels turned to mutes, and 
 be justly tongue-tied, that desires to be tied by 
 the teeth at your table : wherewith Thominus 
 his tooth she knaweth on the good name of her 
 neighbour : many a hungry parrot whose belly 
 is his arts-master would cease to second his 
 ave to his lord with depraving tales called 
 news, and make his grace after dinner the dis- 
 grace of some innocent : and most men would 
 give them coarse entertainment, that come to 
 entertain their ears with discourse of defamative 
 reports. I will be silent and barren of dis- 
 course when I chance to hear a tale, rather than 
 go with child therewith, till another's ears be 
 my midwife, to deliver me of such a deformed 
 monster. I may hear a tale of delight, and 
 perhaps smile at an innocent jest ; I will not 
 jest nor joy at a tale disgracing an innocent 
 person. — Arthur Wai'ivick. 
 
 TAPER, An Address to my. 
 My Taper, lend thy glimmering ray, 
 
 O give me all thy little: light ! 
 Departed is the orb of day. 
 
 And o'er the city falls the night. 
 
 The bustle of the passing throng, 
 The chariot rattling by the door, 
 
 The loud and boisterous vender's song. 
 Strike on my startling ear no more. 
 
 Now gathering storms the sky o'erspread. 
 And sweep with ruffian-blasts the plain. 
 
 Now on my window and my shed 
 Descends the chill and beating rain. 
 
 Protected from the angry sky, 
 
 Bless'd with the smile of kind repose, 
 
 Still may I know Compassion's sigh. 
 And keenly feel for others' woes. 
 
 On such a night old legends tell 
 
 (While lowering clouds the sky o'ercast). 
 Aerial beings pour their yell. 
 
 And spread their pinions to the blast. 
 
 On such a night did Shakespeare hear 
 His Ariel singing his wild strains, 
 
 Oh such a night his listening ear. 
 
 Heard spirits chaunting on the plains. 
 
 O then, on this enchanting page. 
 
 My taper, throw thy friendly beam — 
 
 And let me mark the long-past age, 
 And rove along Ilyssus' stream. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 631 
 
 O let me catch that matchless song, 
 Which comes from old Achaia's lyre, 
 
 And wafted to the Olympic throng, 
 Bask in the blaze of Pindar's fire. 
 
 How fast thy slender form decays ! 
 
 Still, still a little longer stay ; 
 Now in the socket falls thy blaze — 
 
 It flutters, and it dies away. 
 
 How like thy dim and dying flame, 
 The sons of genius and of lore ! 
 
 Whose souls too ardent for their frame. 
 Burn till their pulse can beat no more. 
 J. B. Linn. 
 
 TASTE for Reading. 
 
 If I were to pray for a taste which should 
 stand by me in stead under every variety of 
 circumstances, and be a source of happiness 
 and cheerfulness to me through life, and a 
 shield against its ills, however things might go 
 amiss, and the world frown upon me, it would 
 be a taste for reading. I speak of it, of course, 
 only as a worldly advantage, and not in the 
 slightest degree derogating from the higher 
 office and sure and stronger panoply of reli- 
 gious principles — but as a taste, an instrument 
 and a mode of pleasurable gratification. Give 
 a man this taste, and the means of gratifying 
 it, and you can hardly fail of making him a 
 happy man, unless, indeed, you put into his 
 hands a most perverse selection of books. 
 You place him in contact with the best society 
 in every period of history ; with the wisest, 
 the wittiest, with the tenderest, the bravest, 
 and the purest characters who have adorned 
 humanity. You make him a denizen of all 
 nations — a contemporary of all ages. The 
 world has been created for him. 
 
 It is hardly possible but the character should 
 take a higher and better tone from the constant 
 habit of associating in thought with a class of 
 thinkers, to say the least of it, above the 
 average of humanity. It is morally impossi- 
 ble but that the manners should take a tinge 
 of good breeding and civilization from having 
 constantly before our eyes the way in which 
 the best-bred and best-informed men have 
 talked and conducted themselves in their inter- 
 course with each other. There is a gentle, 
 but perfectly irresistible coercion in a habit of 
 reading, well directed, over the whole tenour 
 of a man's character and conduct, which is 
 not the less effectual because it works insensi- 
 bly, and because it is really the last thing he 
 dreams of. It cannot be better summed up 
 
 than in the words of the Latin poet — " Emollit 
 mores, nee sinit esse feros." It civilizes the 
 conduct of men, and suffers them not to 
 remain barbarous. — Sir J. Herschel. 
 
 TASTE, its Elevating Influence. 
 
 Argument is unnecessary to support the 
 assertion that there are certain qualities in the 
 various objects by which we are surrounded, 
 which produce corresponding emotions in the 
 mind. As the most prominent of these quali- 
 ties, we are accustomed to consider sublimity 
 and beauty ; the one exciting the most power- 
 ful feelings, the other those of a milder 
 character. 
 
 That these qualities are not always found in 
 the same degree will at once be admitted, 
 while it is obvious that the strength of the 
 faculty by which they are perceived will vary 
 in different individuals. In reflecting on this 
 faculty, to which philosophers have given the 
 appellation of taste, we find so many points of 
 resemblance to the corporeal sense that the 
 same terms may be employed with propriety 
 in both cases. The question has been sug- 
 gested — is the intellectual power, by which we 
 perceive and enjoy whatever is beautiful or 
 sublime in the works of nature or art, natural 
 or acquired ? — and in this, as well as in other 
 instances, the corporeal power will assist our 
 examination of the mental constitution. As 
 in the sense of taste, there is an adaptation of 
 the peculiar organs which are called into exer- 
 cise, for the reception of certain impressions, 
 from the action of material substances, so 
 there must be a mental capacity for receiving 
 similar impressions from objects of intellect, in 
 order to our perceiving and enjoying the 
 beautiful and sublime. And again, as there 
 can be no sensation of bitterness or sweetness 
 without the application of substances having 
 these qualities to the corporeal sense, so it is 
 evident there can be no susceptibility to the 
 beautiful and sublinr.e, until objects possessing 
 these properties are brought into connection 
 with the mind. And to this we may add that 
 there must be not only a sensibility to impres- 
 sion and the influence of suitable objects, but 
 there must be also the faculty of discrimina- 
 tion. The man of taste is not merely con- 
 versant with nature or art, he has not only 
 experienced the emotions of sublimity and 
 beauty, but he is one who has traced these 
 emotions to their cause, and this being accu- 
 
632 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 rately discriminated, he is prepared, in the 
 exercise of the same judgment, to pronounce 
 whatever objects produce similar feeUngs, 
 beautiful and sublime. If we look on the 
 expanse of heaven, when calm as the summer's 
 eve, or when the lightnings play amid the 
 gloomy clouds — our hearts must be insensible 
 if we do not feel the force of the sentiment to 
 which the poet has given language : 
 
 Thyself how wond'rous then. 
 We fear it cannot be denied that the art that 
 
 Gives more than female beauty to a stone, 
 And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips, 
 
 with others that follow in its train, may attract 
 the attention : the most exquisite specimens of 
 the skill of those who cultivate them may be 
 beheld without one hallowed feeling being 
 possessed, without one thought rising to Him 
 who " giveth man understanding." This, it 
 is admitted, may sometimes be the case, but it 
 will only be when the heart is under the in- 
 fluence of practical infidelity. The man sus- 
 ceptible of high intellectual enjoyment is not 
 likely to degrade himself by the pursuit of sen- 
 sual indulgence. The plant that would flourish 
 in the serene atmosphere of Italy would droop 
 in a denser and impurer air. Nor let it be 
 supposed that the cultivation of taste will at all 
 detract from the dignity of the mind. So far 
 from this, the feelings it will cherish resemble 
 those of female virtue, which diffuse their mild 
 and genial influence through the domestic 
 scene ; but, inspired by circumstances which 
 require a more determined character, they will 
 burst forth with an almost irresistible energy, 
 which those of less sensibility can never display. 
 — Carolus. 
 
 TASTE, On. 
 
 Agreeable emotions and sensations may be 
 divided into three orders ; — those of pleasure, 
 which refer to the senses ; those of harmony, 
 which refer to the mind ; and those of happi- 
 ness, which are the natural result of a union 
 between harmony and pleasure : the former 
 being exercised in virtue, the latter in tempe- 
 rance. Harmony is principally enjoyed by 
 those men who possess what has analogically 
 been termed taste ; which Mr. Melmoth 
 defines, "that universal sense of beauty 
 which every man in some degree possesses, 
 rendered more exquisite by genius, and more 
 correct by cultivation." "It is very remark- 
 able," says Dr. Akenside, ** that the disposition 
 of the moral powers is always similar to that 
 
 of the imagination ; — that those who are most 
 inclined to admire prodigious and sublime 
 objects in the physical world are also most 
 inclined to applaud examples of fortitude and 
 heroic virtue in the moral ; while those who 
 are charmed rather with the delicacy and 
 sweetness of colours, foi*ms, and sounds, never 
 fail in like manner to yield the preference to 
 the softer scenes of virtue and the sympathies 
 of a domestic life." Exciting a love of true 
 glory, and an admiration of every nobler virtue, 
 taste exalts the aff"ections, and purifies our 
 passions ; clothes a private life in white, and 
 a public one in purple. Adding a new feature, 
 as it were, to the pomp, the bloom, and the 
 exuberance of Nature, it enables the mind to 
 illumine what is dark, and to colour what is 
 faded ; giving a lighter yellow to the topaz, a 
 more celestial blue to the sapphire, and a 
 deeper crimson to the ruby ; it imparts a 
 higher brilliance to the diamond, and a more 
 transparent purple to the amethyst. 
 
 Bearing a price which only the heart and 
 the imagination can estimate, and being the 
 mother of a thousand chaste desires and a 
 thousand secret hopes, taste strews flowers 
 in the paths of literature and science ; and, 
 breathing inexpressive sounds, and picturing 
 celestial forms, qualifies the hour of sorrow by 
 inducing that secret sense of cheerfulness 
 which, in its operation, as Mrs. Chapone says ; 
 
 Refines the soft, and swells the strong ; 
 
 And joining Nature's general song, 
 
 Through many a varying tone unfolds 
 
 The harmony of human souls. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 TASTE, Pursuit of. 
 
 As beauty does not consist in taking what lies 
 immediately before you, so neither, in our pur- 
 suit of taste, are those opinions which we first 
 received and adopted the best choice or the 
 most natural to the mind and imagination. In 
 the infancy of our knowledge we seize with 
 greediness the goodness that is within our 
 reach ; it is by after consideration, and in con- 
 sequence of discipline, that we refuse the pre- 
 sent for a greater good at a distance. The 
 nobility or elevation of all arts, like the ex- 
 cellency of virtue itself, c6nsists in adopting 
 this enlarged and comprehensive idea, and all 
 criticism built upon the confined view of what 
 is natural may properly be called shallow 
 criticism, rather than false : its defect is, that 
 the truth is not sufficiently extensive. — Sir 
 yjshtia Reynolds. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 633 
 
 TEARS, Sympathetic. 
 
 Tears, idle tears, I know not what they 
 
 mean, 
 Tears from the depth of some divine despair 
 Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, 
 In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, 
 And thinking of the days that are no more. 
 
 Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail. 
 That brings our friends up from the under- 
 world. 
 Sad as the last which reddens over one 
 That sinks with all we love below the verge ; 
 So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. 
 
 Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer 
 
 dawns 
 The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds 
 To dying ears, when unto dying eyes 
 The casement slowly grows a glimmering 
 
 square ; 
 So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. 
 
 Dear as remember'd kisses after death. 
 And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd 
 On lips that are for others ; deep as love. 
 Deep as first love, and wild with all regret : 
 O Death in Life, the days that are no more. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 TEARS, The Vale of. 
 
 In visions which are not of night, a shadowy 
 
 vale I see 
 The path of pilgrim tribes who are, who have 
 
 been, or shall be ; 
 At either end are lowering clouds, impervious 
 
 to the sight, 
 And frequent shadows veil, throughout, each 
 
 gleam of passing light ; 
 A path it is of joys and griefs, of many hopes 
 
 and fears ; 
 Gladden'd at times by sunny smiles, butoftener 
 
 dimm'd by tears. 
 
 Green leaves are there, they quickly fade — 
 bright flowers, but soon they die ; 
 
 Its banks are lav'd by pleasant streams, but 
 soon their bed is dry ; 
 
 And some that roll on to the last with undi- 
 minished force. 
 
 Have lost that limpid purity which graced their 
 early source ; 
 
 They seem to borrow in their flow the tinge of 
 dark'ning years. 
 
 And e'en their mournful murmuring sound 
 befits the vale of tears. 
 
 Pleasant that valley's opening scenes appear to 
 
 childhood's view. 
 The flowers are bright, the turf is green, the 
 
 sky above is blue ; 
 A blast may blight, a beam may scorch, a cloud 
 
 may intervene. 
 But lightly marked, and soon forgot, they mar 
 
 not such a scene ; 
 Fancy still paints the future bright, and hope 
 
 the present cheers, 
 Nor can we deem the path we tread leads 
 
 through a vale of tears. 
 
 But soon, too soon the flowers that decked oui 
 early pathway-side 
 
 Have drooped and withered on their stalks, 
 and one by one have died ; 
 
 The turf by noon's fierce heat is sear'd, the sky 
 is overcast, 
 
 There's thunder in the torrent's tone, and tem- 
 pest in the blast ; 
 
 Fancy is but a phantom found, and hope a 
 dream appears. 
 
 And more and more our hearts confess this life 
 a vale of tears. 
 
 Darker and darker seems the path ! how sad 
 
 to journey on. 
 When hands and hearts which gladden'd ours 
 
 appear for ever gone. 
 Some cold in death, and some alas ! we fancied 
 
 could not chill, 
 Living to self, and to the world, to us seem 
 
 colder still ; 
 With mournful retrospective glance we look to 
 
 brighter years, 
 And tread with solitary steps the thorny vale 
 
 of tears. 
 
 Then wasting pain and slow disease trace fur- 
 rows on the brow. 
 
 The grasshopper, alighting down, is felt a 
 burthen now. 
 
 The silver cord is loosening fast its feeble, 
 slender hold. 
 
 The fountain's pitcher soon must break, and 
 bowl of purer gold ; — 
 
 Oh ! were it not for that blest hope which even 
 death endears. 
 
 How weary were our pilgrimage through this 
 dark vale of tears. Barton. 
 
 TEMPER, Amiable. 
 How shall a professing Christian cultivate an 
 amiable temper, and exhibit a becoming exam- 
 ple? Why, by adopting the following rules : 
 Reflect upon and deliberately weigh the 
 
634 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 peculiar advantages resulting from such a 
 temper and conduct. To an individual this 
 will bring serenity, peace, and joy ; to a family, 
 comfort, harmony, and help. 
 
 Carefully guard against such things as have 
 the least tendency to disturb the mind and 
 awaken uneasy tempers. 
 
 Assiduously avoid being ruffled or moved by 
 little events. Neglect of this maxim has been 
 the source of most little animosities. 
 
 Whenever an undue irregularity is felt, an 
 unseemly temper raised, seek refuge in retire- 
 ment, and relieve the mind by solemn prayer 
 to Him from whom cometh every good and 
 perfect gift. 
 
 Frequently, very frequently, contemplate the 
 character of that illustrious Prince of Peace, 
 who, when he was reviled, reviled not again, 
 neither was guile found in his mouth. "Be 
 ye kind one to another, tender-hearted, for- 
 giving one another, even as God for Christ's sake 
 hath forgiven you. — Evangelical Magazine. 
 
 TEMPER and Carriage, 
 
 On a Peaceable. 
 
 We are obliged to these duties of humanity, 
 upon account of common interest, benefit, and 
 advantage. The welfare and safety, the ho- 
 nour and reputation, the pleasure and quiet of 
 our lives are concerned, in our loving corres- 
 pondence with all men. 
 
 For so uncertain is our condition, so obnox- 
 ious are we to manifold necessities, that there 
 is no man whose good will we may not need, 
 whose good word may not stand us stead, whose 
 helpful endeavour may not sometimes oblige 
 us. 
 
 The great Pompey, the glorious triumpher 
 over nations, and admired darling of fortune, 
 was beholden at last to a slave for the com- 
 posing his ashes, and celebrating his funeral 
 obsequies. The honour of the greatest men 
 depends on the estimation of the least, and 
 the good will of the meanest peasant is a 
 brighter ornament to the fortune, a greater 
 accession to the grandeur of a prince, than the 
 most radiant gem in his royal diadem. 
 
 It is but reasonable, therefore, if we desire 
 to live securely, comfortably, and quietly, that 
 by all honest means we should endeavour to 
 purchase the good will of all men, and provoke 
 no man's enmity needlessly ; since any man's 
 love may be useful, and every man's hatred is 
 dangerous. — Isaac Barrow. 
 
 TEMPER, Gcod, A Moral Comfort. 
 
 Only the nation which invented "comfort" 
 was capable of conceiving "good temper," for 
 "good temper " is to the moral what " com- 
 fort " is to the physical man. It is the most 
 contented, the most comfortable state of the 
 soul ; the greatest happiness both for those' who 
 possess it, and for those who feel its influence. 
 Perhaps it is found in perfection in woman 
 alone ; for it is rather a passive than an active 
 quality : and yet we must by no means con- 
 found it with mere apathy, which is either 
 tedious, or exasperates one's anger and con- 
 tempt ; whereas "good temper" soothes and 
 tranquillizes all who approach it. It is a truly 
 kind, loving, and cheerful principle ; mild and 
 balmy as a cloudless May-day. With "gen- 
 tleness" in his own character, "comfort" in 
 his house, and "good temper " in his wife, 
 the earthly felicity of man is complete. — ivw;z 
 the German. 
 
 TEMPER, Infirmity of. 
 
 Every human creature is sensible of the pro- 
 pensities to some infirmity of temper, which it 
 should be his care to correct and subdue, par- 
 ticularly in the early period of life ; else, when 
 arrived at a state of maturity, he may relapse 
 into those faults which were originally in his 
 nature, and which will require to be diligently 
 watched and kept under through the whole 
 course of life ; since nothing leads more 
 directly to the breach of charity, and to the 
 injury and molestation of our fellow-creatures, 
 than the indulgence of an ill temper. — Blair. 
 
 TEMPER, On the Loss of, 
 
 Compared with other Losses. 
 
 I AM acquainted with a scholar, passionately 
 fond of books, and for the most part immersed 
 in his own element, profound study, who often 
 lectures his domestics on the virtue of punc- 
 tuality. If his meals are, by any unforeseen 
 circumstances, protracted a little beyond the 
 customary hour, he murmurs, and regrets the \ 
 loss of his time ; and those around him have 
 equal cause to regret the loss of his temper : 
 the one he can calculate by his watch, but he 
 seems to have neither means nor inclination 
 to form any right estimate of the other. 
 
 A very honest and industrious tradesman, a 
 neighbour of mine, is remarkable for his care 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 635 
 
 and vigilance in all the minute engag;ements of 
 business. He never loses any part of his pro- 
 perty but he also loses his temper at the same 
 time. The carelessness of a servant, in break- 
 ing or spoiling an article worth sixpence, is 
 repeated twenty times in one day. He is all 
 eye and all ear to what is passing around 
 him, but keeps no watch and ward over his 
 own spirit. 
 
 I will mention a third case, of a gentleman 
 of affluence and independence, who sets a high 
 value on that character or credit which he has 
 gained in the arduous career of patriotism. 
 His political opponents well know his extreme 
 sensibility, and to this weak part they direct 
 all their envenomed weapons. He kindles at 
 the shadow of a wrong, and instantly repels 
 the most distant imputation which implicates 
 his motives. The fear of losing one grain of 
 credit robs him at once of all self-command. 
 
 Calamities, as the proverb runs, seldom 
 come singly ; but if when one comes we 
 voluntarily call another to keep it company, we 
 have little ground to complain. Though 
 certain untoward accidents and interruptions 
 fritter away some part of our time, why 
 should they also fret and irritate our temper ? 
 If other men despoil us of our property or 
 credit, why should they deprive us of our 
 peace ? Why should we choose at once to 
 incur a double loss ? 
 
 Perhaps the reader may be ready to ask 
 whether the sad infirmity here noticed and 
 deplored belongs exclusively to the masculine 
 part of our species. Truth compels me to 
 say that the ladies must come in for their full 
 share of blame. A popular bard asserts : 
 
 In men, we various ruling passions find. 
 In women, two almost divide the kind ; 
 These only fixed, they first or last obey, 
 The love of pleasure, or the love of sway. 
 
 Miss Bland will undoubtedly rank with the 
 former class. She is positively one of the 
 warmest votaries of amusement I ever knew. 
 Of all losses, she most dreads and most de- 
 plores the loss of pleasure. If dark and 
 tempestuous weather supersedes a precon- 
 certed summer-day's excursion, her mind, like 
 the elements, is full of turbulence, her face, like 
 the sky, is covered with clouds, through which 
 no gleam of cheerfulness breaks. If some 
 winter's evening party is formed, and any dis- 
 aster befals to detain her from the gay assembly, 
 she sinks in anguish, or pines in melancholy, 
 or chafes in peevish resentment. To be sure, 
 the loss of one pleasure is to be regretted. 
 
 whatever austere moralists may affirm or 
 insinuate to the contrary. But then there are 
 other losses which ought not to pass wholly 
 unregarded. If the delicate creature, on one 
 of the dark days of disappointment, could be 
 induced attentively to inspect her glass, she 
 would see none of the charms and graces 
 which were wont to play over the countenance. 
 Oh ! mournful and mysterious change, the eye 
 averted sickens at the sight ! How then would 
 she start with horror could she behold the true 
 picture of her mind, for the time despoiled of 
 its suavity, and deformed with harsh repulsive 
 passions ! 
 
 Mrs. Clack is wholly intent upon sway. 
 Agreeable at some seasons, particulai\y when 
 everyone bows assent, and yields implicit sub- 
 mission, her chief foible is an excess of vulu- 
 bility. She proves the truth of the saying, 
 '* That a sharp tongue is the only edge-tool 
 which never grows blunt by use." But Mrs. 
 Clack never employs this keen weapon merely 
 for sport. She cannot bear the idea of losing 
 one particle of power. Touch her sceptre, 
 and you instantly touch her temper to the 
 quick. One of her morning mandates dis- 
 obeyed, or disregarded, or called in question, 
 often destroys her equanimity for the whole 
 day. If silence were the effect, it might be 
 tolerated, and perhaps prove rather welcome 
 to the family, by way of contrast ; but resent- 
 ment always swells the stream of Mrs. Clack's 
 loquacity to a torrent that bears down oppo- 
 sition and marks its course with mischief. 
 She cannot part with an atom of power with- 
 out an entire loss of peace. 
 
 Now in all the five cases above given, it 
 were easy to show how much happiness is 
 sacrificed for want of keeping the temper under 
 a little control. Every one must grant that 
 time, money, reputation, pleasure, and power, 
 have all their value, and therefore it is a fair 
 inference that they ought not to be thrown 
 away, or laid open to thieves and detractors, 
 with absolute indifference. But I contend 
 that all these precious articles have but a rela- 
 tive value, which admits of being measured, 
 weighed, summed up, and accurately ascer- 
 tained ; so that a sagacious politician at court, 
 expert in estimating and settling such matters, 
 for aught I know might be able to ticket them 
 off with their respective prices. Is it not, then, 
 egregious folly for any man or woman, on 
 account of them, to part with that tranquil 
 serenity, that sweet sunshine of the soul, the 
 worth of which is confessedly beyond all esti- 
 
636 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 mation ? Here argument is needless, for the 
 thing is self-evident. Acquaintances and 
 friends, through either carelessness or design, 
 may pilfer from us some scanty items of time, 
 cash, credit, pleasure, power, and influence, 
 whether we will or not ; but our equanimity, 
 as is sufficiently demonstrated in experience, 
 can only be taken away by our own consent. 
 We must give the plunderer the key, or he has 
 no means of reaching, much less of rifling, the 
 cabinet of the inner man. The reader will do 
 well to listen to the poet's advice — 
 
 Aequam memento rebus in arduis 
 Servare mentem. 
 
 Take care and preserve an even mind in 
 difficult affairs. And the counsel of the 
 ancient Hebrew sage ought to carry far more 
 weight than the precept of the Roman bard— 
 *' Keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of 
 it are the issues of life. " — Rtisticiis. 
 
 TEMPER, Unsociable. 
 
 Unsociable tempers are contracted in soli- 
 tude, which will in the end not fail of corrupt- 
 ing the understanding as well as the manners, 
 and of utterly disqualifying a man for the 
 satisfactions and duties of life. Men must be 
 taken as they are, and we neither make them 
 nor ourselves better by flying from or quarrel- 
 ling with them. — Burke. 
 
 TEMPERANCE, its True Lustre. 
 
 Temperance is a virtue which casts the truest 
 lustre upon the person it is lodged in, and has 
 the most general influence upon all other par- 
 ticular virtues of any that the soul of man is 
 capable of; indeed so general, that there is 
 hardly any noble quality or endowment of the 
 mind, but must own temperance either for its 
 parent or its nurse ; it is the greatest strength- 
 cner and clearer of reason, and the best pre- 
 parer of it for religion, the sister of prudence, 
 and the handmaid to devotion. — Dean South. 
 
 TEMPLE of the Christian Heart. 
 There is a temple in the Christian's heart. 
 And every thought and feeling worships 
 there ; 
 Each sweetly sanctified maintains its part 
 In elevated praise or humble prayer. 
 
 Love lights the flame that on the altar burns ; 
 Peace, Joy, and Gratitude, the choir com- 
 pose ; 
 Relying Faith to the one offering turns, 
 And there the tear of meek Repentance 
 flows ; 
 There Meditation ponders ; Memory stands, 
 The works and wonders of her God to 
 trace ; 
 Devotion strengthens ; glowing Zeal expands ; 
 And Patience waits for new supplies of 
 Grace. 
 Shut from the world that hidden fane how 
 
 fair. 
 No outward storm can rend, no foe can enter 
 there. Edmeston. 
 
 TEMPTATION. 
 
 We must not wilfully thrust ourselves into the 
 mouth of danger, or draw temptations upon us. 
 Such forwardness is not resolution, but rash- 
 ness ; nor is it the fruit of a well-ordered faith, 
 but an overdaring presumption. There is no 
 ship so tall or strongly ribbed which can be con- 
 fident she shall not founder in the next storm ; 
 nor is there any man of such a confidence, 
 who, if a tempest or temptation rise up against 
 him, can be assured that, at the instant, he can 
 call up so much reason and religion as to with- 
 stand it. Would you not judge him mad, who, 
 being come to an anchor in a safe road, should, 
 like the dolphin, hunt the storm, and choose to 
 ride it out at the main sea ? It is no discreet 
 religion which seeks out dangers and glories 
 in temptations ; nor is he ** wise to salvation" 
 who presents himself to that hazard which 
 Christ hath taught us to pray against. — King. 
 
 TEMPTATION, Not of God. 
 
 ** God tempts no man." But we have other 
 tempters, the world, the flesh, and the devil, 
 who have all their several ways of tempting. 
 But the devil tempts us by suggestion of fan- 
 cies ; the world tempts us by allurement of 
 objects ; the flesh tempts us by inclination of 
 will. And these again ai-e all pressed upon us 
 by the devil with the rage of a roaring lion ; 
 by the world with the subtilty of a flattering 
 enemy ; by the flesh with the treachery of a 
 false friend : so that, if force and fraud and 
 falsehood would do it, we were undone. And 
 yet, against all these we may do well enough, 
 for Christ *'hath overcome the world," and 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 637 
 
 hath "broken the serpent's head," and by His 
 death, mortified the flesh : and so, no matter 
 now who is against us, — if God be with us. 
 And therefore, what is then our prayer ? That 
 He will be pleased not to use the left hand of 
 His justice to lead us into temptation ; but if 
 it be His pleasure to do so, that at least He 
 will yet use the right hand of His mercy also, 
 to lead us out and to deliver us. — Sir R. Baker. 
 
 Let no man say, ** That God tempts him to 
 sin :" — as if the sins we commit were not the 
 acts and issues of our own free will. Many, 
 in a sensual manner and profanely, shift off 
 their sins and blame the devil for it, not them- 
 selves. And the devil, saith Augustine, gives 
 them good leave to do so ; the devil is glad 
 when we say, "he made us to sin;" for he 
 that so saith will never repent truly of his 
 sin . . . How then are our sins the devil's 
 works ? It is not by a total exemption of us 
 and translation of our sins upon him, but by a 
 "joint communication" in the guilt of them. 
 If Satan's temptations be not entertained by 
 us, then they are Satan's sins only, and but 
 our trials ; but if we admit of them, and sufifer 
 his fiery darts to kindle upon us, then they are 
 his works and ours also. — Bishop Brownrig. 
 
 TEMPTATION, Spiritual. 
 
 In the hour of spiritual temptation, — in these 
 hours (and where is the true child of God who 
 has never known them?) take refuge in the 
 Written Word, lie down in peace on many a 
 blessed promise ; reply to the tempter, that 
 though God withholds for a time the spiritual 
 bread which strengthens and the wine which 
 cheers, "man does not live by bread alone, 
 but by every word which proceedeth out of the 
 mouth of God," and that you have enough, 
 and more than enough, in that Blessed Word 
 to subsist upon until God shall again comfort 
 you with the light of His countenance and the 
 fulness of His blessing. Trust as simply and 
 entirely to God, during the famine of the soul, 
 as your blessed Redeemer did in the famine of 
 the body. (St. Matt. iv. )—H. Blunt. 
 
 THANK-OFFERING. 
 In every place, in every hour, 
 
 Whate'er my wayward lot may be, 
 In joy or grief, in sun or shower. 
 
 Father, and Lord ! I turn to thee. 
 
 Thee, when the incense-breathing flowers 
 Pour forth the worship of the spring. 
 
 With the glad tenants of the bowers, 
 My trembling accents strive to sing. 
 
 Thee, when upon the frozen strand. 
 Winter, begirt with storms, descends ; 
 
 Thee, Lord ! I hail, whose gracious hand 
 O'er all a guardian care extends. 
 
 Thee, when the golden harvests yield 
 Their treasures to increase our store ; 
 
 Thee, when through ether's gloomy field 
 The lightnings flash, the thunders roar. 
 
 Thee, when athwart the azure sky. 
 Thy starry hosts their mazes lead, 
 
 And when thou sheddest from on high 
 Thy dew-drops on the flowery mead. 
 
 Thee, when my cup of bliss o'erflows — 
 Thee, when my heart's best joys are fled 
 
 Thee, when my heart exulting glows — 
 Thee, while I bend beside the dead. 
 
 Alike in joy and in distress. 
 
 Oh ! let me trace thy hand divine. 
 
 Righteous in chastening, prompt to bless. 
 Still, Father, may Thy will be mine. 
 
 Lady Flora Hastings. 
 
 THANKS, With Benediction. 
 
 Fair sirs, we thank you, hoping we have come 
 Thro' many wandering, to a quiet home 
 Befitting dying men. Good health and peace 
 To you and to this land, and fair increase 
 Of everything that ye can wish to have ! 
 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 THAW. 
 Sudden from the hills, 
 O'er rocks and woods, in broad brown cata- 
 racts, 
 A thousand snow-fed torrents shoot at once ; 
 And, where they rush, the wide-resounding 
 
 plain 
 Is left one slimy waste. Thomson. 
 
 THAW-FLOOD. 
 
 The sportive winds sprang up on high. 
 With feathery snow played through the sky ; 
 The earth was clothed, the hills grew white. 
 The shrinking vales gave gelid light ; 
 The blanched oak waved his hoary crown. 
 And shook his silver garland down. 
 
638 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 Green wheat, just piercing through the ground, 
 With tender blade from root profound, 
 A chilling element found there, 
 That checked its rise to live in air. 
 
 The spirit of dread storms awoke. 
 The roaring winds their magic spoke, 
 Transformed to torrents settled snow, 
 And bade the dark-browed tempests grow. 
 O'er Devon's hills fierce waters gushed, 
 And boisterous on the meadows rushed ; 
 Tliey drenched the woodlands, choked the 
 
 plain, 
 Till all appeared one billowy main ; 
 Black clouds shot on in dread array. 
 And chased the last remains of day. 
 No spangled vault relieved the sight. 
 No soothing moonlight graced the night, 
 But there the Pleiades were seen, 
 Triumphant glittering and keen. 
 
 Mrs. Coivley. 
 
 When "cloud-capt tow'rs" shall sink in dust, 
 
 And "solemn temples" fall. 
 The God of all the good and just 
 
 Shall patronize them all. 
 
 Scots Magazine. 
 
 THAW, The. 
 
 Nature dissolves in friendly tears. 
 And drops her blessings deep ; 
 
 The hearts of mortals, too, she cheers, 
 Who laugh to see her weep. 
 
 While, miser-like, she steel'd her breast 
 
 To teach impressive power, 
 She robb'd us of our wonted rest, 
 
 And froze the midnight hour. 
 
 Not Luxury, with all her charms, 
 
 Nor Riot with its glee, 
 Could 'scape her close surrounding arms : 
 
 But ah ! poor Penury ! 
 
 Poor Penury, 'twas thine alone 
 
 To feel her bitterest bite, 
 While starving through the day alone, 
 
 And perishing at night. 
 
 But then (and gracious Heav'n be prais'd) 
 
 Her deputies she sent. 
 The deep-sunk eye of Misery rais'd, 
 
 While Hunger smiled content. 
 
 Now, kinder gales their influence shed. 
 
 And milder breezes blow, 
 The Earth resigns her fleecy bed, 
 
 And triumphs o'er the snow. 
 
 So shall Beneficence extend 
 
 Her long continued sway j 
 Her charms, eternal as their end, 
 
 Shall gain eternal day. 
 
 THEORIES. 
 
 The human mind feels restless and dissatisfied 
 under the anxieties of ignorance. It longs for 
 the repose of conviction ; and to gain this re- 
 pose it will often rather precipitate its conclu- 
 sions than wait for the tardy lights of obser- 
 vation and experiment. There is such a thing, 
 too, as the love of simplicity and system — a 
 prejudice of the understanding which disposes 
 it to include all the phenomena of nature under 
 a few sweeping generalities — an indolence 
 which loves to repose on the beauties of a 
 theory rather than encounter the fatiguing 
 detail of its evidences — a painful reluctance to 
 the admission of facts which, however weak, 
 break in upon the majestic simplicity which we 
 would fain ascribe to the laws and operations 
 of the universe. — Chalmers. 
 
 THINGS, Nature of. 
 
 Into the construction and natures of things, 
 men may properly and laudably carry their 
 inquiries as minutely as they please ; but when 
 they have discovered the elementary prin- 
 ciples, and the laws by which they act, they 
 can go no further without presumption, unless 
 revelation be taken for their guide. Although 
 the Almighty at the beginning organized all 
 things, and established a system for the pre- 
 servation and continuance of what was ori- 
 ginally created. He was not himself bound by 
 those laws, nor restrained to that peculiar 
 order of things. The mechanical principles 
 by which regularity is maintained throughout 
 the universe, are not, as too many have fatally 
 supposed, so essential to matter, as that dif- 
 ferent laws could not have been settled by the 
 great Creator. This resting in second causes, 
 has led many into scepticism, and from thence 
 into atheism ; for if matter has certain inherent 
 powers of action and reaction, it will be difficult 
 to say that matter is not eternal. The philosophy 
 of Scripture has carefully guarded us against 
 this dangerous conclusion, by expressly de- 
 claring that the very matter of the universe had 
 a beginning at the divine command, which 
 impressed upon it those laws and powers 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 639 
 
 which we are enabled to observe, and also the 
 secret qualities which have hitherto eluded the 
 researches of philosophy. 
 
 The doctrine of the immortal Newton may 
 
 j now be safely adopted. '''God Almighty, at 
 
 I the beginning, created just such a quantity of 
 
 matter as is proportioned to the space in which 
 
 I it was intended to move ; that the original 
 
 particles of this matter are solid, impenetrable, 
 
 and very durable ; that they are of a particular 
 
 form and size, being endued also with particular 
 
 laws of motion, from the various texture and 
 
 j composition of which arise those diflferent kinds 
 
 I of bodies of which this world is constituted. " — 
 
 Baseley. 
 
 THINGS, Partial Views of. 
 
 We are all short sighted, and very often 
 see but one side of a matter; our views are 
 not extended to all that has a connection with 
 it. From this defect I think no man is 
 free. We see but in part, and we know 
 but in part, and therefore it is no wonder 
 we conclude not right from our partial 
 views. This might instruct the proudest 
 esteemer of his own parts how useful it is to 
 talk and consult with others, even such as 
 come short of him in capacity, quickness, and 
 penetration ; for since no one sees all, and we 
 generally have different prospects of the same 
 thing, according to our different, as I may say, 
 positions to it, it is not incongruous to think, 
 nor beneath any man to try whether another 
 man may not have notions of things which 
 have escaped him, and which his reason 
 would make use of if they came into his 
 mind. — Locke. 
 
 THINGS Unseen- 
 
 O ! WHAT sights hath the eye not seen ! 
 
 Spring abroad in her robe of green ; 
 
 And her thousand, thousand flowers that 
 
 blow 
 In the forest shade, by the fountain's flow ; 
 Ocean at rest when his wrath is o'er. 
 With the moon's soft rainbow shining o'er ; 
 And the host of ministering stars that wait, 
 Each with its song, at Heaven's gate. 
 
 Sounds of delight on every breeze ! 
 
 The music, at midnight, of wa\'ing trees ; 
 
 The song of the lark in the ear of mom ; 
 
 The far-oft blast of the hunter's horn ; 
 
 Eolian harpings on summer's eve, 
 
 Like angel- whispers to souls that grieve ; 
 
 The hymns of joy that from young lips flow. 
 And the voice of friendship in hours of woe. 
 
 Who can tell all that hath wrapt the thought 
 In holy times, when the heart is fraught 
 With a gush of sacred joy that brings 
 Into the bosom all lovely things ? 
 Glimpses of Heaven on the Poet's eye. 
 Visions of glory that cannot die. 
 Hallowing each scene of beauty here 
 As the promise and t3rpe of a happier sphere. 
 
 But the eye hath not seen, nor the ear hath 
 
 heard. 
 Nor the heart in its inmost depth been stirred 
 With the thought of those wonders by angels 
 
 told 
 In the temple on high to their harps of gold. 
 The spirit e'en here often cowers her wings 
 At the mighty shadows of futiire things. 
 Or rejoices, in glimpses of hope, to descry 
 The dawn of immortal light from on high. 
 
 But her noblest visions are sh aded here. 
 And her happiest dreams have a taint of fear. 
 And the lyre of thought's most trancing tone 
 Is woke by the wilderness-wind alone : 
 It hangs o'er the grave ; but Earth's speU shall 
 
 break. 
 And the soul of all-glorious sounds awake, 
 Touch'd into birth by Him whose love 
 Shall win its eternal song above. Anon. 
 
 TtaNKlNG. 
 
 Thinkers are scarce as gold ; but he whose 
 thoughts embrace all his subject, f)ursues it 
 uninterruptedly and fearless of consequences, is 
 a diamond of enormous size. — Lavater. 
 
 THINKING, its Effects. 
 
 Legitimate reasoning is impossible without 
 severe thinking, and thinking is neither an easy 
 I nor an amusing employment. The reader 
 I who would follow a close reasoner to the 
 I simimit and absolute principle of any one 
 ; important subject, has chosen a chamois-hunter 
 I for his guide. Our guide will, indeed, take us 
 the shortest way, will save us many a weari- 
 some and perilous wandering, and warn us of 
 many a mock road that had formerly led him- 
 self to the brink of chasms and precipices, or 
 at least in an idle circle to the spot from whence 
 he started. But he cannot carry us on his 
 shoulders ; we must strain our own sinews as 
 he has strained his, and make firm footing on 
 
640 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 the naked rock for ourselves, by the blood of 
 toil from our own feet. — Coleridge. 
 
 Thinking leads man to knowledge. He 
 may see and hear, and read and learn, and as 
 much as he please ; he will never know any of 
 it, except that which he has thought over, that 
 which by thinking he has made the property of 
 his mind. It is then saying too much if I say, 
 that man by thinking only becomes truly man. 
 Take away thought from man's life, and what 
 remains ? — Pestalozzi. 
 
 THINKING, Just Properties of. 
 
 The three properties of just thinking : What 
 is possible, what is commendable, and what 
 ought to be. — Catherall. 
 
 THOUGHT. 
 
 What is thought ? it is a mine 
 Whose gems are of a land divine : 
 A power no tyrant may control ; 
 An emanation of the soul ! — 
 A spark of a celestial fire. 
 To favoured man in mercy given ; 
 Spirit of an immortal sire ! 
 A plant whose flower is Heaven ! 
 O ! not beneath the sky's array 
 May highest thought with man unite ; 
 'Tis but a gleam of that fine light 
 Whose glory shines through an eternal day. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 THOUGHT, A, Over a Cradle. 
 
 Strange that flowers of earth 
 
 Are visited by every air that stirs. 
 
 And drink in sweetness only, while the child 
 
 That shuts within its breast a bloom for 
 
 heaven. 
 May take a blemish from the breath of love, 
 And bear the blight for ever. 
 
 I have wept 
 With gladness at the gift of this fair child ! 
 My life is bound up in her. But, O God ! 
 Thou know'st how heavily my heart at times 
 Bears its sweet burthen : and if thou hast 
 
 given 
 To nurture such as mine this spotless flower, 
 To bring it unpolluted unto thee, 
 Take thou its love, I pray thee ! Give it light- 
 
 Though, following the sun, it turns from me ! 
 But, by the chord thus rung, and by the light 
 Shining about her, draw rae to my child ! 
 And link us close, O God, when near to 
 heaven. N. P. Willis. 
 
 THOUGHT, Foundation of. 
 
 The three foundations of thought : Perspi- 
 cuity, amplitude, and justness. 
 
 The three ornaments of thought : Clearness, 
 correctness, and novelty. — Catherall. 
 
 THOUGHT, Implication of. 
 
 What lively pleasure to divine 
 
 The thought implied, the hinted line ; 
 
 To feel allusion's artful force. 
 
 And trace the image to its source : 
 
 Quick memory blends her scatter'd rays,, 
 
 Till fancy kindles at the blaze ; 
 
 The works of ages start to view. 
 
 And ancient wit elicits new ; 
 
 But wit and parts, if these we praise, 
 
 What noble altars should we raise ! 
 
 Those sacrifices could we see. 
 
 Which wit and virtue makes to thee ; 
 
 At once the rising thought to dash, 
 
 To quench at once the burning lash ; 
 
 The shining mischief to subdue. 
 
 And lose the praise and pleasure too. 
 
 Though Venus' self, could you detect her, 
 
 Imbuing with her richest nectar 
 
 The thought unchaste ; to check that thought. 
 
 To spurn the praise so dearly bought. 
 
 This is high principle's control ! 
 
 This is true continence of soul ! 
 
 Blush, heroes, at your cheap renown, 
 
 A vanquish'd realm, a plunder'd crown. 
 
 Your conquests were to gain a name : 
 
 This conquest triumphs over fame : 
 
 So pure its essence, 'twere destroy'd. 
 
 If known ; and if commended, void. 
 
 Amidst the brightest truths believ'd, 
 
 Amidst the fairest deeds achiev'd, 
 
 Shall stand recorded and admir'd. 
 
 That virtue sunk what wit inspir'd. 
 
 H. More. 
 
 THOUGHT, The Pleasures of. 
 
 The pleasures of sense are on all hands allowed 
 to have only a very narrow and limited range ; 
 yet so great is their power of attraction, that 
 the majority of our species are carried away by 
 them into a state of absolute and degrading 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 641 
 
 slavery. The pleasures of mind are so vast 
 and infinitely varied, that every separate faculty 
 has its appropriate transports and attendant 
 trophies. Philosophers have partitioned out the 
 soul, and have severally bestowed their culture 
 and their care on what region has happened to 
 please them best. Another race has also issued 
 forth from the fastnesses of Parnassus and 
 ihe fountain of Helicon, with their musical 
 maids, to feast and revel, dance and sing, each 
 on his own chosen ground. The pleasures of 
 Memory, the pleasures of Imagination, and 
 the pleasures of Hope, have all been tricked 
 out in the most splendid ornaments of poetry, 
 and have gained the votive offerings of this 
 obsequious age. But who personifies, who 
 praises, who ever remeinbers, as impartial 
 justice demands, the thinking faculty? This 
 worthy, patient, persevering labourer, that 
 works for every body, is, to say the least, 
 strangely overlooked and neglected. It must 
 be granted that he could not do much with- 
 out his associates ; but then they could do 
 absolutely nothing without him. Though the 
 assertion startle, it is susceptible of demon- 
 stration. Let him cease to dig materials, or 
 cease to forge and fabricate them, and it is 
 evident every operation in the world of mind 
 s instantly at a stand. It is idle to talk of 
 the pleasures of Memory, when his rusty store- 
 house is locked up, and as useless as a cellar 
 of old lumber ; or the pleasures of Imagina- 
 tion, when this extravagant painter, paralyzed 
 n every limb, can neither spread her canvas 
 nor mix her colours ; or the pleasures of Hope, 
 when this sanguine and freakish lady, swoon- 
 ing and faint, is so far from being able to lift 
 her spy-glass, that she cannot so much as lift 
 her head. The beggary and wretchedness of 
 these proud boasters, the moment a strict 
 scrutiny is instituted, may be fully proved ; 
 for if they had any proper power of their own, 
 why are they ever piteously wailing and im- 
 portunately calling in the aid of the Muses ? 
 Let us then sift this matter thoroughly and 
 go to the bottom, when, laying aside fables and 
 figures, it will be found that close, continuous 
 thinking is the source of our purest, highest, 
 best pleasures. It is not worth while to waste 
 time in examining loose hypotheses ; we boldly 
 appeal to facts. Deep and intense thought is 
 known to rouse, thrill, expand, and invigorate 
 the whole soul of man. The thinking mind, 
 in full play, is delivered from teazing anxieties 
 and petty associations. Words can give no 
 adequate description of the exquisite and ab- 
 
 sorbing pleasures of intellect. What made the 
 Athenian sage refuse and scorn the luxuries 
 and honours offered him by the king of Sicily ? 
 Hear the noble reply of that sublime sage : — 
 ** Philosophy will not permit Plato to accept the 
 invitation of Dionysius, and come to reside at 
 his court. " What was it but the vigorous and 
 successful process of thought which kindled 
 the memorable rapture of Archimedes ; which 
 blessed the evening of Lord Bacon's day, after 
 having escaped the fury of political storms ; 
 which so intensely occupied and interested Sir 
 Isaac Newton that he often quite forgot to 
 take his ordinary meals. 
 
 But a captious reader might ask. What mean 
 you by thinking, to which such enjoyment and 
 advantage are attributed? I should reply, 
 certainly not those random and irregular move- 
 ments of mind, those wild working dreams of 
 fancy, which have no specific object, no links 
 of connection, no rational grounds of support 
 or utility. A man thinks, in the true sense of 
 the term when he puts forth his intellectual 
 powers with sober and sedate aim, and with 
 steady perseverance. 
 
 But reveries (for human minds will act). 
 Specious in show, impossible in fact, — 
 Those flimsy webs, that break as soon as wrought. 
 Attain not to the dignity of thought. 
 
 Subjects for meditation, replete with rich 
 and refined pleasure, are found in every depart- 
 ment of physical, moral, and divine knowledge. 
 We all know that a man may go forth, and 
 look around upon the grand assemblage of 
 wonders which the world presents, and remain 
 as indifferent as the cattle grazing the turf 
 under his feet. But is it possible to think on 
 what he views without feeling a real interest 
 and a rational delight? Is it possible to 
 analyze the air, the water, and the solid earth ; 
 to trace the varied forms and exquisite struc- 
 tures of organized matter ; to mark the mutual 
 dependance of the vegetable and animal tribes, 
 the vicissitude of day and night, and the revo- 
 lution of the seasons, without a glow of satis- 
 faction? How pleasing is the task, to con- 
 template the sun fulfilling his course, the moon 
 walking in her brightness, and the planets all 
 circling their orbits with punctilious exactness ! 
 How delightful to perceive the proofs of intel- 
 ligence and design every where stamped on 
 the face of nature ! to find congruities and 
 adaptations where least expected ; and won- 
 ders multiplying and opening upon us on 
 every side as we prosecute our inquiry and 
 research ! And if the field of physical science 
 
 T T 
 
642 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 furnish such ample materials for thought, the 
 regions of moral wisdom and divine knowledge 
 are still more fruitful and full of interest. Here 
 we discover the relations in which we stand to 
 the serious orders and classes of our fellow- 
 creatures, and to our great Creator, Benefactor, 
 and Judge j the duties which rise out of these 
 relations, and the consequences of obedience or 
 failure. The mind expatiating on such themes, 
 important as they confessedly are, would gain 
 little certainty or satisfaction did not the light 
 of heaven shine upon it ; but divine revelation 
 opens the present fallen state and future destiny 
 of man, the deformity and destructive nature 
 of sin, the beauty and beneficial influence of 
 holiness, the value of pardon and acceptance 
 with God through a Mediator, and the ne- 
 cessity of regenerating grace as an indispensable 
 preparative for the eternal felicity. The doc- 
 trines, facts, promises, and provisions of the 
 glorious Gospel supply the richest and noblest 
 subjects which can possibly engage and employ 
 the human mind. Here is a wide and won- 
 drous range for thought, which angels them- 
 selves delight to explore. It is boundless as 
 the perfections of deity, blissful as the realms 
 of Paradise. While a Christian expatiates on 
 this sacred ground he gathers a revenue of 
 profit and enjoys a repast of pleasure, to which 
 the sordid worlding is an entire stranger. 
 Viewing the power and wisdom, the purity and 
 truth, the grace and glory of God, in the me- 
 thods and movements of Providence, and the 
 sublime mysteries and precious blessings of 
 Redemption, he exclaims, in the language of 
 the devout Psalmist, ** My meditation of Him 
 shall be sweet." 
 
 In addition to what has been said, it may be 
 truly asserted that most of the passions are 
 awakened by the vigorous exercise of thought. 
 Curiosity, desire, and hope catch the motions 
 and receive the mandates of the ruling faculty. 
 And if these handmaids are not always waiting 
 at the throne of intellect, they cannot be trusted 
 but while they are so ; absent and without 
 direction, they become the ministers of pain 
 and disappointment rather than of pleasure 
 and consolation. Till men begin to think, 
 they generally remain dormant and supine. 
 The grandeur and variety of creation do not 
 strike them ; the ways of Providence and the 
 manifestations of divine mercy do not interest 
 and affect them. The eye may look abroad 
 with a vacant gaze, and the ear may listen to 
 the voice of eloquence, but the inner man con- 
 tinues torpid and unmoved. Let the under- | 
 
 standing be once put in active play, and every 
 new idea acquired opens a discoveiy that 
 something more is wanted, and the desire of 
 knowledge almost constantly grows with every 
 fresh acquisition. Suppose two men, one pos- 
 sessed of this intellectual preparation, and the 
 other entirely destitute of it, to be conducted 
 for the first time through the rooms of a mu- 
 seum stored with all the rare productions of 
 nature and art. How vast would be the dispa- 
 rity in the degree of delight respectively re- 
 ceived by them ! It is also too evident to 
 require illustration, that the same mental pro- 
 cess which rouses curiosity and creates desire 
 cannot fail to enkindle hope. Every step of 
 ascent widens the horizon ; every instance of 
 success fires the soul to new efforts. 
 
 If such are the pleasures of thought, and if 
 thought should chiefly occupy and distinguish 
 man, we need not wonder that so many of our 
 fellow-mortals are exceedingly wretched. Their 
 main business is to eat and drink, and dress 
 and play, to dance and sing, and talk and hear 
 nonsense. Judging from the manner in which 
 their time is spent, they seem to apprehend 
 these are the things for which they were sent 
 into the world. Whatever little arts they learn, 
 they never learn to think'; whatever acquisi- 
 tions of property they make, they acquire no 
 new ideas, no stock of useful knowledge. It 
 is to this internal stagnation and vacancy that 
 we must, in a great measure, attribute their 
 languor, listlessness, and misery. Even when 
 such persons, at times, assume the appearance 
 of bustle and hurry, it is easy to see through 
 the disguise. I know not but some reader, 
 displeased with the foregoing train of reflec- 
 tions, may murmur out his complaint as fol- 
 lows : — "Why, if this account be just, thinking 
 is of more importance and value than music, 
 riding, fencing, and all the other elegant ac- 
 complishments, in the acquisition of which I 
 have expended so much time and money. A 
 strange notion truly ! which neither my pa- 
 rents, nor tutors, nor any of my early associates, 
 ever suggested, or probably once entertained. 
 But wanting as I have yet been, if there are 
 such pleasures and privileges attendant upon 
 this kind of exercise, I should like to become 
 master of it. Tell me honestly then, how I am 
 to proceed, and where I may meet with the 
 best assistance." 
 
 If the supposed inquirer has passed a certain 
 age, truth and plain dealing compel me to say, 
 it is next to a hopeless case ; if he have youth 
 on his side, something may be done, though it 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 643 
 
 would be rash to promise a high proficiency. 
 Watts and Locke have prepared helps and 
 rules for the conduct of the understanding and 
 the right use of reason ; Taylor and Stewart 
 have furnished elements of thought and of 
 mental philosophy. A man may employ these 
 helps to acquire the art of thinking, as he 
 would strings of cork and bladders to learn 
 the art of swimming, especially when he ven- 
 tures out of his depth ; yet it is obvious that 
 care must be taken, in each case, not to depend 
 too much upon these artificial aids. No me- 
 thod ever was, or ever can be, devised, which 
 will answer the desired purpose, unless the 
 mind be put forth in strenuous and well-sus- 
 tained efforts. The pleasures of thought cannot 
 be purchased ; they are articles of home, not 
 foreign growth. It is one point of considerable 
 importance to be fully convinced of this, and 
 to be impatient of those things which either 
 deaden or dissipate our intellectual powers and 
 moral sensibilities. As Pope says : — 
 
 How slow the unprofitable moments roll. 
 That lock up all the functions of my soul ; 
 That keep me from myself; and still delay 
 Life's instant business to a future day ; — 
 That task, which as we follow or despise. 
 The oldest is a fool, the youngest wise ; 
 Which done, the poorest can no wants endure — 
 And which not done, the richest must be poor ! 
 Rlisticiis. 
 
 THOUGHT, The Value of a, 
 Striking and Useful. 
 We have most of us in our time thrown a 
 pebble into a pond, and traced the effect which 
 the action has produced. We have gazed on 
 the agitated and then subsiding waters, till 
 circle after circle^ each surpassing in extent 
 the one preceding it, has affected the whole 
 liquid surface extended before us. What an 
 interesting spectacle it would be, if, in like 
 manner, we could minutely trace the effect of 
 a striking and useful thought ! 
 
 By what process such a thought is con- 
 ceived, is only known to Him who knows all 
 things, but it is clear to us that when it is made 
 known in the state of society, it becomes the 
 centre of a thousand circles, spreading its 
 influences immeasurably beyond our faculty of 
 observation. To illustrate this position, let us 
 follow in their effects a few striking and useful 
 thoughts that have been obviously influential. 
 
 It once occurred to a benevolent mind in 
 visiting a prison, that such places might be 
 much improved. This was a simple thought, 
 
 and of no more value than a pebble stone as 
 long as it remained inactive in the breast that 
 gave it birth ; but when put into operation, it 
 became as a costly gem, worth more than the 
 diadem of an emperor. At that time prisons 
 were wretched places for the body and the 
 mind ; close, damp, filthy, and crowded indis- 
 criminately with men, women, and children of 
 the w^orst character ; they injured the health 
 by disease, and increased crime by the pro- 
 fligacy of their inmates; but the thought. 
 Cannot they be improved? began to extend 
 itself in action. Benevolence had an object 
 in view ; it went through the length and 
 breadth of the land, it traversed the mighty 
 deep, and visited the prisons of other climes ; 
 it exposed what was bad, and suggested what 
 was better ; it gathered friends, spoke through 
 the press, influenced the senate, and brought 
 about a complete change and improvement in 
 prison discipline throughout Europe. 
 
 A benevolent heart once beat for the multi- 
 plied miseries of African slaves, and the 
 thought arose, Can nothing be done to amelio- 
 rate slavery? Scarcely anything at that time 
 could have been more hopeless ; for this guilty 
 land was then sending forth unnumbered ships 
 to be freighted with crime and cruelty — even 
 the legislature of the country authorized the 
 ungodly traffic ; but the benevolent thought 
 was expressed, the voice of humanity cried 
 aloud, and thousands responded to the appeal. 
 All that sordid interest and stony-hearted in- 
 humanity could do, was done to stifle the cry, 
 but in vain. Long and stubborn was the con- 
 tention, but, after years of persevering philan- 
 thropy, benevolence triumphed, Britain broke 
 the chain of servitude, offering up in willing 
 sacrifice twenty millions of her wealth to 
 cleanse her hands from the pollution of 
 slavery. 
 
 To send missionaries abroad, to provide the 
 ignorant with religious tracts at home, to 
 supply a part of Wales with Bibles, were once 
 simple and unproductive thoughts ; but these 
 thoughts were imparted, participated, prayed 
 over, and reduced to practice, so that in after 
 years they brought about a mighty revolution 
 in the affairs of the world. Their first circles 
 were small, but rapidly succeeding circles ex- 
 tended, until the whole earth has been affected 
 by their influence. Thousands of missionaries 
 have been sent abroad, millions of bibles have 
 been distributed, and hundreds of miUions of 
 religious publications have been spread far and 
 wide in the world. 
 
644 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Who has not heard of Oberlin, the pious 
 pastor of Ban de la Roche ? The industry of 
 his hand and the kindness of his heart were 
 employed for the benefit of his fellow-men. 
 He was an instrument in the plans of Provi- 
 dence to benefit a half savage people in the 
 eastern part of France. A young female pea- 
 sant, a girl not more than fifteen years old, so 
 reverenced the virtues of this kind man, that 
 she served him as a domestic without wages, 
 shared his benevolent labours, and became as 
 an angel of mercy to the poor and suffering 
 families in the rude region around them. 
 
 This peasant girl, whose name was Louise 
 Scheppler, a name worthy to be held in honour 
 by those who love benevolence and virtue — this 
 domestic servant (for she was no more), in her 
 aspirations to do good, had a thought, a sug- 
 gestion. She saw how impossible it was for 
 poor parents to labour in the fields and at the 
 same time to take care of their children. Her 
 thought, her suggestion, was to collect together 
 a number of these poor children in a large 
 room, or hall, where they might amuse them- 
 selves in safety, and be instructed, leaving their 
 parents at liberty to pursue their industrious 
 calling. Oberlin was struck with the bene- 
 volent idea, the thought was encouraged, the 
 plan adopted. This may be deemed as the 
 simple beginning of the infant schools of Eng- 
 land, France, and various countries of the 
 world ; and which have been improved as to 
 the method of giving instruction, and the 
 knowledge imparted, so as to make them 
 beneficial to an extent very far beyond the 
 limited ideas of its first projectors. 
 
 Robert Raikes, of Gloucester, seeing the rags 
 and wretchedness, and hearing the oaths and 
 blasphemies of the poor children in a crowded 
 part of the suburbs of the city, looked upon 
 them with strong compassion ; he pitied their 
 poverty much, but their ignorance and de- 
 pravity still more. Could nothing be done for 
 them ? It was about as hopeless a thing to do 
 them good, to make them useful members of 
 society, as to change wolves and tigers into 
 human beings ; but a thought occurred to him, 
 and the thought was — ** Try." It was a noble 
 thought, and right nobly did he foster and 
 pursue it. He employed a number of decent 
 women to take all the children they could get 
 on the Sabbath, and instruct them. The 
 numbers that came surprised him : the little 
 savages were civilized, the neighbourhood be- 
 came, as the people said, ** a little heaven to 
 what it had been." The plan spread, another 
 
 warm-hearted Christian, William Fox, took 
 it up, and the Sunday-School Society was 
 founded. Thus the thought *' Try " has filled 
 the land with Sunday-schools, drawn millions 
 from the downward road to destruction, and 
 pointed out to them the way to heaven through 
 a crucified Redeemer. — Anon. 
 
 THOUGHT Work. 
 
 The gentler charms which wait on female life. 
 Which grace the daughter and adorn the wife, 
 Be these our boast, yet these may well admit 
 Of various knowledge and of blameless wit ; 
 Of sense, resulting from a nurtured mind, 
 Of polished manners, and of taste refined. 
 
 Hannah More. 
 
 THOUGHTS, A Simile on Ambitious. 
 
 Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty; 
 Like one that stands upon a promontory, 
 And spies a far-off shore where he would tread. 
 Wishing his foot were equal with his eye ; 
 And chides the sea that sunders him from 
 
 thence, 
 Saying — he'll lade it dry to have his way. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 THOUGHTS, Evil, to be Dislodged. 
 Be very careful not to lodge or entertain any 
 evil thoughts in thy mind. Sinful thoughts 
 are the Reubens, the first-born of original sin, 
 and the beginning of its strength . . . Remem- 
 ber, that though in the world's wicked proverb 
 thoughts are free ; because men cannot dis- 
 cern them, nor punish them ; yet they are not 
 free from God's observation, nor from his law, 
 which being spiritual, binds the thoughts of 
 the heart, as well as the outward man ; nor 
 from his justice, which will call us to account 
 for our sinful thoughts ; nor from the rebukes 
 and scourgings of an awakened conscience, 
 which are no small punishments. Let it be 
 thy care to suppress and crush bad thoughts at 
 the very first rising ... If thou wouldst keep 
 thy soul pure, beware of speculative sinfulness. 
 — Cradock. 
 
 THOUGHTS, Good, 
 
 Only Flash on the Bad. 
 
 The flashes of lightning may be discerned in 
 
 the darkest prisons ; but if good thoughts look 
 
 into a wicked heart, they stay not there ; as 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 645 
 
 those that like not their lodging, they are soon 
 gone . . . The light that shines into a holy- 
 heart is constant, like that of the sun, which 
 keeps due times, and varies not his course for 
 any of these sublunary occasions. — Bp. Hall. 
 
 THOUGHTS of a Philosopher. 
 
 It is a man's proper business to seek happiness 
 and avoid misery. Happiness consists in what 
 delights and contents the mind : misery in 
 what disturbs, discomposes, or torments it. 
 
 I will therefore make it my business to seek 
 satisfaction and delight, and avoid uneasiness 
 and disquiet ; to have as much of the one and 
 as little of the other as may be. 
 
 But here I must have a care I mistake not ; 
 for if I prefer a short pleasure to a lasting one, 
 it is plain I cross my own happiness. 
 
 Let me then see wherein consists the most 
 lasting pleasure of this life, and that, as far as 
 I can observe, is in these things : 
 
 Health, — without which no sensual pleasure 
 can have any relish. 
 
 Reputation, — for that I find everybody is 
 pleased with, and the want of it is a constant 
 torment. 
 
 Knowledge, — for the little knowledge I have 
 I find I would not sell at any rate, nor part 
 with for any other pleasure. 
 
 Doing good, — for I find the well-cooked 
 meat I eat to-day does now no more delight 
 me, nay, I am diseased after a full meal ; — the 
 perfumes I smelt yesterday now no more affect 
 me with any pleasure : but the good turn I did 
 yesterday, a year, seven years since, con- 
 tinues still to please and delight me as often 
 as I reflect on it. 
 
 The expectation of eternal and incompre- 
 hensible happiness in another world is that 
 also which carries a constant pleasure with it. 
 
 If, then, I will faithfully pursue that happi- 
 ness I propose to myself, whatever pleasure 
 offers itself to me, I must carefully look that it 
 cross not any of those five great and constant 
 pleasures above mentioned. For example, the 
 fruit I see tempts me with the taste of it that I 
 love ; but if it endanger my health, I part with 
 a constant and lasting for a very short and 
 transient pleasure, and so foolishly make my- 
 .self unhappy, and am not true to my own in- 
 terest. 
 
 Innocent diversions delight me : if I make 
 use of them to refresh myself after study and 
 business, they preserve my health, restore the 
 
 vigour of my mind, and increase my pleasure ; 
 
 but if I spend all or the greater part of my 
 time in them, they hinder my improvement in 
 knowledge and useful arts, they blast my 
 credit, and give me up to the uneasy state of 
 shame, ignorance, and contempt, in which I 
 cannot but be very unhappy. Drinking, gam- 
 ing, and vicious delights will do me this mis- 
 chief, not only by wasting my time, but by a 
 positive injury endanger my health, impair 
 my parts, imprint ill habits, lessen my esteem, 
 and leave a constant lasting torment on my 
 conscience ; therefore all vicious and unlawful 
 pleasures I will always avoid, because such a 
 mastery of my passions will afford me a con- 
 stant pleasure greater than any such enjoy- 
 ments, and also deliver me from the certain 
 evil of several kinds, that by indulging myself 
 in a present temptation I shall certainly after- 
 wards suffer. — Locke. 
 
 THOUGHTS on Subjects, Old and New. 
 
 Persons rack their brains mightily nowadays 
 to produce novelties in literature. Pens, ink, 
 paper and wits are all put in requisition to 
 afford daily supplies of hitherto untaught and un- 
 thought opinions ; unsaid and unsung, unwrit- 
 ten and unknown essays, verses, narratives, 
 and anecdotes. Such being the constant aim 
 and effort, it is no wonder that, at last, there is 
 even too much of a good thing — namely, of 
 variety. There is, indeed, a very sameness 
 and absolute wearisomeness in the motley suc- 
 cession and changeful iteration ; so that the 
 newborn crudities of the period **irk one" 
 more than even the dusty themes of Bonnell 
 Thornton himself. To give a recreative turn, 
 one is fain to glean in the dullest fields of old- 
 fashioned literature, rather than to reap with 
 the ivory blade many a fair paper crop which 
 we find now at all seasons ripe and ready to the 
 harvest. 
 
 The labour of writing seems to increase 
 daily in an equal proportion with that of 
 reading. Whilst the poor author flogs his 
 invention for new thoughts, the reader goads 
 his attention and strains his comprehension 
 to discern and to understand them. The 
 former squeezes from his brain with despe- 
 rate effort that which he thinks is at least one 
 clear drop of sparkling wit ; the latter strains 
 his vision, perhaps vainly, to perceive it ; or 
 mistaking the ill-formed, ill-polished gem for 
 a lachrymal effusion, and thereby disastrously 
 
646 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 taking comedy for tragedy, actually drops a 
 sympathetic tear in order to do the author jus- 
 tice — but immediately turns to some plain- 
 spoken elder writer to dry it up again. 
 
 In fact, so much has been written upon most 
 subjects now, that the great and increasing 
 difficulty is to say anything, clever or stupid, 
 that has not been . said or meant in some way 
 a score of times before, perhaps during the 
 past year. It is really safer to transcribe slily 
 a good thing from some of the more obscure 
 authors of antiquity, than from the veritable 
 olio of one's own desk ; for a thought which we 
 are aware was in another man's head before 
 Daedalus invented carpenter's tools, may very 
 likely be unknown and forgotten, so as to pass 
 for a new one with many ; whereas an idea 
 which is taken by an unlucky fellow, from 
 imder the roof of his own considering-cap, and 
 which, therefore, he claims an absolute pro- 
 perty in as an original — it is ten to one sprung 
 up a few weeks before under the cap of ano- 
 ther who happened in a similar exigence to be 
 saying to himself, "Bless me! what shall I 
 say next?" It is vastly discouraging when 
 this is the case, and not a little provoking. 
 It is comparatively bearable to find that 
 **the ancients have stole all our thoughts ;" 
 but it is wofuUy trying to find that the 
 modems have so done. One could endure 
 more patiently to be told that Theophrastus, 
 who lived some two thousand or more years 
 ago, had anticipated us in a certain pithy re- 
 mark upon character or manners, than that his 
 living and learned editor, Howell, has done so. 
 Yet such is the necessary inadequacy of the 
 supply of new ideas, even by the most inventive 
 thinkers, to the demand of readers at present, 
 that thoughts must not only appear, but re- 
 appear, and that frequently ; stale ideas must 
 be mixed up with new ones to supply the 
 quantity required. Thus it must be, and 
 wherefore should it not ? 
 
 Bearing in mind the facts above referred to 
 — to wit, a supply of new matter, which in the 
 nature of things must be limited, and a demand, 
 if not unlimited, incalculably great — the dis- 
 advantages under which tliose labour, both 
 readers and writers, who make mere novelty 
 their aim — and lastly, the satiety of variety 
 itself— I do not admit that the judicious open- 
 faced borrower, whose double commas and 
 whose asterisks dub him honest, or whose 
 literary commoditiejs are too easily recognized 
 to need a reference — is either a nefarious or a 
 contemptible caterer for the public. If living 
 
 men's brains will not suffice, let those of dead 
 men be brought up by all means — but not in a 
 covered dish. 
 
 Under shelter, therefore, of the entrench- 
 ment, and the ample circumvallation which I 
 have thus dug and thrown up, I shall intro- 
 duce even the most time-worn themes when it 
 suits me. I say themes : — let no one suppose 
 that the carping, sneering **Momus"can ever so 
 far forget his character as to make frequent use 
 of the arguments, reasonings, and illustrations 
 of others ; seeing it is his peculiar province to 
 disapprove of and ridicule all productions but 
 his own. The occupation of finding fault will, 
 of course, in him always supersede that of 
 adopting, clandestinely or otherwise, any com- 
 positions which he has not had a hand in. 
 
 And now, if " happiness " be introduced as 
 a subject, after the foregoing remarks, what 
 will be said ? Why, that it is impossible to 
 select a more accustomed topic, and as for this 
 observation, that " it is the grand pursuit of all 
 mankind," you will say that nothing 
 
 More trite, more true — 
 Less fresh, less new, 
 
 could have been written by a school-boy 
 scribbler. Have we not here, say you, the 
 theme and first sentence of every poor prosing 
 moralist who has encumbered our shelves with 
 vapid and inutile volumes? I carp at your 
 reply, and though but little anxious, as you are 
 aware, to establish a claim to novelty, I would 
 rejoin by inquiring first, how can it be, that 
 happiness is a hackneyed subject, and how 
 the remark can be either trite or true, that it 
 is the grand pursuit of all mankind? Can 
 every one, or can any one, speak of it from expe- 
 rience ? And further, do men continue to 
 chase that which they have already universally 
 obtained ; or that which none has ever cap- 
 tured — a phantom which for six thousand years 
 has been sought, but never found "i—Momus. 
 
 THUNDER Amongst the Hills. 
 
 High on the east the great Ben Lomond rears 
 His lofty head, and hides it in the clouds ! 
 These, oft attracted by his towering height, 
 Stop short their airy flight, and form a veil 
 Which dark and thick descends. Condensing 
 
 still. 
 Part slowly sails along, and swelling, shrouds 
 The neighb'ring hills — the glens how dark be- 
 tween ! 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 647 
 
 The winds are hushed — the birds expectant 
 
 pause : 
 The ox with wistful gaze eyes the deep gloom ! 
 Nor voice of man is heard, nor pipe nor horn, 
 But silent expectation reigns and boding fear. 
 Sudden athwart the gloom the lightning's 
 
 glance. 
 As quick reflected by the placid lake, 
 With lucid air darts bright ! Anon, sublime 
 In awful majesty the thunder rolls 
 In bursting peals successive heard afar. 
 Re-echoed oft by rocks and caverns deep 
 From all the neighboring hills — till circling 
 
 round, 
 Still gaining force, again it bursts a peal 
 That stuns the ear. Rocks dashed on rocks 
 
 are heard 
 Rattling around. The stoutest heart, appalled 
 Willi wild dismay, scarce dares to hide the 
 
 gloom : 
 Deep seamed with frequent streaks of moving 
 
 fire. 
 Darting in rapid gleams from cloud to cloud ! 
 The clouds are seen in wildest tumults mixed : 
 And now, a mighty flash with fearful glare 
 Wide opens half the sky ! The heavy rain. 
 Pouring in streams, resistless rushes down. 
 Ploughs the red mould, and bears it to the 
 
 main. 
 Nature convulsed, the everlasting hills 
 Appear to totter, and the total wreck 
 Of all terrestrial objects seems at hand ! 
 
 Dr. Cririe. 
 
 THUNDER, Description of. 
 
 The thunder's dreadful sound : 
 Th' affrighted people hear the voice of God. 
 J>Ien look aghast — the lurid lightning's glare 
 Strikes terror to the stoutest heart, and those 
 Who often scoff 'd at Power Supreme, now 
 
 quail 
 And tremble at the frown of Him who guides 
 The tempest, and directs the blast — 
 How silent is the interval between 
 Each dreadful peal ! Nature is hush'd— the 
 
 choir 
 Of feather'd tribe is still — and race canine 
 With dpwncast head and piteous look, creep 
 
 close 
 To master's feet, and ask protection, with 
 Dumb action bland. The storm is fearful, e'en 
 To those who're cheer'd by sight of day, and of 
 Human kind : How awful to the lonely wight, 
 At midnight hour, upon the desert heath ! 
 The jarring strife of elemental war, 
 
 For him has ten-fold horror, and now 
 Bethinks him of th' Almighty power of God, 
 And helpless state of man. Happy then 
 Is he who, free from conscience-stricken 
 
 thought, 
 Now lifts his soul on high : and while prepar'd 
 For death, he yet, with feelings of frail man, 
 Still hopes and clings to life ; and if preserv'd, 
 (As seemeth meet to Heaven) he lives to show 
 His gi-atitude, and sing Jehovah's praise. 
 
 Rev. W. Munsey. 
 
 THUNDER, the Herald of Heaven. 
 
 The herald, earth-accredited, of Heaven — 
 Which when men hear, they think upon 
 
 Heaven's king, 
 And run the items o'er of the account 
 To which he's sure to call them. Knowles. 
 
 TIDE, The Ebb. 
 
 There is a joy and beauty unto them 
 Whom the clear streams upbraid not, nor 
 
 condemn. 
 In the swift flow of waters ; to the pure 
 They cannot be indifferent ; and be sure 
 That, therefore, dearest friend, I would that 
 
 thou 
 Listen'd the steady rippling at the bow 
 Of my light boat, whose tall and slanted mast 
 Stoops ever to the unremitting blast. 
 The living wind rejoices, and is strong. 
 And would bear swiftly our swift thoughts 
 
 along ; 
 The tide flows broadly up, and blots away 
 The river's windings ; though, in ebb, it lay, 
 Sinuous, and twisting like a silver snake, 
 That winds its lithe form through the sounding 
 
 brake. 
 Then might we mark how, when the currents 
 
 shift. 
 The barges, anchor'd in mid channel, drift 
 Heavily round, and with the current flow 
 Far as their outstretch'd tethers let them go ; 
 Or how the wavering sea- wreck, and all weeds 
 Which ocean in its oozy bottom feeds, 
 Stream backward with the altering stream ; 
 
 and sedge, 
 Ileap'd up by many tides o'er all the ledge 
 Of shore, and mix'd with pebbles, shells, and 
 
 sand, 
 To be a wall betwixt the sea and land. 
 Is fast left bare, save where the ebb trails back 
 A few lank weeds, like ribands, in the track 
 
648 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Of its retreating. Would that thou might'st 
 
 view 
 How the clouds, sailing o'er heaven's ocean 
 
 blue, 
 Outstrip not us ; or view them from behind. 
 Moulded and shifted by the shaping wind 
 That drives them, as the poet, thought on 
 
 thought. 
 Drives, shaping ever, until he has wrought 
 From their fine substance an immortal woof. 
 Spreading a temple's overreaching roof 
 To screen him from the glare and imdelight 
 Of the day's splendour, of a day as bright 
 As this is now ; yet which can weave a night 
 Of gloom upon life's onward stream, more 
 
 dark 
 Than the shadow of my ocean- wandering bark 
 Darkening my path before me, on this river. 
 More changing, more unquiet, and for ever 
 Eluding grasp. Athenccum. 
 
 TIME. 
 
 How silent, how spacious, what room for all, 
 yet without place to insert an atom, — in grace- 
 ful succession, in equal fulness, in balanced 
 beauty, the dance of the hours goes forward 
 still. Like an odour of incense, like a strain 
 of music, like a sleep, it is inexact and bound- 
 less. It will not be dissected, nor unravelled, 
 nor shown. Away, profane philosopher ! seek- 
 est thou in Nature the cause ? This refers to 
 that, and that to the next, and the next to the 
 third, and everything refers. Thou must ask 
 in another mood, thou must feel it and love it, 
 thou must behold it in a spirit as grand as that 
 by which it exists, ere thou canst know the 
 law. Known it will not be, but gladly be- 
 loved and enjoyed. — R. W. Emerson. 
 
 TIME, a Space Borrowed from Eternity. 
 
 Time, by whose revolutions we measure hours, 
 days, weeks, months, and years, is nothing else 
 but (as it were) a certain space borrowed or set 
 apart from eternity, which shall at the last 
 return to eternity again : like the rivers which 
 have their first course from seas ; and, by 
 running on, there they arrive, and have their 
 last. — Speculum Mundi. 
 
 TIME Changes Us. 
 The time which passes over our heads so im- 
 perceptibly makes the same gradual change in 
 
 habits, manners, and character, as in personal 
 appearance. At the revolution of every five 
 years we find ourselves another and yet the 
 same ; — there is a change of views, and no less 
 of the light in which we regard them ; a change 
 of motives as well as of action. — Sir Walter 
 Scott. 
 
 TIME, Economy in. 
 
 The virtuous Sully, the friend and minister of 
 Henry the Fourth of France, was not less eco- 
 nomical of his time than of the revenues of the 
 state. We learn from his memoirs that he 
 retired early to rest, that he slept little, that an 
 invariable rule and order governed his occupa- 
 tions. In his attention to business he was 
 indefatigable. He rose at four o'clock every 
 morning. The first two hours were employed 
 in reading and disposing of the papers that 
 were laid upon his desk. This he termed 
 sweeping the carpet. At seven he repaired to 
 the council, and spent the rest of the forenoon 
 with the king, who gave him his orders con- 
 cerning the different departments over which 
 he presided. He dined at noon. After dinner 
 he gave audience, to which persons of all 
 classes were admitted. The clergy of both 
 persuasions were first heard. The farmers, 
 and other persons of low condition, who are 
 frequently afraid to approach a man high in 
 office, and especially a prime minister, had 
 their turn next. The great and noble were 
 received last. He was afterwards usually en- 
 gaged in business till supper-time : he then 
 ordered the doors to be shut, and indulged in 
 social pleasures with a select number of friends. 
 Ten was his regular hour for retiring to rest ; 
 but when any unexpected circumstance had 
 deranged the ordinary course of his occupations, 
 he made up the deficiency of the day by en- 
 croaching upon the night. Such was the kind 
 of life which he invariably led during his ad- 
 ministration. 
 
 TIME, Employment o£. 
 
 Those pleasures are most valuable, not which 
 are most exquisite in the fruition, but which 
 are most productive of engagement and activity 
 in the pursuit. The more significant, however,, 
 our engagements are, the better ; such as plan- 
 ning of laws, institutions, charities, improve- 
 ments, public works — and the endeavouring, 
 by our interest, address, solicitations, and 
 activity, to carry them into effect. Any en- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 649 
 
 gagement which is innocent is better than 
 none ; as the writing of a book, the building 
 of a house, the laying out of a garden, the 
 digging of a fish-pond — even the raising of a 
 cucumber or a tulip. — Paley. 
 
 TIME Gained. 
 
 All the time which the man of the world 
 throws away is gained by the solitary man ; 
 and no enjoyment on earth is so permanent as 
 the real enjoyment of time. Man has many 
 duties to perform ; therefore, the good that he 
 has it in his power to do he must do imme- 
 diately, that the present day may not be torn 
 like a blank leaf from the book of life. We 
 protract the career of time by employment, we 
 lengthen the duration of our lives by wise 
 thoughts and useful actions. Life, to him who 
 wishes not to have lived in vain, is thought 
 and action. — Zimmermann, 
 
 TIME, his Ceaseless Course. 
 Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of 
 yore 
 Who danced our infancy upon their knee. 
 And told our marvelling boyhood legends store 
 Of their strange ventures happed by land or 
 sea. 
 How are they blotted from the things that be ! 
 How few, all weak and withered of their 
 force, 
 Wait, on the verge of dark eternity. 
 
 Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning 
 hoarse 
 To sweep them from our sight ! Time rolls his 
 ceaseless course. Scott. 
 
 TIME, his Havoc. 
 
 Even but now 
 I saw the hoary pile cresting the top 
 Of that north-western hill ; and in this now 
 A cloud hath pass'd on it, and its dim bulk 
 Becomes annihilate — or if not, a spot 
 Which the strained vision tires itself to find. 
 
 And even so fares it with the things of earth 
 Which seem most constant : there will come 
 
 the cloud 
 That shall infold them up, and leave their place 
 A seat for emptiness. Our narrow ken 
 Reaches too far, when all that we behold 
 
 Is but the havoc of wide- wasting Time, 
 
 Or what he soon shall spoil. His outspread 
 
 wings 
 (Which bear him like an eagle o'er the earth) 
 Are plumed in front so downy soft, they seem 
 To foster what they touch, and mortal fools 
 Rejoice beneath their hovering : woe the while ! 
 For in that indefatigable flight 
 The multitudinous strokes incessantly 
 Bruise all beneath their cope, and mark on all 
 His secret injury ; on the front of man 
 Gray hairs and wrinkles; still as Time speeds on, 
 Hard and more hard his iron pennons beat 
 With careless violence ; nor overpass. 
 Till all the creatures of this nether world 
 Are one wide quarry : following dark behind, 
 The cormorant Oblivion swallows up 
 The carcases that Time has made his prey. 
 Rev. W. Croive. 
 
 TIME, his Speed 
 Alas ! when learn we the full speed of Time ? 
 
 Is it in youth's blithe revelry of heart ? 
 In the full strength of passion's vivid prime. 
 When, waking from some bright trance 
 
 with a start. 
 We wonder how the hours could thus depart; 
 And first behold unveiled the fraud of earth 
 Which bears us on to darkness in our mirth ? 
 
 Oh no ! but when, in manhood's calmer day, 
 We turn to greet with blessings our life's 
 mom. 
 
 Then what sad sorrow strikes us to survey 
 How far away its pleasant life is borne — 
 Gleaming in distance like a summer dawn. 
 
 Onward with tears and sadder thought we tend. 
 
 And count each day by some departing friend. 
 
 Oh soul of love ! oh ! pure and patient soul. 
 Whose tempest-stricken bark so long has 
 sailed, 
 Breasting the winds where stormy waters roll, 
 Hast thou, at length, victoriously prevailed ? 
 Thus has thy struggling coracle been hailed 
 To the immortal shores ! — and thou dost tread 
 'Mid those we name — how vainly name ! — the 
 dead. 
 
 Bright was the time when our young spirits 
 met ; 
 Bright — and more brightly year by year ran 
 on, 
 Waiving to future days each dark regi-et ; 
 Round us what dear and happy faces shone ; 
 Then came a swift dispersion — they are 
 gone ! — 
 
650 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 And who shall congregate those souls once 
 
 more? 
 O, Death who divides— Death only can restore. 
 
 And oft in that sweet time our theme was 
 Death ;— 
 Probing with vain research that mystery old ; 
 Pondering with awe when man resigns his 
 breath 
 What form of life — what regions shall unfold. 
 Now hast thou proved what yet remains 
 untold ; — 
 With thee the pang is past, the mystery fled, 
 I still live on— but thou art of the dead. 
 
 Time was my heart had trembled at the shock, 
 
 And tears had fallen in passionate showers 
 
 for thee : 
 
 But rushing waves wear down the sternest 
 
 rock, 
 
 And those of time have proved their power 
 
 on me. 
 Why should I weep thine immortality ? 
 Glory and bliss are thine— the life above. 
 And ours be faith which liveth in its love. 
 
 W. Howitt. 
 
 TIME ni-used. 
 
 We all sorely complain of the shortness of 
 time, and yet have much more than we 
 know what to do with. Our lives are either 
 spent in doing nothing at all, or in doing no- 
 thing to the purpose, or in doing nothing that 
 we ought to do. We are always complaining 
 that our days are few, and acting as though 
 there would be no end of them. — Smeca. 
 
 TIME lU-used is SuicidaL 
 
 Time destroyed 
 Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt. 
 We waste, not use our time ! we breathe, not 
 
 live ! 
 Time wasted is existence, used is life ; 
 As with money, part with time sparingly, 
 Pay no moment but in purchase of its worth ; 
 And what it's worth ask death beds, — they 
 can tell. Yotmg. 
 
 TIME, Improvement of. 
 
 Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours, 
 And ask them what report they bore to heaven, 
 And how they might have borne more welcome news. 
 
 You?tg. 
 As in order to the improvement of time it is 
 necessary to be acquainted with its value, so a 
 
 correct estimate of its worth can only be at- 
 tained by considering it in all its bearings and 
 relations. If the present life compose the 
 whole of our existence, then, "let us eat and 
 drink, for to-morrow we die." If in this life 
 only we have hope, let us eagerly secure its 
 fleeting joys, and compensate ourselves for the 
 shortness and uncertainty of our happiness by 
 declining no cup presented by the hand of 
 pleasure ; but, multiplying our enjoyments by 
 all the devices of ingenuity, let our improve- 
 ment of time keep pace with our conviction of 
 its brevity. 
 
 If, however, it should appear from the com- 
 plex nature of man^ from the economy of pro- 
 vidence, or from the light of revelation, that 
 the present state of being is only the passage, 
 and death the gate to an interminable existence, 
 it must be evident that the proportion in which 
 the value of time is thus enhanced, must be 
 taken into account with reference to its im- 
 provement. 
 
 While the seeds of mortality sown in our 
 constitution indicate at once the guilt and 
 penalty of transgression, the moral and in- 
 tellectual character of the soul, together with 
 its anticipation of a future state, strongly imply 
 the perpetuity of its existence. Those dis- 
 pensations of Providence, also, which now 
 perplex the most penetrating intellect, require 
 the comment of another world to render them 
 intelligible. The anticipations of reason on 
 this subject are, however, confirmed by the 
 disclosures of revelation. The same voice 
 which proclaims the mortality of the body 
 asserts the immortality of the soul ; and, com- 
 passionating human ignorance with reference 
 to the issues of providence, declares, what thou 
 knowest not now thou shalt know hereafter. 
 Contemplated, therefore, in connection with 
 eternity, the value of time appears incalculable ; 
 its fleeting portions assume an awful character, 
 suggesting a responsibility the most affecting — 
 a vigilance the most unremitting. 
 
 The improvement of time necessarily refers 
 our thoughts to the due discharge of the 
 various duties of life, and a wise solicitude 
 about our eternal interests. Under the con- 
 sideration of the present life, we are unavoid- 
 ably reminded of the importance of order. 
 The value of order in the distribution of time 
 can be questioned only by those who are 
 ignorant of its salutary influence. It is only 
 by discharging the duties of the day as they 
 present themselves in succession, that the web 
 of life can be preserved unentangled. It is not. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 651 
 
 however, the employment of time, simply, that 
 constitutes its improvement. It is possible to 
 waste, and to exchange this golden talent for 
 worthless pebbles. It is, therefore, the refer- 
 ence of our actions, the bearing of our plans, 
 and the result of our conduct, that must 
 determine our claim to the improvement of 
 time. As members of society, but, more 
 especially, as candidates for a glorious im- 
 mortality, we are encompassed with duties of 
 imperative obligation ; the discharge of which 
 will leave but little leisure for what are called 
 the amusements of life ; and he who upon 
 Christian principles is intent upon redeeming 
 time, may be safely left to the choice of his 
 amusements, and the proportion of time to be 
 allotted to them. 
 
 It is, however, the moral value of time 
 which constitutes its most important character. 
 "When it is considered that the deportment of 
 man in the present life will influence his 
 eternal destiny, how great should be his 
 vigilance who is in a sense the arbiter of his 
 final portion ; and how invaluable will time 
 appear when considered as the vestibule of 
 heaven or of hell ? 
 
 But it may be asked, in what does the im- 
 provement of time consist ? As a price put 
 into our hands to enable us to purchase wis- 
 dom, its improvement must consist in securing 
 by its means the treasures of knowledge and of 
 happiness. That employment of time, there- 
 fore, which enlarges our knowledge, purifies 
 our affections, and regulates the springs of our 
 actions, and which will ultimately place us 
 "high in salvation and the climes of bliss," 
 must constitute the highest improvement of 
 which it is susceptible. 
 
 It is recorded of the Emperor Vespasian that 
 he was accustomed through life to review the 
 occurrences of every day ; and, if one had 
 passed in which he had performed no action 
 worthy of himself, he was wont to exclaim, 
 *' Perdidi diem ! " I have lost a day \—Beth. 
 
 TIME, 
 Improvement of Small Portions of. 
 
 Among those who have contributed to the ad- 
 vancement of learning, many have risen to emi- 
 nence in opposition to all the obstacles which 
 external circumstances could place in their 
 way ; amidst the tumults of business, the dis- 
 tresses of poverty, or the dissipation of a 
 
 wandering and unsettled state. A great part 
 of the life of Erasmus was one continual pere- 
 grination ; ill supplied with the gifts of fortune, 
 and led from city to city, and from kingdom to 
 kingdom, by the hopes of patrons and prefer- 
 ment, hopes which always flattered and always 
 deceived him ; he yet found means, by un- 
 shaken constancy, and a vigilant improvement 
 of those hours which in the midst of the most 
 restless activity will remain unengaged, to 
 write more than another in the same condition 
 would have hoped to read. Compelled by 
 want to attendance and solicitation, and so 
 much versed in common life that he has trans- 
 mitted to lis the most perfect delineation of the 
 manners of his age, he joined to his knowledge 
 of the world such application to books, that he 
 will stand for ever in the first rank of literary 
 heroes. Now this proficiency he sufficiently 
 discovers by informing us that the "Praise of 
 Folly," one of his most celebrated performances, 
 was composed by him on the road to Italy, lest 
 the hours which he was obliged to spend on 
 horseback should be tattled away, without 
 regard to literature. — Dr. Johnson. 
 
 TIME in Wretchedness and in Joy. 
 
 What time we spent there ? nay, I do not 
 
 know ; 
 For happy folk no time can pass too slow 
 Because they die ; because at last they die 
 And are at rest. No time too fast can fly 
 For wretches ; but eternity of woe 
 Had hemmed us in, and neither fast nor slow 
 Passed the dull time as we held reckoning. 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 TIME, 
 
 Its Value Unknown to us. 
 
 Time is precious, but its value is unknown to 
 us. We shall obtain this knowledge when we 
 can no longer profit by it. Our friends require 
 it of us as if it were nothing, and we give it 
 them in the same manner. It is often a 
 burden to us, and we know not what to do 
 with it ; but the day will come when a quarter 
 of an hour will appear of more value to us than 
 all the riches of the universe. 
 
 God, who is liberal in all his other gifts, 
 shows us, by the wise economy of his provi- 
 dence, how circumspect we ought to be in the 
 management of our time, for he never gives us 
 two moments together. He only gives us the 
 
652 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 second as he takes away the first, and keeps 
 the third in his own hands, leaving us in 
 absolute uncertainty whether it shall ever 
 become ours or not ! Time is given us that 
 we may take care for eternity ; and eternity 
 will not be too long to regret the loss of our 
 time if we have mis-spent \\..—Finilon. 
 
 TIME, Lapse of. 
 
 The lapse of time and rivers is the same, 
 Both speed their journey with a restless stream ; 
 The silent pace with which they steal away 
 No wealth can bribe, nor prayers persuade to 
 stay. 
 
 Alike irrevocable both when past, 
 And a wide ocean swallows both at last ; 
 Though each resembles each in every part, 
 A difference strikes at length the musing 
 heart. 
 
 Streams never flow in vain : where streams 
 
 abound. 
 How laughs the land with various plenty 
 
 crown'd ; 
 But Time, that should enrich the nobler mind, 
 Neglected, leaves a weary waste behind. 
 
 Coxvper. 
 
 TIME, 
 
 Likened to a Fashionable Host. 
 Time is like a fashionable host. 
 That slightly shakes his parting guest by the 
 
 hand j 
 And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would 
 
 fly, 
 
 Grasps in the comer : welcome ever smiles, 
 And farewell goes out sighing. Let not virtue 
 
 seek 
 Remuneration for a thing it was ; for beauty, 
 
 wit, 
 High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service. 
 Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all 
 To envious and calumniating Time. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 TIME, None to Waste. 
 
 As he that lives longest lives but a little while, 
 every man may be certain that he has no 
 time to waste. The duties of life are commen- 
 surate to its duration, and every day brings its 
 task, which if neglected is doubled on the 
 morrow. But he that has already trifled away 
 
 those months and years in which he should 
 have laboured, must remember that he has now 
 only a part of that of which the whole is a 
 little, and that since the few moments remaining 
 are to be considered as the last trusts of heaven, 
 not one is to be lost. — Dr. Johnson, 
 
 TIME, On. 
 
 Time is the feathered thing ; 
 
 That whilst I praise 
 The sparkling of thy locks, 
 
 And call them rays, 
 Takes wing ; 
 
 Leaving behind him as he flies 
 An unperceiv^d dimness in thine eyes. 
 
 His minutes, whilst they're told, 
 Do make us old ; 
 And every sand of his fleet glass, 
 Increasing age as it doth pass. 
 Insensibly sows wrinkles there. 
 Where flowers and roses do appear. 
 
 Whilst we do speak, our fire 
 Doth into ice expire ; 
 Flames turn to frost, and ere we can 
 Know how our cheek turns pale and wan. 
 Or how a silver snow 
 Springs there where jet did grow. 
 Our fading spring is in dull winter lost. 
 Jasper Maync. 
 
 TIME, On a Statue of. 
 
 The maker whence? — From Sicyon — what's 
 his name ? 
 
 Lysippus — who art thou? — All conquering 
 Time. 
 
 Why on thy tiptoe raised ? — I always run. 
 
 Thy feet are winged ! — My speed is like the 
 wind. 
 
 Why in thy hand a razor ? — I inflict wounds 
 sharper than a sword. 
 
 A bushy lock upon thy forehead waves ? — 
 That they who meet may seize me. 
 
 Behind, thy head is bald ! — In vain would 
 he who lets me pass, recal or stay me ! — 
 Trajtslaied front the Greek. 
 
 TIME, Properly Economized. 
 
 Richard being found in a reverie shortly 
 after an extraordinary display of powers in 
 Parliament, by his brother, the renowned Ed- 
 mund Burke, and questioned by Mr. Malone 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 6S3 
 
 as to the cause, replied, " I have been wonder- 
 ing how Ned has contrived to monopolize all 
 the talents of the family ; but then, again, I 
 remember, when we were at play, he was al- 
 ways at work." The force of this anecdote is 
 increased by the fact that Richard Burke was 
 generally considered not inferior in natural 
 talents to his brother. Yet the one rose to 
 greatness, while the other died comparatively 
 obscure. Do not trust to your genius, young 
 men, if you would rise ; but work, work, and 
 economize your time. 
 
 TIME, Relentless. 
 
 Relentless Time, that steals with silent 
 
 tread. 
 Shall tear away the trophies of the dead ; 
 Fame, on the pyramid's aspiring top, 
 With sighs shall her recording trumpet drop ; 
 The feeble characters of Glory's hand 
 Shall perish, like the tracks upon the sand ; 
 But not with these expire the sacred flame 
 Of Virtue, or the good man's awful name. 
 
 Bowles. 
 
 TIME, Sonnet on. 
 
 I SAW a mighty river, wild and vast. 
 
 Whose rapid waves were moments, which did 
 
 glide 
 So swiftly onward in their silent tide, 
 That ere their flight was heeded, they were 
 
 past. 
 A river, that to death's dark shor£s doth fast 
 Conduct all living, with resistless force. 
 And though imfelt, pursues its noiseless 
 
 course, 
 To quench all fires in Lethe's stream at last. 
 Its current with Creation's birth was born ; 
 And with the Heavens commenced its march 
 
 sublime — 
 In days, and months, still hurrying on 
 
 tmtired. 
 Marking its flight, I inwardly did mourn. 
 And of my musing thoughts in doubt inquired 
 The river's name — my thoughts responded 
 
 • « Time. " Agnes Strickland. 
 
 TIME, the Warp of Life. 
 I ASKED an aged man, a man of cares, 
 Wrinkled, and curled, and white with hoary 
 hairs. 
 
 Time is the warp of life, he said; oh, tell 
 The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well ! 
 I asked the ancient, venerable dead. 
 Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled ; 
 From the cold grave a hollow murmur 
 
 flowed, — 
 Time sowed the seed we reap in this abode ! 
 I asked a dying sinner, ere the tide 
 Of life had left his veins:— "Time !" he 
 
 replied ; 
 I've lost it ! Ah, the treasure ! and he died. 
 I asked the golden sun, and silver spheres. 
 Those bright chronometers of days and years : 
 They answered, "Time is but a meteor glare! 
 And bade us for eternity prepare. 
 I asked the Seasons, in their annual round, 
 Which beautify, or desolate the gi-ound ; 
 And they replied (no oracle more wise,) 
 'Tis Folly's blank, and Wisdom's highest 
 
 prize. 
 I asked a spirit lost ; but oh, the shriek 
 That pierced my soul ! I shudder while I 
 
 speak ; 
 It cried, ** A particle, a speck, a mite 
 Of endless years, duration infinite ! " — 
 Of things inanimate, my dial, I 
 Consulted, and it made me this reply : — 
 Time is the season fair of living well : 
 The path of glory, or the path of hell. 
 I asked my Bible , and methinks it said. 
 Time is the present hour — the past is fled ; 
 Live ! live to-day ! to-morrow never yet 
 On any human being rose or set." 
 I asked old Father Time, himself, at last. 
 But in a moment he flew swiftly past : 
 His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind 
 His noiseless steeds, which left no trace 
 
 behind. 
 T asked the mighty angel who shall stand. 
 One foot on sea, and one on solid land ; 
 "By heavens," he cried, "I swear the 
 
 mystery's o'er : 
 Time was," he said, "but Time shall be no 
 
 more ! " Rev. y. Marsden. 
 
 TIMES and Seasons. 
 Times and seasons correspond with the life of 
 man in a two-fold manner. First, there is the 
 image of his gradual development, both as to 
 body and soul, presented in each complete and 
 independent year and day. Secondly, there 
 is the image of his innumerable changes and 
 vicissitudes, presented in the varied qualities 
 and occurrences of seasons, days, and hours 
 in general. For as with winter and summer, 
 
654 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 light and darkness, heat and cold, rain and 
 sunshine, clouds and azure, music and silence, — 
 for even the winds and the waters are still at 
 times, — so with health and sickness, hunger 
 and content, fatigue and vigour ; no state or 
 condition is lasting. Down even to the minute 
 and secret phenomena of what the physiologists 
 call "molecular death," namely, the continual 
 decay and replacement of the animal tissues, 
 change is the universal condition of existence. 
 And while so marked a feature of the inanimate 
 world, and of the animal life, infinitely more 
 true of the soul, because of its infinitely higher 
 capabilities and senses. At one moment buoy- 
 ant with hope, at another depressed by disap- 
 pointment or misgivings ; cheerful to-day, 
 mournful to-morrow ; in the course even of a 
 few minutes it will run through a long series of 
 intensest emotions. Change, accordingly, has 
 in all ages been the chosen theme of the moral- 
 ist and the preacher ; while, as at once the 
 most solemn yet most animating, the most sad 
 yet most beautiful subject on which the human 
 mind can dwell, poetry and philosophy have 
 ever held a friendly rivalry in describing its 
 loveliness, and interpreting its lessons. Well 
 styled by Feltham, "the great lord of the 
 universe," all the best charms of objective 
 nature, and all the noblest attitudes of the in- 
 tellect and affections, owe their being to its 
 magic touch. Incessantly at work, transfi- 
 guring, dissolving, and recombining, it makes 
 the physical world a vast kaleidescope, wherein 
 new and unthought-of charms are brought to 
 view with every turn of day and season. 
 Change, not destroyed, our lament for the 
 beautiful as it glides from out our grasp, is but 
 lament that brighter things are coming. For 
 there is no truth more sublime than that decay, 
 death, and disappearance are not annihilation, 
 but simply the attendants of change of form. 
 Annihilation is an impossible thing. Nor is 
 there any truth more consolatory. The chry- 
 salis is the cradle of the butterfly, at the same 
 moment that it is the tomb of the grub ; the 
 flowers of the summer cease to smile that the 
 fruits of autumn may step forth. So with the 
 changes of the inner life. For as changes and 
 contrasts are the springs of all our happiness 
 and enjoyment in connection with the external 
 life, as well as productive of the most charming 
 aspects and conditions of nature ; so is it from 
 changes in our spiritual states that we acquire 
 true wisdom, and that our affections become 
 invited into their loveliest and most sacred 
 channels. No one, for instance, is capable of 
 
 truly and heartily sympathizing with the trou- 
 bles of another until he has himself been 
 touched by sorrow. It is indeed by reason of 
 this necessity that the laws and phenomena 
 of the natural world are as we find them. 
 Throughout the universe, whatever exists, exists 
 not so much for its own sake as for the sake 
 of something higher and nobler than itself. 
 Night does not unrol its shades solely that the 
 body may rest and sleep ; nor does winter 
 diffuse its frosts only that the trees and plants 
 may hibernate, and the soil refit itself for 
 feeding them. They have a nobler use than 
 this. They have lessons to give. They exist, 
 like all other natural mutations, that they may 
 be emblematic of the vicissitudes so important 
 to the spirit ; and that from studying the glory 
 and beauty which arise from them we may 
 learn what is the end and promise of our own. 
 " We often live under a cloud," says a thought- 
 ful writer, * ' and it is well for us that we should. 
 Uninterrupted sunshine would parch our hearts: 
 we want shade and rain to cool and refresh 
 them." If this be true of the secular side of 
 our constitution, how much more so of the 
 heavenly ? 
 
 The changes incidental to nature are, on the 
 one hand, a kind of counterpart or image of 
 the occurrences and vicissitudes of human life, 
 and on the other the circumstances by which its 
 business and pleasures are in large measure sug- 
 gested and controlled. The consummation of 
 the old year and the opening of the new brings 
 with it accordingly a fine significance, and a plea- 
 surable importance. So, in their degree, the 
 transitions of winter into spring, of spring into 
 summer, of summer into autumn, and so, in their 
 degree, the alternation of day and night. The 
 longer the interval, the more interesting is the 
 change. The close of the year occupies the fore- 
 most place in this universal interest, from its com- 
 pleting a well-defined and comprehensive cycle 
 of natural mutations. It is by this circumstance 
 rendered an appropriate epoch for the measure- 
 ment of life and being ; and hence there fasten 
 on it peculiar momentousness and solemnity, 
 which remain inseparably attached, though the 
 reason be unknown or forgotten. 
 
 Days and nights follow too closely to serve 
 such a purpose ; and the endings of months and 
 seasons are insufficiently distinct, except as 
 regards autumn, which in its maturity and 
 fruits fulfils the very cycle in question. Only 
 as the result of these mutations does the year 
 exist. Were there no primroses to die with 
 the spring, no lilies to vanish with the summer ; 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 655 
 
 were there no sequences of leaf and flower, 
 sunshine and starlight, there would even be no 
 time. For time, like space, pertains but to 
 the material circumference of creation — that is 
 to the visible half of the universe, and is only 
 appreciable through its medium. It is by ob- 
 jective nature alone that the ideas both of time 
 and space are furnished, and they are sustained 
 in us only so long as we are in contact with it. 
 The movements of the heavenly bodies contri- 
 bute the most exact and obvious data, because 
 expressly given "for signs and for seasons, and 
 for days and for years. " But the heavens are not 
 our only time-piece. Another is spread over the 
 surface of the earth in its living products. The 
 phenomena connected with plants and the habits 
 of the lower animals, constitute in themselves 
 a complete system of chronometry, indicating 
 not merely seasons, but days and hours. In 
 the times of the leafing of trees, the blooming 
 of flowers, the ripening of fruits, the appear- 
 ance of insects, the singing and nest-building 
 of birds, the departure and return of the migra- 
 toiy kinds, and of every other such incident of 
 immolested nature, there is nothing chanceful 
 or uncertain. Every event transpires at a fixed 
 point in the series of changes it belongs to. — 
 Leo H. Grindon. 
 
 TOMBSTONE, The. 
 
 Amid the sacred fields of dead, 
 I bid thee hail, thou mossy stone ; 
 
 That rear'st so meek thy time-worn head 
 To yonder heaven, — fair Evening's throne. 
 
 The friend, unmindful of his vow. 
 
 Hath ceased his tribute here to bring ; 
 
 Nor does the maiden strew thee now 
 With flow'rs, the earliest of the spring ! 
 
 Of all thy sculpture, once so fair, 
 
 Remains that gloomy skull alone ; — 
 The name hath vanish'd — nought is there — 
 
 Save wintry weeds that shade the stone ! 
 Yet thee I seek — I ask release 
 
 From all the cares this vain world brings ; 
 Altar of Hope ! Jehovah's peace 
 
 Floats o'er thee, as on seraph wings ! 
 
 From the German of Matthisson. 
 
 TONGUE, The. 
 
 "What care," said an ancient Jewish rabbi, 
 "has not the All- wise Creator bestowed on 
 the chief organ of speech ! All the other 
 principal members of the human body are 
 
 situated externally, and that either upright 
 or pending. The tongue alone is placed in- 
 ternally, and in a horizontal position, that it 
 might remain quiet and steady. Nay, that it 
 might be kept within its natural bounds, he 
 has encompassed it with two walls : one of 
 ivory, the teeth : the other of softer substance, 
 the lips. Further, to allay its intense ardour, 
 he has surrounded it with an overflowing rivu- 
 let, the salivary glands. Yet, notwithstanding 
 all this Divine care, what mischief does it not 
 do ! How many conflagrations does it raise ! 
 What destruction does it cause ! " 
 
 How descriptive and true are the words of 
 the apostle James: "The tongue is a fire, a 
 world of iniquity, so is the tongue among our 
 members, that it defileth the whole body, and 
 setteth on fire the course of nature, and it is 
 set on fire of hell." "The tongue can no 
 man tame," but it can be tamed, and con- 
 trolled, and sanctified by God. His grace can 
 effectually subdue and sanctify this unruly 
 member. 
 
 TONGUE, The Government of the. 
 An unrestrained volubility and wantonness of 
 speech is the occasion of numberless evils and 
 vexations in life. It begets resentment in him 
 who is the subject of it ; sows the seed of strife 
 and dissension amongst others ; and inflames 
 little disgusts and offences which, if let alone, 
 would wear away of themselves : it is often of 
 as bad effect upon the good name of others, as 
 deep envy or malice ; and, to say the least of 
 it in this respect, it destroys and perverts a 
 certain equity, of the utmost importance to 
 society to be observed : namely, that praise 
 and dispraise, a good or bad character, should 
 always be bestowed according to desert. The 
 tongue used in such a licentious manner is like 
 a sword in the hand of a madman ; it is em- 
 ployed at random : it can scarce possibly do 
 any good, and for the most part does a world 
 of mischief ; and implies not only great folly 
 and a trifling spirit, but great viciousness of 
 mind, great indifference to truth and falsity, 
 and to the reputation, welfare, and good of 
 others. — Bp. Butler. 
 
 TOPOGRAPHY. 
 
 Why is this delightful department of literature 
 consigned almost exclusively to the empire of 
 Dulness? Why are its fruitful provinces 
 abandoned to the cupidity of book-makers ? 
 
656 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 To the manifest detriment of its general utility, 
 and unluckily for its genuine merits, it has ob- 
 tained the character of an useful pursuit. The 
 consequence of an ill name is proverbial ; the 
 bane of this is a good one. Men of talent 
 have imagined it to have been a dull occupa- 
 tion, and men of no talent have made it so. It 
 possesses the seeds of popularity, but their 
 growth has been obscured by the heaps of 
 rubbish piled upon them by officious and ill- 
 directed zeal. 
 
 My intimacy with modern topography com- 
 menced, I must confess, rather inauspiciously; 
 it was a casualty, and an unlucky one. Meeting 
 
 with a notice of Mr. , *' Historian of the 
 
 county of ," and having elevated notions 
 
 of the historical character, besides being locally 
 interested in many places within that district, 
 I was induced to procure his " History and 
 Antiquities. " Without expecting to meet with 
 that degree of genius which has been devoted 
 to kingdoms and empires — without looking for 
 the metaphysical subtlety of Hume, the diffu- 
 sive eloquence of Gibbon, or the elegant and 
 judicious narrative of Robertson, I certainly 
 hoped to find a clear and connected detail of 
 events, with a descriptive account of the 
 origin and present state of the ancient remains, 
 public foundations, arts, manufactures, pecu- 
 liarities, and curiosities of every kind. Alas ! 
 I could no longer recognize places whose sites 
 were once familiar to me. His frigid art had 
 laid waste a fruitful province ; I should have 
 been as much entertained with Domesday- 
 book, or Antoninus's Itinerary. Instead of 
 history, I was presented with the raw material; 
 a crude undigested mass ; an unlicked cub ; a 
 heap of original charters, letters patent, and 
 royal grants. I might as well have purchased 
 of Canova a block of marble for a specimen 
 of sculpture. Had Gibbon or Kobertson pro- 
 ceeded upon this plan, they would have placed 
 their numerous authorities in the text instead 
 of their margin, filling their invaluable volumes 
 with extracts from the fathers, chroniclers, 
 monkish legends, and state papers, throwing 
 what was most valuable and amusing in the 
 notes. What then would have become of 
 modem annals ? Where would be the philoso- 
 phy of history *' teaching by example ? " She 
 would have been veiled from vulgar eyes. 
 Monachism might as well have been per- 
 petuated, and the records of public affairs still 
 cloistered with superstition and fanaticism. 
 
 The aspect of general history, it is true, is 
 gloomily monotonous, presenting a melancholy 
 
 series of wars and revolutions, from the earliest 
 to the latest periods of authentic record ; and, 
 perhaps, Guicciardini set an example which 
 might with propriety be generally followed, 
 when he entitled his ** A History of the Wars 
 of Italy." But still it exhibits man in his 
 collected character, and in elevated stations. 
 Its range is magnificent, and it has always en- 
 gaged the powers of great intellects, who have 
 illuminated it with the light of their minds, 
 and rendered it an easy, delightful, and in- 
 structive study. But the genius of topographi- 
 cal history is in itself, if less ambitious, yet 
 more diversified and pleasing. Its natural 
 objects are descriptions of nature, and the pro- 
 gress and the state of the useful and ornamental 
 arts. It should illustrate the condition of man 
 in his social and domestic state, recording the 
 establishment, decline, and fall of families ; 
 the characters, adventures, works, and actions 
 of individuals. 
 
 The requisites of a good topographer, if 
 they are of a less splendid cast than those of 
 the historian, are yet of a respectable order. 
 But unfortunately, any one who may have 
 leisure and patience enough for transcribing 
 epitaphs, family pedigrees, family evidences, 
 parish registers, and corporation charters, 
 thinks himself fully competent to make a 
 county history ; yet the science of topographi- 
 cal book -making is by no means limited to the 
 mercenary adventurer or literary empiric. 
 There are many honourable men who seek in 
 its study the "meed of immortality ; " and 
 many opulent gentlemen engage in it from a 
 laudable feeling of local attachment, and a 
 desire to leave a useful memorial of their con- 
 nection with the place of their birth or resi- 
 dence. And certainly these writers must 
 find congenial readers, or the press would not 
 still teem with their ponderous folios and 
 quartos j for topographical octavos are rare 
 books. Indeed, upon their principles of com- 
 position, books are so rapidly filled, that their 
 greatest difficulty must be in compressing them 
 within any rational compass or price — ten, 
 fifteen, twenty, or thirty guineas being a com- 
 mon demand for them. Original matter they 
 are at no loss for. It is easy to select charters 
 never before published, and, it may be hoped, 
 never to be again. When these are exhausted, 
 and all the rest of their equally valuable 
 original materials, they have no objection to 
 what has been published before, in every 
 variety of size, shape, and number, and will 
 not reject a memoir of an individual, even 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 657 
 
 collaterally mentioned in their book, though 
 his name and character should be familiar to 
 the most superficial reader of our national 
 classics, or have been circulated in all the 
 biographical dictionaries, reviews, magazines, 
 and journals of the day. 
 
 Those who may not be acquainted with the 
 convertible and portable nature of literary pro- 
 perty will meet with very curious and ample 
 illustrations of those qualities by a little re- 
 search into modem topography. The migra- 
 tions, transmigrations, and peregrinations of 
 many a literary article, would, I confidently 
 assert, afford a more interesting, instructive, 
 and marvellous series of adventures than even 
 those of "A Guinea," "An Atom," **A 
 Mouse," or any other thing or animal to 
 which change of situation, shape, and circum- 
 stance is natural, familiar, and appropriate. 
 What wonderful fatality, for example — what 
 "fortuitous concatenation," could have 
 brought an entire, unmutilated, unabbreviated 
 Act of Parliament into a topographical ac- 
 count? Yet, in the "History of Stoke New- 
 ington," some time ago published, " the 
 courteous reader " may be regaled with that 
 most elegant of forensic compositions, that 
 most sprightly and edifying of legal docu- 
 ments, an Inclosure Act, in all its plenitude of 
 amplification and involution, all its luxuriance 
 of provisoes, neverthelesses, whereases, and 
 notwithstandings. 
 
 Their desire to reprint is insatiable, when 
 they meet with a passage in any former writer, 
 bearing upon their subject, they can scarcely 
 forbear quoting his whole book ; and should 
 it be in a charter court-roll, or ancient manu- 
 script, they generally give it entire, with as 
 much triumph as if they had unfolded an 
 Herculaneum scroll, and recovered the lost 
 books of Livy, or a chef-cV auvre of Tully. 
 
 But we are not totally without examples 
 approximating very closely to legitimate topo- 
 graphy, from the hands of men of genius, 
 taste, and learning. The most distinguished 
 of these have been furnished by Dr. Whitaker. 
 His account of the Deanery of Craven, in 
 Yorkshire, which has passed through two edi- 
 tions, and of the Parish of Whalley, which has 
 reached to three, are masterly performances. 
 If, in his Craven, there is some obscurity in 
 the narrative, and some deficiency of arrange- 
 ment, yet it is interspersed throughout with 
 amusing anecdote, and he seldom suffers an 
 interesting topic to escape him without some 
 spirited and original reflections. His descrip- 
 
 tions of scenery are tasteful and picturesque ; 
 his antiquarian research profound ; his conjec- 
 tures acute and unstrained ; his opinions 
 liberal and manly. The documents and ex- 
 tracts he has introduced are usually selected 
 with discrimination, though perhaps sometimes 
 chargeable with the common fault of being too 
 profuse. Generally, however, he offers suffic- 
 ing reasons for them, and if all topographers 
 could as satisfactorily account for their tran- 
 scripts and reprints as he does in the following 
 sentence, their bulky and costly volumes would 
 be less obnoxious to censure. 
 
 In stating that Craven, though situate at the 
 distance of eighty miles, suffered from the ex- 
 cursions of the Scottish borderers, he says, 
 " One account of their devastation, given by 
 an old historian, is so affecting, and paints in 
 such lively colours the sufferings of the weaker 
 sex from a brutal rabble, that I shall insert the 
 passage at length." The prevailing error of 
 modern topography is a superabundant ac- 
 cumulation of materials, with a tedious and 
 useless repetition of what is generally known 
 or easily accessible. At the same time it must 
 be conceded that the admission of original 
 documents is perhaps a distinctive feature of 
 local history. Still they should be selected for 
 some quality which could not be digested in 
 the regular narrative, for some curious illustra- 
 tion of style or character, which scarcely admits 
 of description. With this view, Dr. Whitaker 
 has preserved many very interesting letters, 
 inventories of ancient property, memorandums, 
 &c. , characteristic of times and individuals. 
 
 Antiquities necessarily form a prominent 
 portion of this study, but there is a distinction 
 between popular antiquities and the most ab- 
 struse points of study, and neither of them are 
 profitably treated in the greater number of 
 modern local histories. It certainly is not to 
 be expected that every topographer should 
 possess the eye of a poet or the judgment of 
 a profound antiquarian ; that he should be 
 either a Camden or a Whitaker, yet he should 
 at least be capable of something beyond mere 
 compilation. 
 
 Memorials of the dead present the topogra- 
 pher with valuable materials in several points 
 of view. They sometimes serve to explain the 
 connection of different families or the genealogy 
 of distinguished individuals, exhibit amusing 
 traits of character, striking examples of eccen- 
 tricity, vanity, piety, superstition, pathos, taste, 
 and absurdity, with specimens of the state of 
 arts, literature, and general knowledge in 
 
 U u 
 
658 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 different periods of history. But the passion 
 of the day is to heap together everything 
 without respect to its beauty or utility. Every 
 fragment of monumental inscription is carefully 
 transcribed ; and, in some cases, inscriptions 
 of every kind to be met with in a church or 
 churchyard. In a description of a church I 
 lately met with, the very ingenious writer had 
 actually copied the names of the bell-makers, as 
 well as the following most important record : — 
 "William Selwood, Kearney Godfrey, church- 
 wardens; John King, plumber, 1796." 
 
 Precious morceaux to preserve for the benefit 
 of after-times ! It was well to rescue them 
 from their frail tablets of brass or stone, and 
 place them in his imperishable volumes. 
 
 A succinct account of the descent of manorial 
 property, describing the nature of the tenure, 
 is indispensable ; but it cannot be necessary, in 
 a long unbroken descent, to give a dull list of 
 names and dates, destitute of any other kind 
 of interest, and even repeat them, in different 
 shapes, in the same work. 
 
 Original notices of remarkable characters, 
 having some connection with the place, are of 
 course expected, but we are generally presented 
 with mere transcripts of the most notorious 
 biography, or prolix and tedious memoirs of 
 individuals whom nature had designed to 
 *' blush unseen." 
 
 A very pleasing and essential part of topo- 
 graphy is the description of natural scenery. 
 The following extract from the ** History of 
 Craven " shows what admirable opportunities 
 this study affords for the display of taste and 
 feeling, and proves how well its elegant author 
 has availed himself of them: — "The south- 
 western point of the deanery of Craven is at 
 the confluence of the Ribble and the Hodden, 
 and from thence to Sallay, about six miles, it 
 is bounded by the right bank of the former 
 river. With Rimington brook the parish of 
 Whalley terminates ; and the remaining course 
 of the Ribble is wholly in Yorkshire. Of these 
 six miles every step has its beauties. The 
 broad and rapid channel, hung on either side 
 with luxuriant, woods, the half-monastic and 
 half-castellated form of Stonyhurst, the in- 
 sulated rock and castle of Clitheroe, the vast 
 bulk of Pendle to the east, the fens of Bowland 
 to the west, and the more distant, but more 
 majestic mountains of Penigent and Ingle- 
 borough to the south, combine almost every 
 feature which is required to constitute a picture 
 on the grandest and most extensive scale." 
 
 It is not upon such topics, however, that 
 
 topographers in general are particularly diffuse. 
 We cannot charge them with swelling their 
 bulky volumes with vivid paintings of impres- 
 sive scenery. Upon such occasions they are 
 commonly sufficiently brief. They mark the 
 site of a place by stating how it is bounded on 
 the east, west, north, and south, and its scenic 
 characteristics are passed over in silence. The 
 following very pithy description is a fair speci- 
 men of the style in which that department is 
 usually executed, and contrasts finely with the 
 preceding passage : — ** The village of Shenley 
 lies about a mile and a half south-west of the 
 turnpike road, which leads from Chipping 
 Barnet to St. Albans, at the distance of about 
 sixteen miles from London." — Alfred. 
 
 TRAGIC Muse. 
 
 To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, 
 To raise the genius, and to mend the heart ; 
 To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, 
 Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold ; 
 For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage. 
 Commanding teai's to stream through every 
 
 age: 
 Tyrants no more their savage nature kept. 
 And foes to virtue wonderd how they wept. 
 Our author shuns by vulgar springs to move 
 The hero's glory or the virgin's love ; 
 In pitying love, we but your weakness show. 
 And wild ambition well deserves its woe. 
 Here tears shall flow from a more generous 
 
 cause. 
 Such tears as patriots shed for dying laws : 
 He bids your breast with ancient ardour rise, 
 And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes. 
 Virtue confess'd in human shape he draws. 
 What Plato thought, and god-like Cato was : 
 No common object to your sight displays, 
 But what with pleasure Heaven itseli surveys 
 — A brave man struggling in the storms of late. 
 And greatly falling, with a falling state ! 
 While Cato gives his little senate laws, 
 What bosom beats not in his country's cause ? 
 Who sees him act, but envies every deed ? 
 Who hears him groan, and does not wish to 
 
 bleed? 
 E'en when proud Cassar, 'midst triumphant 
 
 cars, 
 The spoils of nations, and the pomp o' wars. 
 Ignobly vain, and impotently great, 
 Show'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in state ; 
 As her dead father's rev'rend image past. 
 The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercast ; 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 659 
 
 The triumph ceas'd — tears gush'd from every 
 
 eye, 
 The world's great victor pass'd unheeded by 
 Her last good man dejected Rome ador'd, 
 And honour'd Caesar's less than Cato's sword. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 TRAINING of Children. 
 
 There is a branch of useful training which 
 cannot be too heedfully regarded ; I mean, the 
 education that children give themselves. Their 
 observation is ever alive and awake to the cir- 
 cumstances which pass around them ; and, from 
 the circumstances thus observed, they are con- 
 tinually drawing their own conclusions. These 
 observations and conclusions have a powerful 
 influence in forming the characters of youth. 
 What is imparted in the way of direct instruc- 
 tion they are apt to consider as official ; they 
 receive it often with downright suspicion ; 
 generally, perhaps, with a sort of undefined 
 qualification and reserve. It is otherwise with 
 what children discover for themselves. As 
 matter of self-acquisition, this is treasured up 
 and reasoned upon ; it penetrates the mind 
 and influences the conduct beyond all the 
 formal lectures that ever were delivered. 
 Whether it be for good or whether it be for 
 evil, the education of the child is principally 
 derived from its own observation of the actions, 
 the words, the voice, the looks, of those with 
 whom it lives. The fact is unquestionably so ; 
 and since the fact is so, it is impossible, surely, 
 that the friends of youth can be too circum- 
 spect in the youthful presence, to avoid every, 
 the least appearance of evil. This great moral 
 truth was keenly felt, and powerfully incul- 
 cated, even in the heathen world. But the 
 reverence for youth of Christian parents ought 
 to reach immeasurably further. It is not 
 enough that they set no bad example ; it is in- 
 dispensable that they show forth a good one. 
 It is not enough that they seem virtuous ; it is 
 indispensable that they be so. 
 
 The Christian parent ought to be a living 
 exemplification of Christianity. His house, 
 his habits, his family, his associates, his pur- 
 suits, his recreations, ought all to be so regu- 
 lated as to evince that religion is, indeed, the 
 parent of order, the inspirer of good sense, the 
 well-spring of good humour, the teacher of good 
 manners, and the perennial source of happiness 
 and peace. Accustomed to live and breathe 
 in such a holy atmosphere, it is morally im- 
 possible that a child can materially go wrong. 
 
 And this, in the highest sense of the word, is 
 imcomparably the most valuable branch of a 
 Christian educatioiL — Bishop Jebb. 
 
 TRAINING the Mind. 
 If we have duties to perform, in themselves 
 severe and laborious, is there not some mode 
 of training by which to invest them with plea- 
 sant associations? A man may find amuse- 
 ment in free thoughts, while following his 
 plough upon the hill-side ; in digging up the 
 words for a dictionary, or in copying out a 
 brief ; or he may train himself, by an inefficient 
 and shrinking spirit, to recoil from these tasks 
 as insupportable burdens. How many men 
 find their pleasure in what would be the posi- 
 tive horror and torment of the indolent ! How 
 weak the spirit, and how silly the vanity, which 
 we display in ever renewing narration of our 
 personal troubles, pains, and misfortunes ! If 
 we would have the discretion to measure the 
 sympathy which we may expect from others 
 by that which we are conscious of feeling for 
 theirs of the same character, it would go far 
 to teach us the folly of that querulous spirit 
 which doles forth the story of suff'erings and 
 sorrows, as though the narrator were the only 
 sufferer, and were entitled to a monopoly of 
 all the passing pity. Depend upon it, training 
 will induce you to commence every day with 
 the steady practical effort to make as much of 
 it as is possible. — Flint. 
 
 TRAINING 
 
 The Mind to Skill in Discovery. 
 
 It is practicable to train the mind to greater 
 skill in discovery. A few facts will render this 
 sufficiently evident. It will not be denied that 
 some modes of thinking are better adapted to 
 the discovery of truths than others. Those 
 trains of thought which follow the order of 
 cause and eff"ect, premises and conclusion, or, 
 in general, what is considered the order of the 
 understanding, are surely more likely to result 
 in discovery than those which follow the order 
 of the casual relations, as of time, place, re- 
 semblance, and contrast, or, as it is commonly 
 called, the order of the imagination. Discovery 
 is the fruit of patient thought, and not oi im- 
 petuous combination. Now it must be evident 
 that mind directed in the train 01 the under- 
 standing will be a far better instrument of dis- 
 
66o 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 covery than if under the guidance of the imagi- 
 nation. And it is evident that the one mode 
 of thinking may be as well cultivated as the 
 other, or as any mode whatsoever. And hence 
 has arisen the mighty effect which Bacon pro- 
 duced upon the world. He allured men from 
 the weaving of day-dreams to the employment 
 of their reason. Just in proportion as we 
 acquire skill in the use of our reason will be 
 the progress of truth. — President Way land. 
 
 TRANQUILLITY, Our Road to. 
 
 There is but one way to tranquillity of mind 
 and happiness : let this, therefore, be always 
 ready at hand with thee, both when thou 
 wakest early in the morning, and all the day 
 long, and when thou goest late to sleep, to 
 account no external things thine own, but to 
 commit all these to God. — Epictetiis. 
 
 TRANSMIGRATION of Souls. 
 
 Of all the doctrines of the mysterious philo- 
 sophy of Pythagoras, none is less worthy of a 
 a philosopher, and yet none has gained its pro- 
 mulgator more fame, than that of the trans- 
 migration of souls. 
 
 How did Pythagoras come by this hypo- 
 thesis ? is the first question that presents itself 
 to the reflecting mind. 
 
 From the system itself of this great man, 
 nothing can be obtained to satisfy our curiosity, 
 as neither Pythagoras nor his disciples thought 
 it worth their while to demonstrate their doc- 
 trine to the uninitiated multitude. If they 
 adduced any argument it was this : Pytha- 
 goras himself was formerly Euphorbas, as he 
 has related, and demonstrated the fact by the 
 recognition of a rusty shield, of the time of the 
 siege of Troy. 
 
 It was affirmed by all who were not ignorant 
 or impudent enough to allege his journey to 
 India, and his long intercourse with the wise 
 Brachmans and Gymnosophists, that he bor- 
 rowed this doctrine from the Egyptians, with- 
 out reflecting it gave rise to a further question, 
 How came the Egyptians by this notion ? 
 
 It occasioned no small surprise when ac- 
 counts were first brought from the East Indies, 
 that this opinion formed a considerable part of 
 the religious system of the inhabitants, and 
 now the question was, whether the Asiatics 
 had fetched it from Africa, or the Africans 
 
 obtained it from Asia. But since the Egyp- 
 tians had been put in possession, by the ancients 
 as well as the moderns, of the principal dis- 
 coveries and the sublimest wisdom ; so nothing 
 was more natural than to attribute to them the 
 first discovery of the transmigration of souls, 
 and to search for arguments from every quarter 
 to support this assertion. 
 
 But even supposing this were not so clearly 
 ascertained as it is not, should we be advanced 
 one step nearer to the origin of this curious 
 hypothesis ? Its birth in Egypt would hardly 
 be proved from the defective, the contradictory, 
 and the obscure accounts that come from that 
 country, so fertile in wonders ; and even in 
 India, from the same causes, we should find 
 but few data for the satisfying our curiosity. 
 
 But the research becomes more intricate and 
 perplexed if we add to this, that in Greenland, 
 among the Mongols, in Louisiania, and among 
 the Triquois, the same opinion is commonly 
 prevalent. That all these nations should have 
 derived it from India or Egypt, is no more 
 credible than that they adopted the worship of 
 the stars, and the adoration of fire, from the 
 inhabitants of the East. 
 
 The question, then, How did Pythagoras 
 come by the doctrine of the transmigration of 
 souls? must be altered into this : How did the 
 nations so widely asunder, in Asia, Africa, and 
 America, come to adopt this tenet ? It is a 
 question that cannot be decided any other way, 
 than regarding it as a thought peculiar to a not 
 sufficiently cultivated period of the human 
 race. 
 
 The belief of a life after death is to be found 
 amongst almost all the savage nations, and 
 under the very same aspect. The Greenlander 
 is firmly convinced that after his death he 
 shall go to a place with perpetual summer, 
 bright sunshine, quantities of sea-dogs, and 
 where abundance oi iresh water is to be met 
 with. 
 
 The Ackansa, in Louisiania, believes that his 
 soul, after death, will go to a place where every 
 species of pleasure, where the charms of the 
 chase and the fishery, will everywhere abound. 
 The Ostiack and the Triquois have the same 
 belief. 
 
 All these fables, taken together, unanimously 
 evince that rude, unpolished nations have no 
 other intellectual conception of the soul, than 
 as a subtile material being of the human shape, 
 and human mode of conveyance. 
 
 According to our notions, the soul is so firmly 
 attached to the body, that as long as the man 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 66 1 
 
 lives it cannot leave him ; but in the doctrine 
 of spirits among the savage nations, it enjoys 
 far greater freedom. She can, as oft as she 
 pleases, abandon the body, travel over distant 
 regions, converse with the souls of departed 
 friends or acquaintance ; and it is no unusual 
 thing for her calmly to leave the body at home 
 while she is roaming over other worlds. 
 
 When a people once believe the roaming of 
 the soul from the body, it may very easily pass 
 on to the idea that the soul of one man trans- 
 fers itself into the body of another. For what 
 is more easy and natural than for souls so 
 separated frequently to lose their way and get 
 into a different body in like manner forsaken 
 of its soul ? 
 
 What more comprehensible than that a soul 
 should seek out a new body for its habitation 
 when become weary of its former abode ? Ac- 
 cordingly, we actually find among nations who 
 adopt the belief of migrations of the soul, the 
 belief in the commutation of them ; and hence, 
 the sorcerers of Greenland have arrogated to 
 themselves the power of bringing back lost 
 souls, and of providing the sick with sound 
 ones. 
 
 Can human souls interchange their bodies ? 
 Can they as easily betake themselves into the 
 bodies of brutes, and so wander about in the 
 form of beasts ? This the Triquois in reality 
 believe. Here follows one of their fables, 
 which confirms not only this, but another 
 superstition that is likewise spread all over 
 the world. 
 
 There anciently lived among them a famous 
 hermit, of the name of Shonnonkouiretsi (that 
 is, the very long head of hair), whose memory 
 is still revered. The village in which he was 
 bom was visited with a general mortality, 
 which carried off the most considerable people 
 one after another. Every night a funeral bird 
 flying over the huts, fluttered its wings with a 
 horrid noise, and raised a doleful cry, which 
 increased the universal alarm. It was not 
 doubted that this was the Oiaron, or the 
 animal of him whose enchantments caused this 
 dire malady ; and the soothsayers, on being 
 consulted, found nothing in their art that could 
 help them, so as to come at the source of the 
 evil. In this extremity, the Council of Elders 
 dispatched a deputation of three of their prin- 
 cipal members to Shonnonkouiretsi, to implore 
 him to have compassion on them, but his state 
 did not permit him to quit his solitude, and he 
 could never condescend to leave it for going 
 into the village. 
 
 However, he allowed himself to be wrought 
 upon in one particular, and appointed a day for 
 the deputies to return and receive his last deter- 
 mination. They came back at the hour he had 
 fixed. The hermit showed them three arrows 
 he had made in their absence, and without 
 imparting anything of his design, he only told 
 them to examine well the arrows, that they 
 might be sure to know them again. 
 
 In the morning, toward sunset, Shonnon- 
 kouiretsi went and lay in ambush on a little hill, 
 at no great distance from the village. The 
 bird flew out of a hollow tree at the coming on 
 of night, and, shaking his wings as usual, dis- 
 tinctly pronounced the names of some of the 
 principal persons whom he had doomed to 
 death on the morrow. No sooner did the 
 hermit perceive him, then he let fly at him with 
 one of his arrows, and then retired, assured 
 that he had sufficiently wounded him. 
 
 The day following, a rumour was spread in 
 the village that a certain young man, who 
 lived in a very poor hut with an old woman, his 
 mother, was very ill. The elders, attentive to 
 all that passed, secretly ordered the three depu- 
 ties who had been with Shonnonkouiresti to 
 visit him as if without design. The patient 
 was too much tormented with his malady to 
 dissemble it ; he had an arrow that had entered 
 very far into his side. The arrow of the hermit 
 was immediately recognised. Private instruc- 
 tion had been given to those who treated the 
 patient ; and as they were attending to their 
 business, seemingly with a view to extract the 
 arrow, they managed it so well, that they thrust 
 it into the heart of the miserable wretch, and 
 the calamity instantly ceased. 
 
 A still more conspicuous instance of similar 
 permutations of souls, during the lifetime of the 
 acting persons, is to be found among the fables 
 current in the East Indies. 
 
 We read in the life of Fieramarken, one of 
 the most puissant sovereigns of India, that a 
 prince implored a goddess, whose temple stood 
 in a retired place, to teach him the Mandiram. 
 that is, a prayer which has the efficacy of free- 
 ing the soul from the body, and of bringing 
 her back to it whenever she chose. He ob- 
 tained the boon for which he prayed, but un- 
 luckily his servant, who had remained at the 
 door of the temple, had heard the Mandiram, 
 had retained it in his memory, and resolved to 
 use it on the first occasion. As this prince 
 reposed an entire confidence in his domestic, 
 he related to him the peculiar favour he had 
 obtained, but took care not to disclose to him 
 
662 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 one word of the Mancliram. It frequently 
 happened that the prince retired to a solitary 
 place, where he allowed his soul free course, 
 but previously gave his servant strict charge to 
 watch carefully till he should be returned to 
 himself. 
 
 Once, as the servant was watching the body 
 of his prince, the thought came into his head 
 to repeat the prayer, and his soul, dislodged 
 from his body, immediately entered into that 
 of the prince. The first thing this false prince 
 did was to cut off the head of his former 
 body, that it might not occur to his master 
 to animate it. 
 
 Thus was the soul of the real prince com- 
 pelled to animate the body of a popinjay, which 
 he found in a hedge, with which he returned to 
 his palace. 
 
 Any nation who can think and believe as 
 firmly these commutations of the soul, will 
 find it easy, invisible, and almost impercep- 
 tible to pass from the above wanderings of the 
 soul, &c. , to the idea of likening a man to an 
 animal in his actions ; as for instance, the 
 Asiatics liken a bold, courageous man to the 
 lion ; the voluptuary, to the hog ; the coward, 
 to the hare, &c. ; and thence it is easy to believe 
 that after death they pass into those animals 
 as a kind of purgatory, which they inhabit till 
 they are purified from their sin. 
 
 This is still at present the religious and 
 philosophical system in the East Indies. This 
 was, perhaps, too, the system of all or some 
 of the Egyptian priests. This was also partly 
 the foundation of the Greek religion ; for the 
 belief that people after their death were taken 
 up among the gods, was built upon some such 
 speculation. No wonder, then, that Pytha- 
 goras appropriated it, and by clothing it in a 
 new mathematical and philosophical dress, gave 
 it a new form, and impressed it with a greater 
 authority. — A. CE. 
 
 TRANS-SUBSTANTIATION. 
 
 "This is my body." What a potent spell 
 these words have been supposed to possess ! 
 No sooner are they uttered by a regularly qua- 
 lified priest, than a miracle is effected : in re- 
 gard to which, however, no sense of man is 
 permitted to exercise its power. The bread 
 becomes flesh and spirit, and divinity the 
 worthy object of divine worship ; and yet to 
 all human perceptions remains what it ever 
 was. You look at it, you touch it, you taste 
 
 it, you smell it, and you pronounce it bread ; 
 but the priest has uttered. Hoc est corpus meuniy 
 and the church declares it to have become the 
 body and blood, the soul and divinity of Jesus 
 Christ ; and hurls her anathema at all who do 
 not believe it ! O mystery of iniquity and false- 
 hood ! How long shall the God of heaven be 
 blasphemed, and the common sense of man- 
 kind outraged by this mass of absurdity and 
 imposition ! 
 
 It is when observing this ordinance that a 
 Christian church appears in its proper character 
 as the family of God. Then they all acknow- 
 ledge one Father the God of our Lord Jesus, 
 by whom they are all denominated. The Re- 
 deemer as the elder brother and heir of the 
 whole, enjoying the double portion of the 
 Father's good pleasure, and rejoicing with his 
 brethren in the goodly heritage appears at 
 their head. From him they derive all that 
 constitutes their happiness and glory. They 
 regard one another as bought with his blood 
 and constrained by his love ; as unacknowledged 
 by the world but well known of him ; as fellow 
 pilgrims and strangers on earth, but heirs toge- 
 ther of the heavenly kingdom. The distinctions 
 of rich and poor, of learned and unlearned, of 
 nation and class, and original character, are all 
 levelled and unknown. It is an epitome of 
 the heavenly multitude itself, consisting of 
 *' men of every nation and tribe and people and 
 tongue." Here they all breathe the same spirit 
 and speak the same language, and appear in 
 the same character, that of redeemed sinners. 
 Here their common dependence on God, and 
 their mutual dependence on each other, are 
 distinctly recognized. They unitedly declare 
 their obligations to that love which provided 
 the feast, and kindly forced them to partake of 
 it, and their hallowed interest in one another, 
 as all liable to the "manifold trials" of this 
 life, and subject to heaviness of spirit, on 
 account of them. 
 
 It is a feast of God's providing, and that as 
 an evidence that there is now peace between 
 him and us. He may be regarded as the mas- 
 ter of the feast, invisibly present, and enter- 
 taining us, to express his reconciliation to us. 
 We also, by the same act, are reconciled to 
 him and to one another ; and that it has been 
 effected by the same means which reconciled 
 us all to God — the sacrifice of our Lord Jesus 
 Christ. The fellowship itself is invisible, but 
 the expression of it is public and intelligible to 
 all ; the language of the celebration is, we were 
 once at enmity with God, and God opposed to 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 663 
 
 us ; we lived in malice and envy, and were for- 
 merly hateful and hating one another : but a 
 sacrifice has been offered to make peace : the 
 parties are now all one, and, by eating and 
 drinking together, announce their cordial recon- 
 ciliation and friendship. — W. Orme. 
 
 TRAVELLER, Requisites for a." 
 
 There are two things necessary for a traveller, 
 to bring him to the end of his journey, a know- 
 ledge of his way, a perseverance in his walk. 
 If he walk in a wrong way, the faster he goes 
 the further he is from home ; if he sit still in 
 the right way, he may know his home, but 
 ne'er come to it ; discreet stays make speedy 
 journeys. I will first then know my way, ere 
 I begin my walk : the knowledge of my way 
 is a good part of my journey. He that faints 
 in the execution, loseth the gloiy of the action. 
 I will therefore not only know my way, but 
 also go on in my way ; I had rather my journey 
 should want a beginning than come to an 
 untimely end. If heaven be my home, and 
 Christ my way, I will learn to know my way, 
 ere I haste to travel to my home. He that 
 runs hastily in a way he knows not, may come 
 speedily to a home he loves not. If Christ 
 be my way, and Heaven my home, I will 
 rather endure my painful walk, than want my 
 perfect rest. I more esteem my home than 
 my journey : my actions shall be led by know- 
 ledge, my knowledge be followed by my actions. 
 Ignorance is a bad mother to devotion, and 
 idleness a bad steward to knowledge. — Arthur 
 Warwick. 
 
 TRAVELLING, its Exhilarating Effects. 
 There are few things so exhilarating to the 
 spirits, especially in the season of ardent and 
 buoyant youth, as the first visit to a foreign 
 land. Amongst things purely pleasurable, it 
 is perhaps one of the most unalloyed gratifica- 
 tions which occur in the course of our life. 
 But, like all other pleasures, it may be made, 
 accordingly as we use it, a source of present 
 vanity and future regret, or, on the other hand, 
 of lasting and solid improvement. Our object 
 should be, not to gratify curiosity, and seek 
 mere temporary amusement, but to learn and 
 to venerate — to improve the heart and under- 
 standing. — Gresley. 
 
 TRAVELLING, 
 
 The Advantages and Abuses of. 
 
 Of all the pleasures and luxuries which the 
 blessings of modern peace have brought in their 
 train, none are more universally desired, pur- 
 sued, attained, and abused, than those of 
 travelling. Of all the varying motives which 
 impel the actions of mankind, at this or any 
 time, none are so multifarious, so relative, 
 so contradictory, and so specious as those of 
 travelling. The young and ardent, borne on 
 the wings of hope — the listless and vapid, 
 pushed forward on the mere dancing- wire of 
 fashion — the restless and disappointed, urged 
 onward by the perpetual spur of excitement, 
 all bring a different worship to the same idol. 
 If there be good angels watching our move- 
 ments from above, gazing, as the deaf, on the 
 busy dance of life, and insensible to the jarring 
 tunes which impel it, how utterly incompre- 
 hensible must those inducements appear to 
 them which drive tens of thousands annually 
 from their native shores, to seek enjoyments 
 which at home they would not have extended 
 a hand to grasp, to encounter discomforts which 
 at home would have been shunned as positive 
 misfortunes, to withhold their substance where 
 it ill can be spared, to spend it where it were 
 better away, — which leads individuals volun- 
 tarily to forsake all they can best love and trust, 
 to follow a phantom, to double the chances of 
 misfortune, or at best but to create to them- 
 selves a new home — to leave it again, in sorrow 
 and heaviness of heart, like the old one. But 
 such is human nature ; seldom enjoying a 
 good thing but in anticipation, seldom prizing 
 happiness till it is gone ; and such the reflec- 
 tions, inconsistent if true, of one who, self- 
 condemned, is following in the motley herd of 
 emigrants, and who has now outwardly quitted 
 all of England save a narrow blue strip on 
 the horizon which a finger may cover. — Letters 
 froiii the Baltic. 
 
 TRAVELLING, The Results ot 
 If life be short, not so to many of us are its 
 days and its hours. When the blood slumbers 
 in the veins, how often do we wish that the 
 earth would turn faster on its axis, that the sun 
 would rise and set before it does ; and to escape 
 from the night of time, how many follies, how 
 many crimes are committed ! 
 
 Now in travelling we multiply events, and 
 innocently. We set out, as it were, on our 
 
664 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 adventures, and many are those that occur to 
 us, morning, noon, and night. The day we 
 come to a place which we have long heard and 
 read of — and in Italy we do so continually — 
 it is an era in our lives ; and from that moment 
 the very name calls up a picture. How de- 
 lightfully too does the knowledge flow in upon 
 us, and how fast? Would he who sat in a 
 corner of his library, poring over books and 
 maps, learn more, or so much, in the time, as 
 he who, with his eyes and his heart open, is 
 receiving impressions all day long from the 
 things themselves ? How accurately do they 
 arrange themselves in our memory ; — towns, 
 rivers, mountains ! and in what living colours 
 do we recall the dresses, manners, and customs 
 of the people ! Our sight — one of the noblest 
 of our senses — " fills the mind with most ideas, 
 converses with its objects at the greatest dis- 
 tance, and continues longest in action without 
 being tired. " Our sight is on the alert when 
 we travel, and its exercise is then so delightful 
 that we forget the profit in the pleasure. Like 
 a river that gathers, that refines as it runs, like 
 a spring that takes its course through some rich 
 vein of mineral, we improve, and impercep- 
 tibly — not in the head only, but also in the 
 heart. Our prejudices leave us, one by one. 
 Seas and mountains are no longer our bounda- 
 ries. We learn to love, and esteem, and 
 admire beyond them. Our benevolence extends 
 itself with our knowledge. And must we not 
 return better citizens than we went ? For the 
 more we become acquainted with the institu- 
 tions of other countries, the more highly must 
 we value our own. — Rogers. 
 
 TREES, Beauty of. 
 
 And forth they pass, with pleasure forward 
 
 led, 
 Joying to hear the birds' sweet harmony. 
 Which, therein shrouded from the tempest's 
 
 dread, 
 Seemed in their song to scorn the cruel sky; 
 Much can they praise the trees so straight 
 
 and high. 
 The sailing pine, the cedar proud and tall, 
 The vine-prop elm, the poplar never dry, 
 The builder oak, sole king of forests all ; 
 The aspen good for staves ; the cypress funeral. 
 The laurel, meed of mighty conquerors 
 And poets sage ; the fir that weepeth still, 
 The willow, worn of forlorn paramours. 
 The yew, obedient to the bender's will, 
 
 The birch for shafts, the sallow for the 
 
 mill, 
 The myrrh sweet bleeding of the bitter 
 
 wound, 
 The warlike beech, the ash for nothing ill, 
 The fruitful olive, and the platane round. 
 The carver holm, the maple seldom inward 
 
 sound. Spenser. 
 
 TREES, Old. 
 
 Old trees by night are like men in thoiight. 
 By poetry to silence wrought ; 
 They stand so still, and they look so wise. 
 With folded arms, and half-shut eyes, 
 More shadowy than the shade they cast 
 When the wan moonlight on the river passed. 
 F. W.Faber. 
 
 TRIFLES make Perfection. 
 A FRIEND called on Michael Angelo, who was 
 finishing a statue. Some time afterwards he 
 called again ; the sculptor was still at his work. 
 His friend, looking at the figure, exclaimed, 
 "You have been idle since I saw you last." 
 "By no means, replied the sculptor, I have 
 retouched this part, and polished that ; I have 
 softened this feature and brought out this mus- 
 cle ; I have given more expression to this lip, 
 and more energy to this limb." ** Well, well, 
 said his friend, " but all these are trifles." "It 
 may be so," replied Angelo, "but recollect 
 that trifles make perfection, and that perfection 
 is no trifle." 
 
 TROUBLE, Consolation in. 
 
 It is in the time of trouble when some, to 
 whom we may have looked for consolation and 
 encouragement, regard us with coldness, and 
 others perhaps treat us with hostility, that the 
 warmth of the friendly heart, and the support 
 of the friendly hand, acquire increased value 
 and demand additional gratitude. — Bp. Majtt. 
 
 TROUBLES, Succour in. 
 
 The fire to us that be faithful is nothing so 
 terrible as it is to the unfaithful, for we know 
 that it shall have no further force in us than 
 is the good pleasure of God that we shall be 
 able to bear ; for He hath promised a good 
 success unto us in the very midst of our troubles, 
 so that we shall not be further tempted than our 
 God will be assistant with us. — y. Bradford. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 66s 
 
 TROUBLE, Unselfisli. 
 When a storm drives me to shelter under 
 a tree, I find that if the storm be little the tree 
 defends me ; but if the storm be great, the tree 
 not only not defends me, but poureth on me 
 that wet which itself had received, and so 
 maketh me much wetter. Hence instructed, I 
 resolve that if improvidently I fall into some 
 small danger of the laws, I will presume to 
 seek shelter under the arm of some potent 
 friend ; but if the tempest of my trouble be too 
 potent for my friend, I will rather bear all my- 
 self than involve my friend in the danger. It 
 would be bad enough for me to be drenched 
 with, or distressed by the storm of the law's 
 anger only : it would be worse to be drowned 
 with the anger of my storming friend also. My 
 conscience of my ill-deserving towards the 
 laws would enforce a patience ; my remem- 
 brance of my well-deserving to my friend would 
 make the just addition of his anger intolerable. 
 — Arthur Warwick. 
 
 TRUST in God. 
 
 Trust with a child-like dependence upon God, 
 and you shall fear no evil, for be assured that 
 even "if the enemy comes in like a flood," the 
 Spirit of the Lord will lift up a standard against 
 him." While at that dread hour, when the 
 world cannot help you, when all the powers of 
 nature are in vain, yea, when your heart and 
 your flesh shall fail you, you will be enabled 
 still to rely with peace upon Him who has said, 
 *' I will be the strength of thy heart and thy 
 portion for ever." — H. Blunt. 
 
 I FORBID no man, but charge him rather, as 
 he meaneth to build his after comforts upon a 
 firm base, to lay a good foundation of re- 
 pentance and godly sorrow, by looking first 
 upon God's justice and his own sins, that he 
 may be cast down and humbled under the 
 mighty hand of God, before he presume to lay 
 hold of any actual mercy. But after he hath 
 by this means assured the foundation, let him 
 then, in God's name, proceed with his work, 
 and bring it on more and more to perfection, 
 by sweet meditations on the great love and 
 gracious promises of our good God, and His 
 undoubted stedfastness and faithfulness there- 
 in : never giving it over till it come to that 
 perfection of art and skill, that he can espy 
 love even in the very wrath of God ; suck honey 
 out of the stony rock ; gather grapes of thorns, 
 and figs of thistles. — Bp, Sanderson, 
 
 Thou art, O Lord, my only trust, 
 When friends are mingled with the dust. 
 
 And all my loves are gone. 
 When earth has nothing to bestow. 
 And every flower is dead below, 
 
 I look to Thee alone. 
 
 Thou wilt not leave in doubt and fear. 
 The humble soul who loves to hear 
 
 The lessons of Thy word. 
 When foes around us thickly press, 
 And all is danger and distress. 
 
 There's safety in the Lord. 
 
 Th# bosom friend may sleep below 
 The churchyard turf, and we may go 
 
 To close a loved one's eyes : 
 They will not always slumber there ; 
 We see a world more bright and fair, 
 
 A home beyond the skies. 
 
 And we may feel the bitter dart. 
 Most keenly rankling in the heart. 
 
 By some dark ingrate driven : 
 For us revenge can never bum ; 
 We pity, pardon, then we turn 
 
 And rest our souls in heaven. 
 
 'Tis Thou, O Lord, who shield'st my head. 
 And draw'st thy curtains round my bed j 
 
 I sleep secure in Thee. 
 And, O, may soon that time arrive. 
 When we before Thy face shall live 
 
 Through all eternity. Fercival. 
 
 TRUTH Adds to Beauty. 
 
 O HOW much more doth beauty beauteous 
 seem 
 By that sweet ornament which truth doth 
 give ! 
 The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem, 
 
 For that sweet odour which doth in it live. 
 The canker blooms have full as deep a dye 
 
 As the perfumed tincture of the roses. 
 Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly 
 When summer's breath their masked bud 
 discloses ; 
 But, for their virtue only is their show. 
 
 They live im wooed, and unrespected fade ; 
 Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so : 
 Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours 
 made : 
 And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth. 
 When that shall fade, my verse dbtils your 
 truth. Shakespeare, 
 
666 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 TRUTH, a Plain and Safe Path. 
 
 The path of truth is a plain and safe path ; 
 that of falsehood is a perplexing maze. After 
 the first departure from sincerity, it is not in 
 your power to stop. One artifice unavoidably 
 leads on to another ; till, as the intricacy of the 
 labyrinth increases, you are left entangled in 
 your own snare. — Blair. 
 
 TRUTH Cannot be Extinguished. 
 The name of a country may be obliterated 
 from a map, the deeds of heroes be effaced 
 from the annals of the world : the pursuit of 
 truth can only cease when man is no more ; 
 its light may be veiled by ignorance, craft, or 
 cupidity, but it cannot be extinguished. The 
 cities that gave birth to the illustrious philo- 
 sophers of old have long ceased to exist, yet 
 the immortal works of those sages that have 
 escaped the ravages of time, are still as fresh 
 and luxuriant as when their glorious oratory 
 enchanted and captivated their disciples' ears. 
 — Alillinoen. 
 
 TRUTH, Christ the. 
 Christ is the truth of God revealed unto man 
 from heaven by God himself ; and therefore in 
 His word the truth is to be found, which is to 
 be embraced by all that are His. Therefore, 
 O heavenly Father, the author and fountain of 
 all truth, the unfathomable sea of all under- 
 standing, send down, we beseech Thee, thy 
 Holy Spirit into our hearts, and lighten our 
 understandings with the beams of thy heavenly 
 grace ! Amen. — Bp. Ridley. 
 
 TRUTH Corroborated by Experience. 
 Truth and reason never cause revolutions on 
 the earth ; they are the fruit of experience, 
 which can only be exercised when the passions 
 are at rest ; they excite not in the heart those 
 furious emotions which shake empires to their 
 base. Truth can only be discovered by peace- 
 ful minds : it is only adopted by kindred 
 spirits. If it change the opinions of men, it is 
 only by insensible gradations — a gentle and 
 easy descent conducting them to reason. The 
 revolutions caused by the progress of truth are 
 always beneficial to society, and are only 
 burthensome to those who deceive and oppress 
 it. — Du Marsais. 
 
 TRUTH, 
 
 Difficulties in the Search after. 
 
 Truth is a great stronghold, barred and forti- 
 fied by God and Nature ; and diligence is 
 properly the understanding's laying siege to it ; 
 so that, as in a kind of warfare, it must be 
 perpetually upon the watch, observing all the 
 avenues and passes to it, and accordingly 
 makes its approaches. Sometimes it thinks it 
 gains a point, and presently again it finds 
 itself bafiled and beaten off ; yet still it renews 
 the onset, attacks the difficulty afresh, plants 
 this reasoning and that argument, this con- 
 sequence and that distinction, like so many 
 intellectual batteries, till at length it forces a 
 way and passage into the obstinate enclosed 
 truth, that so long withstood and defied all its 
 assaults. As when the mind casts and turns 
 itself restlessly from one thing to another, 
 strains this power of the soul to apprehend, 
 that to judge, another to divide, a fourth to 
 remember ; thus tracing out the nice and 
 scarce observable difference of some things 
 and the real agreement of others, till at length it 
 brings all the ends of a long and various 
 hypothesis together ; sees how one part coheres 
 with and depends upon another, and so clears 
 off all the appearing contrarieties and contradic- 
 tions that seemed to lie cross and uncouth, and 
 to make the whole unintelligible — this is the 
 laborious and vexatious inquest that the soul 
 must make after science. For truth, like a 
 stately dame, will not be seen, nor show her- 
 self at the first visit, nor match with the un- 
 derstanding upon an ordinary courtship or 
 address. Long and tedious attendances must 
 be given, and the hardest fatigues endured 
 and digested ; nor did ever the most pregnant 
 wit in the world bring forth anything great, 
 lasting, and considerable, without some pain 
 and travail. Now all this that I have said 
 is to show the force of diligence in the in- 
 vestigation of truth, and particularly of the 
 noblest of all truths, which is that of religion. 
 —South. 
 
 TRUTH in the Holy Spirit. 
 
 If there were not a Holy Catholic Church, 
 then Christ would be a Shepherd without a 
 flock ; then God the Father would be a King 
 without a people ; then the Holy Ghost would 
 be a Guide, and have none to lead. But the 
 two first are assured us by Christ, where 
 He saith, " Fear not, little flock, it is your 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 667 
 
 Father's pleasure to give you a kingdom ;" 
 and the last, " He will send the Holy Spirit 
 to lead you into all truth." — W. Baker. 
 
 TRUTH in Trifles. 
 
 Delude not yourself with the notion that 
 you may be untnie and uncertain in trifles, 
 and in important things the contrary. Trifles 
 make up existence, and give the observer the 
 measure by which to try us ; and the fearful 
 power of habit, after a time, suffers not the 
 best will to ripen into action. — C. M. Yon 
 Weber. 
 
 TRUTH 
 
 Is the Measure of Knowledge. 
 
 Truth, v/hether in or out of fashion, is the 
 measure of knowledge and the business of the 
 understanding ; whatsoever is besides that, 
 however authorised by consent or recommended 
 by rarity, is nothing but ignorance or some- 
 thing worse. — Locke. 
 
 TRUTH, its Consistency. 
 
 Truth is always consistent with itself, and 
 needs nothing to help it out. It is always 
 near at hand, and sits upon our lips, and is 
 ready to drop out before we are aware ; 
 whereas a lie is troublesome, and set a man's 
 invention upon the rack ; and one trick needs 
 a great many more to make it good. — Tillotson. 
 
 TRUTH, Knowledge of. 
 
 It is not enough to be hearers of the word ; 
 we may be so all our lives, and yet never come 
 to the knowledge of the truth ; our very hear- 
 ing may have only hardened us ; for all preach- 
 ing that passes over our hearts, without sinking 
 into them, instead of being like seed, is rather 
 like the feet of a passenger, that harden the 
 path on which he treads. May the Spirit of 
 Christ and of God help us to hear aright ! — 
 W. W. Chainpneys. 
 
 TRUTH versus Lying. 
 Be very careful to speak truth ; and beware of 
 lying. As lying is displeasing to God, so is it 
 offensive to man ; and always at the latter end 
 returns to the reproach and disadvantage of 
 
 him that useth it ; it is an evidence of a weak 
 and unmanly mind. Be careful that you be- \ 
 lieve not hastily strange news, and strange \ 
 stories ; and be much more careful that you do | 
 not report them, though at the second hand;; 
 for if it prove an untruth (as commonly strange 
 stories prove so), it brings an imputation of 
 levity upon him that reports it, and possibly 
 some disadvantage to others. — Sir Matthew 
 Hale. 
 
 TRUTHS. 
 
 Truths, in many professors' minds, are not as 
 stars fixed in the heavens (remarks a divine of 
 the seventeenth century), but like meteors that 
 dance in the air ; they are not as characters 
 engraven in marble, but writ in the dust, 
 which every wind and idle breath of seducers 
 deface ; many entertain opinions, as some en- 
 tertain suitors, not that they mean to marry 
 them, but cast them off" as soon as new ones 
 come. Truth is not always to be had at the 
 same price. Buy it we must at any, but sell it 
 upon no terms. 
 
 TRUTHS, Fundamental. 
 There are fundamental truths that lie at the 
 bottom, the basis upon which a great many 
 others rest, and in which they have their con- 
 sistency. These are teeming truths, rich in 
 store, with which they furnish the mind ; and, 
 like the lights 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. Our Saviour's 
 great rule, that we should love our neighbour 
 as ourselves, is such a fundamental truth for 
 the regulating human society, that I think that 
 by that alone one might without difficulty de- 
 termine all the cases and doubts in social 
 morality. Truths such as this we should 
 endeavour to find out and store our minds 
 with. — Locke. 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 The Moon is up, and yet it is not night — 
 Sunset divides the sky with her — a sea 
 Of glory streams along the Alpine height 
 Of blue Friuli's mountains ; Heaven is free 
 From clouds, but of all colours seems to be 
 Melted to one vast Iris of the West, 
 Where the Day joins the past Eternity ; 
 While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest 
 Floats through the azure air, an island of the blest! 
 
668 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 A single star is at her side, and reigns 
 With her o'er half the lovely heaven ; but still 
 Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains 
 Roll'd o'er the peak of the far Rhaetian hill, 
 As Day > '\ Night contending were, until 
 Nature rlfc?>j,jni'd her order : — gently flows 
 The deep-dyed ^renta, where their hues instil 
 The odorous purple of a new-born rose, 
 
 Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd 
 
 ? within it glows, 
 
 \ 
 
 w Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from 
 
 afar. 
 Comes down upon the waters ; all its hues. 
 From the rich sunset to the rising star, 
 Their magical variety diffuse : 
 And now they change ; a paler shadow strews 
 Its mantle o'er the mountains ; parting day 
 Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang 
 
 imbues 
 With a new colour as it gasps away. 
 The last still loveliest, till — 'tis gone — and all 
 
 is gray. Byron. 
 
 TWILIGHT, a Soft Darkness. 
 
 Each flower the dews have lightly wet, 
 And in the sky the stars are met. 
 And on the wave is deeper blue, 
 And on the leaf a browner hue, 
 And in the heaven that clear obscure, 
 So softly dark, and darkly pure. 
 Which follows the decline of day. 
 As twilight melts beneath the moon away. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 TWILIGHT, its Repose. 
 
 Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the 
 white ; 
 Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk ; 
 Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font : 
 The fire-fly wakens : waken thou with me. 
 
 Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a 
 ghost, 
 And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. 
 Now lies the earth all Danae to the stars, 
 And all thy heart lies open unto me. 
 
 Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves 
 A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me. 
 
 Now folds the lily all her sweetness up, 
 And slips into the bosom of the lake : 
 So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip 
 Into my bosom and be lost in me. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 TYRANNY and Vice under a Mask. 
 
 Vice is never so much at ease, never more 
 tyrannical, never more ambitious, than when 
 it imagines it has found a mask, under the 
 cover and protection of which it may pass off 
 for virtue. And masks there are, which to a 
 certain extent deceive even the wearers : a 
 deceit to which they lend themselves witti ala- 
 crity, and find in their own delusion encourage- 
 ment to make daring experiments on the cre- 
 dulity, timidity, or dependence of others. — 
 Bentham. 
 
 UNBELIEF against all Sense. 
 
 What then is unbelief? 'Tis an exploit ; 
 A strenuous enterprise. To gain it, man 
 Must burst through every bar of common sense, 
 Of common shame, magnanimously wrong. 
 And what rewards the sturdy combatant ? 
 His prize, repentance ; infamy, his crown. 
 Faith in the future wanting, is, at least 
 In embryo, every weakness, every guilt ; 
 And strong temptation ripens it to birth. 
 If this life's gain invites him to the deed, 
 Why not his country sold, his father slain ? 
 Has virtue charms?— I grant herheav'nly fair; 
 But, if unportion'd ; all will int'rest wed ; 
 Though that our admiration, this our choice. 
 The virtues grow on immortality ; 
 That rest destroyed, they wither and expire. 
 A Deity believ'd will nought avail : 
 Rewards and punishments make God ador'd ; 
 And hopes and fears give conscience all her 
 
 power : 
 As in the dying parent dies the child, 
 Virtue with immortality expires. 
 Nature's first wish is endless happiness ; 
 Annihilation is an after thought, 
 A monstrous wish, unborn till virtue dies. 
 And oh ! what depth of horror lies inclos'd. 
 For non-existence no man ever wish'd, 
 But first he wish'd the Deity destroy'd. 
 
 Yoiins^. 
 
 UNBELIEF and Despair. 
 
 Unbelief among sins is as the plague among 
 diseases, the most dangerous ; but when it 
 riseth to despair, then it is as the plague, with 
 the tokens appearing that bring the certain 
 message of death with them. Unbelief is des- 
 pair in the bud ; despair is unbelief at its full 
 growth. — A Divine of the I'jth Century. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 669 
 
 UNBELIEF, 
 God will not be Mocked by. 
 Scripture, reason, and experience unite in 
 the declaration, that although the promise of 
 mercy is proclaimed to every son of man, yet 
 that the solicitation of its acceptance will not 
 be for ever renewed. The mercy of God is 
 not mocked ; when it is wilfully rejected by 
 the callousness of hardy impenitence, it is 
 finally withdrawn ; the day of Grace sets in 
 darkness ; the seal is broken, the charter of 
 pardon is dissolved for ever. 
 
 He who despises the means of redemption 
 cannot in justice expect to enjoy the end ; and 
 when the means, the only means, are declared 
 by God to be the blood of Christ, with what a 
 complication of guilt will that man stand here- 
 after before the judgment seat of Christ, the 
 burthen of whose sins is aggravated by the 
 ingratitude of presumptuous neglect, or the 
 audacity of wilful rejection ! — T. Rennell. 
 
 UNBELIEF, Hardness of. 
 
 How long the time since Christ began 
 
 To call in vain to me ! 
 Deaf to the warning voice, I ran 
 
 Through paths of vanity. 
 He called me, when my thoughtless prime 
 
 Was early ripe to ill, 
 I passed from folly on to crime, 
 
 And yet He called me stUl. 
 He called me in the hour of dread. 
 
 When death was full in view ; 
 I trembled on my feverish bed, 
 
 And rose to sin anew. 
 Yet could I hear Him once again 
 
 As I have heard of old, 
 Methinks He should not call in vain 
 
 His wanderer to the fold. Heher. 
 
 UNCHANGEABLENESS of God. 
 
 Immutability is a glory belonging to all the 
 attributes of God. It is not a single perfection 
 of the Divine nature, nor is it limited to par- 
 ticular objects thus and thus disposed. Mercy 
 and justice have their distinct objects and dis- 
 tinct acts ; mercy is conversant about a peni- 
 tent, justice conversant about an obstinate 
 sinner. In our notion and conception of the 
 Divine perfections, they are all different ; the 
 wisdom of God is not His power, nor His 
 power His holiness, but immutability is the 
 
 centre wherein they all unite. There is not 
 one perfection but may be said to be, and truly 
 is, immutable. None of them will appear so 
 glorious without this beam, the sun of immuta- 
 bility, which renders them higl- excellent, 
 without the least shadow of jperfection. 
 How cloudy would His bvt-ssedness be if it 
 were changeable ; how dim His wisdom, if it 
 might be obscured ; how feeble His power, if^ 
 it were capable to be sickly, and languu^ j| 
 how would mercy lose much of its lustre if it 
 could change into wrath, and justice much of 
 its dread if it could be turned into mercy, while 
 the object of justice remains unfit for meVcy, 
 and one that hath need of mercy continues only 
 fit for the divine fury ! But unchangeableness 
 is a thread that nms through the whole web ; 
 it is the enamel of all the rest ; none of them 
 without it could look with a triumphant as- 
 pect. The immutability of God is a strong 
 ground for consolation. Subjects wish a good 
 prince to live for ever, being loth to change 
 him, but care not how soon they are rid of an 
 oppressor. This attribute is the strongest prop 
 for faith in all our addresses ; so that we may 
 approach boldly. — Charnock. 
 
 UNCONVERTED, the Moral Excellences 
 Occasionally Observable in the. 
 
 Virtue may exist, and in such a degree, too, 
 as to constitute it a lovely object in the eyes of 
 the world, but if there be in it no reference of 
 the mind to the will of God, there is no religion 
 in it Such virtue as this has its reward in 
 its natural consequences, in the admiration of 
 others, or in the delights of conscious satisfac- 
 tion. But we cannot see why God will reward 
 it in the capacity of your Master, when his 
 service was not the principle of it, and you 
 were therefore not acting at all the part of a 
 servant to him— nor do we see how he can 
 reward it in the capacity of your Judge, when, 
 in the whole process of virtuous feeling, and 
 virtuous sentiment, and virtuous conduct, you 
 carried in your heart no reference whatever, 
 for a single moment, to him, as your law- 
 giver. " — Chalmers. 
 
 UNDERSTANDING 
 Before Undertaking. 
 
 To write or talk concerning any subject, with- 
 out having previously taken the pains to im- 
 
670 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 derstand it, is a breach of the duty which we 
 owe to ourselves, though it may be no offence 
 against the laws of the land. The privilege of 
 talking and even publishing nonsense is neces- 
 sary in a free state ; but the more sparingly we 
 make use of it the htiiox.— Coleridge. 
 
 UNDERSTANDING, The. 
 TirE light of the understanding, humility kin- 
 dleth and pride covereth. — Quarks. 
 
 UNDERSTANDING, wants Winnowing. 
 
 A SCHOLAR that hath been all his life collect- 
 ing books, will find in his library, at last, a 
 great deal of rubbish ; and as his taste alters, 
 and his judgment improves, he will throw out 
 a great many as trash and lumber which, it 
 may be, he once valued and paid dear for, and 
 replace them with such as are more solid and 
 useful. Just so should we deal with our un- 
 derstandings ; look over the furniture of the 
 mind ; separate the chaff from the wheat, which 
 are generally received into it together ; and 
 take as much pains to forget what we ought 
 not to have learned as to retain what we ought 
 not to forget. — Mason. 
 
 UNDER-WEIGH, Unspeakable Joy of. 
 
 Oh the joy ! the relief unspeakable ! of feeling 
 one's self fairly under- weigh, and of seeing the 
 white cliffs of old England sink fast in the 
 north-eastern horizon right to windward ! Let 
 the concoctors of romances, and other imagin- 
 ary tales, say what they please of the joys of 
 returning home ; give me the happiness of a 
 good departure, and a boundless world of 
 untried enjoyments ahead ! If a man be out 
 of debt and out of love, or only moderately 
 involved in either of these delicate predica- 
 ments ; if he have youth and health and toler- 
 able prospects, a good ship under his foot, a 
 good officer above him, and good messmates 
 to serve with, why need he wear and tear his 
 feelings about those he leaves behind ? Or 
 rather, why need he grieve to part from those 
 who are better pleased to see him vigorously 
 doing his duty than idling in other people's 
 way at home ? Or wherefore should he sigh 
 to leave those enjoyments in which he cannot 
 honourably participate till he has earned his 
 title to them by hardy service ? — Capt. B. Hail. 
 
 UNFRUITFULNESS and Barrenness. 
 Barrenness or unfruitfulness may in general 
 best be understood by comparing it with a state 
 of wickedness : from which, as it is usually 
 distinguished in the notion of the vulgar, so 
 does it really differ in many accounts. The 
 one has in it an air of defiance, the other an 
 unconcernment for religion ; the one forgets 
 God, the other contemns Him ; the one has 
 no relish or savour of that v/hich is good ; the 
 other finds too much gust and pleasure in that 
 which is evil : the one makes us, by degrees, 
 enemies ; the other strangers to God. In short, 
 there is little doubt to be made but that the 
 omission of a duty and the commission of a 
 crime, lukewarmness in that which is good, 
 and eagerness and confidence in that which is 
 evil, may, and generally do, differ very widely 
 in the degrees of guilt : from hence it is (the 
 sinner being always a partial and indulgent 
 judge of himself) that it is not unusual for 
 many who seem to have some abhorrence ot 
 wickedness, to be far enough from apprehend- 
 ing much evil or much danger in unfruitful- 
 ness. This is a fatal error ; it frustrates the 
 great design of religion, and robs it of its finest 
 honour — good works. For what can religion 
 effect by that man who retains nothing of it 
 but the bare form and profession, and dares 
 promise himself not only impunity, but a hea- 
 ven, in a useless and unprofitable life ? Un- 
 fruitfulness, if more particularly inquired into, 
 consists in two things : a neglect of duty, or 
 a lifeless and unprofitable performance of it. 
 The former I will call idleness ; the latter 
 lukewarmness, coldness, formality ; and each 
 of them is encumbered with mistakes and 
 errors, which arise not only from self-love and 
 partiality, but also from shallowness of judg- 
 ment, joined with tenderness of conscience. — 
 Dr. Richard Liicas. 
 
 UNGODLY Man, his Life. 
 
 How can a man have the true faith, the sure 
 trust and confidence in God, that by the merits 
 of Christ his sins be forgiven, and he reconciled 
 to the favour of God and to be partaker of the 
 kingdom of Heaven by Christ — when he liveth 
 ungodlily, and denieth Christ in his deeds? 
 Surely no such ungodly man can have this faith 
 and trust in God. For as they know Christ rii 
 be the only Saviour of the world ; cr'.^'^ey 
 know also that wicked men shall not \vc^^{\\q. 
 kingdom of Heaven. They know that God 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 671 
 
 hateth unrighteousness ; that he will destroy- 
 all those that speak untruly (Ps. v. 6) ; that 
 those which have done good works— which 
 cannot be done without a lively faith in Christ 
 — 5hall come forth unto the Resurrection of 
 Life, and those that have done evil shall come 
 unto the Resurrection of Judgment. — /i<5/. 
 Cranmer. 
 
 UNITY, The Belief in. 
 Our Saviour himself hath sufficiently declared 
 how necessary it is for us to believe this great 
 mystery — a Trinity of persons, into whose 
 names we are baptized the Father, Son, and 
 Holy Ghost. This is that mystery of mysteries 
 which is too high for human understandings to 
 conceive, but not too great for a Divine Faith 
 to believe ; even that although there be but 
 one God, there are three Persons, the Father, 
 the Son, and the Holy Ghost, every one of 
 which is that one and the self-same God ; and 
 therefore it is that baptism is here commanded 
 to be administered in the name of all Three. — 
 Bishop Bcveridge. 
 
 UJNi VERSE, Immensity of the. 
 
 If we are permitted on such a subject to argue 
 from analogy, we may fancy to ourselves some 
 such idea as this — that each nebula or group 
 of stars bears the same reference to other 
 groups which our planetary system does to the 
 globes of which it is composed ; and that, while 
 they may be impressed with a rotatory motion 
 round each other, like our satellites round 
 their primaries, there is some central point of 
 unknown position and immeasurable dimen- 
 ■ sions, round which the whole groups of the 
 universe revolve, like our little worlds round 
 their sun. There are not wanting reasons for 
 such a supposition. The two great laws of 
 gravitation and inertia, by which our own 
 system is regulated and maintained, have been 
 proved to exist with precisely the same powers, 
 at least in some of the fixed stars. The proba- 
 bility, therefore, is, that these are universal 
 qualities inherent in all material objects. This 
 being granted, seems to imply the necessity of 
 a balanced rotatory motion in every system of 
 worlds, for preserving the general equilibrium 
 of the whole ; because universal attraction 
 "lust prevent any body from remaining abso- 
 luteb' stationary. Now, the same principle 
 app "»»% 10 apply to groups of systems which 
 applies to systems themselves. Hence we may 
 
 infer a complication of movements of the most 
 wonderful and extensive kind, combining not 
 merely worlds with worlds, and systems with 
 systems, but nebulae with nebulae, embracing 
 the whole material creation, and extending to 
 infinity. What a magnificent view does this 
 afford of the works of the Eternal ; and what 
 a beautiful unity does it appear to give to his 
 operations ! — Duncan. 
 
 UNIVERSE, Scale of the. 
 
 Man can never attain, in the shape of convic- 
 tion, a lively idea of his own position on the 
 scale of the universe, unless he look with un- 
 distracted attention above and around him, 
 and put forth all the energies of his intellect 
 with a view to explore the vast scheme of ex- 
 istence of which he forms a part. As long as 
 he confines his curiosity to the history of his 
 fellow-men, wondering at their progress from 
 the tangled forest to the ci'owded city ; shud- 
 dering at the sanguinary wars, foreign or do- 
 mestic, of which almost every field on the globe 
 has at one time or another been the theatre ; 
 poring over obsolete principles of philosophy 
 and legislation, or devising new combinations 
 for the regulation of transitory interests ; so long 
 will he remain unconscious of the much more 
 exalted pursuits for which his faculties are des- 
 tined. The little routine of each succeeding 
 day leads him into notions altogether false as 
 to the real purpose for which life was given 
 him. 
 
 Looking upon the immediate objects of his 
 avarice or ambition as exclusively worthy of 
 his care — his busy thought by day, his feverish 
 dream by night — ^he feels an exaggerated sense 
 of his own importance, that precludes him from 
 bestowing a single reflection upon the com- 
 mencement, the termination, and the final issue 
 of the sixty years — an hour, nay, not a minute 
 of eternity — which are allotted to his share. 
 Sometimes he falls into the opposite extreme. 
 Travelling over the Alps or Andes, he grows 
 pale at the lightnings which reveal their peaks 
 crowned with the snow of past ages ; he trem- 
 bles at the thunders that shake the stupendous 
 masses to their centre ; and if the forked bolt 
 shiver the rock on which he stands, what an 
 insect he becomes in his own esteem ! Wrecked 
 on the Scilly Isles in the midst of a tempest, he 
 beholds the billows of the Atlantic lifting their 
 heads to the sky, and threatening to break 
 down the bulwarks which nature and art have 
 
672 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 conspired to raise against their fury ; he shrinks 
 in idea to the rank of the cockle-shell which 
 the retiring wave leaves behind it on the shore. 
 — Quarterly Review. 
 
 UNREST. 
 
 Unrest ! unrest ! The passion-panting sea 
 Watches the unveiled beauty of the stars 
 Like a great hungry soul. The unquiet clouds 
 Break and dissolve, then gather in a mass, 
 And float like mighty icebergs thro' the blue. 
 Summers, like blushes, sweep the face of earth. 
 Heaven yearns in stars. Down comes the 
 
 frantic rain ; 
 We hear the wail of the remorseful winds 
 In their strange penance. And this wretched 
 
 orb 
 Knows not the taste of rest ; a maniac world, 
 Homeless and sobbing through the deep she 
 
 goes. Alexander Smith. 
 
 USEFULNESS. 
 
 Whoever sincerely endeavours to do all the 
 good he can will probably do much more than 
 he imagines, or will ever know, till the day of 
 judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall 
 be made manifest. — Miss Bawdier. 
 
 USELESS 
 
 By Appearance, not to be Despised. 
 
 I CAN scarcely condemn mankind for treating 
 with contempt a virtuoso, whom they see em- 
 ployed in poring over a moss or an insect day 
 after day, and spending his life in such seemingly 
 unimportant and barren speculations. The first 
 and most natural reflections that will arise on 
 this occasion must be to the disadvantage of such 
 pursuits. Yet, were the whole scene of nature 
 laid open to our views, were we admitted to 
 behold the connections and dependencies of 
 every thing on every other, and to trace the 
 economy of nature throughout the smaller as 
 well as the greater parts of this globe, we 
 might perhaps be obliged to own we were mis- 
 taken ; that the Supreme Architect had con- 
 trived his works in such a manner that we can- 
 not properly be said to be unconcerned in 
 any one of them ; and therefore that studies 
 which seem upon a slight view to be quite 
 useless, may in the end appear to be of no 
 
 small importance to mankind. Nay, were we 
 only to look back into the history of arts and 
 sciences, we must be convinced that we are apt 
 to judge over-hastily of things of this nature. 
 We should there find many proofs that He who 
 gave this instinctive curiosity to some of his 
 creatures, gave it for good and great purposes, 
 and that he rewards with useful discoveries all 
 these minute researches. 
 
 It is true this does not always happen to the 
 searcher, or his contemporaries, nor even, 
 sometimes, to the immediate succeeding gene- 
 ration ; but I am apt to think that advantages 
 of one kind or other always accrue to mankind 
 from such pursuits. Some men are born to 
 observe and record what perhaps by itself is 
 perfectly useless, but yet of great importance 
 to another that goes a step farther, still as use- 
 less. To him another succeeds, and thus by 
 degrees, till at last one of a superior genius 
 comes, who, laying all that has been done before 
 his time together, brings on a new face of things, 
 improves, adorns, exalts human society. 
 
 Many instances might be produced to prove 
 that bare curiosity in one age is the source of 
 the greatest utility in another. And what has 
 frequently been said of chemists may be applied 
 to every other kind of virtuosi. They hunt 
 perhaps after chimeras and impossibilities, 
 they find something really valuable by-and-by. 
 We are but instruments under the supreme 
 Director, and do not so much as know, in 
 many cases, what is of most importance for 
 us to search after. But we may be sure of one 
 thing : namely, that if we study and follow 
 nature, whatever paths we are led into, we 
 shall at last arrive at something valuable to 
 ourselves and others, but of what kind we must 
 be content to remain ignorant. — Bishop 
 Stillingfieet. 
 
 UTILITY. 
 
 That useful knowledge should receive our 
 first and chief care, we mean not to dispute, 
 But in our views of utility, we may differ from 
 some who take this position. There are those 
 who confine this term to the necessaries and 
 comforts of life, and to the means of producing 
 them. And is it true that we need no know- 
 ledge but that which clothes and feeds us ? Is 
 it true that all studies may be dispensed with 
 but such as teach us to act on matter and to 
 turn it to our use ? Happily human nature is 
 too stubborn to yield to this narrow utility. 
 It is interesting to observe how the very me 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 673 
 
 chanical arts, which are especially designed to 
 minister to the necessities and comforts of life, 
 are perpetually passing these limits ; how they 
 disdain to stop at mere convenience. A large 
 and increasing proportion of mechanical labour 
 is given to the gratification of an elegant taste. 
 How simple would be the art of building if it 
 limited itself to the construction of a comfortable 
 shelter. How many ships should we dismantle, 
 and how many busy trades put to rest, were 
 ■dress and furniture reduced to the standard of 
 convenience. This " utility" would work great 
 changes in town and country, would level to 
 the dust the wonders of architecture, would 
 annihilate the fine arts, and blot out innumer- 
 able beauties which the hand of taste has 
 spread over the face of the earth. Happily 
 human nature is too strong for the utilitarian. 
 It cannot satisfy itself with the convenient. No 
 passion unfolds itself sooner than the love of 
 the ornamental. The savage decorates his 
 person, and the child is more struck with the 
 beauty than the uses of its raiment. So far 
 from limiting ourselves to convenient food and 
 raiment, we enjoy but little a repast which 
 is not arranged with some degree of order and 
 taste ; and a man who should consult comfort 
 alone in his wardrobe would find himself an 
 unwelcome guest in circles which he would 
 very reluctantly forego. We are aware that the 
 propensity to which we have referred often 
 breaks out in extravagance and ruinous luxury. 
 We know that the love of ornament is often 
 vitiated by vanity, and that, when so perverted, 
 it impairs, sometimes destroys, the soundness 
 and simplicity of the mind, and the relish for 
 true glory. Still, it teaches, even in its excesses, 
 that the idea of beauty is an indestructible 
 principle of our nature, and this single truth is 
 enough to put us on our guard against vulgar 
 notions of utility. — W. E. Chanttingy D.D. 
 
 VAIN-GLORY of the World. 
 
 The vain-glory of this world is a deceitful 
 sweetness, a fruitless labour, a perpetual fear, a 
 dangerous honour : her beginning is without 
 Providence, and her end not without repent- 
 ance. Quarles. 
 
 VENERATION for God's Name. 
 I FIND the following passage in an excellent 
 sermon preached at the funeral of a gentleman 
 who was an honour to his country, and a more 
 
 diligent, as well as successful inquirer into the 
 works of nature, than any other our nation has 
 ever produced : " He had the profoundest 
 veneration for the great God of heaven and 
 earth that I have ever observed in any person. 
 The very name of God was never mentioned 
 by him without a pause and visible stop in his 
 discourse ; in which one that knew him most 
 particularly above twenty years has told me 
 that he was so exact, that he does not remem- 
 ber to have observed him once to fail in it. 
 
 Every one knows the veneration which was 
 paid by the Jews to a name so great, wonder- 
 ful, and holy. They would not let it enter 
 even into their religious discourses. What can 
 we, then, think of those who make use of so 
 tremendous a name in the ordinary expressions 
 of their anger, mirth, and most impertinent 
 passions? Of those who admit it into the 
 most familiar questions and assertions, ludi- 
 crous phrases, and works of humour ? not to 
 mention those who violate it by solemn per- 
 juries. It would be an affront to reason to 
 endeavour to set forth the horror and profane- 
 ness of such a practice. The very mention of 
 it exposes it sufficiently to those in whom the 
 light of nature, not to say religion, is not 
 utterly extinguished. — Addison. 
 
 VICE, Literary Men often tlie Patrons 
 and Apologists of. 
 
 A golden statue such a wit might claim, 
 Had God and virtue raised the noble flame ; 
 But ah ! how lewd a subject has he sung. 
 What vile obscenity profanes his tongue ! 
 
 F. Lewis. 
 
 That there have been, and still are, some men 
 of transcendent mental powers, who have main- 
 tained a high moral and religious reputation, 
 is an indisputable fact ; but their number is 
 comparatively small. The master spirits in 
 the republic of genius are generally amongst 
 the most sceptical and depraved of their 
 species ; — a set of men who are equally dis- 
 tinguished for their intellectual greatness and 
 the licentiousness of their manners ; corrupt- 
 ing the fountain of social happiness, while em- 
 ployed in diffusing the light of science over 
 the public mind — at once the objects of admi- 
 ration and of disgust to every wise and vir- 
 tuous being. To account for this debasing evil 
 is a more easy task than to correct it ; but it 
 is not in the power of any one to make an 
 accurate calculation of the moral injuries 
 which it produces. 
 
 X X 
 
674 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Men of superior intellectual powers are 
 generally men of strong and ardent passions, 
 impatient of restraint, too lofty in their imagin- 
 ative conceptions to yield to the government 
 of those commonplace maxims, on which the 
 virtue and happiness of society depend — proud 
 and impetuous, and moving in a higher orbit 
 of vision than the teeming population of this 
 
 Low diurnal sphere, 
 they set at defiance the good opinion of the 
 wise and the virtuous, even while they will 
 not disdain to receive the homage and the 
 applause of the baser sort, amongst whom 
 they spread the contagion of their evil prin- 
 ciples to a most awful extent. 
 
 To find such men sceptical on the great 
 doctrines of the Christian faith, and the 
 avowed enemies of all its sacred institutions, 
 is rather consoling than surprising, as we 
 should necessarily form a very mean opinion 
 of the beneficial tendency of a system of reli- 
 gion which such men would venture to 
 advocate. 
 
 But it may be asked, and fairly asked, why 
 they do not leave the religion which they yet 
 see reverenced and loved amongst us, alone ? 
 — Cannot they soar to eminence but on the 
 ruins of her altars ? Cannot they pass on to 
 nobler conquests, till they have spiked her 
 heavy artillery ? Cannot they become profane 
 in song, or humorous in wit, or musical in 
 numbers, but at the expense of her honour? 
 What is the motive which actuates them in 
 their reiterated efforts to lay waste the moral 
 province over which she still exercises a right- 
 ful sovereignty ? They feel a generous sym- 
 pathy for the souls she has deluded and en- 
 slaved J and hence appear as their liberators ! 
 
 Generous creatures ! and is this the manner in 
 which you express your sympathy for my woes, 
 by endeavouring to steal from me my hope of 
 endless happiness, for which you offer me in 
 exchange the cheerless doom of annihilation ? 
 Generous creatures ! and is this the maflner in 
 which you express your sympathy for me, 
 when suffering under the common ills of life 
 by endeavouring to destroy my belief in an 
 overruling Providence, that I may be left as a 
 defenceless orphan, amidst the tumultuous 
 scenes of the world, without having the up- 
 holding presence of my father who is in 
 Heaven? No; if you had a spark of gene- 
 rosity in your callous breasts, you would not 
 dare to disturb my mind when at ease in her 
 possessions : you would leave me reposing 
 myself under the shadow of my faith, without 
 
 annoying me, even though you believed that I 
 was regaling myself with the visions of fancy, 
 because it is not in your power to open before 
 me such a fine scene of bliss. 
 
 Instead of attributing their unceasing efforts 
 to destroy the faith of Christians to such a 
 motive, we may regard it as taking its rise in 
 that ruthless depravity of moral principle, 
 which is endeavouring to hasten on a universal 
 corruption of social manners ; and it must be 
 confessed, that, notwithstanding the counter- 
 actions which have been supplied to the opera- 
 tion of their sentiments, they have not laboured 
 altogether in vain. 
 
 But these men have a sensitive regard for 
 their own honour ; and, as by a joint con- 
 federacy, become alternately the apologists and 
 the defenders of each other's conduct — their 
 excess of modesty not suffering them to speak 
 in their own defence, unless they impiously 
 make God the author of their sins. Hence 
 one of the biographers of Burns says, "The 
 child of nature, the child of sensibility, un- 
 broke to the refrigerative precepts of philoso- 
 phy, untaught always to vanquish the passions 
 which were the only sources of his frequent 
 errors. Burns makes his own artless apology 
 in terms more forcible than all the argumenta- 
 tory vindications in the world could do, in one 
 of his poems, where he delineates with his 
 usual simplicity the progress of his mind, and 
 its first expansion to the lessons of the tutelary 
 muse : — 
 
 I saw thy pulse's maddening play. 
 Wild send thee pleasure's devious way, 
 Misled by fancy's meteor ray. 
 
 By passion driven ; 
 But yet the light that led astray 
 
 Was light from Heaven. 
 
 If this were a sentiment held exclusively by 
 the late bard of Scotland, I should not have 
 been at the trouble of transcribing the lines in 
 which it is expressed ; but as it is becoming a 
 popular opinion, and so dangerous in its moral 
 influence and consequences, I cannot let it pass 
 without offering some remarks on it. If that 
 great Being who created the intellectual powers 
 of man created his vicious propensities, then 
 man becomes an object of pity, but not of 
 blame. To what a frightful extent will this 
 doctrine carry us. We see the fell murderer 
 embruing his hand in the blood of his brother's 
 life ! We see the spoiler of domestic happi- 
 ness coming up, and laying waste every safe- 
 guard which has been thrown around our 
 virtue and our honour ! We see the midnight 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 675 
 
 plunderer bearing off our property,. after he has 
 abused and insuhed our persons ! But when 
 arraigned and accused of these crimes, would 
 an honest jury acquit them, if they were to 
 offer as an apology the apology which a de- 
 praved genius, and his impassioned admirers, 
 think admissible. 
 
 Misled by fancy's meteor ray. 
 
 By passion driven ; 
 But yet the light that led astray 
 
 Was light from Heaven. 
 
 No ! And can our mighty chiefs in intellect 
 prove that they possess a prescriptive right to 
 release themselves from the responsibility of 
 their crimes, by making God the author of 
 them? Ere they can do this by plain and 
 conclusive evidence, they stand amenable, not 
 only to a higher tribunal, but to the tribunal 
 of public opinion, for the foul vices that stain 
 their reputation , and ought not to complain 
 when we speak of the Byrons, the Sheridans, 
 the sceptics of the past and the present age, in 
 such terms as are at once descriptive of their 
 vices and the just abhorrence which they have 
 excited in our breasts. Such men, by being 
 entrusted with superior abilities, ought to have 
 employed them for the moral benefit of man- 
 kind, in a degree and to an extent equal to 
 their capabilities and opportunities, and the 
 responsibility which they were under to Him 
 who requires much where much has been 
 given ; but having, like the author of all evil, 
 failed to maintain the high elevation of their 
 dignity, and prostituted their talents to offend 
 God and corrupt man, our admiration for their 
 genius is lost amidst those more righteous 
 emotions which a recollection of their sad 
 history excites within us ; and while we cannot 
 forbear to pity, we cannot forbear to condemn. 
 
 " The wickedness of a loose or profane 
 author," says our great moralist, "is more 
 atrocious than that of the giddy libertine or 
 dranken ravisher, not only because it extends 
 its effects wider, as a pestilence that taints the 
 air is more destructive than poison infused into a 
 draught, but because it is committed with cool 
 deliberation. By the instantaneous violence 
 of desire a good man may sometimes be sur- 
 prised before reflection can come to his rescue ; 
 when the appetites have strengthened their 
 influence by habit, they are not easily resisted 
 or suppressed ; but, for the frigid villany of 
 studious lewdness, for the calm malignity of 
 laboured impiety, what apology can be in- 
 vented ? What punishment can be adequate 
 to the crime of him who retires to solitude for 
 
 the refinement of debauchery ; who tortures 
 his fancy and ransacks his memory, only that 
 he may leave the world less virtuous than he 
 found it, that he may intercept the hopes of 
 the rising generation, and spread snares for the 
 soul with more dexterity ? 
 
 "What were their motives or what their 
 excuses, is below the dignity of reason to 
 examine. If, having extinguished in them- 
 selves the distinction of right and wrong, they 
 were insensible of the mischief which they 
 promoted, they deserved to be hunted down 
 by the general compact, as no longer par- 
 taking of social nature ? if, influenced by the 
 corruption of patrons or readers, they sacrificed 
 their own convictions to vanity or interest, 
 they were to be abhorred with more acrimony 
 than he that murders for pay, since they com- 
 mitted greater crimes without greater tempta- 
 tions. 
 
 *' * Of him to whom much is given, much 
 shall be required.' Those whom God has 
 favoured with superior faculties, and made 
 eminent for quickness of intuition and accuracy 
 of distinctions, will certainly be regarded as 
 culpable in his eye for defects and deviations 
 which, in souls less enlightened, may be guilt- 
 less. But, surely, none can think without 
 horror on that man's condition, who has been 
 more wicked in proportion as he had more 
 means of excelling in virtue, and used the 
 light imparted from heaven only to embellish 
 folly and shed lustre on crimes," 
 
 These men, who, while living among us, treat 
 with insufferable contempt or cool disdain the 
 revelation of mercy which announces life and 
 immortality, and who are lauded by their con- 
 temporaries for having emancipated themselves 
 from the dominion of the popular superstition, 
 are no sooner dead than they are placed by 
 their biographers near the throne of the 
 Eternal, decorated with unfading crowns of 
 immortality. Now, to say the least of this 
 common practice, it is a gratuitous assumption, 
 because they cannot prove that there is a future 
 state of being for man, but from the authority 
 of the Scriptures ; and if this authority be 
 admitted in favour of the existence of a futiu-e 
 state of being, it must be admitted in reference 
 to the moral character of those who will after 
 death enjoy it. 
 
 And what say the Scriptures? "Know ye 
 not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the 
 kingdom of God ? Be not deceived ; neither 
 fornicators, nor idolators, nor adulterers, nor 
 effeminate, nor abusers of thanselves with 
 
676 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 mankind, nor thieves, nor covetous, nor 
 drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall 
 inherit the kingdom of God." — i Cor, vi. 9, 10. 
 And has not Jesus Christ left the following 
 declaration on record, which is no less appli- 
 cable to the sceptics of Britain than those of 
 Judoea? — " He that believeth on the Son hath 
 everlasting life ; and he that believeth not the 
 Son, shall not see life ; but the wrath of God 
 abideth on him."— John iii. 36. But will you 
 consign to a state of future misery the mighty 
 men who have shed such a halo of glory around 
 our national character ? Relentless bigotry ! 
 base-born cruelty ! more fierce and savage than 
 papal priestcraft, which, after all its intolerance, 
 allows the light of mercy to illumine the egress 
 of purgatory. What ! consign our most popular 
 senators and poets, who have contributed so 
 much to the honour, the improvement, and the 
 gratification of their country, to endless woe, 
 because a few dark spots were visible on the 
 disk of their moral character ? Off, ye saints ! 
 ye strainers at gnats and swallowers of camels ! 
 ye immolators of the charity that hopeth all 
 things and believeth all things, on the altars 
 of your intolerance ! ye moody writers who 
 viTould call up the spirit of the iron age of 
 barbarous ferocity, to regulate the manners of 
 the present times ! ye fanatics, who would 
 extend your anathema beyond the grave, and 
 visit the frailties of humanity with the vengeance 
 of eternal fire ! " 
 
 This is the language which our depraved 
 and licentious writers employ as an advance 
 guard, to keep all still, when they are com- 
 pelled to enter the dark valley of the shadow 
 of death ; and to protect their claims to the 
 honours of immortality, if they should ever 
 be disputed. But as it breathes more passion 
 than reason, assumes what it cannot prove, 
 and labours under the fatal disadvantage of 
 being opposed to the awful declarations of 
 Holy Writ, it merely serves to convince us 
 that a spirit of delusion has come over them, 
 leaving them no less ignorant of the nature and 
 design of Christianity, than hostile to its spirit 
 and requirements, allowing them to fit them- 
 selves for that distinction, which they unjustly 
 accuse us of wishing to consummate. No. 
 We consign no one to future misery ; but as 
 we are no sceptics, we believe on an authority 
 which scepticism may impeach, but cannot 
 rebut or weaken, that when we pass into the 
 eternal world, the voice of the Almighty will 
 cay of each separate denomination of human 
 character, ** He that is unjust, let him be 
 
 unjust still ; and he which is filthy, let him be 
 filthy still ; and he that is righteous, let him 
 be righteous still ; and he that is holy, let him 
 be holy still." — Rev. xxii. ii. And dare we 
 imagine, after reading such a decision, that 
 the profane and impure will be suffered to 
 mingle in the heavenly world with the righteous 
 and holy? If so, what arguments can we 
 assign against Satan's elevation to the throne 
 of celestial honour — having as his immediate 
 attendants and devotees those who when on 
 earth consecrated the energy and activity of 
 their minds to aid him in his triumphs over 
 the virtue and happiness of man, and the 
 sovereignty and dominion of God. Such an 
 imagination may be indulged under the wane 
 of the Crescent, but not under the noonday 
 splendour of the Cross, unless we suppose that 
 Jesus Christ came, not to destroy the works of 
 the devil, but to assist him to regain possession 
 of the inheritance of glory from which he is 
 for ever expelled. — Evangelist, 
 
 VICES, Give no Quarter to. 
 
 Give no quarter unto those vices which are 
 of thine inward family, and having a root in 
 thy temper plead a right and propriety in thee. 
 Examine well thy complexional inclinations. 
 Raise early batteries against those strongholds, 
 built upon the rock of nature, and make this a 
 great part of the militia of thy life. The politic 
 nature of vice must be opposed by policy, and 
 therefore wiser honesties project and plot 
 against sin ; wherein, notwithstanding, we are 
 not to rest in generals, or the trite stratagems 
 of art. That may succeed with one temper 
 which may prove successless with another. 
 There is no community or commonwealth of 
 virtue, every man must study his own economy, 
 and erect these rules unto the figure of himself. 
 Sir Thomas Browit. 
 
 VICIOUS, Reject the. 
 
 Reject the society of the vicious ; shun the 
 agreeable infidel and the accomplished pro- 
 fligate. Lay it down as a fixed rule, that no 
 brilliancy of connection, no allurement of rank 
 or fashion, no agreeableness, no wit or flattery, 
 shall tempt you to associate with profligate or 
 openly irreligious men. Make this an absolute 
 rule. It is impossible not to suffer by its neg- 
 lect. If you do not fall into their vices, still 
 your heart will be estranged from the love of 
 God. — Gresley. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 677 
 
 VICISSITUDE. 
 
 When we see the year in his prime and pride, 
 decked with beautiful blossoms and all goodly 
 varieties of flowers, cheered with the music of 
 birds, and stated in a sweet and moderate tem- 
 per of heat and cold, how glad we are that we 
 have made so good an exchange for a hard and 
 chilling winter, and how ready we could be 
 to wish that this pleasant and happy season 
 might last all the year long ! But herein, 
 were our desires satisfied, we should wish to 
 our own great disadvantage ; for if the spring 
 were not followed with an intention of sum- 
 mer's heat, those fruits, whose hopes we see in 
 the bud and flower, could never come to any 
 perfection ; and even that succeeding fervour, 
 if it should continue long, would be no less 
 prejudicial to the health and life of all crea- 
 tures ; and if there were not a relaxation of 
 that vigorous heat in autumn, so as the sap 
 returns back into the root, we could never look 
 to see but one year's fruit. And thus also it is 
 spiritually ; if our prosperity were not inter- 
 mixed with vicissitudes of crosses, and if the 
 lively beams of grace were not sometimes inter- 
 changed with cold desertions, we should never 
 know what belongs to spiritual life. "What 
 should we do, then, but be both patient of and 
 thankful for our changes, and make no account 
 of any constancy till we attain to the region of 
 rest and blessedness ? — Bishop Hall. 
 
 VIGIL, The. 
 
 'TwAS thine, Maria, thine, without a sigh, 
 At midnight in a sister's arms to die ; 
 Oh' ! thou wert lovely — lovely was thy frame. 
 And pure thy spirit as from Heaven it came ! 
 
 Rogers. 
 
 Thou art sleeping in beauty ; and who would 
 
 deem 
 That thy rest was aught but a passing dream. 
 That that pallid brow, and that half-closed 
 
 eye, 
 Would waken again when the day draws nigh ? 
 
 Midnight is around us, with many a star. 
 While slumber is spreading her empire far ; 
 Yet in silence still we look and weep. 
 And a holier watch o'er thy slumbers keep. 
 
 But if thus it be, and that Death should come. 
 To dim thy lamp at the hour of gloom. 
 It were vain to sigh, and to weep, that thou 
 Like a dream art gone from this world below. 
 
 At this silent hour there is hope above, 
 
 In the lights that shine from the realms of 
 
 love ! 
 As they joy'd to hail, from their realms divine, 
 A spirit so calm and so pure as thine ! 
 
 But that hour has past, and the night is spent. 
 There is joy in the brightening firmament ! 
 But thine earthly morn it is past and o'er, — 
 Thou art wakening now on a brighter shore ! 
 
 In a blissful land, where no shade or gloom 
 Bring a thought of death, or the silent tomb. 
 Where the free-wing'd spirits in beauty dwell, 
 There is now thy home — Farewell ! Farewell ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 VIGILANCE of the Soiil. 
 
 True faith, such a faith as approves itself to 
 Christ, is a lively, active principle ; producing 
 its fruits in the disposition of the soul, and in 
 the life and actions. Let us not, then, risk 
 our salvation upon a bold presumptuous faith 
 in Christ, without endeavouring after holiness, 
 or imagine that the robe of His righteousness 
 will cover our sins and iniquities, unless we 
 abhor and forsake them. True faith must 
 work by love, in keeping the commandments 
 of Christ, whom, if we love, we shall obey. 
 Nor is this establishing a legal righteousness 
 or self-justification, and trusting in ourselves 
 instead of Christ ; but it is receiving the Gospel, 
 as the blessed Author hath himself published 
 it, and according to what He hath thus laid 
 down : "Many will say unto me in that day, 
 Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy 
 name ; and in thy name cast out devils ; and 
 in thy name done many wonderful works ? and 
 then will I profess unto them, I never knew 
 you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity. " — 
 71 Townson. 
 
 VILLAGE Church, The. 
 
 It stands within a solitary vale 
 Shadowed by ancient trees, which year on year 
 Still live — as relics Time and Death revere — 
 Unhurt by lightning's scathe, by winter gale : 
 Around each low, calm grave the wild flower 
 
 pale, 
 Like pity, bends with many a balmy tear ; 
 There, too, pride's 'scutcheoned monuments 
 
 appear, 
 With high ancestral name and lofty tale ! 
 Dull is the mind — oh, more than cold the 
 
 breast 
 
678 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 That lonely village church may not incline 
 To deep and holy musings — from its rest 
 A warning spirit speaks with voice divine : 
 Pass thou few days — few months perhaps at 
 
 best— 
 A shroud — a grave — an epitaph is thine ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 VILLAIN, his Eyes. 
 Which is the villain ? Let me see his eyes, 
 That when I note another man like him, 
 I may avoid Ixmi. Shakespeare. 
 
 VIOLETS, Emblems of Love's Paradise. 
 
 Sweet violets. Love's paradise, that spread 
 Your gracious odours, which you couched 
 bear 
 Within your palie faces. 
 Upon the gentle wing of some calm-breathing 
 wind, 
 That plays amidst the plain, 
 If by the favour of propitious stars you gain 
 Such grace as in my ladle's bosom place to 
 find, 
 Be proud to touch those places ! 
 And when her warmth your moisture forth 
 
 doth wear. 
 Whereby her dainty parts are sweetly fed. 
 Your honours of the flowrie meads I pray. 
 
 You pretty daughters of the earth and sun, 
 With mild and sweetly breathing straight 
 display 
 My bitter sighs, that have my heart un- 
 done ! Ralejph. 
 
 VIOLETS, ApriL 
 
 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. 
 Take 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 me 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 too idle, but the young 
 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. 
 
 VIRGIN, Likened to a Rose. 
 Like to the rose I count the virgin pure. 
 That grow'th on native stem in garden faire, 
 Which while it stands with walls environed 
 
 sure, 
 Where herdsmen with their herds cannot 
 
 repaire 
 To favor it, it seemeth to allure 
 The morning dewe, the heate, the earthe, the 
 
 aire : 
 Young gallant men, and lovely dames, delight 
 In their sweet scent, and in their pleasing 
 
 sight. 
 But when at once 'tis gathered and gone. 
 From proper stalke, where late before it grew, 
 The love, the liking little is or none ; 
 Both favor, grace, and beautie, all adieu ! 
 
 Harrington. 
 
 VIRTUE, 
 An Assemblage of High Qualifications. 
 What we ought to understand by the 
 term virtue is the complete assemblage of 
 every virtuous qualification ; for, as a royal 
 diadem admits only, in the circle of ornaments 
 that compose it, diamonds and tlie most pre- 
 cious stones, so the word virtue implies the 
 union of all that is virtuous. Take away a 
 single attribute, and you destroy the whole ; 
 it is no longer virtue that remans. — St. 
 Ephraim. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 679 
 
 VIRTUE doth not Extirpate Affection. 
 It is not the business of virtue to extirpate 
 the affections of the mind, but to regulate 
 them. It may moderate and restrain, but was 
 not designed to banish gladness from the heart 
 of man. Religion contracts the circle of our 
 pleasures, but leaves it wide enough for her 
 votaries to expatiate in. The contemplation 
 of the Divine being, and the exercise of virtue, 
 are in their own nature so far from excluding 
 all gladness of heart, and they are perpetual 
 sources of it. In a word, the true spirit of 
 religion cheers as well as composes the soul : 
 it banishes indeed all levity of behaviour, all 
 vicious and dissolute mirth ; but in exchange, 
 fills the mind with a perpetual serenity, unin- 
 terrupted cheerfulness, and an habitual inclina- 
 lion to please others, as well as to be pleased 
 in itself. — Addisojt. 
 
 VIRTUE must be Habitually Active. 
 Virtue must be formed and supported, not 
 by unfrequent acts, but by daily and repeated 
 exertions. In order to its becoming either 
 vigorous or useful, it must be habitually active; 
 not breaking forth occasionally with a transient 
 lustre, like the blaze of a comet ; but regular 
 in its returns, like the light of day : not like 
 the aromatic gale, which sometimes feasts the 
 sense ; but like the ordinaiy breeze, which 
 purifies the air, and renders it healthful. — 
 Blair. 
 
 VIRTUE, 
 Not Virtue for Mere Reputation. 
 We must not love virtue for the bare sake of 
 reputation and human esteem. To do good, 
 purely to be gazed at, and talked of, and ap- 
 plauded, this was the character of the Pharisees, 
 whose vices were real, and whose virtues were 
 imaginary; but had their virtues been as real as 
 their vices, this poor view and narrow purpose 
 would have spoilt them all ; and they could 
 only expect their reward where they sought it 
 — that is, from men. — Jortin. 
 
 VIRTUE Shmes wlien all is Dark. 
 
 Thus humble Virtue oft may dim appear, 
 When gaudy Fortune spreads her dazzling 
 
 sheen ; 
 But in the gloom of drear affliction's night, 
 While all is dark around, she shines in native 
 
 light. Rev. 7. Black. 
 
 VIRTUE, The Love of. 
 The question, ** What is Virtue?" has pro- 
 duced much learned and acute discussion. 
 Different opinions are given of its nature and 
 origin— the foundation on which it rests — the 
 motives which prompt — the measures and rules 
 which ascertain and direct it. I shall not 
 attempt to sift and investigate the notions and 
 theories which ingenious men have brought 
 forward on this momentous subject ; my en- 
 deavours to reconcile jarring sentiments would 
 most probably fail, as those of others have 
 uniformly done. One thing, however, must 
 be conceded : viz. , that the peerless excellence 
 of virtue is unanimously granted. Hence we 
 find the Pagan, Jew, Infidel, and Christian 
 quite agree. We gather from the universal 
 consent of mankind that virtue raises the mind 
 above mean and sinister ends, regulates the 
 propensities and movements of the heart, re- 
 presses wrong, outrage, and sensuality in every 
 form, and maintains justice, truth, chastity, 
 and temperance ; that its influence links fami- 
 lies and communities — polishing the savage, 
 preserving the civilized, pervading and blessing 
 the whole moral world. If we may take theii 
 word for it, all ardently love Virtue, and lavish 
 upon her (I must now, according to custom, 
 personify) the warmest language of commen- 
 dation and praise. There is, indeed, a differ- 
 ence as to the motives and degrees of this 
 affection, and the ways in which it is mani- 
 fested. Some love her purely for her own 
 sake ; some are smitten with her matchless 
 beauty, and the splendid ornaments of her 
 dress and equipage ; and others are moved by 
 the rich dowry she brings, the honour and 
 happiness she so munificently confers. Why 
 should variety, which so much pleases us in 
 matter, offend us in mind ? 
 
 Philosophers, generally fond of abstraction, 
 profess their attachment to Virtue, irrespective 
 of any advantages she can bestow. They dis- 
 dain the idea of interest, and repel the slightest 
 imputation of enthusiastic feeling ; reason 
 guides their speculations, cool impartial reason . 
 fi.xes their preference. Poets are, and always 
 have been, enamoured with the exquisite and 
 overpowering beauty of Virtue. They paint 
 her, perfume her, dress her in spotless robes, 
 enthrone her in mild majesty, make the Graces 
 dance before her, and the Muses follow her 
 steps with songs of praise . Merchants, trades- 
 men, artificers, and the whole proianuni vill- 
 ous, being accustomed to calculate, usually 
 dwell on the dowry which Virtue brings. Why, 
 
68o 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 say these, should good in a palpable shape, in 
 a productive fund, be fastidiously rejected and 
 despised ? 
 
 After listening to sages and poets, orators and 
 statesmen, legislators and divines, we might 
 confidently conclude that Virtue was a universal 
 favourite. Genius, learning, taste, affluence, 
 and power, have combined to magnify and 
 extol her ; and yet, when we look into the 
 world, it is impossible not to suspect much 
 insincerity in all this. On the topic here treated, 
 we behold no correspondence between the 
 words and deeds of men. It should seem as 
 if Virtue had more admirers than friends, more 
 homage than affection ; as if many thought it 
 enough to eulogize her beauty, without yielding 
 to her authority. There is, in fact, little truth 
 in the world, and flattery and deceit are found 
 where they might least be expected. The 
 instance here given furnishes clear and satis- 
 factory evidence of this assertion j for, as 
 Cowper has said. 
 
 Virtue, indeed, finds many a rhyming friend. 
 And many a compliment politely penn'd. 
 
 What, I ask, are those smooth and hollow 
 compliments really worth, which come from 
 the slaves of unhallowed ambition, grasping 
 avarice, and unbridled lust? What value is 
 there in Parnassian garlands, when deadly ser- 
 pents are hid under the blooming flowers ? 
 Professed attachment, without adequate proofs 
 to evince its sincerity, creates— and no wonder ! 
 — indignation and disgust. Can they possibly 
 love Virtue, who refuse to live with her, or 
 listen to her voice, or obey her commands? 
 Let the credulous Jews believe it. 
 
 Go to the college famed for talent, learning, 
 and science. Is the love of Virtue there? 
 What fishing and hunting for church benefices 
 — straining at gnats and swallowing camels — 
 subscribing creeds without faith, and serving 
 God without conscience ? Go to the court and 
 the senate, the seat of legislative dignity and 
 wisdom. Is the love of Virtue there ? It is 
 true, we find the patriot agonized with grief 
 for the sufferings of the people, and fired with 
 the highest indignation at the corruption and 
 abuses of the state. For a while, he hurls his 
 thunders against every public delinquent, till 
 opportunity offers some golden preferment, 
 and then he becomes a soft and smiling place- 
 man, and sings at his ease — 
 
 Undisappointed in designs, 
 With native honour Virtue shines ; 
 Nor takes up power, nor lays it down, 
 As giddy rabble smile or frown. 
 
 Go to the gay resort of fashion and elegance, 
 the focus of beauty, wit, and refinement. Is- 
 the love of Virtue there ? What ! heard in the 
 honeyed lisping accents of that artful seducer,, 
 who throws out the lure of fine sentiment, till 
 he has ensnared and ruined his hapless victim ? 
 or seen in the haggard infernal looks of those 
 wretches who surround the gaming-table, while 
 their property and peace hang and vibrate on 
 the pivot of chance? Go to the crowded 
 mart of traffic and commerce. Is the love of 
 Virtue there ? Experience will reply Alas f 
 no love is found there, but the love of 
 money — the root of all evil. Virtue, at some 
 rare intervals, when calculation is suspended, 
 may get possession of the tongue, but Mammon 
 still holds the undivided empire of the heart. 
 
 And now, reader, I shall forbear to send 
 you to the ball-room, the theatre, the race- 
 ground, the pugilistic ring, or the drinking 
 club, upon such a fruitless search, lest you 
 should think I design to insult your under- 
 standing. Could Virtue teach the art of paying 
 debts of honour, with as much facility as debts, 
 of justice ; or could she work miracles, and 
 repair broken fortunes and broken constitu- 
 tions ; or could she reconcile contradictions^ 
 and give the rewards of temperance and active 
 enterprise to luxury and sloth ; or could she 
 effect impossibilities, and either check the- 
 approach of death, or extinguish the dread and 
 the thought of eternity ; — she would stand a 
 better chance of having sincere votaries. But 
 while she tells them what they wish not to hear, 
 shows them what they wish not to see, and 
 enjoins what they choose not to do ; the gay, 
 voluptuous, vain, aspiring, covetous, and dis- 
 sipated, can never heartily love her on the 
 principle of distributive justice : is . it even to- 
 be expected? Virtue has done nothing for 
 them, whatever she has bestowed on others ; 
 and why, then, shall they make expensive 
 sacrifices to her ? If they praise her in general 
 terms, and, in return for sometimes borrowing 
 the credit of her name, burn a few grains of 
 incense at her shrine, on days of ceremony, 
 they deem it quite enough. 
 
 Ah ! methinks, reader, by this time you 
 begin to exclaim. The love of Virtue ! why, 
 positively, it is nowhere to be found, except 
 in the pages of poetry and romance, and some- 
 times in the lectures of philosophers and mo- 
 ralists. Let me hear no more of Virtue, for I 
 am sick of the theme. This feminine genius, 
 so often invoked, and so highly applauded, is 
 now numbered with the nine Muses ; or if there 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 68 1 
 
 ever was such a sovereign Virtue in the 
 world, she has long since completely lost both 
 her charms and her power. 
 
 Beware of running from one rash extreme to 
 another. And, laying aside personification 
 and poetry, if virtue be sympathy, benevolence, 
 or doing good to mankind in obedience to the 
 will of God, is not quite extinct. I will not 
 expatiate on the splendid benefactions which 
 cover and adorn our land, because the motives 
 which produced them may, in some cases, be 
 liable to strong suspicions. But though vanity 
 has».founded many a college, and many a hos- 
 pital, and many a range of alms-houses by the 
 road-side, it is virtue which instructs ignorance, 
 relieves want, visits sickness and sorrow, in 
 those dark, and obscure, and neglected places 
 where no monument of munificence attracts 
 the eye of the passing traveller. Virtue is 
 most loved where least talked of and extolled 
 — in the humble walks and gentle offices of 
 private life. Go to our Sunday-schools, and 
 you will find the love of virtue there. See 
 those teachers from week to week, from year 
 to year, patiently renewing their efforts to com- 
 municate divine instruction to the children of 
 the poor, without any other reward than the 
 pleasure of doing good. How many myriads 
 are by them furnished with the key of know- 
 ledge and the elements of religion, who would, 
 without their aid, have been left to wander in 
 the paths of darkness, ignorance, folly, and 
 vice. Go to those benevolent societies which 
 were instituted for the relief of age, misfortune, 
 and sickness. What is it that leads persons 
 possessed of every comfort and elegance at 
 home to enter hovels of filth and famine, both 
 in the dark lanes of the city and the retired 
 parts of the country ? It is the warm expansive 
 power of a principle, which sentimentalists are 
 eloquent to commend, but never carry into 
 operation. He that visits the fatherless and 
 the widows in their affliction, and keeps him- 
 self unspotted by the world, feels a love of 
 virtue which is elevated and enlarged, because 
 blended and combined with the love of God. — 
 Rustiacs, 
 
 VIRTUE 
 The Strength and Beauty of the Soul. 
 Virtue, the strength and beauty of the soul, 
 Is the best gift of Heaven : a happiness. 
 That e'en above the smiles and frowns of fate 
 Exalts great Nature's favourites ; a wealth 
 That ne'er encumbers, nor can be transferred. 
 
 Riches are oft by guilt and baseness earned ; 
 Or dealt by chance, to shield a lucky knave. 
 Or throw a cruel sunshine on a fool. 
 But for one end, one much neglected use. 
 Are riches worth your care : for Nature's wants 
 Are few, and without opulence supplied. 
 This noble end is, to produce the soul ; 
 To show the virtues in their fairest light ; 
 To make humanity the minister 
 Of bounteous Providence ; and teach the breast 
 That generous luxury the Gods enjoy. 
 
 Dr. Armstrong. 
 
 VIRTUE to be Cultivated. 
 
 When we pray for any virtue, we should cul- 
 tivate the virtue as well as pray for it ; the 
 form of your prayers should be the rule of your 
 life ; every petition to God is a precept to man. 
 Look not, therefore, upon your prayers as a 
 short method of duty and salvation only, but 
 as a perpetual monition of duty : by what we 
 require of God we see what He requires of us ; 
 and if you want a system or collective body of 
 holy precepts, you need no more but your 
 prayer-books. — Jeremy Taylor. 
 
 VIRTUES, Great, 
 
 Exposed to Severe Trials. 
 
 I GRIEVE that great virtues are exposed to 
 such severe trials. Reason, religion, and time, 
 when they come to operate, do wonders — 
 such wonders as the sufferer, in the first attack 
 of sorrow, has no conception of. Yet one can- 
 not but lament that persons of the best sense 
 and most piety suffer more, perhaps, from the 
 first assaults of affliction than any others ; and 
 those who bear distress with the most dignity, 
 I am persuaded, feel it with the greatest in- 
 tenseness. This good family possess the only 
 consolation which can mitigate such distress — 
 a deep sense of the truth and efficacy of the 
 Christian religion ; yet I am going to say a. 
 bold thing — I never could observe that nature 
 suffered the less, because grace triumphed the 
 more. And hence arises (as I take it) the 
 glory of the Christian sufferer — he feels afflic- 
 tion more intensely than a bad man, or grace 
 would not have its perfect work ; as it would 
 not be difficult to subdue that which is not 
 difficult to endure. — Hannah More. 
 
682 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 VIRTUES versus Vices. 
 As in virtues, he that hath one, hath all : so in 
 vices, he that hath one, hath seldom one alone. 
 He that will steal must lie : and he that will 
 steal and lie, will swear his lie ; and so easily 
 screw himself up to perjury. He that will be 
 drunk, what will he not be when he is drunk ? 
 and being slipped down from the top of rea- 
 sonable sense, where stoppeth he from tum- 
 bling down into a beastly sensuality ? I will 
 therefore give the water no passage — no, not a 
 little, lest it make a breach, and that breach 
 let in an inundation to drown the sweet pas- 
 tures of my soul. I see the devil's claw is an 
 entering- wedge to let in his foot ; that foot his 
 whole body, I will be careful to set a watch 
 and keep the door, that sin may have no ad- 
 mittance. I cannot be too careful, so it be to 
 the purpose ; it cannot be to the purpose if it 
 be too little. — Arthur Wariuick. 
 
 VIRTUOUS Deeds, 
 A Worthy Inheritance. 
 
 I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind ; 
 And would my father had left me no more ; 
 For all the rest is held at such a rate 
 As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep 
 Than in possession any jot of pleasure. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 VOICE, A Tender. 
 
 Her voice is soft ; not shrill and like the 
 
 lark's, 
 But tenderer, — graver, — almost hoarse at 
 
 times,! 
 As though the earnestness of love prevailed, 
 And quelled all shriller music. 
 
 Barry Convwall. 
 
 VOID in the Heart. 
 
 There is a void in our hearts which we would 
 fain fill, and we seek to do it with the dust of 
 earth, instead of with the light of Heaven ; but 
 the only true wisdom is to give up these empty 
 dreams of how much better our lot or we our- 
 selves would be, if we had but some treasure 
 w hich we see or fancy another to possess. The 
 materials of misery lie in our own hearts ; so 
 do those of content and peace (I dare scarcely 
 use so bold a word as happiness, while I speak 
 of human feelings in this sin-stained world of 
 
 sorrow) ; and if we use the latter in the right 
 place, and the right way, namely, in consecra- 
 ting them to God rather than to ourselves, and 
 in seeking His will before our own, we shall 
 find that the restless, covetous ambition which 
 too often poisons our best moments, passes 
 from us as a forgotten shadow. Oh ! it is a 
 long and tedious lesson : doubly so in the 
 bright hours of youth ; for then, in spite of our 
 better reason, we look upon the paths that 
 others tread, and because we cannot discern 
 the same thorns which mark our own, we fancy 
 that they are easier and more sunny than we 
 find ours can ever be. Each man's lot seems 
 in some respect brighter than the one assigned 
 us ; each companion appears to have had his 
 dreams of hope less checked than those whose 
 broken relics we carry in our own bosoms ; 
 and so, instead of making the best of what we 
 have, and are, and filling up to the full the 
 measure appointed us, we idly dream of better 
 opportunities for happiness or good, and waste 
 our energies in coveting what is not our own. 
 — Truth "without Prejudice. 
 
 VOYAGE of Life, The. 
 
 The analogy between a voyage and man's life 
 has been frequently and beautifully noticed. 
 The principal moral of these allegorical allu- 
 sions centres in the uncertainty of everything 
 in this life, and that from the examples of the 
 vessel's getting safe into port, after being ex- 
 posed to the most imminent danger of sinking, 
 we should learn not to give up hope in adver- 
 sity ; but, invoking the Divine aid, use our 
 best endeavours to meliorate our condition : 
 on the other hand, that in a prosperous state 
 of things, we should not be too confident be- 
 cause we seem to have a favourable gale, a 
 placid sea, and the sun shining upon us ; for, 
 like the vessels which, after leaving port with 
 all these advantages, have been overtaken by 
 the tempest, and perished in the storm, the 
 advantages of birth, fortune, friends, and abili- 
 ties, may all prove insufficient. You may fail 
 in the most desirable and commendable pur- 
 suits in life, while others, wanting at their 
 outset all these advantages, may finally attain 
 the object of their pursuits : the one failing, 
 perhaps, through that negligence which arises 
 from too much confidence at the advantages 
 they possess ; the other succeeding, through 
 that diligence and circumspection which the 
 consciousness of the want of every other ad- 
 vantage naturally inspires. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 683 
 
 Remember, therefore, this advice : Never 
 let the advantages with which you may begin 
 life's voyage lull you into confidence and 
 negligence ; nor the want of them depress 
 your minds into hopelessness and inactivity ; 
 but, humble and moderate in prosperity, and 
 firm and patient in adversity, persevere in that 
 path which reason and justice point out, and 
 then despair not of reaching your desired 
 port. — Hamlain. 
 
 WAITING and Watching. 
 All the long summer did she live in hope 
 Of tidings from the war : and as at eve. 
 She with her mother at the cottage door 
 Sat in the sunshine, if a traveller 
 Appear'd at distance coming o'er the brow, 
 Her eye was on him, and it might be seen 
 By the flush'd cheek what thoughts were in 
 
 her heart. 
 And by the deadly paleness which ensued. 
 How her heart died within her. SoiUhey. 
 
 WAITING Impatiently. 
 
 Each went his way 
 Therewith, and I, the remnant of that day 
 Gained for the guest three men that I deemed 
 
 true. 
 And did such other things as I must do; 
 And still was ever listening for the chime. 
 Half maddened by the lazy lapse of time : 
 Yea, scarce indeed I thought that I should 
 
 live 
 Till the great tower the joyful sound should 
 
 give 
 That set us free. Wm. Morris. 
 
 WAITING in Faith. 
 
 The trying of your faith worketh, or causeth 
 patience ; but the faith of the devils will abide 
 no trying, for they will not work God's will 
 because they love him not And in like man- 
 ner is it of the faith of them that repent not, 
 or that think themselves without sin ; for ex- 
 cept a man feel out of what danger Christ hath 
 delivered him, he cannot love the work. — 
 Tytidale. 
 
 WAITING PatienUy. 
 
 Then from the altar back a space he drew. 
 But from the Queen turned not his face away. 
 But 'gainst a pillar leaned, until the blue 
 
 That arched the sky at ending of the day. 
 Was turned to ruddy cold and changing gray. 
 And clear, but low, the high-ebbed windless 
 
 sea 
 In the still evening murmured ceaselessly. 
 Wm, Morris. 
 
 WAITS, The. 
 
 We have seen "the latter end of a sea-coal 
 fire" — Dame Quickly's notion of the perfec- 
 tion of enjoyment. The snow lies hard upon 
 the ground — icy. The noise of the streets is 
 almost hushed, save that the cabman's whip is 
 occasionally heard urging his jaded horse over 
 the slippery causeway. We creep to bed, and, 
 looking out into the cold, as if to give us a 
 greater feeling of comfort in the warmth with- 
 in, see the gas-lights shining upon the bright 
 pavement, and perhaps give one sigh for poor 
 wTetched humanity as some shivering wanderer 
 creeps along to no home, or some one of the most 
 wretched nestle in a sheltering doorway, to be 
 questioned or disturbed by the inflexible police 
 watcher. It is long past midnight- We are 
 soon in our first sleep ; and the dream comes 
 which is to throw its veil over the realities of 
 the day-struggle through which we have 
 passed. The dream gradually slides into a 
 vague sense of delight. We lie in a pleasant 
 sunshine, by some gus'oing spring; or the 
 never-ceasing murmur of leafy woods is around 
 us ; or there is a harmony of birds in the air, 
 a chorus, and not a song : or some sound of 
 instrumental melody is • in the distance, some 
 faintly remembered air of our childhood that 
 comes unbidden into the mind, more lovely in 
 its indistinctness. Gradually the plash of 
 dripping waters, and the whispering of the 
 breeze among the leaves, and the song of birds, 
 and the hum of many instruments, blend into 
 one more definite harmony, and we recognize 
 the tune, which is familiar to us, — for we are 
 waking. And then we hear real music, soft 
 and distant ; and we listen, and the notes can 
 be followed ; and presently the sound is almost 
 under our \vindow ; and we fancy we never 
 heard sweeter strains ; and we recollect, dur- 
 ing these tender, and perhaps solemn chords, 
 the honeyed words, themselves music — 
 
 Soft stillness, and the night. 
 Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
 
 But anon interposes some discordant jig ; and 
 then we know that we have been awakened by 
 the Waits. 
 
684 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 In the times when minstrelsy was not quite 
 so much a matter of sixpences as in these 
 days, there were enthusiastic people who made 
 the watches of the night melodious, even 
 though snow was upon the ground ; and there 
 were good prosaic people who abused them 
 then as much as the poor Waits sometimes get 
 abused now. Those were the days of serena- 
 ders, and England, despite of its climate, was 
 once a serenading country. Old Alexander 
 Barclay, in his " Ship of Fools," published in 
 1508, describes to us "the vagabonds" whose 
 enormity is so great. 
 
 That by no means can they abide, ne dwell. 
 Within their houses, but out they need must 
 
 go; 
 More wildly wandering than either buck or 
 
 doe, — 
 Some with their harps, another with their 
 
 kte, 
 Another with his bagpipe, or a foolish flute. 
 
 But yet moreover these fools are so unwise, 
 
 That in cold winter they use the same mad- 
 ness ; 
 
 When all tl:e houses are lade with snow and 
 ice, 
 
 O, madmen, amased, unstable, and witless ; 
 
 What pleasure take you in this your foolish- 
 ness? 
 
 What joy have ye to wander thus by night, 
 
 Save that ill doers alway hate the light ? 
 
 The ** fools" had the uncommon folly to do 
 all this for nothing. But in a century the 
 aspect of things was changed. The "madmen " 
 divided themselves into sects — those who paid, 
 and those who received pay ; and the more 
 sensible class came to be called Waits — liter- 
 ally. Watchers. If we may judge from the 
 following passage in Beaumont and Fletcher 
 {The Captain^ act ii. sc. 2), the performances 
 of the unpaid were not entirely welcome to 
 delicate ears : — 
 
 Fab. The touch is excellent ; let's be atten- 
 tive. 
 Jac. Hark ! are the Waits abroad ? 
 Fab. Be softer, prithee ; 
 
 'Tis private music. 
 Jac. What a din it makes ! 
 
 I'd rather hear a Jew's trump than these 
 lutes ; 
 
 They cry like school-hoys. 
 
 The Waits, according to the same authority, 
 had their dwellings in the land of play-houses 
 and bear-gardens, and other nuisances of the 
 
 sober citizens ; and they were not more re- 
 markable than the "private music" for the 
 charms of their serenadings : — 
 
 " Citizen. Ay, Ned, but this is scurvy 
 music ! I think he has got me the Waits of 
 Southwark." 
 
 The Waits had, however, been long before a 
 part of city pageantry. But as the age grew 
 more literal and mechanical — as music went 
 out with poetry, when the cultivation of what 
 was somewhat too emphatically called the use- 
 ful became the fashion, — the Waits lost their 
 metropolitan honours and abiding-place ; and 
 came at last to be only heard at Christmas. 
 They retired into the country. The last trace 
 we can find of them, as folks for all weathers^ 
 is at Nottingham, in 1710. The "Tatler" 
 (No. 222) thus writes : — 
 
 " Whereas, by letters from Nottingham, we 
 have advice that the young ladies of that place 
 complain for want of sleep by reason of cer- 
 tain riotous lovers, who for this last summer 
 have very much infested the streets of that 
 eminent city with violins and bass-viols, be- 
 tween the hours of twelve and four in the 
 morning." Isaac Bickerstaff adds that the 
 same evil has been complained of "in most of 
 the polite towns of this island." The cause 
 of the nuisance he ascribes to the influence of 
 the tender passion. " For as the custom pre- 
 vails at present, there is scarce a young man 
 of any fashion in a corporation who does not 
 make love with the town music. The Waits 
 often help him through his courtship." The 
 censor concludes, "that a man might as well 
 serenade in Greenland as in our region." But 
 he gives a more sensible reason for the actual 
 decay of serenading, and its unsuitableness to 
 England. " In Italy," he says, "nothing is 
 more frequent than to hear a cobbler working 
 to an opera tune ; but, on the contrary, our 
 honest countrymen have so little an inclina- 
 tion to music that they seldom begin to sing 
 till they are drunk." It is strange that a cen- 
 tury should have made such a difference in the 
 manners of England. In Elizabeth's reign we 
 were a musical people ; in Anne's a drunken 
 people. Moralists and legislators had chased 
 away the lute, but they left the gin ; and so 
 madrigals were thrust out by tipsy derry- 
 downs, and the serenader became a midnight 
 bully. 
 
 The Waits are a relic of the old musical 
 times of England ; and let us cherish them, as 
 the frosted bud of a beautiful flower that has 
 yet life in it. — Anon. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 685 
 
 WAITING, 
 
 The True Posture of the Christian. 
 
 The posture of all Christians is the same — 
 *'a patient waiting for Christ ;" not the wait- 
 ing of criminals, trembling at the arrival of 
 their judge ; but of faithful servants, looking 
 for their Lord's return, and only anxious that 
 when He shall come, they may be "found 
 watching. " This hope is to lighten every duty, 
 and sweeten every trial. This hope is to ani- 
 mate their zeal, to encourage their labours, to 
 comfort their afflictions, to cheer their self- 
 denial, to carry them above "the world and 
 the things that are in the world." They are 
 *'to deny ungodliness and worldly lusts, and 
 to live righteously, soberly, and godly : look- 
 ing for that blessed hope, and the glorious 
 appearing of the great God and our Saviour 
 Jesus Christ. — Bp. J. B. Sumner. 
 
 WAKENING, The. 
 
 How many thousands are wakening now ! 
 Some to the songs from the forest-bough, 
 To the rustling of leaves at the lattice-pane, 
 To the chiming fall of the early rain. 
 And some, far out on the deep mid-sea, 
 To the dash of the waves in their foaming glee, 
 As they break into spray on the ship's tall side. 
 That holds through the tumult her path of 
 
 pride. 
 And some — oh ! well may their hearts rejoice — 
 To the gentle sound of a mother's voice ; 
 Long shall they yearn for that kindly tone. 
 When from the board and the earth 'tis gone. 
 And some in the camp, to the bugle's breath. 
 And the tramp of the steed on the echoing 
 
 heath, 
 And the sudden roar of the hostile gun. 
 Which tells that a field must ere night be won. 
 And some, in the gloomy convict-cell. 
 To the dull deep note of the warning-bell, 
 As it heavily calls them forth to die. 
 While the bright sun mounts in the laughing 
 
 sky. 
 And some to the peal of the hunter's horn. 
 And some to the sounds from the city borne ; 
 And some to the rolling of torrent- floods. 
 Far 'midst old mountains and solemn woods. 
 So are we roused on this chequered earth, 
 Each unto light hath a daily birth. 
 Though fearful or joyous, though sad or sweet. 
 Be the voices which first our upspringing meet. 
 
 But One must the sound be, and One the call. 
 Which from the dust shall awake us all ! 
 One, though to severed and distant dooms — 
 How shall the sleepers arise from their tombs ? 
 
 Hemans. 
 
 WALK, Effective. 
 
 That a walk must be in the open air to be pro- 
 perly effective as a walk, surely does not need 
 any enforcement, or if it does, I have written 
 about air in vain. Not then to repeat myself, 
 I may here be permitted to recur to the book 
 from which I took my first extract for the pre- 
 sent paper. ** The union (says our * physician'), 
 of vigorous exercise and pure air is the grand 
 secret for the acquisition of strength, diet itself 
 seems to be but a secondary consideration, pro- 
 vided the quantity of food is small. The neces- 
 sity of pure air is uniformly insisted on in 
 every kind of training. The more man is in 
 the open air, the firmer his flesh becomes ; and 
 trained persons soon learn almost to disregard 
 the weather, only they must change their 
 clothes if wet. Among the ancients, to be 
 exercised in a pure salubrious air was deemed 
 of essential importance. The principal schools 
 of the Roman athletoe, accordingly, established 
 at Capua and Ravenna, were places the air of 
 which was reckoned the most pure and healthy 
 of any in Italy. They carried on their exercises 
 in the open air, in all sorts of weather, the 
 changes of which soon ceased to affect them. 
 Under training for health (our author adds), it 
 is indispensable to breathe the open air for four 
 hours a-day at least — and this cannot be well 
 or properly done without being, during the 
 exposure, in constant or nearly constant ex- 
 ercise. " — Wakley. 
 
 WALKING in Christ. 
 
 *' Thy will be done ! " And is't not ever done ? 
 But, as in heaven, it must be made our own. 
 His will must all our inclinations sway. 
 Whom nature and the universe obey. 
 Happy the man, whose longings are confined 
 To what has been eternally designed ; 
 Referring all to His paternal care. 
 To whom more dear than to ourselves we are. 
 
 Waller. 
 
 WANT, versus Excess. 
 
 As there is a misery in want, so there is a 
 danger in excess. I would therefore desire 
 
686 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 neither more nor less, than enough. I may as 
 well die of a surfeit as of hunger. — Arthtir 
 Warwick. 
 
 WAR. 
 It is entrancingly pleasant to the imagination; 
 the facts of it not always so pleasant. We 
 dress for it, however, more finely than for any 
 other sport ; and go out to it, not merely in 
 scarlet, as \.q hunt, but in scarlet and gold, and 
 all manner of fine colours : of course we could 
 fight better in gray, and without feathers ; but 
 all nations have agreed that it is good to be 
 well-dressed at this play. Then the bats and 
 balls are very costly ; our English and French 
 bats, with the balls and wickets, even those 
 which we do not make any use of, costing, I 
 suppose, now about fifteen millions of money 
 annually to each nation ; all which you know 
 is paid for by hard labourer's work in the fur- 
 row and furnace. A costly game ! — not to 
 speak of its consequences ; I will say at present 
 nothing of these. The mere immediate cost 
 of all these plays is what I want you to consi- 
 der ; they all cost deadly work somewhere, as 
 many of us know too well. The jewel-cutter 
 whose light fails over the diamonds ; the wea- 
 ver, whose arm fails over the web ; the iron- 
 forger, whose breath fails before the furnace — 
 they know what work is — they, who have all 
 the work and none of the play, except a kind 
 they have named for themselves down in the 
 black north country, where "play" means 
 being laid up by sickness. It is a pretty ex- 
 ample for philologists, of varying dialect, this 
 change in the sense of the word "play," as 
 used in the black country of Birmingham, 
 and the red and black country of Baden- 
 Baden. 
 
 Yes, gentlemen and gentlewomen of England, 
 who think "one moment unamused a misery, 
 not made for feeble man," this is what you 
 have brought the word '* play " to mean in the 
 heart of merry England ! You may have your 
 fluting and piping, but there are sad children 
 sitting in the market-place, who indeed cannot 
 say to you, "We have piped unto you, and 
 ye have not danced :" but eternally shall say 
 to you, " We have mourned unto you, and ye 
 have not lamented." — Ruskin. 
 
 Two mothers lifting prayer unto one God, 
 In alien language, and on hostile sod. 
 Two maidens wailing, in a different tongue, 
 The gory mass of silent men among. 
 
 Two monarchs couch'd in indolent repose, 
 Reaping ambition by their subjects' throes. 
 Foes, that have never done each other ill : 
 Friends, whose sole union is the aim to kill. 
 Banners clutch'd fierce — the death-grasp of the 
 
 brave — 
 A tatter'd rag that glorifies the grave. 
 Far-rolling smoke above a vulture-plain ; 
 Artillery piled on ramparts of the slain. 
 Nature swathed round in one close crimson 
 
 shroud ; 
 Black speechlessness of the low thunder-cloud. 
 The fields untill'd, the rich heavens raining 
 
 dearth. 
 Weeds in the garden ; weeping by the hearth. 
 
 Anon, 
 
 WAR, a Great Evil. 
 War, even in tlie best state of an army, with 
 all the alleviations of courtesy and honour, 
 with all the correctives of morality and religion, 
 is nevertheless so great an evil, that to engage 
 in it without a clear necessity is a crime of 
 the blackest dye. When the necessity is clear, 
 it then becomes a crime to shrink from it. — 
 Southey. 
 
 WAR, Brotlierhood in. 
 We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ; 
 For he to-day that sheds his blood with me 
 Shall be my brother ; be he ne'er so vile, 
 This day shall gentle his condition : 
 And gentlemen in England now a-bed 
 Shall think themselves accursed, they were not 
 
 here, 
 And hold their manhoods cheap while any 
 
 speaks 
 That fought with us upon St. Crispin's day. 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 WAR, Carried on by Allies, &c. 
 All war is to be carried on, partly by our own 
 strength, and partly by that of allies and auxil- 
 iaries : so in our Christian warfare against the 
 temptations of the world, the things which 
 properly answer these two are watchfulness 
 and prayer ; by watchfulness, we exert and 
 employ our strength ; and by prayer we engage 
 God's. — Dean South. 
 
 WAR, Effects of. 
 
 The crowds of peasantry that made their way 
 to the capital (Lisbon, in 1829) from the coun- 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 687 
 
 try, flying from their foes, accumulated as the 
 enemy closed in upon the environs of the city : 
 the distress of many was pitiable ; they had 
 left all behind them, and were literally without 
 any support but the casual benevolence of a 
 few, who had so many calls upon their human- 
 ity that their means were speedily exhausted. 
 Many of great respectability were reduced to 
 the extremity of begging of our countrymen : 
 it was melancholy to witness well-dressed Por- 
 tuguese watching the opportunity of whispering 
 their tales of distress and petitions for aid in 
 the ears of the English, hoping to escape the 
 obsei-vation of the passers-by and their own 
 country people. The man who could resist 
 the appeal of interesting females, the withering 
 look of agony and humiliation which marked 
 their countenances, as they implored relief for 
 some cherished object perishing with hunger 
 and misery, must have been made of sterner 
 stuff than usually forms the component parts 
 of our nature. The calamities of the inhabi- 
 tants of a country exposed to war are severe : 
 friends and foes must alike be provided for, 
 and all the means in their possession are re- 
 lentlessly demanded and carried off ; any 
 hesitation or refusal only subjects them to 
 rougher treatment and exactions. Lisbon was 
 full to overflowing with the unfortunate refu- 
 gees ; there was not house-room for the poor 
 wretches, and many had to fight with the mon- 
 grel curs that swarmed the streets for their lairs 
 on the quays, and wherever the smallest shelter 
 could be obtained : the sight was truly distres- 
 sing. — Recollections of a Naval Life. 
 
 WAR, its Fascinations. 
 
 Another powerful spring of war is the admi- 
 ration of the brilliant qualities displayed in 
 war. These qualities, more than all things, 
 have prevented an impression of the crimes 
 and miseries of this savage custom. Many 
 delight in war, not for its carnage and woes, 
 but for its valour and apparent magnanimity — 
 for the self-command of the hero — the forti- 
 tude which despises suffering — the resolution 
 which courts danger — the superiority of the 
 mind to the body — to sensation — to fear. 
 Let us be just to human nature even in its 
 errors and excesses. Men seldom delight in 
 war, considered merely as a source of misery. 
 When they hear of battles, the picture which 
 rises to their view is not what it should be, a 
 picture of extreme wretcii.cJness, of the wound- 
 
 ed, the mangled, the slain. These horrors are 
 hidden under the splendour of those mighty 
 energies which break forth amidst the perils of 
 conflict, and which human nature contemplates 
 with an intense and heart-thrilling delight. 
 Attention hurries from the heaps of the slaugh- 
 tered to the victorious chief, whose single mind 
 pervades-and animates a host, and directs with 
 stern composure the storm of battle ; and the 
 ruin which he spreads is forgotten in admiration 
 of his power. This admiration has, in all ages, 
 been expressed by the most unequivocal signs. 
 Why that garland woven ? that arch erected ? 
 that festive board spread ? These are tributes 
 to the warrior. Whilst the peaceful sovereign, 
 who scatters blessings with the silence and 
 constancy of Providence, is received with a 
 faint applause, men assemble in crowds to hail 
 the conqueror, perhaps a monster in human 
 form, whose private life is blackened with lust 
 and crime, and whose greatness is built on 
 perfidy and usurpation. Thus, war is the 
 surest and speediest road to renown ; and war 
 will never cease while the field of battle is the 
 field of glory, and the most luxuriant laurels 
 grow from a root nourished with blood. — Rev. 
 W. E. Channing. 
 
 WAR, Righteous. 
 
 Dying like men, though buried in your dung- 
 hills. 
 
 They shall be famed ; for there the sun shall 
 greet them. 
 
 And draw their honours reeking up to heaven, 
 
 Leaving their earthly parts to choke your 
 clime. Shakespeare. 
 
 WAR, Signal for Courage to be up. 
 
 When the blast of war blows in our ears. 
 Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 
 Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 
 Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage ; 
 Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; 
 Let it pry through the portage of the head 
 Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'er- 
 
 whelm it. 
 As fearfully as doth a galled rock 
 O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, 
 Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. 
 Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, 
 Hold hard the breath, and bend up every 
 
 spirit 
 To his full height ! Shakespeare. 
 
688 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 WAR, The Voice of. 
 Slow wakes the voice of war— but, when it 
 
 wakes, 
 It comes upon the ear, as the loud wail 
 Of murdered spirits, or the shriek which breaks 
 From shipwrecked sea-boy, borne on rising 
 
 gale. 
 When in his watery shroud he sinks below 
 The corpse-strewed confines of the stormy 
 
 wave. 
 Slowly it comes ; — but in that voice is woe ; 
 And anguish, and despair : and the dark grave 
 Opening still wider at the mighty sound, 
 Unfolds its massy portals, and enshrines 
 In its still chambers, heroes red with wound 
 Of civil strife, or fell ambition — twines 
 Round their pale temples Lethe's poisonous 
 
 wreath. 
 And closes on them with the shout of death. 
 
 Ajion. 
 
 WARFARE, The Inward. 
 My God ! how cruel is the strife 
 Urged by opposing passions in my breast : 
 The wish that seeks in Thee for life, 
 And prompts me to obey Thee, and be blest ; 
 And the rebellious risings of my soul. 
 Revolting from thy law, and spurning thy con- 
 trol. 
 The one, all heavenly and divine, 
 Unceasingly aspiring after Thee ; 
 For one peace-speaking smile of thine. 
 Esteems the joys of earth as vanity : 
 The other, with its weight of sin and woe. 
 Bears down my burden'd spirit to this world 
 
 below. 
 Alas ! with war within my breast, 
 Where in the universe shall peace be found ? 
 Vain is my spirit's- eager quest. 
 While dark within, for light and rest around : 
 My heart abhors the work my hands approve ; 
 I do the ill I hate, and slight the good I love. 
 O Thou ! whose grace, with healing ray. 
 Can throw across the storm its beam of peace, 
 Bid from my soul this strife away. 
 And let the tumult of my bosom cease j 
 Subdue these passions by thy love divine. 
 And, from a slave of death, make me a child 
 of Thine. E, 
 
 WARRIOR, A True. 
 BozzARis ! with the storied brave 
 
 Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
 Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, 
 
 Even in her own proud clime. 
 
 She wore no funeral weeds for thee, 
 
 Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume. 
 Like torn branch from death's leafless tree. 
 In sorrow's pomp and pageantry. 
 
 The heartless luxury of the tomb ; 
 But she remembers thee as one 
 Long loved, and for a season gone ; 
 For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed. 
 Her marble wrought, her music breathed ; 
 For thee she rings the birthday bells : 
 Of thee her babe's first lisping tells : 
 For thine her evening prayer is said. 
 At palace couch and cottage bed ; 
 Her soldier, closing with the foe. 
 Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; 
 His plighted maiden, when she fears 
 For him, the joy of her young years. 
 Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears : 
 
 And she, the mother of thy boys. 
 Though in her eye and faded cheek 
 Is read the grief she will not speak — 
 
 The memory of her buried joys. 
 And even she who gave thee birth. 
 Will, by their pilgrim- circled hearth, 
 
 Talk of thy doom without a sigh ; 
 For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's — 
 One of the few, the immortal names. 
 
 That were not born to die. 
 
 Fitz- Greene Halleck, 
 
 WARRIOR, Youthful FaU of. 
 
 So falls a poplar, that in wat'ry ground, 
 Raised high the head, with stately branches 
 
 crown'd ; 
 Cut down it lies, tall, smooth, and largely 
 
 spread. 
 With all its beauteous honours on its head ; 
 There left, a subject to the wind and rain. 
 And scorch'd by suns, it withers on the plain. 
 
 Homer. 
 
 WASTE and Supply. 
 
 Dr. Wood found a healthy hand and wrist 
 perspire in an hour two thousand eight hun- 
 dred and thirty-three grains of fluid. On this 
 average the whole body yields, or throws off 
 in perspiration, every twenty-four hours, nearly 
 four pounds weight. How important, then, is 
 the regular supply of wholesome and nutritive 
 food to compensate for this constant waste ; 
 and what emphasis and interest does this fact 
 give to the petition in the Lord's prayer, 
 ** Give us this day our daily bread ! " 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 689 
 
 WATCHED by God and DevH. 
 
 We are espied by God and observed by angels ; 
 we are betrayed within, and assaulted without ; 
 the devil is our enemy, and we are fond of his 
 mischiefs ; he is crafty, and we love to be 
 abused ; he is malicious, and we are credulous ; 
 he is powerful, and we are weak ; he is too 
 ready of himself, and yet we desire to be 
 tempted : the world is alluring, and we con- 
 sider not its vanity ; sin puts on all pleasures, 
 and yet we take it, though it puts us to pain : 
 in short, we are vain, and credulous, and sen- 
 sual, and trifling ; we are tempted, and tempt 
 ourselves, and we sin frequently, and contract 
 evil habits, and they become second natures, 
 and bring in a second death miserable and 
 eternal : every man hath need to fear, because 
 every man hath weakness, and enemies, and 
 temptations, and dangers, and causes of his 
 own. — Jeremy Taylor. 
 
 WATCHFULNESS 
 
 Is the readiness and preparation with which 
 the believer always waits for his being called 
 out of this world. He will wait all the days 
 of his appointed time lest death should sur- 
 prise him. He knows that the sting of death 
 is sin, and consequently he watches against 
 sin. . . . Sin is his most deadly enemy, 
 because it stirred up all his other enemies 
 against him ; he is in arms and at open war 
 against it ; he is ever upon his guard — and he 
 does not trust in his own strength, but he takes 
 to himself the whole armour of God, that he 
 may fight manfully against sin, and all the 
 allies of sin. And being strong in the Lord, 
 and in the power of His might, he goes on 
 conquering and to conquer, watching, and 
 praying, and fighting, until death comes to put 
 an end to the engagement, and to proclaim the 
 glad tidings of everlasting peace. . . . 
 He believes ; therefore he watches. His faith 
 is operative ; therefore it keeps him watchful. 
 It is a faith working by love ; therefore it 
 makes him love to watch. — Rotftaine. 
 
 WATER. 
 
 The moving of water is peculiarly like life. 
 Hence the continual application to streams 
 and fountains, by elegant minds, of the terms 
 which pertain primarily to their own nature. 
 The basins at the Crystal Palace, at Syden- 
 
 ham, are "alive with fountains and jets." 
 *' The river here," says the author of *'Con- 
 ingsby," was ** clear but for the dark sky 
 it reflected, narrow and winding, but full of 
 life." Corinne's delight was in ** the fount of 
 Trevi, whose abundant cascade falls in the 
 centre of Rome, and seems the life of that 
 tranquil scene." Virgil has ^^Jluminevivo,^^ in 
 the living current, Ovid, e vivisfortibus, * ' from 
 the gushing fountains." Oersted devotes an 
 entire chapter to the Life of the Fountains, a 
 chapter as elegant in narrative as the principle 
 an-ived at is important. He shows us that 
 while motion is the beginning of life, it is like- 
 wise the first principle of beauty. " What a 
 rich variety of inward activity we behold," he 
 concludes, "in that fountain." Were this to 
 be' separated from it, all besides would leave 
 but a faint impression. That which is full of 
 life arouses it in ourselves, and this feeling of 
 life appertains to the complete enjoyment of 
 beauty. An attempt to represent it in paint- 
 ing, if it were executed in a masterly manner, 
 might in some degi-ee please the eye, but the 
 enjoyment which arises from the peculiar nature 
 of the object would be much diminished, be- 
 cause motion, lustre, and the play of light can 
 never be represented in a picture. I have 
 several times seen pictures of fountains, but the 
 impression they produced on me was poor? 
 To give in painting a sufficient idea of the 
 ocean, to paint even rain or falling snow, is 
 well known to be an equally fruitless effort ; 
 while nothing is easier than to sketch a still 
 expanse of flooded fields, which, for the same 
 reason, are unattractive and uninteresting, and 
 incapable of exciting ideas of beauty. These, 
 as so lucidly set forth by the accomplished 
 Dane, we can realise only when movement is 
 either present or forcibly implied, and thus 
 only where the idea of life is secretly placed 
 before the soul, which loves it, and hungers 
 for it, and is depressed when there is none to 
 be seen, because of its own innate, burning 
 activity. How beautiful the waving of the 
 trees, and the quiver of the leaves before the 
 wind ! With what delight do we watch the 
 gliding of the clouds across the sky, the heaving 
 of the sea. 
 
 The river rushing o'er its pebbled bed. 
 Why are we never tired of looking upon the 
 ocean ? From land-scenery, however charming, 
 after a while, the eye turns away, deliberately 
 and content ; the sea, on the other hand, holds 
 the whole soul in immortal fascination. The 
 meadows and ferny lanes, even the woodland 
 
 Y Y 
 
690 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 glades of perfect spring, sheeted with the wild 
 blue hyacinth and sparkling with the crimson 
 lychnis — even at that earlier sweet season, 
 when the trees, though they have leaves upon 
 them, give no shade to the chaste anemones — 
 we can quit satisfied ; but the beach, though it 
 offer nothing but high-water mark of withered 
 wreck, we never turn away from without 
 reluctance. As in a glass we see our features 
 reflected, so in the movement of the waves, 
 and their sound, we recognize an image of our 
 life. — Leo W. Grindon. 
 
 WATER, a Chief Ingredient. 
 The chief ingredient in heaven's various works : 
 Whose flexile genius sparkles in the gem. 
 Grows firm in oak, and fugitive in wine ; 
 The vehicle, the source of nutriment 
 And life, to all that vegetate or live. 
 
 ArinstrouQ. 
 
 "WATER, The Solvent Power of. 
 
 Of all the properties of that most remarkable 
 and most important, though most common and 
 abundant of liquids, water, none is more re- 
 markable than its solvent power. It is one of 
 the essential conditions to all organic life on 
 the globe. Take away the solvent power of 
 water, and the earth would in a very short space 
 of time be barren of vegetable and of animal 
 life. 
 
 A simple solvent is a fluid which does not 
 enter into chemical combination with the sub- 
 stance dissolved. Those of the most importance 
 are water, alcohol, ether, chloroform, sul- 
 phide of carbon, glycerin, and hydrocarbon 
 oils. All these are artificial, except the greatest 
 of all, water, and the hydro-carbons. The 
 solvent power of. water is so universal that 
 among the salts known very few exist that it 
 will not, in some measure, dissolve. 
 
 The fluids in plants and animals are wholly 
 or in part composed of solutions of solid sub- 
 stances in water. Blood and milk are examples 
 of fluids which hold undissolved organized 
 matter in suspension ; but the menstruums in 
 which the organized particles float are found 
 upon examination to be solutions of various 
 saline and organic matters . 
 
 So great is the amount of mineral matter 
 taken up by water in flowing over the earth to 
 the sea, that were the process of returning it 
 to the soil any other than that of distillation, 
 all the water on the globe would soon become 
 
 unfit for use in the animal economy. The cir- 
 culation of -water from sea to sky, from sky to 
 land, and from land back again to the sea, is 
 one of those grand operations of nature, which, 
 when understood, excite the highest feelings of 
 admiration. The sea is a great distilling 
 apparatus, which, under the action of the sun's 
 heat, throws off enormous volumes of vapour 
 into the grandest of all condensers, the atmo- 
 sphere. Here the vapour is again converted 
 into a liquid, and falls upon the earth ; but it 
 has left in the bed of the ocean the burden of 
 lime, magnesia, and other earthy and saline 
 matters it carried to the sea on former journeys. 
 It will return again with another burden, and 
 be again distilled, and so on as long as the 
 earth remains in its present form and condition. 
 There can be no question that this process of 
 abrasion and solution would eventually fill the 
 seas and level all the mountains on the face of 
 the earth, were it not for upheavals of portions 
 of the earth's crust and the depression of other 
 portions by the action of powerful internal 
 forces. In this point of view even earthquakes 
 may have their uses, and act to prevent the 
 world from gradually becoming a vast aqueous 
 desert. 
 
 The uses to which the solvent power of 
 water is put in the arts are too extended for 
 enumeration. It finds application in every 
 household in cooking, cleansing of clothing, 
 and almost all domestic employments, and in 
 the industries of the world there could not 
 probably be mentioned one in which it does 
 not directly or indirectly play an important 
 part. 
 
 Nearly all are aware that the solvent power 
 of water is greatly increased by heating it, but 
 few are aware to what an extent this may be 
 carried. In the experiments made by the 
 French chemist, De la Tour, on the effects of 
 high temperatures on liquids inclosed in her- 
 metically sealed tubes, it was found that water 
 heated in a space of four times its bulk, became 
 steam at 773° Fah. , and in this state exerted a 
 powerful solvent power upon even such a re- 
 fractory substance as glass. The decomposi- 
 tion of bones by the aid of superheated steam 
 is a branch of manufacture now carried on to 
 a considei'able extent. 
 
 In the manufacture of lard on an extensive 
 scale, the bodies of whole hogs are exposed to 
 the action of superheated steam, which shortly 
 reduces them to a mass of fluid fat, the disin- 
 tegrated bones falling to the bottom in a pow- 
 dered state. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 691 
 
 Thus this universal and most wonderful fluid, 
 more extensive in its applications than any 
 other substance, and upon which the existence 
 of man and beast and vegetable depends, not 
 only drives the ponderous wheels of myriad 
 manufactures, in its ordinary form, but when 
 heated, its mechanical and chemical energies 
 are so vastly increased that man stands in awe 
 of the mighty power his daring hand has 
 invoked. — Mechanics' Magazine, 
 
 WATER, Uses of. 
 There are none of the elementary bodies 
 with which we are better acquainted than 
 water. Let us attend a little to the powers and 
 qualities by which it acts its part in this 
 system of beings. We all admire its pure 
 transparency in a spring; the level and 
 polished surface with which it reflects objects 
 that are on the banks of a lake ; the mobility 
 with which it runs along the channel of a 
 brook, and the incessant motion of its waves 
 in a stormy sea. But when viewed with a 
 philosophical eye, it appears much more an 
 object of admiration. The same water which, 
 under its usual form, is such a principal 
 beauty in the scene of nature, is employed in 
 her most extensive operations, and is necessary 
 to the formation of all her productions. It 
 penetrates the interior parts of the earth, and 
 appears to assist in the production of various 
 minerals, stones, and earths found there, by 
 bringing their different ingredients together, 
 and applying them to one another properly, 
 that they may concrete. We know it arises in 
 vapours from the surface of the ocean, to form 
 the clouds, and to descend again in rain upon 
 the dry land, and give origin to springs, rivers, 
 and lakes ; or, upon proper occasions, to form 
 deep snow, which protects the ground and 
 vegetables from the intense and mortal cold, 
 to which some parts of the world are exposed; 
 and, after it has performed this useful office, it 
 readily yields to the heat of summer, and re- 
 turns to a state in which it serves the same pur- 
 poses as rain. By its fluidity and tenuity it 
 penetrates the soil, and the seeds of plants 
 which that soil contains. These it causes to 
 swell and germinate into plants which depend 
 on water for support. It passes with freedom 
 and ease through all their minutest tubes and 
 vessels, and carries with it materials necessary 
 for nourishment and growth, or changes its 
 appearance so as to become part of the plant. 
 There is no plant or vegetable substance that I 
 
 does not contain in its composition a large 
 quantity of water easily separable from it. The 
 hardest woods contain a great deal ; the softer 
 and more succulent parts of vegetables are al- 
 most totally composed of it Even the oils 
 and resinous substances can be resolved in part 
 into water. It is plainly as necessary to the 
 animals, and is found to be as copious an in- 
 gredient in the composition of their bodies, 
 and of all the different parts of them. These 
 are the numerous and extensive uses of this 
 beautiful element. — Black. 
 
 WATERING-PLACE, The Coast. 
 Sky, sea, beach, and village lie as still before 
 us as if they were sitting for the picture. It 
 is dead low- water. A ripple plays among the 
 ripening com upon the cliff, as if it were 
 faintly trying from recollection to imitate the 
 sea ; and the world of butterflies hovering over 
 the crop of radish-seed are as restless in their 
 little way as the gulls are in their larger man- 
 ner when the wind blows. But the ocean lies 
 winking in the sunlight like a drowsy lion — its 
 glassy waters scarcely curve upon the shore — 
 the fishing boats in the tiny harbour are all 
 stranded in the mud — but two colliers (our 
 watering-place has a maritime trade employ- 
 ing that amount of shipping) have not an inch 
 of water within a quarter of a mile from them, 
 and turn exhausted on their sides, like faint 
 fish of an antediluvian species. Rusty cables 
 and chains, ropes and rings, undermost parts 
 of posts and piles, and confused timber- 
 defences against the waves, lie strewn about 
 in a brown litter of tangled sea-weed and 
 fallen cliff which looks as if a family of giants 
 had been making tea here for ages, and had 
 observed an untidy custom of throwing their 
 tea-leaves on the shore. — Dickens. 
 
 WAVES. 
 
 The common cause of waves is the friction of 
 the wind upon the surface of the water. Little 
 ridges or elevations first appear, which, by 
 continuance of the force, gradually increase 
 until they become the rolling mountains seen 
 where the winds sweep over a great extent of 
 water. The heaving of the bay of Biscay, and 
 still more that of the open ocean beyond the 
 southern capes of America and Africa, is one 
 extreme ; and the stillness of the tropical seas, 
 which are guarded by near encircling lands, is 
 
692 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 the other. In the vast archipelago of the 
 east, where Borneo, and Java, and Sumatra 
 lie, and the Molucca islands, and the Philip- 
 pines, the sea is often fanned only by the land 
 and sea breezes, and is like a smooth bed, on 
 which these islands seem to sleep in bliss- 
 islands in which the spice and perfume gardens 
 of the world are embowered, and where the 
 bird of paradise has its home, and the golden 
 pheasant, and a hundred others of brilliant 
 plumage, whose flight is among thickets so 
 luxuriant, and scenery so picturesque, that 
 European strangers find there the fairy land of 
 their youtfiful dreams. — Marryat. 
 
 And I have seen thy billows madly foam. 
 And chase upon thy breast in hideous throng. 
 As if they left for ever their deep home. 
 Thy sunken rocks and hidden caves among; 
 While as the wind waxed stronger and more 
 
 strong. 
 The roaring surges, like wild horses rose, 
 To whirl the chariot of the storm along — 
 To deal around them shipwreck, death, and 
 
 woes, 
 And rise to heaven itself, as if its deadliest 
 
 foes. 
 
 By man the earthly wild may be reclaimed — 
 Unmeasured Ocean ! who can rule o'er thee ? 
 Thy waves still roll — untameable — un- 
 tamed ; 
 None can control thee — thou art wild and 
 
 free : 
 No earthly power can calm thee ; thou 
 
 must be 
 Kept in subjection but by One alone ; — 
 He, who once calmed the raging of the sea. 
 And still to thee, proud Ocean, will be 
 known ; — 
 He holds thee in his hand, thy might is all his 
 own. Mary Anne Browne. 
 
 WAYS of God. 
 
 God makes the adversity of nations to minister 
 to his purposes, no less than their prosperity. 
 The temporal loss of Israel was the spiritual 
 gain of the World, He was " broken in pieces 
 like a potter's vessel," and his scattered sons 
 were made God's preachers among the hea- 
 then, to prepare the way of the Prince of 
 Peace. By a reverse operation God concen- 
 trated the barbarians upon the falling Roman 
 empire, and thus brought them within the 
 sounds of His Gospel. . . . To *' anxiety with 
 
 WEAKNESS, a Fault. 
 
 Yet do I fear thy nature ; 
 It is too full o' the milk of human kindness 
 To catch the nearest way. Thou would'st be 
 
 great ; 
 Art not without ambition ; but without 
 The illness should attend it ; what thou would'st 
 
 highly, 
 That would'st thou holily ; would'st not play 
 
 false. 
 And yet would'st wrongly win. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 WEALTH, True. 
 
 Ali. a man's wealth or poverty is within him- 
 self ; it is not the outward abundance or want 
 that can make the difference. Let a man be 
 ever so rich in estate, yet if his heart be not 
 satisfied, but he is still whining, and scraping, 
 and pining for more, that man is miserably 
 poor ; all his bags cannot make him other than 
 a stark beggar. On the other side, give me 
 a man of small means, whose mind is tho- 
 roughly content with a little, and enjoys his 
 pittance with a quiet and thankful heart — that 
 man is exceeding rich ; all the world cannot 
 rob him of his wealth. It is not having by 
 which we can measure riches, but enjoying : 
 the earth hath all treasures in it, yet no man 
 styles it rich : of these which the world call 
 goods of fortune, opinion only sets the value. 
 Gold and silver would be metals, whether we 
 think them so, or not ; they would not be 
 riches if men's conceit and institution did not 
 make them such. O my soul, be not thou 
 carried away with the common error to covet 
 and admire those things which have no true 
 worth in themselves. If both the Indies were 
 thine, thou shouldst be no bit the wealthier ; 
 labour for those riches whereby thy stock may 
 be advanced ; the great Lord of all, who knows 
 best where his wealth lies, and where thou 
 
 regard to the sentence which God may pro- 
 nounce on his own nation, the individual has 
 to add the fearful sense of his own responsi- 
 bility. A sincere feeling of humiliation, a true 
 knowledge of the principles of the Gospel, will 
 remind the best of men, that, sinner as he is, 
 he must have contributed a share to the national 
 sinfulness. . . . There is none that doeth good, ^ 
 no not one," will be the confession of the true j 
 penitent on a day of national humiliation. — 
 R. W. Evans. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 ^93 
 
 shouldst hoard up thine, hath told thee where 
 I to seek it, where to lay it : "Lay not up for 
 yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth 
 and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break 
 through and steal ; but^ lay up for yourselves 
 treasures in heaven." Matt. vi. 19, 20. There 
 thou shalt be sure to find it entire, free from 
 plunder, and all danger of diminution. O God, 
 ^ive me to covet that my mind may be rich in 
 knowledge, that my soul may be rich in grace, 
 that my heart may be rich in true content ; as 
 for this pelf of the world, let it make them 
 miserable that admire it. — Bp. Hall. 
 
 WEARINESS, 
 
 Not to be Thought of in Corrections. 
 
 '''To touch and retouch," says Cowper, 
 ** though some writers boast of negligence, 
 and others would be ashamed to show their 
 foul copies, is the secret of almost all good 
 writing, especially in verse. I am never weary 
 of it myself ; and, if you would take as much 
 pains as I do, you would have no need to ask 
 for my corrections." 
 
 WEATHER, Genial Return of. 
 
 The snow has left the cottage top ; 
 
 The thatch-moss grows in brighter green ; 
 The eaves in quick succession drop. 
 
 Where grinning icicles have been. 
 Pit-patting with a pleasant noise 
 
 In tubs set by the cottage door ; 
 While ducks and geese, with happy joys. 
 
 Plunge in the yard-pond brimming o'er. 
 
 The sun peeps through the window-pane : 
 
 Which children mark with laughing eye ; 
 And in the wet street steal again. 
 
 To tell each other spring is nigh : 
 Then, as young hope the past recalls, 
 
 In playing groups they often draw, 
 To build beside the sunny walls 
 
 Their spring-time huts of sticks or straw. 
 
 And oft in pleasure's dreams they hie 
 
 Round homesteads by the village side, 
 Scratching the hedgerow mosses by. 
 
 Where painted pooty shells abide ; 
 Mistaking oft the ivy-spray 
 
 For leaves that come with budding spring. 
 And wond'ring in their search for play, 
 
 Why birds delay to build and sing. 
 
 The mavis thrush with wild delight, 
 
 Upon the orchard's dripping tree. 
 Mutters, to see the day so bright. 
 
 Fragments of young Hope's poesy : 
 And oft dame stops her buzzing wheel 
 
 To hear the robin's note once more, 
 Who tootles while he pecks his meal 
 
 From sweet-briar hips beside the door. 
 
 Clare. 
 
 WEATHER Omens. 
 
 The late Sir Humphry Davy, one of the most 
 succiessful modern explorers of the secrets of 
 nature, was not above attending to and ex- 
 plaining the "weather omens" which are 
 derived from popular observation. In his 
 "Salmonia" he has the following dialogue 
 between Halieus (a fly-fisher), Poietes (a poet), 
 Physicus (a man of science), and Ornither (a 
 sportsman) : — 
 
 Poiet. I hope we shall have another good 
 day to-morrow, for the clouds are red in the 
 west. 
 
 Phys. I have no doubt of it, for the red 
 has a tint of purple. 
 
 Hal. Do you know why this tint portends 
 fine weather ? 
 
 Phys. The air, when dry, I believe, re- 
 fracts more red, or heat-making rays ; and as 
 dry air is not perfectly transparent, they are 
 again reflected in the horizon, I have generally 
 observed a coppery or yellow sunset to foretel 
 rain ; but, as an indication of wet weather 
 approaching, nothing is more certain than a 
 halo round the moon, which is produced by the 
 precipitated water ; and the larger the circle, 
 the nearer the clouds, and consequently the 
 more ready to fall, 
 
 Hal. I have often observed that the old 
 proverb is correct — 
 
 A rainbow in the morning is the shepherd's warning 
 A rainbow at night is the shepherd's delight. 
 
 Can you explain this omen ? 
 
 Phys. A rainbow can only occur when the 
 clouds containing, or depositing, the rain are 
 opposite the sun — and in the evening the rain- 
 bow is in the east, and in the morning in the 
 west ; and as our heavy rains in this climate 
 are usually brought by the westerly wind, a 
 rainbow in the west indicates that the bad 
 weather is on the road, by the wind, to us ; 
 whereas the rainbow in the east proves that 
 the rain in these clouds is passing from us. 
 
 Pokt. I have often observed that when the 
 swallows fly high fine weather is to be ex- 
 
694 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 pected or continued ; but when they fly low, 
 and close to the ground, rain is almost surely 
 approaching. Can you account for this? 
 
 Hal. Swallows follow the flies and gnats, 
 and flies and gnats usually delight in warm 
 strata of air ; and as warm air is lighter, and 
 usually nioister than cold air, when the warm 
 strata of air are high, there is less chance of 
 moisture being thrown down from them by the 
 mixture with cold air ; but when the warm 
 and moist air is close to the surface, it is al- 
 most certain that, as the cold air flows down 
 into it, a deposition of water will take place. 
 
 Poiet. I have often seen sea-gulls assemble 
 on the land, and have almost always observed 
 that very stormy and rainy weather was 
 approaching. I conclude that these animals, 
 sensible of a current of air approaching from 
 the ocean, retire to the land to shelter them- 
 selves from the storm. 
 
 Orn. No such thing. The storm is their 
 element, and the little petrel enjoys the 
 heaviest gale ; because, living on the smaller 
 sea insects, he is sure to find his food in the 
 spray of a heavy wave, and you may see him 
 flitting above the edge of the highest surge. I 
 believe that the reason of this migration of 
 sea-gulls, and other sea birds, to the land, is 
 their security of finding food ; and they may 
 be observed at this time feeding greedily on 
 the earth-worms and larvae driven out of the 
 ground by severe floods ; and the fish, on 
 which they prey in fine weather in the sea, 
 leave the surface and go deeper in storms. 
 The search after food, as we have agreed on 
 a former occasion, is the principal cause why 
 animals change their places. The different 
 tribes of the wading birds always migrate 
 when rain is about to take place ; and I re- 
 member once in Italy having been long wait- 
 ing, in the end of March, for the arrival of 
 the double snipe in the Campagna of Rome, a 
 great flight appeared on the 3rd of April, and 
 the day after heavy rain set in, which greatly 
 interfered with my sport. The vulture, upon 
 the same principle, follows armies ; and I have 
 no doubt that the augury of the ancients was 
 a good deal founded upon the observation of 
 the instincts of birds. There are many super- 
 stitions of the vulgar owing to the same source. 
 For anglers, in spring, it is always unlucky to 
 see single magpies — but two may be always 
 regarded as a favourable omen ; and the reason 
 is, that in cold and stormy weather one mag- 
 pie alone leaves the nest in search of food, the 
 other remaining sitting upon the eggs or the 
 
 young ones ; but when two go out together it 
 is only when the weather is warm and mild, 
 and favourable for fishing, 
 
 Poiet. — The singular connections of causes, 
 and effects to which you have just referred 
 make superstition less to be wondered at, par- 
 ticularly amongst the vulgar ; and when two 
 facts, naturally unconnected, have been acci- 
 dentally coincident, it is not singular that this 
 coincidence should have been observed and re- 
 gistered, and that omens of the most absurd 
 kind should be trusted in. In the west of 
 England, half a century ago, a particular hol- 
 low noise on the sea coast was referred to a 
 spirit or goblin, called Bucca, and was sup- 
 posed to foretel a shipwreck ; the philosopher 
 knows that sound travels much faster than 
 currents in the air — and the sound always fore- 
 told the approach of a very heavy storm, which 
 seldom takes place on that wild and rocky 
 coast without a shipwreck on some part of its 
 extensive shores, surrounded by the Atlantic. 
 
 "WELCOME. 
 
 MY reviving joy ! thy quickening presence 
 Makes the sad night of threescore and ten 
 
 years 
 Sit like a youthful spring upon my blood. 
 
 1 cannot make thy welcome rich enough 
 With all the wealth of words. Middleton. 
 
 WEST Wind, The Wild. 
 
 O, WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's 
 
 being. 
 Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves 
 
 dead 
 Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter 
 
 fleeing. 
 Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red. 
 Pestilence-stricken multitudes : O thou. 
 Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed 
 The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low 
 Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
 Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow 
 Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill 
 (Driving sweet birds like flocks to feed in air) 
 With living hues and odours plain and hill. 
 Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere ; 
 Destroyer and preserver, hear, oh, hear ! 
 Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's 
 
 commotion. 
 Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are 
 
 shed, 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 695 
 
 Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and 
 
 ocean, 
 Angels of rain and lightning : there are spread 
 On the blue surface of thine airy surge, 
 Like the bright air uplifted from the head 
 Of some fierce Mcenad, even from the dim 
 
 verge 
 Of the horizon to the zenith's height. 
 The locks of the approaching storm. Thou 
 
 dirge 
 Of the dying year, to which this closing night 
 "Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre. 
 Vaulted with all thy congregated might 
 Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere 
 Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst : Oh, 
 
 hear ! 
 Thou who didst waken from his Summer 
 
 dreams 
 The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 
 Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams. 
 Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay. 
 And saw in sleep old palaces and towers 
 Quivering within the wave's intenser day. 
 All overgrown with azure moss and flowers. 
 So sweet, the sense faints picturing them ! Thou 
 For whose path the Atlantic's level powers 
 Cleave themselves into chasms, while far 
 
 below 
 The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which 
 
 wear 
 The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 
 Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with 
 
 fear. 
 And tremble and despoil themselves : Oh, 
 
 hear ! 
 If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear ; 
 If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee ; 
 A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 
 The impulse of thy strength, only less free 
 Than thou, O uncontrollable ! If even 
 I were as in my boyhood, and could be 
 The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, 
 As then, when to outstrip the skiey speed 
 Scarce seemed a vision ; I would ne'er have 
 
 striven 
 As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. 
 Oh ! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud ! 
 I fall upon the thorns of life ! I bleed ! 
 A heavy weight of hours has chained and 
 
 bowed 
 One, too, like thee, tameless and swift, and 
 
 proud. 
 Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is : 
 What if my leaves are falling like its own ! 
 The tumults of thy mighty harmonies 
 Will take from both a deep autumnal tone. 
 
 Sweet though in sadness. Be thou. Spirit 
 
 fierce, 
 My spirit ! Be thou me, impetuous one ! 
 Drive my dead thoughts over the universe 
 Like withered leaves, to quicken a new birth ; 
 And by the incantation of this verse, 
 Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth 
 Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! 
 Be through my lips to unawakened earth 
 The trumpet of a prophecy ! O wind, 
 If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind ? 
 
 Shdley. 
 
 WHIPPINa, 
 Reflections upon some Brutal Assaults. 
 I STRONGLY question the expediency of ad- 
 vocating the revival of whipping for those 
 crimes. It is a natural and generous im- 
 pulse to be indignant at the perpetration 
 of inconceivable brutality, but I doubt 
 the whipping panacea gravely. Not in the 
 least r^ard or pity for the criminal, whom I 
 hold in far lower estimation than a mad wolf, 
 but in consideration for the general tone and 
 feeling, which is very much improved since the 
 whipping times. It is bad for a people to be 
 familiarized with such punishments. When 
 the whip went out of Bridewell, and ceased to 
 be flourished at the cat's tail, and at the whip- 
 ping-post, it began to fade out of madhouses, 
 and workhouses, and schools, and families, 
 and to give place to a better system every- 
 where than cruel driving. It would be hasty, 
 because a few brutes may be inadequately 
 punished, to revive, in any aspect, what, in so 
 many aspects, society is hardly yet happily rid 
 of. The whip is a very contagioxis kind of 
 thing, and difiicult to confine within one set of 
 boimds. 
 
 Utterly abolish punishment by fine — a bar- 
 barous device, quite as much out of date as 
 wager by battle, but particularly connected in 
 the vulgar mind with this class of offence — at 
 least quadruple the term of imprisonment for 
 aggravated assaults — and, above all, let us, in 
 such cases, have no pet reasoning, vain- 
 glorifying, strong soup, and roasted meats, 
 — but hard work ; and one imchanging and 
 uncompromising dietary of bread and water, 
 well or ill ; and we shall do much better than 
 by going down into the dark to grope for the 
 whip among the rusty fragments of the rack, 
 and the branding-iron, and the chains and 
 gibbet from the public roads, and the weights 
 that pressed men to death in the cells oi New- 
 gate. — Dickens. 
 
696 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 WHITHER ? 
 
 I HEARD a brooklet gushing 
 
 From its rocky fountain near, 
 Down into the valley rushing, 
 
 So fresh and wondrous clear. 
 
 I know not what came o'er me. 
 
 Nor who the counsel gave ; 
 But I must hasten downward, 
 
 All with my pilgrim stave ; 
 
 Downward and ever farther, 
 
 And ever the brook beside ; 
 And ever fresher murmur'd 
 
 And ever clearer, the tide. 
 
 Is this the way I was going ? 
 
 Whither, O brooklet, say ! 
 Thou hast with thy soft murmur, 
 
 Murmur'd my senses away. 
 
 What do I say of a murmur ? 
 
 That can no murmur be ; 
 'Tis the water-nymphs, that are singing 
 
 Their roundelays under me. 
 
 Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur, 
 
 And wander merrily near ; 
 The wheels of a mill are going 
 
 In every brooklet clear. Muller. 
 
 WICKEDNESS, Hereditary. 
 
 If there be one curse more bitter than another 
 to man, it is to be the offspring of an irreligious 
 home— of a home where the voice of praise 
 and prayer ascends not to God, and where the 
 ties of human affection are not purified and 
 elevated by the refining influence of religious 
 feeling — of a home to which, if the cares or 
 the sorrows of life shall bring religion to the 
 heart in after days, that heart cannot turn 
 without bitterness of feeling, without anguish 
 and vexation of spirit. Such homes send 
 forth their sons unchecked in evil thoughts, 
 unhallowed in their habits, and untaught in 
 love to God — the name and Cross of Christ 
 stamped perhaps on their foreheads, but not 
 written in their hearts — and they send them 
 forth to prey upon the land, and to become its 
 curse and its destruction. — H. J. Rose. 
 
 WICKEDNESS, Stupidity of. 
 
 Oh, wonderful stupidity of an unregenerate 
 soul ! Oh, wonderful distractedness and folly 
 of the ungodly ! That ever men can forget — 
 
 I say again — that they can forget eternal joy 
 — eternal woe — and the Eternal God — and 
 the place of this eternal, unchangeable abode, 
 when they stand even at the door, and there is 
 but the thin veil of flesh between them and 
 that amazing sight, that eternal gulf, they 
 are daily dying and stepping in ! — Baxter. 
 
 WIFE, Departed, Address to. 
 
 O ETHEREAL spirit. 
 
 Smile once, as thou didst smile when roaming 
 
 forth 
 At even-tide, where, peaceful as the moon. 
 Solemnly looking from her sapphire throne. 
 The Adriatic wave slept on the shore. 
 And scarce a crested billow murmured forth 
 The wonted melody of night, or rippled 
 With silver fringe to kiss the purple shells 
 Of pearly wreath strown on the silent beach. 
 
 Lawson. 
 
 WIFE, Full Pleasant. 
 
 And sikerly she was of great disport, 
 And full pleasant, and amiable of port ; 
 And pained her to counterfeiten cheer 
 Of court, and be estatelich of mannere, 
 And to be holden digne of reverence. 
 But for to speaken of her conscience. 
 She was so charitable and so piteous, 
 She woulde weep if that she sew a mouse 
 Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled. 
 Of smalle houndes had she, that she fed 
 With roasted flesh, and milk, and wastel 
 
 bread. 
 But sore wept she, if one of them were dead, 
 Or if men smote it with a yerde smart. 
 And all was conscience and tender heart. 
 Full seemely her wimple ypinched was, 
 Her nose tretis ; her eyen grey as glass ; 
 Her mouth full small, and thereto soft and 
 
 red ; 
 But sikerly she had a fair forehead : 
 It was almost aspanne broad, I trow, 
 For hardily she was not undergrow. 
 Full fetise was her cloak, as I was ware. 
 Of smalle coral about her arm she bare 
 A pair of beades gauded all with green. 
 And thereon hung a broach of gold full sheen, 
 At which was first ywritten a crownM A, 
 And after, Amor vincit ovinia. 
 
 Chaucer. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 697 
 
 WIFE, the Fit Companion of Man. 
 
 A WISE, virtuous, and holy man finds a de- 
 lightful amplitude of meaning in the word wife, 
 taking the word in a sense high and favourable 
 and implying what some wives are, and what 
 all ought to aim to be. His wife is the sharer 
 of all his sorrow and all his joy ; the lessener 
 of his pain, and the augmenter of his pleasure ; 
 the partaker of his care, and the refiner of his 
 recreation ; his nurse and consoler when ill, 
 his compeer and coadjutor when well, his 
 associate and helper continually ; the compa- 
 nion, the counsellor, the comfort of his life. 
 She is one whom he regards with reverence 
 for her profound piety, with admiration for her 
 fine improved intellect, with kindliness for her 
 sweet temper, with grateful satisfaction for her 
 noble character in general. To her he will 
 unbosom his thought, and lay open his whole 
 soul, with most entire confidence ; to her firstly 
 in time, she being the first in order of his 
 friends, he will reveal his theory and practical 
 plan, his present scheme and future view, his 
 desire, hope, and fear ; and from her he will 
 obtain the counsel, encouragement, and aid, 
 that are given by virtue, wisdom, good-temper, 
 and other things, all acting imitedly or as one, 
 and moving at the call of love. She will study 
 to please him ; will gratify him by her obliging 
 behaviour ; will make him happy and herself 
 too, by her mild and gentle spirit, her comply- 
 ing disposition, her amiable turn of mind ; will 
 bind his soul to hers, by accommodating herself 
 to him, and by making his joy and sorrow her 
 own ; will maintain her refining power and 
 purifying ascendant over him, by the beauty of 
 her character, the dignity of her life, and by 
 yielding to his reasonable request, and giving 
 way to his innocent wish and plan ; will turn 
 by a kind word, a sweet smile, a loving look, 
 a pure kiss, a tender tear, the lion into 
 the lamb ; will control, virtually and really 
 control, by being willing to be controlled. She 
 is one whom he loves with exclusive, with 
 tender, with chaste, with pure affection ; one 
 who lives in the very centre of his heart, one 
 dear to him like his own soul, one who is ano- 
 ther himself. She loves not less than she is 
 loved, will return his affection in full measure, 
 will scorn to be outdone in kind attention and 
 tender care, and will find a pure and perennial 
 spring of joy to her own soul, in making joyful 
 the soul of her husband. Between them are 
 no jarring or contrary feeling, no separate in- 
 terest in view, no counteractive scheme ; no 
 
 mine and thine between them, all is our — all 
 is concordant co-operation, all is loving har- 
 mony, all is pleasureful unanimity, all is en- 
 dearing unity of soul. They are one in outward 
 things or external good, one in hand ; one in 
 intellectual communion, one in head ; and one 
 in the vast variety of feeling, in the broad and 
 unbounded domain of joy and sorrow, one in 
 heart, having entire sympathy, or identified 
 interest, affection, and hope. 
 
 One single soul doth in two bodies dwell. 
 They cause one to the other, many, very many, 
 pleasures ; and they occasion one pain — the 
 pain connected with parting, with being divi- 
 ded by death, with one of them being left 
 alone, mournful, soul-sick, inconsolate, and 
 gloomy. But even in relation to death, and 
 for its uncontrollable conqueror and king, they 
 see God, the Good Being, and their reconciled 
 Father and Friend. To the Good Being they 
 bow, in Him they confide, and through him 
 they are, or try to be resigned. 
 
 Moreover, having a hope full of immortality, 
 they look beyond death to heaven, to the joy 
 and glory of the life to come, when *' Death 
 will be swallowed up in victory, when God 
 shall wipe away all tears from their eyes, and 
 when sorrow or pain will not be found." Isa. 
 XXV. 8.; I Cor. xv. 54.; Rev. vii. 17. andxxL 
 4, In heaven they will be reunited for ever ; 
 there they will meet to part no more ; there, 
 in the beatific presence of their God, and with 
 innumerable saints and angels, they together 
 will share and rejoice in God's eternity. She 
 will be his affectionate co-pilgrim through the 
 world of sin, his faithful fellow traveller in the 
 way of holy love and labour, his watchful and 
 helpful guide to glory. And probably she will 
 be his guardian angel or saint, if she shall die 
 before him ; will be his peculiar partner in 
 heaven, his dearest friend among all the saints 
 and angels round the throne of God ; and 
 allied with him by an extraordinary heavenly 
 affection, will ascend with him to higher de- 
 grees of light and love, becoming more and 
 more happy in God, throughout the revolving 
 ages of eternity. 
 
 •* Let every one of you in particular, so love 
 his wife even as himself." Eph. v. 33. "Heirs 
 together of the grace of life." i Pet iii. 7. — 
 John Rogers. 
 
 WIPE, To my. 
 
 Thee, Mary, with this ring, I wed — 
 So, sixteen years ago I said. 
 
698 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 Behold another ring — for what ? 
 
 But that God bless thee, dear — who wrought 
 
 To wed thee o'er again —why not ? 
 
 Two spirits to one equal mind — 
 
 With that first ring I Inarried youtli, 
 
 With blessings beyond hope or thought. 
 
 Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth ; 
 
 With blessings which no words can find. 
 
 Taste long admired, sense long revered, 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 And all my Mary then appear'd. 
 
 
 ' 
 
 If she, by merit, since disclosed, 
 
 
 Prove twice the woman I supposed, 
 
 WILL, A Strong. 
 
 I plead that double merit now, 
 
 WELL for him whose will is strong ! 
 
 To justify a double vow. 
 
 He suffers, but he will not suffer long ; 
 
 Here, then, to-day (with faith as sure, 
 
 He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong : 
 
 With ardour as intense and pure. 
 
 For him nor moves the loud world's random 
 
 As when, amidst the rites divine, 
 
 mock 
 
 I took thy troth and plighted mine) 
 
 Nor all Calamity's hugest waves confound. 
 
 To thee, sweet girl, my second ring, 
 
 Who seems a promontory of rock, 
 
 A token and a pledge I bring : 
 
 That, compass'd round with turbulent sound, 
 
 With this I wed till death us part, 
 
 In middle ocean meets the surging shock, 
 
 Thy riper virtues to my heart : 
 
 Tempest-buffeted, citadel-crown'd. 
 
 Those virtues, which, before untried, 
 
 The wife has added to the bride : 
 
 But ill for him who, bettering not with time, 
 
 Those virtues, whose progressive claim, 
 
 Corrupts the strength of heaven-descended 
 
 Endearing wedlock's very name. 
 
 Will, 
 
 My soul enjoys, my song approves, 
 
 And ever weaker grows thro' acted crime, 
 
 For conscience' sake, as well as love's. 
 
 Or seeming-genial venial fault. 
 
 For why ? — they show me hour by hour. 
 
 Recurring and suggesting still ! 
 
 Honour's high thought, affection's power, 
 
 He seems as one whose footsteps halt, 
 
 Discretion's deed, sound judgment's sen- 
 
 Toiling in immeasurable sand, 
 
 tence. 
 
 And o'er a weary sultry land. 
 
 And teach me all things— but repentance. 
 
 Far beneath a blazing vault. 
 
 Samuel Bishop. 
 
 Sown in a wrinkle of the monstrous hill, 
 
 
 The city sparkles like a grain of salt. 
 
 
 Tennyson. \ 
 
 WlJb'Ji], True. 
 
 
 Look thro' mine eyes with thine. True wife, 
 
 WILL of God. 
 
 Round my true heart thine arms entwine ; 
 
 With all thy heart, with all thy soule and 
 
 My other dearer life in life. 
 
 mind. 
 
 Look thro' my very soul with thine ! 
 
 Thou must Him love, and His behests em- 
 
 Untouch'd with any shade of years. 
 
 brace ; j 
 
 ]\Iay those kind eyes for ever dwell ! 
 
 All other loves, with which the world doth 
 
 They have not shed a many tears, 
 
 blind 
 
 Dear eyes, since first I knew them. well. 
 
 Weake fancies, and stirre up affections base, 
 
 
 Thou must renounce and utterly displace. 
 
 Yet tears they shed : they had their part 
 
 And give thyself unto Him full and free. 
 
 Of sorrow : for when time was ripe. 
 
 That full and freely gave Himselfe to thee. 
 
 The still affection of the heart 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 Became an outward breathing type, 
 
 
 That into stillness past again, 
 
 We cannot serve two masters ; we may not 
 
 And left a want unknown before ; 
 
 halt on both sides, and think to plense God ; 
 
 Although the loss that brought us pain, 
 
 we must be fervent on God's side, or else He 
 
 That loss but made us love the more. 
 
 will cast us from Him. . . God willeth us to 
 
 
 judge uprightly, and to allow and follow that 
 
 With farther lookings on. The kiss, 
 
 which is holy and acceptable in His sight ; 
 
 The woven arms, seem but to be 
 
 and therefore Christ commands us in His gos- 
 
 Weak symbols of the settled bliss. 
 
 pel to beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, 
 
 The comfort, I have found in thee : 
 
 which is hypocrisy. —Philpot. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 699 
 
 This sentence clearly shows us that they 
 best understand the will of God who are most 
 careful to practise it ; so likewise that the best 
 way to know what God is, is to transcribe His 
 perfections in our lives and actions ; to be 
 holy, and just, and good, and merciful as He 
 is ; also that a hearty desire and endeavour to 
 do the will of God is the best security and pre- 
 servative against dangerous errors and mistakes 
 in matters of religion. — Abp. Tillotson. 
 
 Most merciful Father ! grant me to covet 
 with an ardent mind those things which may 
 please Thee ; to search them wisely, to know 
 them truly, and to fulfil them perfectly ; to the 
 laud and glory of Thy name. Order my liv- 
 ing so that I may do that which Thou requirest 
 of me, and give me grace that I may know it, 
 and have will and power to do it. — Edward VI. 
 
 WIND at Midnight, To the. 
 
 Not unfamiliar to mine ear, 
 
 Blasts of the night ! ye howl as now 
 
 My shuddering casement loud 
 
 With fitful force ye beat. 
 Mine ear has dwelt in silent awe — 
 The howling sweep, the sudden rush ; 
 
 And when the pausing gale, 
 
 Pour'd deep the hollow dirge. 
 Once more I listen ; sadly communing 
 Within me — once more mark, storm-clothed, 
 
 The moon, as the dark cloud 
 
 Glides rapidly away. 
 I, deeming that the voice of spirits dwells 
 In these mysterious moans, in solemn thought 
 
 Muse on the choral dance, 
 
 The dead man's jubilee. 
 Hark ! how the spirit knocks — how loud 
 Even at my window knocks — again ; 
 
 I cannot — dare not sleep — 
 
 It is a boisterous night. 
 I would not, at this moment, be 
 In the drear forest groves, to hear 
 
 This uproar and rude song 
 
 Ring o'er the arched aisles. 
 The ear doth shudder at such sounds 
 As the unbodied winds, in their disport, 
 
 Wake in the hollow woods, 
 
 When man is gone to sleep. 
 There have been heard unchristian shrieks, 
 And rude distempered merriment. 
 
 As though the autumnal woods 
 
 W^ere all in morrice dance. 
 
 There's mystery in these sounds, and I 
 Love not to have the grave disturbed ; 
 
 And dismal trainc arise, 
 
 From the unpeopled tombs. 
 
 Spirits, I pray ye, let them sleep 
 Peaceful in their cold graves, nor waft 
 
 The sear and whispering leaf 
 
 From the inhumed breast. 
 
 IL K. White. 
 
 WIND, Scripture References to the. 
 The Hebrews acknowledged four principal 
 winds, as we do, Ezek. xli. 16-18 ; Solomon 
 says, in Prov. xxv. 23, that the north wind 
 disperses the clouds and the rain ; but other 
 interpreters translate it, "it produces rain." 
 
 The powerful operations and motions of 
 God's Spirit, quickening or reviving the heart 
 towards God, are compared to the blowing of 
 the wind, John iii. 8. For as it is with the 
 wind, man perceives, by the effects of it, that 
 there is such a thing, and that it does blow, 
 yet his power cannot restrain it, neither can 
 his reason reach to know whence it rises, or 
 from how far it comes, or how far it reaches ; 
 so is the spiritual change wrought in the soul ; 
 freely, where, in whom, when, and in what 
 measure, the Spirit pleases ; and also power- 
 fully, so as to make an evident sensible change, 
 though the manner thereof is incomprehen- 
 sible. 
 
 Elsewhere the motions of the Spirit are set 
 forth by wind ; as in Canticles iv. 16. 
 
 The judgments of God are compared to 
 wind; as in Isa. xxvii. 8 — "He stayeth His 
 rough wind in the day of His east wind ; " He 
 assuages the fury of the storm, and mitigates 
 the severity of the judgrrient. 
 
 WINDS, The. 
 We come ! we come, and ye feel our flight 
 As we're hastening on in our boundless flight. 
 And over the mountains and over the deep, 
 Our broad, invisible pinions sweep 
 Like the "spirit of liberty," wild and free, 
 And ye look o'er our works, and own 'tis we. 
 Ye call us " the winds " — but can ye tell 
 Whither we go, or where we dwell ? 
 
 Ye mark as we vary our forms of power, 
 And fell the forests, or fan the flower, 
 When the hare-bell moves, and the rush is bent. 
 When the tower's o'erthrown, and the oak is 
 rent ; 
 
700 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 As we waft the bark o'er the slumbering wave, 
 Or hurry its crew to a watery grave 
 And ye say it is we — but can ye trace 
 The wandering winds to their secret place ? 
 
 And whether our breath be loud or high 
 Or come in a soft and balmy sigh ? 
 Our threat'nings fill the soul with fear, 
 Or our gentle whisperings woo the ear 
 With music aerial, still 'tis we, 
 And ye list and ye look, but what do ye see ? 
 Can ye hush one sound of our voice to peace, 
 Or waken one note when our numbers cease ? 
 
 Our dwelling is in the Almighty's hand. 
 And we come and we go at His command ; 
 Tho' joy or sorrow may mark our track 
 His will is our guide — and we look not back. 
 And if in our wrath ye would turn us away. 
 Or win us in gentle airs to play. 
 Then lift up your hearts to Him who binds 
 Or frees, as He will, th' obedient winds. 
 
 H. y. Gould. 
 
 "WINDS, The Midniglit. 
 
 The midnight winds are forth with high career. 
 
 Urging their cloudy chariots rapidly, 
 As if they rush'd to war, or fled in fear 
 
 Along the champain azure of the sky ! 
 
 The heav'ns are all in motion ; and the eye 
 Beholds the wonted visions of its search — 
 
 Moon, stars and clouds — all hurrying rapidly 
 Away, as if upon their final march ; 
 As if th' archangel's trump had peal'd along 
 
 that arch. 
 So, when the head of mighty Seraphim 
 
 This pictur'd volume from our eyes shall roll. 
 Unfolding to all eyes the face of Him 
 
 Who sits enthron'd behind it : O ! my soul. 
 
 How wilt thou shrink to see, in funeral stole, 
 Nature distracted in convulsions lie 
 
 On flaming pyre ; and, at his destin'd goal, 
 Time, worn and weary, lay him down to die 
 On the paternal breast of hoar Eternity ! 
 
 J^ev. y. G. Crosbie, 
 
 WINDS, The Moaning. 
 Amid the mighty clouds that move along. 
 The moaning winds of autumn sing their song. 
 And shake the red leaves from the forest trees ; 
 And subterranean voices speak. 
 
 Barry Cornwall. 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 Up in the morning's no for me. 
 
 Up in the morning early ; 
 When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw, 
 
 I'm sure it's winter fairly. 
 
 Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west. 
 
 The drift is driving sairly ; 
 Sae loud and shrill 's I hear the blast, 
 
 I'm sure it's winter fairly. 
 
 The birds sit chittering in the thorn, 
 
 A' day they fare but sparely ; 
 And lang's the night frae e'en to morn, 
 
 I'm sure it 's winter fairly. 
 
 Up in the morning, «&c. Burns. 
 
 Lastly came Winter, clothed all in frize. 
 Chattering his teeth for cold that did him 
 
 chill ; 
 Whilst on his hoary beard his breath did freeze. 
 And the dull drops, that from his purpled bill 
 As from a limbeck did adown distill : 
 In his right hand a tipped staff he held. 
 With which his feeble steps he steyed still ; 
 For he was faint with cold, and weak with eld ; 
 That scarce his loosed limbs he able was to 
 
 weld. Spenser. 
 
 V/INTER Afternoon. 
 
 It was a bright and cheerful afternoon, 
 Towards the end of the sunny month of June, 
 When the north wind congregates in crowds 
 The floating mountains of the silver clouds 
 From the horizon — and the stainless sky 
 Opens beyond them like eternity. 
 All things rejoiced beneath the sun, the weeds, 
 The river, and the corn-fields, and the reeds : 
 The willow leaves that glanced in the light 
 
 breeze, 
 And the firm foliage of the larger trees. 
 It was a winter such as when birds die 
 In the deep forests ; and the fishes lie 
 Stiff"ened in the translucent ice, which makes 
 Even the mud and slime of the warm lakes 
 A wrinkled clod, as hard as brick ; and when 
 Among their children, comfortable men 
 Gather about great fires, and yet feel cold : 
 Alas ! then for the homeless beggar old ! 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 WINTER Day. 
 
 The wintry west extends his blast, 
 
 And hail and rain does blaw ; 
 Or the stormy north sends driving forth 
 
 The blinding sleet and snaw ; 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 701 
 
 While,tumbling brown, the burn comes down 
 
 And roars frae bank to brae : 
 And bird and beast in covert rest, 
 
 And pass the heartless day. 
 The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast. 
 
 The joyless Winter day, 
 Let others fear, to me more dear 
 
 Than all the pride of May : 
 The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, 
 
 My griefs it seems to join ; 
 The leafless trees my fancy please, 
 
 Their fate resembles mine ! 
 Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme 
 
 These woes of mine fulfil ; 
 Here firm I rest, they must be best. 
 
 Because they are Thy will ! 
 Then all I want (oh ! do thou grant 
 
 This one request of mine !) 
 Since to enjoy thou dost deny, 
 
 Assist me to resign. Burns. 
 
 WINTER, its Stem Beauties. 
 
 Thou hast thy beauties : sterner ones I own 
 Than those of thy precursors ; yet to thee 
 Belong the charms of solemn majesty 
 And naked grandeur. Awful is the tone 
 Of thy tempestuous nights, when clouds are 
 
 blown 
 By hurrying winds across the troubled sky ; 
 Pensive when softer breezes faintly sigh 
 Through leafless boughs, with ivy overgrown. 
 Thou hast thy decorations too ; although 
 Thou art austere : thy studded mantle, gay 
 With icy brilliants, which as proudly glow 
 As erst Golconda's ; and thy pure array 
 Of regal ermine, when the drifted snow 
 Envelopes Nature ; till her features seem 
 Like pale but lovely ones seem when we 
 
 dream. Barton. 
 
 WINTER, Love of. 
 
 Though now no more the musing ear 
 Delights to listen to the breeze. 
 That lingers o'er the greenwood shade, 
 I love thee, Winter ! well. 
 
 Sweet are the harmonies of Spring, 
 Sweet is the Summer's evening gale, 
 And sweet the autumnal winds that shake 
 The many-colour'd grove. 
 
 And pleasant to the sober'd soul 
 The silence 01 the wintry scene. 
 When Nature shrouds herseh, entranced, 
 In deep tranquillity. 
 
 Not undelightful now to roam 
 
 The wild heath sparkling on the sight ; 
 
 Not undelightful now to pace 
 
 The forest's ample rounds. 
 And see the spangled branches shine. 
 And mark the moss of many a hue, 
 That varies the old tree's brown bark. 
 
 As o'er the gray stone spreads. 
 And mark the cluster'd berries bright 
 Amid the holly's gay green leaves ; 
 The ivy round the leafless oak 
 
 That clasps its foliage close. 
 
 So Virtue, diffident of strength. 
 Clings to religion's firmer aid. 
 And by religion's aid upheld. 
 
 Endures calamity. 
 Nor void of beauties now the Spring, 
 Whose waters, hid from Summer sun. 
 Have soothed the thirsty pilgrim's ear 
 
 With more than melody. 
 
 The green moss shines with icy glare ; 
 The long grass bends its spear-like form ; 
 And lovely is the silvery scene 
 When faint the sunbeams smile. 
 
 Reflection too may love the hour 
 When Nature, hid in Winter's grave. 
 No more expands the bursting bud. 
 Or bids the flowret bloom ; 
 
 For Nature soon in Spring's best charms 
 Shall rise revived from Winter's grave. 
 Expand the bursting bud again. 
 And bid the flower re-bloom. 
 
 South^. 
 
 WINTER, 
 
 Ruler of the Inverted Year. 
 
 Oh ! Winter ! ruler of the inverted year. 
 Thy scattered hair with sleet -like ashes filled. 
 Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy 
 
 cheeks 
 Fringed with a beard made white with other 
 
 snows 
 Than those of age, thy forehead wrapped in 
 
 clouds ; , 
 A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 
 A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, 
 But urged by storms along its slippery way : 
 I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st. 
 And dreaded as thou art. Thou hold'st the 
 
 sun 
 A prisoner in the yet undawning east. 
 Shortening his journey between mom and 
 
 noon. 
 
7o: 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, 
 Down to the rosy west ; but kindly still, 
 Compensating his loss with added hours 
 Of social converse and instructive ease, 
 And gathering, at short notice, in one group 
 The family dispersed, and fixing thought. 
 Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares. 
 I crown thee king of intimate delights. 
 Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, 
 And all the comforts that the lowly roof 
 Of undistui'bed retirement, and the hours 
 Of long uninterrupted evening know. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 "WINTSB Season. 
 It was frosty winter season. 
 And fair Flora's wealth was geason. 
 Meads that erst with green were spread, 
 With choice flowers diaper'd, 
 Had tawny veils ; cold had scanted 
 What the spring and nature planted. 
 Leafless boughs there might you see, 
 All, except fair Daphne's tree : 
 On their twigs no birds perch'd, 
 Warmer coverts now they search'd ; 
 And by nature's surest reason, 
 Fram'd their voices to the season ; 
 With their feeble tunes bewraying 
 How they griev'd the spring's decaying, 
 Frosty winter thus had gloom'd 
 Each fair thing that summer bloom'd ; 
 Fields were bare, and trees unclad, 
 Flowers wither'd, birds were sad : 
 When I saw a shepherd fold 
 Sheep in cote to shun the cold ; 
 Himself sitting on the grass, 
 That with frost wither'd was, 
 Sighing deeply, thus 'gan say, 
 ** Love is folly, when astray." 
 
 Greene. 
 
 WINTER, the Daughter of the Storm. 
 Winter, thou daughter of the storm, 
 I love thee when the day is o'er. 
 Spite of the tempest's outward roar ; 
 Queen of the tranquil joys that weave 
 The charm around the sudden eve ; 
 The thick'ning footsteps thro' the gloom. 
 Telling of those we love come home j 
 The candles lit, the cheerful board, 
 The dear domestic group restored ; 
 The fire that shows the looks of glee, 
 The infants standing at our knee ; 
 The busy news, the sportive tongue, 
 The laugh that makes us still feel young ; 
 
 The health to those we love, that now 
 Are far as ocean winds can blow ; 
 The health to those who with us grew. 
 And still stay with us tried and true ; 
 The wife that makes life glide away. 
 One long and lovely marriage day. 
 Then music comes — till round us creep 
 The infant list'ners half asleep ; 
 And busy tongues are loud no more. 
 And, Winter, thy sweet eve is o'er. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 WINTER, Wrathful. 
 
 The wrathful winter hast'ning on apace, 
 With blust'ring blasts had all y'bar'd the 
 
 treen ; 
 And old Saturnus, with his frosty face. 
 With chilling cold had pierc'd the tender 
 
 green ; 
 The mantle's rent, wherein enwrapped been 
 The gladsome groves that now lay over- 
 thrown, 
 The tapets torn, and every tree down blown. 
 
 The soil that erst so seemly was to seen, 
 
 Was all despoiled of her beauties' hue ; 
 
 And soot fresh flowers (wherewith the sum- 
 mer's queen 
 
 Had clad the earth) now Boreas blasts down 
 blew. 
 
 And small fowls flocking, in their song did 
 rue 
 The winter's wrath, wherewith each thing 
 
 defac'd, 
 In woeful wise bewail'd the summer past. 
 
 Hawthorn had lost his motley livery ! 
 The naked twigs were shivei'ing all for cold ; 
 And dropping down the tears abundantly. 
 Each thing (methought) with weeping eye me 
 
 told 
 The cruel season : bidding me withhold 
 Myself within, for I was gotten out 
 Into the fields, whereas I walk'd about. 
 Sackville. 
 
 WISDOM, Befitting the Christian. 
 
 A Christian's graces want their lustre when 
 they are destitute of the guidance of wisdom, 
 Mercy is a feebleness, and justice is a cruelty ; 
 patience a timorousness, and courage a mad- 
 ness, without the conduct of wisdom. So, the 
 patience of God would be cowardice. His 
 power an oppression. His justice a tyranny, 
 without wisdom as the spring and holiness as 
 the rule. No attribute of God could shine 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 703 
 
 with a due lustre and brightness without it. 
 Power is a great perfection, but wisdom is 
 greater. The pilot is more valuable than is the 
 galley-slave because of his strength ; and the 
 conduct of a general more estimable than the 
 might of a private soldier. This is the salt 
 which gives relish to all other perfections in a 
 creature. This is the jewel in the ring of all 
 the excellences of the divine nature, and holi- 
 ness is the splendour of that jewel. — Charnock. 
 
 WISDOM, Divine. 
 
 It hath pleased the Holy Ghost to keep the 
 names of the penmen of many parts of the 
 Scripture in everlasting obscurity ; for he bor- 
 rows no countenance or authority unto any- 
 thing that proceeds by inspiration from himself 
 from the names of men. — Dr. Owen. 
 
 WISDOM is Diffident. 
 
 Whoever is wise, is apt to suspect and be 
 diffident of himself, and upon that account is 
 willing to "hearken unto counsel;" whereas 
 the foolish man, being in proportion to his 
 folly full of himself, and swallowed up in con- 
 ceit, will seldom take any counsel but his own, 
 and for that very reason, because it is his own. 
 — Balguy. 
 
 WISDOM, its Meekness. 
 Eternal Spirit ! grant 
 The wisdom meek, that lives on truth divine, 
 However veil'd ; a waiting mind impart. 
 And in our weakness show our strength to 
 
 dwell ; 
 Like as of old the pensive Mary sat 
 Low at His feet, and listened to her Lord, 
 Absorb'd and self-renouncing, be our soul 
 Before the cross in docile reverence bent. 
 
 R. Montgomery. 
 
 WISDOM, its True Characteristics. 
 
 That man strangely mistakes the manner of 
 spirit he is of who knows not that peaceable- 
 ness, and gentleness, and mercy, as well as 
 purity, are inseparable characteristics of the 
 wisdom that is from above ; and that Christian 
 charity ought never to be sacrificed even for 
 the promotion of evangelical twx'Ca..— Bishop 
 Matit. 
 
 WISDOM not True, when Heard only. 
 
 There are some whose speeches are witty, 
 while their carriage is weak ; whose deeds are 
 incongruities, while their words are apoph- 
 thegms. It is not worth the name of wisdom 
 which may be heard only and not seen. — 
 Bishop Hall. 
 
 WISDOM of God. 
 
 Seek wisdom where it may be found. Seek 
 it in the knowledge of God, the holy, the just 
 and the merciful God, as revealed to us in the 
 Gospel ; of Him who is just, and yet the jus- 
 tifier of them that believe in Jesus. — Archd. 
 Raikes. 
 
 WISDOM, Practical 
 
 The actions of each day are, for the most part, 
 links which follow each other in the chain of 
 custom. Hence the great effort of practical 
 wisdom is to imbue the mind with right tastes, 
 affections, and habits ; the elements of charac- 
 ter and masters of actions. — Robert Hall. 
 
 WISDOM, Spread of. 
 
 The strong barriers which confined the stores 
 of wisdom have been thrown down, and a 
 flood overspreads the earth, old establishments 
 are rising, the inferior schools are introducing 
 improved systems of instruction, and good 
 books are rendering every man's fireside a 
 school. From all these causes there is growing 
 up an enlightened public opinion, which quick- 
 ens and directs the progress of every art and 
 science, and through the medium of a free 
 press, although overlooked by many, is now 
 rapidly becoming the governing influence ol all 
 the affairs of man. — Arnott. 
 
 WISDOM the First Thing. 
 How doth wisdom differ from that which is 
 called nature? Verily, in this manner, that 
 wisdom is the first thing, but nature the last 
 and lowest ; for nature is but an image or imi- 
 tation of wisdom, the last thing of the soul, 
 which hath the lowest impress of reason shining 
 upon it ; as when a thick piece of wax is tho- 
 roughly impressed upon by a seal, that impress 
 which is clean and distinct in the superior 
 superficies of it will in the lower side be weak 
 and obscure ; and such is the stamp and signa- 
 
704 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 ture of nature, compared with that of wisdom 
 and understanding ; nature being a thing which 
 doth only do, but not know. — Plotinus. 
 
 WISDOM, To. 
 
 STROPHE. 
 
 Various as the quivering leaves 
 
 Clothing the greenwood or the plain, 
 Ungoverned as the foamy waves 
 
 Rolling along the stormy main, 
 Th' impetuous passions that arise 
 
 Successive in the human breast, 
 To flush the visage, fire the eyes, 
 
 And rob the placid soul of rest. 
 
 ANTISTROPHE. 
 
 Who shall guide the sons of men 
 
 To shun their smooth and perilous way, 
 That leads where care and heartfelt pain 
 
 Breed strife, and sorrow, and dismay ? 
 O Wisdom, lift thy radiant rays. 
 
 As, rising o'er the mountain's brow, 
 Aurora cheers the swain who strays 
 
 Bewildered in the vale below. 
 
 EPODE. 
 
 O Wisdom, lift thy radiant rays j 
 A beam on Passion's guileful maze ! 
 Deceitful, from the flowery path, 
 The downy gales of summer breathe j 
 Fragrance fills the ambient air ; 
 Syren warblings charm the ear ; 
 But onward as the lab'rynth leads, 
 
 The fragrant flowers decay, 
 
 The music dies away. 
 And pain's terrific scream succeeds. 
 Soon woe's unfathom'd gulf appears ; 
 And hovering round the harpy-fears 
 
 Cling fiercely to the heart ; 
 While stern remorse, with bloody hand, 
 A fury, waves the flaming brand, 
 
 Or aims the fiery dart. Scots Magazine. 
 
 WISDOM, Where is it to be Found ? 
 
 Where the eye of pity weeps, 
 And the sway of passion sleeps. 
 Where the lamp of faith is burning. 
 And the ray of hope returning. 
 Where the "still small voice" within 
 Whispers not of wrath or sin, 
 Resting with the righteous dead — 
 Beaming o'er the di'ooping head — 
 Comforting the lowly mind. 
 Wisdom dwelleth — seek and find ! Anon. 
 
 WISE Work is Work with God. 
 
 Wise work is briefly work with God ; foolish 
 work is work against God. And work done 
 with God, which He will help, may be briefly 
 described as *' putting in order,"— that is, 
 enforcing God's law of order, spiritual and 
 material, over men and things. The first thing 
 you have to do essentially, the real "good 
 work," is, with respect to men, to enforce jus- 
 tice, and with respect to things to enforce 
 tidiness and fruitfulness. And against these 
 two great human deeds, justice and order, 
 there are perpetually two great demons con- 
 tending — the devil of iniquity, or inequity, 
 and the devil of disorder, or of death : for 
 death is only consummation of disorder. You 
 have to fight these two fiends daily. So far as 
 you don't fight against the fiend of iniquity, 
 you work for him. You "work iniquity," and 
 the judgment upon you, for all your "Lord, 
 Lords," will be "Depart from me, ye that 
 work iniquity." And so far as you do not 
 resist the fiend of disorder you work disorder, 
 and you yourself do the work of death, which 
 is sin, and has for its wages death itself. All 
 wise work is mainly three-fold in character : 
 it is honest, useful, and cheerful. — Ruskin. 
 
 WISH, The. 
 
 O MIGHT I gently wear'my life away, 
 
 Not moil'd by wealth, or power's imperial 
 
 sway ; 
 But rather in some sweet sequester'd nook. 
 Uttering plain comments on the Holy Book ; 
 With modest glebe, and tythes paid uncom- 
 
 pell'd. 
 And not in title only " Reverend" held. 
 And oh ! the Greek, the Roman muse be 
 
 mine ; 
 And mine a wife — worth more than all the 
 
 Nine. 
 What more? I bid you, care and pain, 
 
 good-bye : 
 Remains but — last great task — to learn to die ! 
 Dean Jackson. 
 
 WISHES, to be with the Blessed Pead. 
 
 Can there be anything so worthy of our 
 warmest wishes as to enter on an eternal, 
 unchangeable state, in blessed fellowship and 
 communion with those whose society we valued 
 most, and for the best reasons, while they con- 
 tinued with us? — Coivper. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 70s 
 
 WISHES, Vanity of. 
 Earth has its joys : let fools maintain 
 That every earthly wish is vain, 
 That all our thoughts should ever rise 
 Far from the earth towards the skies. 
 
 The lark, when into air she springs, 
 Sings as she soars, soars as she sings ; 
 But when retum'd to earth again. 
 Mute is her animating strain. 
 
 Yet though the lark exults in air, 
 Her chiefest pleasures are not there ; 
 Her home-delights on earth are found — 
 She builds her nest upon the ground. 
 
 Asiatic Journal. 
 
 Ye who have not enow of bliss. 
 And in this hard world labour sore. 
 By manhood here may get you more. 
 And be fulfilled of everything. 
 Till ye be masters of the king. 
 
 And yet, since I who promise this 
 Am no wase God to give man bliss 
 Past ending, now in time beware. 
 And if you live in little care. 
 At this time get you back again. 
 Lest unknown woe you chance to gain 
 In wishing for a thing untried. 
 
 Wm. Morris. 
 
 WIT, Definition of. 
 It is the folly of wit in some to take pains to 
 trim their labours in obscurity. It is the ig- 
 norance of learning in others to labour to divest 
 their pain by bluntness ; the one thinking he 
 never speaks wisely till he goes beyond his own 
 and all men's understandings : the other think- 
 ing he never speaks plainly till he dives beneath 
 the shallowest apprehension. I as little affect 
 curiosity in the one as I care for the aflfectation 
 of baldness in the other. I would not have 
 the pearl of Heaven's kingdom so curiously 
 set in gold as that the art of the workman 
 should hide the beauty of the jewel : nor yet 
 so slightly valued as to be set in lead. I 
 know the pearl (however placed) still retains 
 its virtue, yet I had rather have it set in gold 
 than seek it in a dunghill. Neat apparel is an 
 ornament to the body, but a disgrace if either 
 proud or slovenly. — Arthur Warwick, 
 
 WOMAN, A True. 
 She is of the best blood, yet betters it 
 With aU the graces of an excellent spirit 
 
 Mild as the infant rose, and innocent 
 
 As when heaven lent her us. Her mind, as 
 
 weU 
 As face, is yet a Paradise untainted 
 With blemishes, or the spreading weeds of vice. 
 Robert Baron. 
 
 WOMAN'S Tears. 
 
 Hide thy tears — 
 I do not bid thee not to shed them — 'twere 
 Easier to stop Euphrates at its source 
 Than one tear of a true and tender heart — 
 But let me not behold them : they unman me. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 WOMEN, Praise of Good. 
 
 Nothing is to man so dear 
 As woman's love in good manner. 
 A good woman is man's bliss. 
 Where her love right and stedfast is. 
 There is no solace under heaven. 
 Of all that a man may neven. 
 That should a man so much glew. 
 As a good woman that loveth true : 
 Ne dearer is none in God's hurd. 
 Than a chaste woman with lovely wurd. 
 Robert De Brunne. 
 
 WOODLAND Scene. 
 
 Not distant far, a length of colonnade 
 Invites us : Monument of ancient taste. 
 Now scom'd, but worthy of a better fate. 
 Our fathers knew the value of a screen 
 From sultry suns, and in their shaded walks 
 And long-protracted bowers, enjoy'd at noon 
 The gloom and coolness of declining day. 
 We bear our shades about us ; self-deprived 
 Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread. 
 And range an Indian waste without a tree. 
 Thanks to Benevolus ; he spares me yet 
 These chestnuts ranged in corresponding lines. 
 And though himself so polish'd, still reprieves 
 The obsolete prolixity of shade. 
 
 Descending now (but cautious, lest too fast) 
 A sudden steep, upon a rustic bridge 
 We pass a gulf in which the willows dip 
 Their pendant boughs, stooping as if to drink. 
 Hence ankle-deep in moss and flowery thyme 
 We mount again, and feel at every step 
 Our foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft 
 Raised by the mole, the miner of the soil. 
 He, not unlike the great ones of mankind, 
 
 z z 
 
7o6 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Disfigures earth, and, plotting in the darlc, 
 Toils much to ean) a monumental pile 
 That may record the mischiefs he has done. 
 
 The summit gain'd, behold the proud alcove 
 That crowns it ! yet not all its pride secures 
 The gi-and retreat from injuries impress'd 
 By rural carvers, who with knives deface 
 The panels, leaving an obscure rude name 
 In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss. 
 So strong the zeal to immortalize himself 
 Beats in the breast of man, that even a few 
 Transient years won from the abyss abhorr'd 
 Of blank oblivion, seem a glorious prize, 
 And even to a clown. Now roves the eye. 
 And, posted on this speculative height. 
 Exults in its command. The sheep-fold here 
 Pours out its fleecy tenants o'er the glebe. 
 At first progressive as a stream, they seek 
 The middle field ; but scatter'd by degrees 
 Each to his choice, soon whiten all the land. 
 There, from the sun-burnt hay-field homeward 
 
 creeps 
 The loaded wain, while lighten'd of its charge 
 The wain that meets it passes swiftly by, 
 The boorish driver leaning o'er his team, 
 Vociferous, and impatient of delay. 
 Nor less attractive is the woodland scene, 
 Diversified with trees of every growth, 
 Alike, yet various. Here the gray smooth 
 
 trunks 
 Of ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine, 
 Within the twilight of their distant shades ; 
 There lost behind a rising ground, the wood 
 Seems sunk, and shorten'd to its topmost 
 
 boughs. 
 No tree in all the grove but has its charms. 
 Though each its hue peculiar ; paler some. 
 And of a wannish gray ; the willow such 
 And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf, 
 And ash far-stretching his umbrageous arm ; 
 Of deeper green the elm ; and deeper still, 
 Lord of the woods, the long-surviving oak. 
 Some glossy-leaved and shining in the sun, 
 The maple, and the beech of oily nuts 
 Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve 
 Diffusing odours : nor unnoted pass 
 The sycamore, capricious in attire. 
 Now green, now tawny, and ere autumn yet 
 Have changed the woods, in scarlet honours 
 
 bright 
 O'er these, but far beyond (a spacious map 
 Of hill and valley interpos'd between), 
 The Ouse, dividing the well-water'd land. 
 Now glitters in the sun, and now retires, 
 As bashful, yet impatient to be seen. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 "WOODS, The. 
 
 In the woods a man casts off his years as the 
 snake his slough, and, at what period soever of 
 •life, is always a child. In the woods is perpe- 
 tual youth. Within these plantations of God, 
 a decorum and sanctity reign ; a perennial 
 festival is dressed, and the guest sees not how 
 he should tire of them in a thousand years. In 
 the woods we return to reason and faith. 
 There I feel that nothing can befal me in life — 
 no disgrace, no calamity (leaving me my eyes), 
 which Nature cannot repair. Standing on the 
 bare ground, my head bathed by the blithe air, 
 and uplifted into infinite space, all mean ego- 
 tism vanishes. I become a transparent eye- 
 ball. I am nothing. I see all. The currents 
 of the universal being circulate through me ; 
 I am part or particle of God. I am the lover of 
 uncontained and immortal beauty. In the wil- 
 derness I find somethingmoredear and connate 
 than in streets or villages. In the tranquil 
 landscape, and especially in the distant line of 
 the horizon, man beholds somewhat as beauti- 
 ful as his own nature. The greatest delight 
 which the fields and woods minister is the 
 suggestion of an occult relation between 
 man and the vegetable. I am not alone and 
 unacknowledged : they nod to me and I to 
 them. The waving of the boughs in the storm 
 is new to me and old. It takes me by surprise, 
 and yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that 
 of a higher thought or a better emotion coming 
 over me, when I deemed I was thinking justly 
 or doing right. Yet it is certain that the power 
 to produce this delight does not reside in 
 nature, but in man, or in a harmony of both. 
 Nature always wears the colours of the spirit. 
 To a man labouring under calamity, the heat 
 of his own fire hath sadness in it. Then there 
 is a sort of contempt of the landscape felt by 
 him who has just lost by death a dear friend. 
 The sky is less grand as it shuts down over less 
 worth in the population. — R. W. Emerson. 
 
 WORD made Flesh. 
 
 "No man ever hated his flesh," and no more 
 can He us, who are " flesh of His flesh," or 
 rather, He of ours. He seeth us daily in 
 Himself ; He cannot look upon His flesh but 
 He must think upon us. And God the Father 
 cannot now hate the flesh which the Word is 
 made ; which is now taken into one Person 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 707 
 
 "vvith His only Son, and united to the Deity 
 itself. If He love the Word, He must love it 
 too, for the Word is become flesh . . . Our 
 nature is questionless set in high favour with 
 God ; God send our persons so too, and all 
 shall be well. — Bp. Andrews. 
 
 WORD of Christ should Dwell in Us. 
 
 What are the signs and marks of those who 
 ''hear the words of God?" who so hear them 
 as to apply them to the ends of their own sal- 
 vation ? The very same signs and marks which 
 denote them to be "children of God;" the 
 symptoms which indicate a "love of God" as 
 their Father; an earnest striving to "come 
 unto" Him ; the reaching forth of the spirit to 
 meet His Spirit, and to be drawn by it to a 
 nearer and more convincing and more practical 
 view of gospel truth. "This is the love of 
 God, that we keep His commandments. " He, 
 therefore, who lives an unholy or a careless and 
 unprofitable life, who does not manifest in his 
 conduct the workings of "an honest and good 
 heart," has not yet heard the "words" of God 
 as they must be heard by those who desire to 
 find them the words of everlasting salvation. 
 —Bp. Blomfield. 
 
 WORD of God. 
 
 Faith is by hearing, and hearing by the word 
 of God. Receive the truth — beheve the truth 
 — and love the truth ; otherwise, if thou refuse 
 the bread of life and feed on poison ; if thou 
 forsake the water of life and dig unto thyself 
 a cistern that will hold no water, thou shalt 
 lead thy days in wilfulness and die in sin ; thy 
 blood shall be upon thine own head ; thou 
 shalt not see the glory of God ; death and dam- 
 nation shall be thy recompense ; because thou 
 hadst pleasure in wickedness, and didst not 
 give thy heart to receive, and love, and believe 
 the truth.— Z?/. J^cuell. 
 
 WORD of God, Desire for. 
 God hath now sent His living oracle 
 Into the world to teach His final will, 
 And sends His Spirit of truth henceforth to 
 
 dwell 
 In pious hearts ; an inward oracle 
 To all truth requisite for men to know. 
 
 MiUo7i. 
 
 WORD of God novT- witli us. 
 
 He it is that hath spoken. And He hath spo- 
 ken to us. We are those to whom the Word 
 is come ; we are those concerned in it ; our 
 duty is declared, our souls depend on this issue. 
 And He, the Lord of all, who hath spoken to 
 us, prefers a still higher claim to our attention, 
 for He hath spoken to us by His Son. The 
 message so important, that it could be accom- 
 plished by no less a messenger ; the object so 
 great and precious, that it was worthy even of 
 such an embassy ; and the party concerned so 
 perverse and obdurate, that they would listen 
 to no other. — Bp. J. B. Summr. 
 
 That word is now here, to instruct, to exalt, 
 to sanctify us ; to fill us with patience, and 
 with comfort, and with hope ; to purify us 
 even as He is pure. What then if we refuse 
 to be instructed? What if we are strangers 
 to patience, and to comfort, and to hope? 
 What if we live as if we had yielded up our 
 members as servants to uncleanness and ini- 
 quity ? Are we not thereby heaping up against 
 ourselves the terrors of that day, when the 
 rejected word of God, and of His Christ, shall 
 rise up in judgment upon us ? What then is 
 our wisdom, but to cast ourselves upon our 
 knees before that Spirit, who Himself dictated 
 the book — who " openeth and no man shut- 
 teth" — who "shutteth and no man openeth ;" 
 who alone can make the record ours, by taking 
 from us the heart of stone, and giving us a 
 heart of flesh, fit to receive the sacred impress, 
 even the words of eternal life. — Lebas. 
 
 WORD, Sword of the. 
 The same water which baing liquid is pene- 
 trated with a horse-hair, will bear the horse 
 himself when it is hard frozen. I muse not 
 then that those precepts ^nd threats of God's 
 judgments enter not info the hardened hearts 
 of some old men, frozen by the practice of sin, 
 which pierce and penetrate deep into the ten- 
 der hearts and melting consciences of younger 
 folks, thawed with the warmth of God's fear. 
 Hence see I the cause why the sword of the 
 Word, so sharp that it serveth in some to di- 
 vide the joints and marrow, in others glanceth 
 or reboundeth without dent or wound from 
 their crystal, frozen, and adamantine hearts. 
 I cannot promise myself to be free from sin, I 
 were then no man : but I will purpose in my- 
 self to be free from hardness of heart ; by cus- 
 
7o8 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 torn and continuance in sin, I may err in my 
 way, I will not persist and go on in my errors 
 till I cannot return again into my way. I may 
 stumble, I may fall, but I will not lie still 
 when I am fallen. — Arthur Wm-xvick. 
 
 WORD, The, the Spirit of God. 
 
 As the Scriptures were written by the Spirit 
 of God, so must they be expounded by the 
 same. For without that Spirit we have neither 
 ears to hear, nor eyes to see ; it is that Spirit 
 who openeth, and no man shutteth ; the same 
 shutteth, and no man openeth. — Bp. Jrcvell. 
 
 WORDS. 
 Medals of the mind we may call words. And 
 as the medals of creation from the geologic 
 world reveal the workings of creative energy 
 and the successive developments of the Divine 
 idea, so words present a humanitary geology 
 where histories, philosophies, and ethics lie 
 embodied and embalmed. But this is a spiri- 
 tual geology, its strata built up of the rich 
 deposits of mind. With passionate fervour 
 man pours himself on nature. An irrepressible 
 longing to express a secret sense of his unity 
 with nature possesses him, and from the con- 
 sciousness, all plastic and aglow, rush words, 
 infinitely free, rich, and varied, laden with 
 pathos and power, with passion, poetry, hu- 
 mour, thought. — IVm. Szuinton. 
 
 WORDS and Actions, 
 Their Responsibility. 
 
 It would be well for us all, old and young, to 
 remember that our words and actions, ay, and 
 our thoughts also, are set upon never-stopping 
 wheels, rolling on and on unto the pathway of 
 Eternity. — M. M. Breivstcr, 
 
 WORDS, Fair. 
 
 Throughout the world, if it were sought 
 Fair words — enough a man shall find ; 
 
 They be good cheap ; they cost right nought ; 
 Their substance is but only wind. 
 
 But well to say, and so to mean 
 
 That sweet accord is seldom seen. 
 
 Sir Thomas Wyatt. 
 
 WORDS, not Sufficient. 
 
 It is not enough to have the words of the- 
 Gospel on our lips, and the evidence of its 
 truth in our understandings — it must take 
 powerful hold of our affections ; it must 
 occupy and maintain the highest place among- 
 our motives and principles of action ; it must 
 not merely effect a lodgment in the outworks, 
 it must be firmly seated in the citadel of the 
 heart. — r. Dale, 
 
 WORK. 
 
 God is a worker. He has thickly strewn 
 
 Infinity with grandeur. God is love ; 
 
 He yet shall wipe away Creation's tears, 
 
 And all the worlds shall summer in His smile. 
 
 Why work I not ? the veriest mote that sports 
 
 Its one-day life within the sunny beam 
 
 Has its stern duties. Wherefore have I none ? 
 
 I will throw off this dead and useless past, 
 
 As a strong runner, straining for his life. 
 
 Unclasps a mantle to the hungry winds. 
 
 A mighty purpose rises large and slow 
 
 From out the fluctuations of my soul. 
 
 As, ghost-like, from the dim and tumbling sea 
 
 Starts the completed moon. 
 
 Alexander Smith. 
 
 No man is happier than he who loves and 
 fulfils that particular work for the world which 
 falls to his share. Even though the full under- 
 standing of his work, and of its ultimate value, 
 may not be present with him ; if he but love 
 it — always assuming that his conscience ap- 
 proves — it brings an abounding satisfaction. 
 Indeed, we none of us fully comprehend our 
 office, nor the issue we are working for. To 
 man is entrusted the nature of his actions, not 
 the result of them ; this God keeps out of our 
 sight. The most trivial act, doubtless, goes to 
 the promotion of a multitude of ends — distant, 
 it may be, to ourselves, but only as the leaves of 
 a tree are distant from their supplying rootlets. 
 And therefore does it behove us to be diligent 
 in our several spheres. We should work like 
 the bees, sedulous to collect all the honey 
 within our reach, but leaving to Providence 
 to order what shall come of it. The good 
 which our exertions effect may rarely or never 
 become visible. In teaching, which is the 
 readiest of good uses, how often does all 
 exertion seem in vain ? Our duty is neverthe- 
 less to go on, and strive to do all we can. 
 j "Every man," says Fichte, "should go on 
 1 working, never debating within himself, nor 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 709 
 
 wavering in doubt whether it may succeed, 
 Tjut labour as if of necessity it must succeed." 
 Between the result of single efforts, and the 
 •end we have in view, and the magnitude of 
 the obstacles to be overcome, there may often 
 appear a large and painful disproportion ; but 
 we must not allow ourselves to be discouraged 
 by seemings ; warm and hearty endeavour 
 will certainly meet its reward. Good uses 
 are never without result. Once enacted, they 
 become a part of the moral world ; they give to 
 it new enrichment and beauty, and the whole 
 universe partakes of their influence. They 
 may not return in the shape wherein played 
 forth, but likelier after the manner of seeds, 
 which never forget to turn to flowers. Philo- 
 sophers tell us that since the creation of the 
 world not one particle of matter has been lost. 
 It may have passed into new shapes ; it may 
 have combined with other elements ; it may 
 have floated away in vapour, but it comes 
 back some time in the dew-drop or the rain, 
 helping the leaf to grow and the fruit to swell ; 
 through all its wanderings and transformations 
 Providence watches over and directs it. So is 
 it with every generous and self-denying effort : 
 it may escape our observation and be utterly for- 
 gotten ; it may seem to have been utterly in 
 Tain ; but it has painted itself on the eternal 
 world, and is never effaced. Nothing that has 
 the ideas and principles of heaven in it can die 
 or be fruitless. 
 
 Talk not of wasted affection ; affection never 
 was wasted. If it enrich not the heart of 
 another, its waters, returning back to their 
 spring, like the rain, shall fill it full of refresh- 
 ment. That which the fountain sends forth 
 returns again to the fountain. 
 
 Carlyle, in that extraordinary book "Sartor 
 Resartus," shows us that it is from our work 
 we gain most of our self-knowledge — one of 
 the most important desiderata of life. "Our 
 works," says he, ** are the mirror within which 
 the spirit first sees its natural lineaments. 
 * Know thyself ' is an impossible precept till 
 it be translated into this partially possible one. 
 Know what thou canst work at." Work is 
 obedience, and self-knowledge is invaluable, 
 and thus is proved over again that duty and 
 interest are but two names for one fact. — Leo 
 W. Grmdon. 
 
 WORK and Bodily Health. - 
 
 Bodily health, as well as spiritual, depends 
 on work. Very many of the complaints so 
 
 frequently heard from the delicate young 
 women of our day, as want of vigour, inability 
 to bear exposure, deficiency of strength to 
 walk far, may be traced to other and earlier 
 causes than supposed, settling at last into 
 absence of well-trained mental power, such as 
 would seek an outlet in agreeable and uselul 
 occupation. But mental power, let them un- 
 derstand, is not to be gained from senseless 
 fiction, which, leading, as it is almost sure to 
 do in the end, to discontented dreams of what 
 might have been, or should be, keeps the 
 heart away from thankful perception and en- 
 joyment of what is ; it is to be got from no 
 such miserable Avaste of time as this ; but from 
 steady and well-directed reading of stories not 
 fictitious, and from steady and systematic con- 
 templation of the works of nature. Seeking 
 to improve themselves as intelligent beings, 
 our young ladies would not half as often want 
 the doctor. Rational work they would find, 
 moreover, less fatiguing than the very pastimes 
 which they fancied true enjoyment. Under 
 proper management, work never becomes 
 irksome. When prematurely fatigued, it is 
 not the action that has tired us, but want of 
 ingenious and orderly methods. Work never 
 killed or hurt any man who knew how to go 
 about it. See what order there is in nature ! 
 along with sublimest activity, what smooth- 
 ness and ease ! How still the growth of the 
 plant, yet how rapid ! How peacefully the 
 stars of midnight seem encamped : yet before 
 morning whole armies have disappeared ! So 
 much is achieved, because everything is done 
 in order at the right time, intently, yet delibe- 
 rately, and the minutes never wasted in inde- 
 cision. In work, then, consists the true pride 
 of life ; grounded in active employment, 
 though early ardour may abate, it never dege- 
 nerates into indifference, and age lives in 
 perennial youth. Life is a weariness only to 
 the idle, or where the soul is empty. — Leo IV. 
 Grindoii. 
 
 WORK, Deleterious. 
 
 Work, work, work. 
 
 In the dull December light, 
 And work, work, work, 
 
 When the weather is warm and bright: 
 While underneath the eaves 
 The brooding swallows cling, 
 As if to show their sunny backs. 
 And twit me with their spring. 
 
 Thomas Hood. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 "WORK First, Fee Second. 
 
 There will be always a number of men who 
 would fain set themselves to the accumulation 
 of wealth as the sole object of their lives. 
 Necessarily that class of men is an uneducated 
 class, inferior in intellect, and more or less 
 cowardly. It is physically impossible for a 
 well-educated, intellectual, or brave man to 
 make money the chief object of his thoughts ; 
 as physically impossible as it is for him to make 
 his dinner the principal object of them. All 
 healthy people like their dinners, but their 
 dinner is not the main object of their lives. So 
 all healthily minded people like making money 
 — ought to like it, and to enjoy the sensation 
 of winning it — but the main object of their 
 life is not money ; it is something better than 
 money. 
 
 A good soldier, for instance, mainly wishes 
 to do his fighting well. He is glad of his 
 pay — very properly so, and justly grumbles 
 when you keep him ten years without it — still, 
 his main notion of life is to win battles, not 
 to be paid for winning them. So of clergymen. 
 They like pew-rents and baptismal fees, of 
 course : but yet, if they are brave and well- 
 educated, the pew-rent is not the sole object 
 of their lives, and the baptismal fee is not the 
 sole purpose of the baptism : the clergyman's 
 object is essentially to baptise and preach, not 
 to be paid for preaching. So of doctors. They 
 like fees, no doubt — ought to like them : yet 
 if they are brave and well-educated, the 
 entire object of their lives is not fees. They, 
 on the whole, desire to cure the sick ; and 
 — if they are good doctors, and the choice 
 were fairly put to them— would rather cure 
 their patient, and lose their fee, than kill him 
 and get it. And so with all other brave and 
 rightly-trained men ; their work is first, their 
 fee second — very important always, but still 
 second. But in every nation, as I said, there 
 are a vast class who are ill-educated, cowardly, 
 and more or less stupid. And with these 
 people, just as certainly the fee is first, and 
 the work second, as with brave people the 
 work is first and the fee second. And this is 
 no small distinction. It is the whole distinc- 
 tion in a man; distinction between life and 
 death in him, between heaven and hell for 
 him. You cannot serve two masters ; you 
 must serve one or other. If your work is first 
 with you, and your fee second, work is your 
 master, and the lord of work, who is 
 God. But if your fee is first with you, and 
 
 your work second, fee is your master, and the 
 lord of fee, who is the devil : and not only 
 the devil, but the lowest of devils— the "least 
 erected fiend that fell." So there you have 
 it in brief terms ; work first, you are God's 
 servants ; fee first, you are the fiend's. And 
 it makes a difference, now and ever, believe 
 me, whether you serve Him who has on His 
 vesture and thigh written, "King of Kings," 
 and whose service is perfect freedom ; or him 
 on whose vesture and thigh the name is written, 
 "Slave of Slaves," and whose service is 
 perfect slavery. — Ruskin. 
 
 WORK, Honesty to be Recognized in. 
 
 I HARDLY know anything more strange than 
 that you recognize honesty in play, and you do 
 not in work. In your lightest games you have 
 always some one to see what you call "fair- 
 play." In boxing you must hit fair ; in racing 
 start fair. Your English watchword is "fair- 
 play," your English hatred foul-play. Did it 
 ever strike you that you wanted another watch- 
 word also, "fair-work;" and another hatred 
 also, foul- work? Your prize-fighter has some 
 honour in him yet ; and so have the men in 
 the ring round him ; they will judge him to 
 lose the match by foul hitting. But your 
 prize-merchant gains his match by foul-selling, 
 and no one cries out against that. You drive 
 a gambler out of the gambling-room who loads 
 dice, but you leave a tradesman in flourish- 
 ing business who loads scales ! For, observe, 
 all dishonest dealing is loading scales. What 
 does it matter whether I get short weight, 
 adulterate substance, or dishonest fabric ? The 
 fault in the fabric is incomparably the worst 
 of the two. Give me short measure of food,, 
 and I only lose by you ; but give me adulte- 
 rate food, and I die by you. Here then is 
 your chief duty, you workmen and tradesmen^ 
 to be true to yourselves, and to us who would 
 help you. We can do nothing for you, nor 
 you for yourselves, without honesty. Get that, 
 you get all ; without that, your suffrages, your 
 reforms, your free-trade measures, your insti- 
 tutions of science are all in vain. It is useless 
 to put your heads together if you can't put 
 your hearts together. Shoulder to shoulder,, 
 right hand to right hand among yourselves, 
 and no wrong hand to anybody else, and 
 you'll win the world yet. — Ruskin, 
 
:\OBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 711 
 
 WORK in the Future State. 
 
 The consideration of this great principle, 
 action the spring of happiness, though it is in 
 regard to the present life that it practically 
 concerns us, belongs as largely to right esti- 
 mates of the world to come. Doubtless, the 
 means by which we secure enjoyment upon 
 earth instruct us as to the proximate source of 
 the enjoyments that will be felt in heaven— 
 a subject that cannot be uninteresting to any 
 man who reflects for a moment how long he 
 hopes to live there. That the same reaction 
 of man in response to the primary action of 
 God, which here makes life and happiness, 
 will similarly engender it hereafter, we may 
 gather, indeed, most plainly from the Divine 
 oracles themselves. When we are told so con- 
 solingly that to die is to go to rest, and that, 
 " Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord, 
 for they rest from their labours," it is not meant 
 that by entering the future state we enter on a 
 state of passiveness. There can be no happi- 
 ness or holiness even in heaven, if the life be 
 one of mere quiescence. Do we not see, even 
 in this world, that those who would have us 
 understand by *' Remember the Sabbath-day 
 to keep it holy" — Remember to keep it idle ; 
 i.e. idle as regards everything but religious dis- 
 cipline — do we not see even in this world that 
 they prescribe a course against which all 
 nature rebels, and which fails from its very 
 absurdity ? How much more possible will it 
 be to keep holy the everlasting Sabbath, except 
 by supplementing its special duties of praise 
 and worship with useful and benevolent occu- 
 pations? The labours which will be rested 
 from are the resistance of temptations, the en- 
 durance of trials, the struggles with evil which 
 incessantly harass our temporal existence ; all 
 our chosen and happier activities will continue 
 in a more glorious manner, and with the per- 
 fect results which on earth are unattainable. 
 The best and wisest of mankind have always 
 had a conviction that it will be so. ** He felt," 
 says the biographer of Dr. Gordon, "that 
 there would be no interval of unconsciousness, 
 no cessation of activity, no intermission of en- 
 jojrment ; that though the mode of existence 
 would be changed, the existence itself would 
 be neither destroyed nor suspended." We 
 may learn much from the very term that Scrip- 
 ture employs. It is never said that we shall 
 rest from our work, only from ''labour." 
 Labour is that exertion which is irksome and 
 painful; work that which is congenial, wel- 
 
 come, a delightful exercise. Labour is the 
 toil of the soul and body upon things in oppo- 
 sition to them ; work is the bestowal of their 
 best energies on what pleases and recompenses. 
 Work rightly understood is divine, and nothing 
 that is divine can ever cease. It is divine, 
 because it comes out of the inmost spirit of 
 goodness and love, and thus primarily from 
 God ; whereas indolence and laziness come 
 of the very essence of evil. Who is the 
 greatest workman in the universe ? He who 
 works from out of his infinite love for the 
 smallest insect as well as the immortal angeL 
 That the wicked are often diligent, more 
 diligent, possibly, than many of the good, is 
 no objection : because the diligence of such 
 does not come from their evil as to its own in- 
 trinsic nature, but of its necessities ; work must 
 be done, in order that the means may be pro- 
 cured whereby the appetites of the evil shall be 
 indulged. The idea of an idle heaven is a very 
 low and unintelligent one : it could only have 
 arisen with the indolent upon earth ; and 
 wherever found there is an indolent spirit 
 underneath. Heaven, like the Lord himself, 
 who to the pure appears pure, who to the mer- 
 ciful appears mercifiil, is measured by each 
 man according to his own character and incli- 
 nations ; and if we would know which view is 
 nearer the truth, we may be sure it is that 
 which most exalts us. If true life consist in 
 well-directed activity while we are here, 
 assuredly the continuation of our life in heaven 
 will derive its blessedness, in no slight degree, 
 from the new and magnificent opportunities it 
 will there enjoy. There will be an external 
 world of nature to study, consisting of that 
 inexhaustible store of spiritual objects and 
 phenomena which forms the scenery of the 
 spiritual world, and which is the prototype of 
 the material world and its contents, and in- 
 viting us to endless research and contemplation. 
 There will also be good uses to fulfil, the pro- 
 totypes of practical charity and affection upon 
 earth, and which will be largely directed, there 
 is every reason to believe, to the spiritual 
 needs of the successive and interminable gene- 
 rations of men. — Leo IV. Grindon, 
 
 WORK of the Head and of the Hand. 
 
 Here we have at last an inevitable distinction. 
 There must be work done by the arms, or none 
 of us could live. There must be work done 
 by the brains, or the life we get would not be 
 
712 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE' LANGUAGE. 
 
 worth having. And the same men cannot do 
 both. There is rough work to be done, and 
 rough men must do it ; there is gentle work to 
 be done, and gentle men must do it ; and it is 
 physically impossible that one class should do 
 or divide the work of the other. And it is of 
 no use to try to conceal this sorrowful fact by 
 fine words, and to talk to the workman about 
 the honourableness of manual labour and the 
 dignity of humanity. That is a grand old pro- 
 verb of Sancho Panza's, ** Fine words butter 
 no parsnips ; " and I can tell you that all over 
 England just now you workmen are buying 
 a great deal too much butter at that dairy. 
 Rough work, honourable or not, takes the life 
 out of us ; and the man who has been heaving 
 clay out of a ditch all day, or driving an ex- 
 press train against the north wind all night, or 
 holding a collier's helm in a gale on a lee shore, 
 or whirling white-hot iron at a furnace-mouth, 
 that man is not the same at the end of his day 
 or night as one who has been sitting in a quiet 
 room, with everything comfortable about him, 
 reading books, or classing butterflies, or paint- 
 ing pictures. If it is any comfort to you to be 
 told that the rough work is the more honour- 
 able of the two, I should be sorry to take that 
 much of consolation from you ; and in some 
 sense I need not. The rough work is at all 
 events real, honest, and generally, though not 
 always, useful ; while the fine work is, a great 
 deal of it, foolish and false as well as fine, and 
 therefore dishonourable ; but when both kinds 
 are equally well and worthily done, the head's 
 is the noble work and the hand's the ignoble ; 
 and of all hand-work whatsoever necessary for 
 the maintenance of life, those old words, *' In 
 the sweat of thy face thou shalt eat bread," in- 
 dicate that the inherent nature of it is one of 
 calamity ; and that the ground cursed for our 
 sake casts also some shadow of degi-adation 
 into our contest with its thom and its thistle. 
 So that all nations have held their days honour- 
 able or "holy," and constituted them "holy- 
 days," or "holidays," by making them days of 
 rest ; and the promise which among all our 
 distant hopes seems to cast the chief bright- 
 ness over death is that blessing of "the dead 
 who die in the Lord, that they rest from their 
 labours, and their works do follow them." — 
 Ruskin. 
 
 WORK, Reward ot 
 " Here is the patience of the saints ; here 
 are they that keep the commandments of God, 
 
 and the faith of Jesus. And I heard a voice 
 from heaven saying unto me. Write, Blessed 
 are the dead which die in the Lord from hence- 
 forth : yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest 
 from their labours ; and their works do follow 
 them. " — Revelatio7is. 
 
 Thy works, and alms, and all thy good en- 
 deavours, 
 Stayed not behind, nor in the grave were 
 
 trod ; 
 But as Faith pointed with her golden rod. 
 Followed thee up to joy and bliss for ever : 
 Love led them on, and P'aith, who knew them 
 best, 
 Thy handmaids clad them o'er with purple 
 beams 
 And azure wings, that up they flew so drest, 
 And spake the truth of thee, in glorious 
 themes. 
 Before the Judge j who henceforth bid thee rest, 
 And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 WORKERS, Hand, their Reward. 
 
 The hand-workers are not so ill off. The 
 worst that can happen to you is to break 
 stones — not be broken by them. And for you 
 there will come a time for better payment ; 
 some day, assuredly, more pence will be paid 
 to Peter the fisherman and fewer to Peter the 
 Pope ; we shall pay people not quite so much 
 for talking in parliament and doing nothing, as 
 for holding their tongues out of it and doing 
 something ; we shall pay our ploughman a little 
 more and our lawyer a little less, and so on : but 
 at least we may even now take care that what- 
 ever work is done shall be fully paid for, and 
 the man who does it paid for it, not somebody 
 else ; and that it shall be done in an orderly, 
 soldierly, well-guided, wholesome way, under 
 good captains and lieutenants of labour ; and 
 that it shall have its appointed times of rest, 
 and enough of them ; and that in those times 
 the play shall be wholesome play, not in 
 theatrical gardens with tin flowers and gas 
 sunshine, and girls dancing because of their 
 misery ; but in true gardens with real flowers 
 and real sunshine, and children dancing because 
 of their gladness ; so that truly the streets shall 
 be full (the streets, mind you, not the gutters) 
 of children playing in the midst thereof. We 
 may take care that working men at least shall 
 have as good books to read as anybody else 
 when they have time to read them ; and as 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 713 
 
 comfortable firesides to sit at as anybody else 
 when they have time to sit at them. This, I 
 think, can be managed for you, my working 
 friends, in the good time. — Ruskin. 
 
 "WORKMANSHIP, Perfection of Divine. 
 
 It is the very perfection of the Divine work- 
 manship which leads every inquirer to imagine 
 a surpassing worth, and grace, and dignity, in 
 his own special department of it. The fact is 
 altogether notorious, that in order to attain a 
 high sense of the importance of any science, 
 j and of the worth and beauty of the objects 
 I which it embraces, nothing more is necessary 
 I than the intent and persevering study of them. 
 i Whatever the walk of philosophy may be on 
 I which man shall enter, that is the walk which 
 of all others he conceives to be most enriched 
 by all that is fitted to entertain the intellect or 
 arrest the admiration of the enamoured scholar. 
 , The astronomer who can unravel the mechan- 
 ! ism of the heavens ; or the chemist who can 
 ! trace the atomic processes of matter upon 
 earth ; or the metaphysician who can assign 
 the laws of human thought ; or the gramma- 
 rian who can discriminate the niceties of lan- 
 g;uage ; or the naturalist who can classify the 
 flowers, and the birds, and the shells, and the 
 minerals, and the insects which so teem and 
 multiply in this world of wonders : each of 
 these respective inquirers is apt to become the 
 worshipper of his own theme, and to look with 
 a sort of indifference bordering on contempt 
 towards what he imagines the far less inte- 
 resting track of his fellow-labourers. Now 
 each is right in the admiration he renders to 
 the grace and grandeur of that field which 
 himself has explored ; but all are wrong in the 
 distaste they feel, or rather in the disregard 
 they cast on the other fields which they have 
 never entered. We should take the testimony 
 of each to the worth of that which he does 
 know, and reject the testimony of each to the 
 comparative worthlessness of that which he 
 does not know ; and then the unavoidable 
 inference is, that that must be indeed a replete 
 and a gorgeous universe in which we dwell ; 
 and still more glorious the eternal Mind from 
 whose conception it arose, and whose prolific 
 fiat gave birth to it in all its vastness and 
 variety. — Chalmers. 
 
 WORKS, Good, Utterly Inadequate. 
 
 Poor and inadequate are the best services we 
 can render in comparison with the mercies we 
 have received, and the gloiy revealed to us. 
 Our best deeds are tainted with earthly mo- 
 tives ; and when we have done our best, upon 
 the best and purest principles, we can only 
 say we "are unprofitable servants," we have 
 only done what is our duty to do ... If our 
 own merits could have obtained the inheritance 
 of heaven, then had not Christ died for us . . . 
 But, if Christ's death had been intended to 
 supersede our own endeavours after holiness, 
 then . . . would the bright example of our 
 blessed Lord have been recorded for us in vain ; 
 and all the warnings, the threatenings, and 
 the sanctions of the gospel would have been 
 a mockery to mislead and deceive us.^^. 
 Otter. 
 
 WORLD a Bubble, Light and HoUow. 
 
 We should not stoop so greedily to swallow 
 The bubbles of the world so light and hollow; 
 To drink its frothy draughts, in lightsome 
 
 mood. 
 And live upon such empty, airy food. 
 Fools that we are, to follow forms that spurn 
 
 us, 
 And spend our breath in fanning flames that 
 
 burn us ! 
 We do the thing we hate, and would pursue 
 
 not ; 
 And what we most desire to do, we do not : 
 Leave what we dearly love, with weeping eyes. 
 And closely cling to what we most despise. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 WORLD, Adieu to. 
 
 GooD-BYE, proud world ! I'm going home 
 Thou art not my friend ; I am not thine : 
 
 Too long through weary crowds I roam : — 
 A river ark on the ocean brine, 
 
 Too long I am toss'd like the driven foam ; 
 
 But now, proud world, I'm going home. 
 
 Good-bye to Flattery's fawning face ; 
 
 To Grandeur with his wise grimace ; 
 
 To upstart Wealth's averted eye ; 
 
 To supple office, low and high ; 
 
 To crowded halls, to court and street, 
 
 To frozen heaits, and hasting feet, 
 
 To those who go, and those who come, 
 
 Good-bye, proud world, I'm going home. 
 
714 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 I go to seek my own hearth-stone, 
 Bosom'd in yon green hills alone ; 
 A secret lodge in a pleasant land, 
 Whose groves the frolic fairies plann'd, 
 Where arches green, the livelong day. 
 Echo the blackbird's roundelay ; 
 And evil men have never trod — 
 A spot that is sacred to thought and God. 
 
 ! vi^hen I am safe in my sylvan home, 
 
 1 mock at the pride of Greece and Rome ; 
 And when I am stretch'd beneath the pines 
 Where the evening star so holy shines, 
 
 I laugh at the lore and pride of man, 
 At the sophist schools, and the learned clan ; 
 For what are they all in their high conceit. 
 When man in the bush with God may meet ? 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
 
 WORLD, a Fair One. 
 
 Ah, methinks, this world how fair, 
 Were it but from sin refined ! 
 
 Man how free and happy there, 
 Were he pure as God is kind ; 
 
 But the breath of sin has past 
 
 O'er it like a poison blast. 
 
 Lovely still, some happy hours 
 Beam between to glad us here ; 
 
 And these forest-thicket bowers 
 Almost void of ill appear, 
 
 Smiling as if nought had been 
 
 Here to mar the lovely scene. 
 
 Yet how many forms of harm 
 
 E'en these greenwood coverts bear I 
 
 Well the deer starts with alarm, 
 Well the wild bird shuns the snare : 
 
 And within the flowery brake 
 
 Lurks the evil-venomed snake. 
 
 Ednicston. 
 
 WORLD, a Wildering Maze. 
 
 What is the world ? A wildering maze, 
 Where sin has tracked ten thousand wayi^ 
 
 Its victims to ensnare : 
 All broad, and winding, and aslope ; 
 All tempting with perfidious hope ; 
 
 All ending in despair. 
 
 Millions of pilgrims throng these roads, 
 Bearing their baubles or their loads, 
 
 Down to eternal night. 
 One humble path that never bends — 
 Narrow, and rough, and steep, ascends 
 
 From darkness into light. 
 
 Is there a guide to show that path ? 
 The Bible. He alone who hath 
 
 The Bible, need not stray. 
 Yet he who hath, and will not give 
 That heavenly guide to all that live, 
 
 Himself shall lose his way. Anon. 
 
 WORLD, how Transitory. 
 
 What is the world at best. 
 
 Though decked in vernal bloom, 
 By hope and youthful fancy drest ? 
 What but a ceaseless toil for rest, 
 A passage to the tomb ; 
 If flow'rets strew 
 The avenue, 
 Though fair, alas ! how fading and how few ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 In this world we are children standing on 
 the bank of a mighty river. Casting our eyes 
 upward and downward, along the channel, 
 we discern various windings of its current, 
 and perceive that it is now visible, now ob- 
 scure, and now entirely hidden from our view. 
 But being far removed from the fountain 
 whence it springs, and from the ocean into 
 which it is emptied, we are unable to form 
 any conceptions of the beauty, usefulness, or 
 grandeur of its progress. Lost in perplexity 
 and ignorance, we gaze, wonder, and despond. 
 In this situation, a messenger from heaven 
 comes to our relief, with authentic information 
 of its nature, its course, and its end, conducts 
 us backward to the fountain, and leads us for- 
 ward to the ocean. This river is the earthly 
 system of Providence, the Bible is the celestial 
 messenger, and Pleaven is the ocean in which 
 all preceding dispensations find their end. — 
 Divight. 
 
 WORLD, Revenge upon. 
 
 Much have I suffered, both from thee and 
 
 thine ; 
 Thou shalt not 'scape me. World ! I'll make 
 
 thee weep. 
 I'll make my lone thought cross thee like a 
 
 spirit, 
 And blanch thy braggart cheeks, lift up thy 
 
 hair. 
 And make thy great knees tremble j I will 
 
 send 
 Across thy soul dark herds of demon dreams. 
 And make thee toss and moan in troubled 
 
 sleep ; 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 715 
 
 And, waking, I will fill thy forlorn heart 
 With pure and happy thoughts, as summer 
 
 woods 
 Are full of singing birds. I come from far ; 
 I'll rest myself, O World, awhile on thee. 
 And, half in earnest, half in jest, I'll cut 
 My name upon thee, pass the arch of Death, 
 Then on a stair of stars go up to God ! 
 
 Alexander Smith. 
 
 WORLD, The. 
 
 The world is deceitful : her end is doubtful : 
 her conclusion is horrible : her judge is ter- 
 rible : and her judgment is intolerable. — 
 Quarks, 
 
 WORLD, The, 
 A Glass for Contemplation. 
 
 The world is a glasse wherein we may con- 
 template the eternall power and majestie of 
 God: it is that great booke of so large a 
 character, that a man may run and read it ; 
 yea, even the simplest man that cannot read, 
 may yet spell out of this booke that there is a 
 God. Every shepheard hath this calendar, 
 and every ploughman this A B C. — Fnrchas. 
 
 WORLD, The 
 Best Part of God's V/orks. 
 
 This world is far too small a page, 
 Almighty God ! to write thy praise, 
 
 And far too short its transient age, 
 Thou ancient of eternal days ! 
 
 Yet oh ! how lovely and how fair. 
 How mighty and sublime are these. 
 
 From the sweet rose in summer air, 
 To alps, and storms, and winter seas ! 
 
 In streams, or meads, or hills, or dells. 
 Or waving groves, or gardens' bloom, 
 
 All hung with Music's magic bells. 
 And incens'd all with rich perfume. 
 
 And all the varied world of life, 
 
 Throughout its many thousand forms, 
 
 With gushing joy, with feeling rife, 
 
 Which beauty lights and passion warms. 
 
 And when deep Science delves and seeks. 
 And when high genius wings and sonrs, 
 
 And angel-gifted language speaks, 
 And fervent piety adores ; 
 
 Thy wondrous whole thy powers proclaim. 
 But infinite, and vast thy ways ! 
 
 Time is too short to tell thy name. 
 
 And earth too small to write thy praise. 
 Edmeston. 
 
 WORLD, Tiring Influence of. 
 
 I DO fear the world 
 Hath tired you, and you seek a cell to rest in. 
 As birds that wing it o'er the sea- sick ships 
 Till they get breath, and then they fly away. 
 
 Shii'ley. 
 
 WORLD, Vanity of. 
 How vain and poor, and little worth, 
 Are all these glittering toys of earth 
 
 That lure us here ; 
 Dreams of a sleep, that death must break, 
 Alas ! before it bids us wake. 
 
 Ye disappear. Manriqite. 
 
 WORLDLY Pleasures and Religion. 
 
 Men often suppose that to rise into the 
 religious life it is necessary that they shall 
 withdraw from intercourse with the world of 
 secular things. Not so. It is realized better 
 in society than in the hermitage ; and the 
 world, instead of being closed as a scene of 
 pleasure, acquires new interest and value ; it 
 manifests power even to amend us. ** Use the 
 world " is the doctrine of purity. To forsake 
 it is ungrateful to God, and prejudicial to our 
 best interests. The truly religious man cannot 
 see how it is a proof of piety to emasculate 
 his natural instincts. He knows how to be 
 both "merry and wise," and that it is reli- 
 gious to be so. Those who make destruction 
 of the common affections of our nature the 
 condition of rising to God, confound use with 
 abuse, will with wilfulness. The value and 
 importance of the sensuous life are such as it 
 is almost impossible to over-rate. The evil 
 consists in staying in it, or rather in neglect- 
 ing to engraft upon it a higher life. There is 
 nothing in the spirit of religion hostile to 
 cheerful enjoyment of the world. Dissipation 
 and unlawful pleasures unquestionably it pro- 
 hibits, and also that unlawful degree of 
 attachment to pleasures, in themselves pure 
 and innocent, which withdraws the attention 
 from the fulfilment of duty. But it never 
 seeks to forbid pleasure, or to demand the re- 
 nunciation of anything that is of real advan- 
 
7i6 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE, 
 
 tage to us to possess, however intensely secular. 
 Pleasure in every form is good in itself. It is 
 the sweet allurement with which God, the 
 All-wise and the All-good, surrounds useful 
 things and needful acts, in order that we may 
 seek and perform them. It is not pleasure 
 ■which corrupts men, but men who corrupt 
 pleasure ; rightly regarded, it leads men not 
 away from God and religion, but towards 
 them : resembling, in this respect, the sun and 
 stars, which never tempted and diverted men 
 to the idolatry we may read of, but began to 
 be worshipped only when they were idolators 
 already. In becoming religious, in fact, so far 
 from losing anything, we gain, and often 
 where least expected. Nature, art, science, 
 poetry, music, shape a very different experience 
 to the religious and to the non-religious. No 
 man can perceive their more excellent beauties 
 unless he give his heart to what is beautiful 
 morally. As light and heat come together in 
 the sunbeams, so, as a law, do elevated intel- 
 lectual perceptions connect themselves with 
 virtue of desire and deed. ** Blessed are the 
 pure in heart, for they shall see God," is a 
 promise applying to this world no less than to 
 the next ; for to ** see God" is to be sensible 
 of His immediate presence, and this depends 
 on no outward change, no shifting in time 
 and place, but on adaptation of one's heart. — 
 Leo W. Grind on. 
 
 "WORSHIP ought to be Sincere. 
 He is a profane person that performs holy 
 duties slightly and superficially ; all our duties 
 ought to be warmed with zeal, winged with 
 affection, and shot up to Heaven from the 
 whole bent of the soul. Our whole hearts 
 must go into them ; and the strength and 
 vigour of our spirits must diffuse themselves 
 into every part of them . . . Truly all 
 our Christian sacrifices, both of praise and 
 prayer, must be offered up to God with fire ; 
 and that fire which alone can sanctify them, 
 must be darted down from Heaven ; the celes- 
 tial flame of zeal and love, which comes down 
 from Heaven, and hath a natural tendency to 
 ascend thither again, and to carry up our 
 hearts and souls upon' its wings with it. — Bp. 
 Hopkins. 
 
 "WORSHIP Cleans eth from Sin. 
 Where the fear of God is, there is the keep- 
 ing of the commandments ; and where the 
 keeping of the commandments is, there is the 
 
 cleansing of the flesh ; which flesh is a cloud 
 before the soul's eye, and suffers it not purely 
 to see the beam of the heavenly light. Where 
 the cleansing of the flesh is, there is the illu- 
 mination of the Holy Ghost, the end of all 
 our desires, and the very light whereby the 
 verity of Scripture is seen and perceived. — 
 Gregory Nazianzen. 
 
 "WORSHIP must be Absorbing. 
 In God's house and business forget thine own; 
 be there as a member of the church, not of the 
 commonwealth. Empty thyself of this world, 
 thou art conversant in the next. Let all thy 
 senses have no other object but God ; let thine 
 ears be open, but thine eyes shut. If another's 
 beauty draw thy eyes from God, that beauty 
 is become thy deformity, and hath turned 
 God's eyes from thee . . . Remember 
 that God will not be mocked ; that it is the 
 heart of the worshipper which He regards. 
 We are never safe till we love Him with our 
 whole heart whom we pretend to worship. — 
 Bp. Hcnshawe. 
 
 "WORSHIP, Punctuality in. 
 Think, when the bells do chime, 
 ' Tis angels' music ; therefore come not late. 
 God then deals blessings : if a king did so, 
 Who would not haste, nay give, to see the 
 show? . . . 
 When once thy foot enters the church, be bare. 
 God is more there than thou, for thou art there 
 Only by His permission. Then beware ; 
 And make thyself all reverence and fear. 
 ....... Look to thy actions well ; 
 
 For churches either are our heaven or hell. 
 
 G. Herbert. 
 
 "WORSHIP Requisite for Man. 
 It is for the sake of man, not of God, that 
 worship and prayers are required ; not that 
 God may be rendered more glorious, but that 
 man may be made better ; that he may be con- 
 firmed in a proper sense of his dependent state, 
 and acquire those pious and virtuous disposi- 
 tions in which his highest improvement con- 
 sists. — Blair. 
 
 "WORSHIP, True. 
 Lord, let us to thy gates repair 
 
 To hear the gladdening sound, 
 That we may find salvation there, 
 
 While yet it may be found. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 717 
 
 There let us joy and comfort reap ; 
 
 There teach us how to pray, 
 For grace to choose, and strength to keep 
 
 The strait, the narrow way. 
 And so increase our love for Thee, 
 
 That all our future days 
 May one continued Sabbath be 
 
 Of gratitude and praise. 01:e. 
 
 WRAPT in Inspiration. 
 
 Yes — there are moments when the spirit 
 springs 
 Above the fleeting vanities of time, 
 And soars to other worlds on wings sublime, 
 
 And holds communion with unearthly things ; 
 
 And, from the height of her imaginings. 
 
 Spares not a thought for this inferior clime : 
 Its smiles and tears — its folly and its crime — 
 
 Are very trifles to her ; and the strings 
 
 Are cut, which bound her to her house of clay ; 
 And the soul wanders, unrestrained and free. 
 Secure in her own immortality. 
 
 Amid the blaze of uncreated day. 
 
 A moment is gone by, and they are past — 
 
 These witching scenes, too lovely far to last. 
 
 Collins. 
 
 WRITINGS of Men. 
 When we study the writings of men, it is well 
 if, after much pains and labour, we find some 
 particles of truth amongst a great deal of error. 
 When we read the Scriptures, all we meet with 
 is truth. In the former case we are like the 
 Africans on the Gold Coast, of whom it is said 
 that they dig pits nigh the waterfalls of moun- 
 tains abounding in gold ; then with incredible 
 pains and industry wash off the sand till they 
 espy at the bottom two or three shining grains 
 of the metal, which only just pay their labour. 
 In the latter case, we woi-k in a mine sufficient 
 to enrich ourselves and all about us. — Bishop 
 Home. 
 
 YEAR, Close of the. 
 
 Silence and the gray cloud are on the hills ; 
 The dim mists as a circling veil are thrown 
 Over the valleys which have found a tone 
 In the loud tumult of the mountain-rills : 
 The damp brown fern bows not before the 
 breeze, 
 Nor rustles to the tread of the fleet deer ; 
 Black to the morning rise the forest-trees, 
 And every leaf is sere. 
 
 The bird is silent — or to balmy skies 
 
 Has flown, to dwell in brightness : she has 
 
 done 
 Her task. The bee, that in tne golden sun 
 Toiled, a brisk labourer, with blithe revelries ; 
 And all fair flowers — the odorous, the bright, 
 The children of summer — have gone down 
 To the cold earth, from dimness, waste, and 
 blight, 
 
 And the hoar winter's frown. 
 
 Oh you, that in the bright, but short-lived time^ 
 Fled from the tumult and the crowd away. 
 From fettering cares, that make the soul a 
 prey. 
 To fields and skies, in the fair season's prime. 
 Ye saw the bud, the blossom, and the fruit. 
 
 All the glad creatures under the pure heaven. 
 And heard the summer voices. These compute 
 As sterling treasure given ! 
 
 \ LJetter than gold, which frets the miser's soul ; 
 I Better than power, which is but added care ;. 
 I For when ye went forth in the breezy air, 
 j To the calm solitudes, the mind grew whole : 
 I Then joy sprang up — the soul woke as to being \. 
 ■ The cloudless hope of youth's pure morning 
 burned, 
 Unveiled you saw mysterious Heaven's de- 
 creeing. 
 
 And peace and faith returned. 
 
 Mary Howitt. 
 
 YEAR, Physical and Spiritual, Symbolic. 
 
 We women have four seasons, like the year ; 
 Our Spring is in our lightsome girlish days. 
 When the heart laughs within us for sheer joy ; 
 Summer is when we love and are beloved ; 
 Autumn when seme young thing with tiny 
 
 hands, 
 And rosy cheeks, and flossy, tendrilled locks. 
 Is wantoning about us day and night ; 
 And Winter is when those we loved have 
 
 perished. 
 For the heart ices then. 
 Some miss one season, some another ; this 
 Shall have them early — and that late. 
 
 Bailey. 
 
 YEAR, Reflection upon its Close. 
 
 Come, melancholy moralizer, come ! 
 Gather with me the dark and wintry wreath ; 
 
 With me engarland now 
 
 The Sepulchre of Time ! 
 
7iJ 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 Come, moralizer, to the funeral song ! 
 I pour the dirge of the departed days ; 
 
 For well the funeral song 
 
 Befits this solemn hour. 
 
 But hark ! even now the merry bells ring round 
 With clamorous joy to welcome in this day, 
 
 Tliis consecrated day. 
 
 To mirth and indolence. 
 
 Mortal ! whilst Fortune with benignant hand 
 Fills to the brim thy cup of happiness, 
 
 Whilst her unclouded sun 
 
 Illumes thy summer day — 
 
 Canst thou rejoice — rejoice that Time flies fast ? 
 That Night shall shadow soon thy summer sun? 
 
 That swift the stream of years 
 
 Rolls to Eternity? 
 
 If thou hast wealth to gratify each wish, 
 
 If pow'r be thine, remember what thou art — 
 
 Remember thou art Man, 
 
 And Death thine heritage ! 
 
 Hast thou known love? does Beauty's better 
 
 sun 
 Cheer thy fond heart with no capricious smile, 
 
 Her eye all eloquence, 
 
 Her voice all harmony ? 
 
 Oh, state of happiness ! hark how the gale 
 Moans deep and hollow o'er the leafless grove : 
 Winter is dark and cold — 
 Where now the charms of Spring ! 
 
 Say'st thou that Fancy paints the future scene 
 In hues too sombrous? that the dark-stoled 
 maid 
 
 With stern and frowning front 
 
 Appals the shuddering soul ? 
 
 And wouldst thou bid me court her fairy fomi, 
 When, as she sports her in some happier mood, 
 
 Her many-coloured robes 
 
 Dance varying to the sun ? 
 
 Ah ! vainly does the pilgrim, whose long road 
 Leads o'er the barren mountain's storm-vexed 
 height, 
 
 With anxious gaze survey 
 
 The fruitful far-off vale. 
 
 Oh ! there are those who love the pensive song. 
 To whom all sounds of mirth are dissonant ! 
 
 There are, who at this hour 
 
 Will love to contemplate ! 
 
 For hopeless sorrow hail the lapse of Time, 
 Rejoicing when the fading orb of day 
 
 Is sunk again in night. 
 
 That one day more is gone I 
 
 And he who bears Afiliction's heavy load 
 With patient piety, well pleased he knows 
 
 The world a pilgrimage. 
 
 The grave the inn of rest ! Southey. 
 
 YEAE, The Angel of the. 
 
 I WOULD be with thee — near thee — ever near 
 
 thee — 
 Watching thee ever, as the angels are — 
 Still seeking with my spirit-power to cheer thee, 
 And then to see me, but as some bright star. 
 Knowing me not, but yet ofttimes perceiving 
 That when thou gazest I still brighter grow, 
 Beaming and trembling — like some bosom 
 
 heaving 
 With all it knows, yet would not have thee 
 
 know. 
 I would be with thee — fond, yet silent ever. 
 Nor break the spell in which my soul is bound: 
 Mirror'd within thee as within a river : 
 A flower upon thy breast, and thou the ground! 
 That, when I died and unto earth return'd, 
 Our natures never more might parted be : 
 Within thy being all mine own inurn'd — 
 Life, bloom, and beauty, all absorbed in thee ! 
 Charles Swain. 
 
 YOUTH and Age. 
 
 People place youth and age opposite to each 
 other, as the light and shade in the day of life. 
 But has not every day, every age its own 
 youth — its own new attractive life, if one only 
 sets about rightly to enjoy them ? Yes, the 
 aged man who has collected together pure 
 recollections for his evening companions, is 
 manifold happier than the youth who, with a 
 restless heart, stands at the beginning of his 
 journey. No passions disturb the evening 
 meal of the other ; no restless endeavours dis- 
 turb the cheerful gossip of the evening twilight : 
 all the comforts of life are then so thoroughly 
 enjoyed ; and we can then with more confidence 
 cast all our cares and anxieties on God. We 
 have then proved Him, — Mary Howitt. 
 
 With cheerful step the traveller 
 
 Pursues his early way. 
 When first the dimly-dawning east 
 
 Reveals the rising day. 
 
 He bounds along his craggy road, 
 
 He hastens up the height. 
 And all he sees and all he hears 
 
 Administer delight. 
 
NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 719 
 
 And if the mist, retiring slow. 
 
 Roll round its wavy white, 
 He thinks the morning vapours hide 
 
 Some beauty from his sight. 
 But when behind the western clouds 
 
 Departs the fading day, 
 How weai-ily the traveller 
 
 Pursues his evening way ; 
 
 Sorely along the craggy road 
 His painful footsteps creep ; 
 
 And slow, with many a feeble pause, 
 He labours up the steep.. 
 
 And if the mists of night close round. 
 They fill his soul with fear ; 
 
 He dreads some unseen precipice, 
 Some hidden danger near. 
 
 So cheerfully does youth. begin 
 Life's pleasant morning stage ; 
 
 Alas ! the evening traveller feels 
 
 The fears of weary age. SoiUhey, 
 
 YOUTH Beloved of God. 
 
 Youth is no obstacle to the favour of God, 
 nor to devotion to God's service. St. John 
 was the youngest of the disciples ; but no one 
 was more favoured than he, nor more zealous 
 in attachment to his Master. His example 
 calls upon those who are entering upon their 
 career of moral obligation and responsibility, 
 to do that which the wise man calls upon them 
 in words to do ; namely, to "remember their 
 Creator in the days of their youth :" and of this 
 we may be sure, that if they do so remember 
 him, he will not forget them in the time of 
 age, nor forsake them when they are old and 
 gray-headed. If youth present peculiar temp- 
 tations to withdraw us from the service of God, 
 it endows us also with peculiar ability to serve 
 him. The strength of opening manhood is 
 never so well employed as in practising subser- 
 viency to God's revealed will, and in triumph- 
 ing over its spiritual enemies : it lends a grace 
 and a beauty to religion, and produces an 
 abundant harvest of good works and of glory 
 to God. — Bp. Maitt. 
 
 YOUTH, its Characteristics. 
 Youth, in fact, viewed as to its essential 
 qualities, is not a state into which we are born, 
 and which we grow out of, and leave behind, 
 but a state to which we gradually advance. 
 
 We are born old, not young. We enter the 
 world blind, deaf, senseless, emotionless, 
 passionless, ignorant ; all which conditions 
 are characteristic of oldness, and are repre- 
 sentatively expressed in the bald head, the 
 toothless gums, the tottering gait, and the 
 dozen other physical infirmities and negations 
 which belong alike to senility and infancy. 
 By degrees only do we become young, learn- 
 ing in succession to observe, to wish, to will, 
 to think, to love, to hope. If the expanding 
 intellect and affections be affixed, under 
 kindly guidance, to what is truthful and good, 
 youth spreads its wings, and goes on growing 
 in everlasting life ; if they be affixed, under 
 vicious or repressing influences, to what is 
 base or ignoble, the beautiful progression is 
 arrested, and the spirit relapses into its 
 original, vacant old age. How it is that "the 
 angels are for ever growing younger," we may 
 readily understand by noting the history of the 
 soul which earnestly and prayerfully seeks and 
 strives to be angelic ; for this is a history of 
 forsaking the evil and choosing the good, 
 bringing youth as its result, and foretelling on 
 earth the law of heaven. 
 
 Now to attain to this happy state of youth, 
 and thus virtually to lengthen life, requires 
 but that the spiritual energies of our nature 
 should be allowed full, fair play. Giving them 
 their due, old age itself, called dark and feeble, 
 may yet be rendered lovely. It is not only the 
 "mind" or understanding that must be cul- 
 tivated ; the heart must be attended to no less 
 carefully. —Z<?^ W. Grindon. 
 
 ZEAL, a Virtuous Action. 
 Let no man fancy that after all my perfect 
 man might sit down like an epicurean god, 
 and enjoy himself ; might talk finely of solitary 
 shades and gardens, and spend a precious life, 
 fitted for the noblest designs, in a sluggish 
 retirement. No, no ; as virtue is the perfection 
 of human life, so is action the perfection of 
 virtue ; and zeal is that perfection of action 
 which I require in a saint of God. Accor- 
 dingly, the Scriptures describe this great, this 
 happy man, as "full of the Holy Ghost, fer- 
 vent in spirit, zealous of good works." Such 
 an one was Moses, * ' mighty in word and deed, " 
 as well as "learned in all the w«,ys of the 
 Egyptians." Such an one was St. Stephen, 
 as full of a divine ardour and irresistible fer- 
 vency of spirit, as of an irresistible wisdom ; 
 and such an one was the irresistible Cornelius, 
 
723 
 
 NOBLE THOUGHTS IN NOBLE LANGUAGE. 
 
 a devout man, one that had transfused and 
 derived the fear of God from his own bosom, 
 throughout his family, and relations, and 
 friends too ; one that gave much alms, and 
 prayed to God always. What need I multiply 
 instances? This is that which distinguishes 
 the perfect man from all others ; the victories 
 of faith, the labours of charity, the constancy 
 and patience of hope, and the ardours of de- 
 votion. — Dr. Richard Lticas. 
 
 ZEAL Misleads at Times. 
 There is no quality of the mind by which men, 
 even good men, are more apt to be misled than 
 zeal; particularly zeal in religion, "zeal of 
 God," as St. Paul terms it. Where the object 
 is good, the quality is of high value ; ** it is 
 good to be zealously affected always in a good 
 thing ;" and beyond controversy, no object can 
 be better than the promotion of God's glory, 
 and the furtherance of his religion. But it 
 ought not to carry us beyond the bounds of 
 moderation. It ought to be regulated by a 
 correct knowledge of the nature and character 
 of the religion which we profess, and which we 
 are desirous of furthering ; and it ought to be 
 brought into subjection to the dictates of that 
 religion : a religion, not furious, fiery, impla- 
 cable, cruel ; but " peaceable, gentle, easy to 
 be entreated, full of mercy and good fruits, 
 without partiality, and without hypocrisy." 
 They who act for the furtherance of that reli- 
 gion in a manner inconsistent with its dictates, 
 show that however sincere be their "zeal of 
 God," it is " not according to knowledge ;" or 
 "that they know not what manner of spirit 
 
 they are of. " Every deviation from the rules 
 of charity and brotherly love, of gentleness and 
 forbearance, of meekness and patience, which 
 our Lord prescribes to his disciples, however it 
 may appear to be founded on an attachment to 
 Him and zeal for His service, is in truth a de- 
 parture from the religion of Him, " the Son of 
 Man," who "came not to destroy men's lives, 
 but to save them." — Bp. Mant. 
 
 ZEPHYR, To the. 
 Sweet neighbour of the green, leaf-shaking 
 grove. 
 Eternal guest of April, frolic child 
 Of a sad sire, life-breath of mother Love, 
 Favonius, zephyr mild ! 
 
 If thou hast learned like me to love — away ! 
 Thou who hast borne the murmurs of my 
 cry ; 
 Hence — no demur — and to my Flora say, 
 Say that "Idle!" 
 
 Flora once knew what bitter tears I shed ; 
 
 Flora once wept to see my sorrows flow ; 
 Flora once loved me, but I dread, I dread 
 Her anger now. 
 
 So may the gods, so may the calm blue sky, 
 
 P"or the fair time that thou, in gentle mirth, 
 Sport'st in the air, with love benign deny 
 Snows to the earth ! 
 
 So never may the gray cloud's cumbrous sail. 
 When from on high the rosy daybreak 
 springs. 
 Beat on thy shoulders, nor its evil hail 
 Wound thy fine wings ! 
 
 Wiffm, 
 
 If these little sparks of holy fire which I have thus heaped up together do not give life to your 
 prepared and already enkindled spirit, yet they will sometimes help to entertain a thought, to 
 actuate a passion, to employ and hallow a fancy. — Bp. Taylor, 
 
 THE END. 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS. 
 
 
 
 a. 
 
 
 
 Exce«dingly well Tf^aA.— Shakespeare. 
 
 
 A. 
 
 Barbauld, 59, 82, 299. 
 
 Boys, Dean, 88, 96. 
 
 Abercrombie, 146, 225, 290, 
 
 Barker, M., 48. 
 
 Bradford, J., 394, 489, 512, 
 
 403, 559. 
 
 Barnes, Dame Julia, 170. 
 
 619, 664. 
 
 Adams, President, 331. 
 
 Baron, R., 706. 
 
 Bradley, C, 277. 
 
 Addison, 87, 102, no, 153, 
 
 Barrington, Sir J., 418. 
 
 Bray. 365. 
 
 176, 188, 215, 217, 225, 236, 
 
 Barrow, I., 179, 226, 287, 416, 
 
 Brewster, Sir D.. 19. 708. 
 
 294. 329. 34o> 346, 427, 483- 
 
 472. 598. 
 
 Brexelias. 512. 
 
 494. 558. 673, 679. 
 
 Barton, B.. 33. 398, 633, 701. 
 
 Brooks. C. T.. 225, 522. 
 
 A'Kempis, St. Thos., 8, 276. 
 
 Barton. R., 487. 
 
 Broome, 378. 
 
 Akenside, 155, 427. 
 
 Basely, 45, 319, 366, 422, 640. 
 
 Brougham, Lord, 336, 401. 
 
 Aldrich, Jas., 176. 
 
 Basil, St., 107, 597, 610. 
 
 564. 593- 
 
 Alfred, King, 518. 
 
 Bates, 504. 
 
 Brown, Sir T., 192, 223. 2.^9, 
 
 Alison, 6, 22, 185, 186, 201, 
 
 Bautin, 76. 
 
 363. 371. 676. 
 
 304, 305, 308, 336, 626. 
 
 Baxter, 70, 118, 293, 394, 567, 
 
 Brown, Dr. T.. 265. 596. 
 
 Ambrose, St., 2. 
 
 696. 
 
 Browne. M. A.. 692. 
 
 Ambrose of Milan. 592. 
 
 Beattie, 365. 
 
 Browning, E. B., 228, 476, 
 
 Anacreon, 628. 
 
 Beche, 529. 
 
 517. 
 
 Anderson, 533, 540. 
 
 Becon, 41, 340. 
 
 Brownrigg, Bp., 394, 637. 
 
 Andrews, Bp., 707. 
 
 Beddome, 70. 
 
 Bruce, Mrs., 269. 
 
 Angelo, M., 664. 
 
 Bede, the Venerable, 2. 
 
 Bruster. M. N. 
 
 Anselm, St., 565. 
 
 Beecher. H. W., 576. 
 
 Bryant. W. C, 95. 165, 213, 
 
 Ariosto, 564. 
 
 Bell, Sir C. 30, 287, 349, 527. 
 
 242. 247, 283. 373, 452. 
 
 Armstong, Dr., 681, 690. 
 
 Bennett, Dr., 372. 
 
 Brydges, Sir E., 293, 386. 
 
 Arnold, Dr., 66, 229, 347, 349, 
 
 Bentham, J., 668. 
 
 Bucer. 112. 
 
 380. 
 
 Berkely, Bp., 413. 503. 
 
 Buchanan. 478. 
 
 Arnott, Dr., 703. 
 
 Bernard, St., 135, 187, 558. 
 
 BUCKLAND. too. 
 
 Arrowsmith. 16, 481. 
 
 Bernard, SirT., 446. 
 
 BUDDICOM, 75. 
 
 ASHFORD, 471. 
 
 Beveridge, Bp., 75, 538, 671. 
 
 BUDGELL. 247. 
 
 Atersil. 
 
 Bishop, S., 68, 366, 698. 
 
 Bull, Bp.. 535. 
 
 Atherstone, 4. 
 
 Black, Rev. J., 525, 679, 691. 
 
 BULWER. 112. 
 
 Atterbury, Bp., 541. 
 
 Blair. 5, 21, 124, 140, 173, 
 
 BUNYAN. 594. 
 
 Attersoll, 140, 205. 
 
 186, 251, 267, 284, 327, 497. 
 
 Burke. E., 21, 342, 526, 63 
 
 Aubrey, 32. 
 
 619, 634. 666, 679, 716. 
 
 BuRKiTT, 107, 393. 453. 455. 
 
 Augustine, St., 187, 215, 567. 
 
 Bloomfield, Bp., 41, 253. 391, 
 
 BuRNE-rr, Bp., 30, 172, 255. 
 
 Avenzoar, 427. 
 
 435. 707. 
 
 Burns, 602, 620. 700. 
 
 
 Bloomfield, Rt., 600, 613. 
 
 Burton, 284. 
 
 B. 
 
 Blunt, H., 114, 276, 455. 564, 
 
 Butler, Bp., 311, 575, 594, 
 
 637. 665. 
 
 655. 
 
 Bacon, Lord, 41, 47, 53, 76, 
 
 Bolton, R., ^^. 
 
 Butler, Mrs., i. 459. 
 
 90, 92, 118, 187, 200, 233, 281, 
 
 Booth, 121. 
 
 Butler. S., 342. 588. 
 
 302, 305, 310. 425, 428. 432, 
 
 Borlase, 229. 
 
 Byron, 96, 97. loi, 109, 169, 
 
 467. 
 
 Bourne, V., 488. 
 
 215, 230, 246, 302. 373, 531, 
 
 Baif, Jean Antoine De. 
 
 BowDLER, 75, 109, 263, 332, 
 
 668, 706. 
 
 Bailey, 593. 717. 
 
 433. 478. 
 
 
 Baker, Sir R., 637, 
 
 Bowles, C, 195, 623, 653. 
 
 
 Baker, W.. 5, 609, 667. 
 
 BOWRING, 381, 402. 537. 
 
 C. 
 
 Bale, W., 607. 
 
 Boyle, Mr., 77. 
 
 Calanan, J. J., 607. 
 
 Balguy, Dr., 48, 703. 
 
 Boyle, Hon. R., 3, 47, 303, 
 
 Calmet, 36. 
 
 Bandiwell, Dr., 257, 393. 
 
 403, 409, 493. 
 
 Campbell, 190, 544, 605, 
 3 A 
 
722 
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS. 
 
 Canterbury, Arb., 524. 
 
 Cox, Dr., 117. 
 
 Dryden, 229, 232, 386, 391, 
 
 Carey, 178. 
 
 Cradock, 645. 
 
 449. 459. 481. 
 
 Carlyle, 92, 211. 
 
 Crane, 42. 
 
 Du Bartas, 409. : 
 
 Carpenter, 24. 
 
 Cranmer, Archb., 228, 456, 
 
 Du Marsais, 422, 666. 
 
 Carrington, 24, 416, 586, 609, 
 
 67X. 
 
 Duncan, H., 371, 595, 671. 
 
 611, 613. 
 
 Crabbe, 255, 329, 405, SSI. 
 
 DWIGHT, 432, 714. ! 
 
 Carter, 160, 259. 
 
 Crawford, 540. 
 
 Dyer, Sir E,, 151. 
 
 Catherall, 42, 251, 299, 310, 
 
 Cririe, Dr., 648. 
 
 
 420, 444. 470. 546, 585. 639. 
 
 Croley, Rev. G., 281. 
 
 E. 
 
 641. 
 
 Crosbie, 355. 
 
 Catullus, 399. 
 
 Crosby, Rev. J. G., 700. 
 
 Edmund, Bp., 193. 
 
 Cecil, R., 88, 471, 476. 
 
 Crowe, Rev. W., 649. 
 
 Edgworth, M., 151. 
 
 Chalmers, Dr., 15, 70, 75, 
 
 Cudworth, 70, 218, 256, 263. 
 
 Edmeston, J., 87, 96, 214, 
 
 164, 187, 201, 355, 369, 639, 
 
 302, 403, 491, 541, 565. 
 
 221, 370, 374, 396, 444, 472, i 
 
 669, 713. 
 
 Culverwell, 483. 
 
 484, 492, 535, 626, 636, 714, 
 
 Champneys,W.W., 59,512,667. 
 
 CUMMING, J., 545. 
 
 715- I 
 
 Channing, Dr., 434, 443, 673, 
 
 Cunningham, J. W., 512. 
 
 Edward VI., 588, 699. : 
 
 687. 
 
 Cuvier, 371. 
 
 Edwards, President, 95. 
 
 Charnock, 541, 669, 703. 
 
 Cyprian, St., 124, 525. 
 
 Elenchus, Matt., 108. 
 
 Chateaubriand, 84. 
 
 Cyril, St., 2, 277, 489. 
 
 Elenobus Matt., 108. 
 
 Chatterton, 44, 6or. 
 
 
 Elizabeth C, 121, 491, 536. 
 
 Chaucer, 270, 591, 696. 
 
 D. 
 
 Ellis, W., 354, 559. 
 
 Chenevix, 8. 
 
 Emerson, R. W., 225, 321, ! 
 
 Chester, Bp. of, 286. 
 
 Dale, Canon, 81, 174, 282, 
 
 327. 363. 366, 369. 370. 442. j 
 
 Chesterfield, 332, 
 
 708, 491. 
 
 458, 487, 584, 591, 649, 706, 
 
 Chillingworth, 107. 
 
 Dana, 373. 
 
 714. 
 
 Cholin, 191. 
 
 Daniel, 601. 
 
 Emmerson, Mrs., 246, 383. 
 
 Chrysostom, St., 24, 160. 
 
 Dante, 327. 
 
 Enfield, 354, 489, 544. 
 
 Cicero, 373. 
 
 Darley, 622. 
 
 Epictetus, 154, 660. 
 
 Clare, 173, 218, 621, 693. 
 
 Darwin, 239. 
 
 Ephraim, St., 678. 
 
 Clarendon, Lord, 215, 288. 
 
 Davenant, Bp., 49, 568. 
 
 EUSEBIUS, 617. 
 
 Clark, W. G., 485. 
 
 Davenport, 273. 
 
 Evans, R. W. A., 692. 
 
 Clark, Rev. J. A., 530. 
 
 Davies, 284, 322. 
 
 Everett, 306, 
 
 Clarkson, 454. 
 
 Davy, Sir H., 70, 259, 315. 
 
 
 Clement, St., 139, 270, 415. 
 
 326, 335, 425, 497. 529, 545, 
 
 i 
 
 COBBETT, W., 124. 
 
 628, 693. 
 
 F. '. 
 
 Coke, Sir E., 307. 
 
 Davison, 595. 
 
 Faber, F. W., 664. 
 
 Coleridge, 76, 87, 89, 133, 
 
 Dawes, R., 67. 
 
 Farrindon, 258. ! 
 
 135, 174, 192, 204, 222, 282, 
 
 Daubeny, 496. 
 
 Fenelon, 154, 652. 
 
 343. 346. 353. 366, 370, 382. 
 
 Dealtry, Dr., 124. 
 
 Ferguson, Rev. R., 289. 
 
 334, 410, 422, 572, 639, 670. 
 
 De Baif, 313. 
 
 Feltham, 199, 280, 378, 498. i 
 
 Collins, 717. 
 
 De Brunne, Rt., 706. 
 
 Fetis, 568. 
 
 Combe, 271. 
 
 De Bury, R., 92. 
 
 Flavel, 121, 533. 
 
 Comber, Dean, 2, 415. 
 CoNOLY, 301. 
 
 Conybeare, Bp., 256, 268. 
 Cooke, 8, 618. 
 Copeland, Thomas, F.R.S., 
 
 De Palissy, B., 160. 
 
 Fleming, ^^, 502. 
 
 Deltas, 57, 390, 535. 57^. 
 
 Denison, Bp., 541. 
 
 Dewey, 486. 
 
 Dickens, C, 15, 90, iii, 112, 
 
 Flint, 196, 659. 
 
 Flowers, W. H., 275. ; 
 Forbes, 240. | 
 Foster, i, 7, 266, 498, 509. 
 
 23. 193- 
 Cornwall, Barry, 217, 275, 
 
 114, 133, 246, 269, 307, 319, 
 351. 371. 375. 446. 521, 549, 
 
 Fox, John, 464. 
 
 Fuller, 82, 298, 408, 590, 612, 
 
 310, 312, 359, 607, 682, 700. 
 Cotton, 519. 
 
 561, 624, 691, 695. 
 Disraeli, 54, 306. 
 
 Frank, 181. 
 
 Cotton, Dr., 143. 
 
 Doddridge, Dr., 592. 
 
 
 COURTNAY, 249. 
 
 Domingo Santa, 530. 
 
 G. 
 
 Cowley, 328, 585, 638. 
 
 Donne, 89, 550. 
 
 Galileo, 592. 
 
 COWPER, 62, 70, 84, 102, 214, 
 
 Douglas, 548. 
 
 Gascoigne, 229. 
 
 228. 230, 249, 314, 332, 365, 
 
 Drayton, M., 85. 
 
 Gay, 307. 
 
 3^7. 381, 392, 402, 403, 444, 
 
 Drummond of Hawthorn- 
 
 Gibson, Bp., 547. 
 
 459. 502, 563, 568, 575, 598, 
 
 den, 574, 628. 
 
 Giles, S., 176. 
 
 628, 651, 693, 702, 704, 706. 
 
 Drury, 402. 
 
 Gilpin, 242, 285. 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS, 
 
 723 
 
 Gibbon, 478. 
 GiSBORNE, 228, 364, 483. 
 Gladstone, Rt. Hon. W. E., 
 
 206. 
 Gluck, 550. 
 Goethe, 76, 173. 
 Goldsmith, O., 16, 277, 320, 
 
 425. 
 Good, Mason, 252. 
 Gould, H. J., 700. 
 Graham, 488. 
 Grant, J. R., 17. 
 Gray, R,, 125, 538. 
 Green, J. H., 257. 
 Greene, 702. 
 Gregory, St., 5, 274, 589. 
 Gresham, Sir T., 474. 
 Gresley, 663, 676. 
 Griffith, 204. 
 Grindon, L. H,, 232, 312, 316, 
 
 332, 400, 598, 618, 655, 690, 
 
 709, 711, 716, 719. 
 Grosvener, Dr., 618. 
 Guthrie, 565. 
 GUIZOT, 498. 
 
 H. 
 
 Habington, W., 226. 
 
 Hale, Sir M., 26, 118, 263, 
 279. 569. 667. 
 
 Halford, Sir H., 175. 
 
 Halifax, Lord, 375, 592. 
 
 Hall, Bp., 6, 89, 103, 150, 153, 
 154, 181, 183, 223, 285, 289, 
 316, 327, 352, 397, 415, 515, 
 526, 578, 567. 579. 646, 677. 
 693, 703. 
 
 R., 8, 16, 154, 264, 342, 
 
 443. 703- 460, 463, 520. 
 
 Capt. B., 670. 
 
 Mrs. S. C, 615. 
 
 P.. 283. 
 
 Halleck, F. G., 177, 291, 688. 
 Halliday, S. a., 517. 
 Hambleton, Rev., 200. 
 Hamilton, 21, 274. 
 Hamlain, 683. 
 Hammond, 137, 161, 277, 558. 
 Hannah, Rev., 522. 
 Hare, Archd., 104, 256, 292. 
 
 Rev. a., 253, 348. 
 
 Harleian MSS., 459. 
 Harrington, 678. 
 Hastings, Lady F,, 638, 477. 
 Hayley, W., 254, 403, 613. 
 Haweis, 108. 
 Heber, Bp., 173, 254, 456, 589, 
 
 619, 669. 
 Heerkens, 628. 
 
 HeMANS, 43, III, 193, 385, 406, 
 
 407, 614, 619, 685. 
 Henderson, Dr., 21. 
 Henry, P., 146. 
 
 M., 263. 
 
 Henshaw, Bp., 716, 261. 
 Herbert, G., 109, 191, 275, 
 
 356. 564. 716. 
 Herschel, Sir J., 92, 187, 300, 
 
 481, 483, 546, 608, 631. 
 Hervey, 624. 
 HiCKES, 592. 
 Hickson, 206. 
 Hickman, Bp., 27. 
 Hill, A., 367. 
 HoARE, Archd., 154, 537. 
 HoFWYL, 593. 
 Hogarth, 361. 
 Hogg, 309. 
 Hole, 473. 
 Holmes, W. O., 34. 
 Homer, 37, 688. 
 HoNEYWooD, Sir J., 167. 
 Hood, Sir F. B. 
 
 T., Ill, 179, 277, 709. 
 
 Hooker, Bp., ho, 228. 
 Hooper, Bp., 285, 309, 374, 
 
 455. 547- 
 Hopkins, Bp., 155, 218, 475, 
 
 489, 492, 518, 716. 
 Horne, Bp,, 83, 133, 253, 279, 
 
 398, 413, 527, 548, 583, 587, 
 
 717. 
 R. H., 387, 471. 
 
 HORNECK, 538. 
 HORSELY, Bp., 103. 
 Howe, 494. 
 
 HOWELLS, 140, 565. 
 HOWITT, R., 28, 614. 
 
 M., 8, 83, 177, 717. 
 
 W., 650. 
 
 Hugo, Victor, 174. 
 Hull, Rev., 528. 
 
 HULLAH, 42. 
 Hume, 627. 
 
 Humphreys, David, 212. 
 Hunt, L., 599. 
 Huntingford, Bp., 425. 
 Hurdis, 63, 575. 
 
 Irving, W. 227, 344. 
 
 J. 
 Jackson, J. R., 7, 93. 
 Jacob, P., 493. 
 Jackson, Dean, 704. 
 S. R., 385. 
 
 Jay, 75, 197, 445. 
 
 J ebb, Bp., 109, 302, 659. 
 
 Jeffrey, Lord, 37. 
 
 Jenner, Dr., 412. 
 
 Jennings, J., 383. 
 
 Jermin, 467. 
 
 Jesse, 254, 275. 
 
 Jewell, Bp., 71, hi, 124, 254, 
 
 548, 707, 708. 
 Jewsbury, Miss, 597. 
 joceline, 204. 
 Johnston, 52, 433. 
 Johnson, Dr., 102, 139, 262, 
 
 286, 310, 315, 317, 331, 346, 
 
 349. 388, 418, 464, 472, 511, 
 
 651, 652. 
 Jones of Nayland, 24, 47, 
 
 254. 346, 418. 
 Jones, SirW., 70, 289, 617. 
 Jonson, Ben, 94, 134, 352, 383. 
 JORTIN, Bp., 26, 109, 118, 408, 
 
 527, 629. 
 Joy, 284. 
 
 K. 
 
 Keats, 67, 353, 354, 355, 594. 
 
 Keble, 555. 
 
 Kennedy, 47, 49. 
 
 Kent, 159. 
 
 Kerr, 349. 
 
 Kidd, 52. 
 
 King, H., 318, 636. 
 
 KiRBY, 85, 260. 
 
 Knight, P., 87. 
 
 Knight, C., 303, 465. 
 
 Knowles, J. S., 218, 648. 
 
 Knox, J., 223, 467. 
 
 v., 252. 
 
 Lamb, 58. 
 
 Landon, L. E., 88, 102, 285, 
 
 606. 
 Latimer, Bp., 254, 264, 568. 
 Lavater, 496, 639. 
 Law, W., 485, 491. 
 Lawson, 182, 696. 
 Lebas, 115, 707. 
 Leighton, Abp., 97, 100, io3, 
 
 154, 161. 179, 215, 386, 455, 
 
 457. 475. 497. 567. 620. 
 Leyden, Dr., 261, 287, 605. 
 Lichfield, Bp. of, 206. 
 Lieber, Dr. F.. 6^, 397, 474. 
 Liddiard, 63. 
 
 Lightfoot, J., 558, 565, 571. 
 Lin A, 631. 
 Locke, 283, 305, 306, 364, 396, 
 
 434. 479. 569. 640, 646, 667. 
 
724 
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS. 
 
 Lodge, 6oi. 
 
 Montague, Lady M. W., 272. 
 
 1 
 Palgrave, 283. 
 
 Longfellow, 5, 23, 240, 309, 
 
 Montaigne, 324, 
 
 Palin, 196. 
 
 313. 314. 350- 
 
 Montgomery, J., 444, 553. 
 
 Paris, Dr., 166, 310. 
 
 Lover, S., 126. 
 
 Montgomery, R., 47, 80, 221, 
 
 Park, T., 174. 
 
 Lowell, i, 324, 377, 450, 453- 
 
 350, 442, 456, 611, 703. 
 
 Parker, Archb., 4. 
 
 Lucas, Dr. R., 457, 670, 720. 
 
 Moore, SirT., 89, 228, 229, 
 
 Parkhurst, N., 264. 
 
 Luther, 6, 143, 457, 458, 571, 
 
 329- 
 
 Parr, Dr., 271, 340. 
 
 583- 
 
 T., 259, 338, 340, 348, 
 
 Queen C., 386. 
 
 Lytten, R., 490. 
 
 609. 
 
 Pascal, 37, 71, 191, 514, 545, 
 
 
 More, H., 199, 428, 497, 511, 
 
 Patrick, Bp., 17, 349, 366. 
 
 
 641, 645, 681. 
 
 Paul, Jean, 212. 
 
 M. 
 
 Morgan, Lady, 213. 
 
 Paulson, 613. 
 
 Macarius, St., 528. 
 
 MORIER, 471. 
 
 Payson, Dr., 82. 
 
 Macaulay, 222. 
 
 Morris, W., 23, 27, 35, 53, 62, 
 
 Peabody, 176, 368. 
 
 Macknight, 109. 
 
 67, 83, 87, 89, 97, 129, 140, 
 
 Pearson, Bp., 123, 595, 596. 
 
 M'Cormac, 42, 226, 493, 562. 
 
 143, 150, 152, 183, 184, 194, 
 
 Peebles, W., 414. 
 
 Maculloch, 164. 
 
 218, 229, 242, 249, 251, 266, 
 
 Peers, J. W., 456. 1 
 
 Magee, Abp., 255. 
 
 278, 279, 281, 289, 299, 300, 
 
 Penn, W., 19. 
 
 Malcolm, 185, 349. 
 
 308, 309, 320, 328, 351, 355, 
 
 Percival, 14, 550, 665. 1 
 
 • Mallet, 624. 
 
 359, 406, 415, 420, 422, 464, 
 
 Perkins, W., 379, 540. 
 
 Malthus, 138, 266. 
 
 466, 493, 513, 527. 539, 563, 
 
 Pestalozzi, 639, 
 
 Manrique, 81, 715. 
 
 574. 578, 587. 593. 611, 613, 
 
 Philemon, 500. 
 
 Mant, Bp., i6, 74, 162, 257, 
 
 627, 630, 638, 651, 683, 705. 
 
 Philpot, Archd., 124, 263, 698. 
 
 291. 336. 454. 507. 539. 611, 
 
 Motherwell, 558. 
 
 PlAZZI, 479. 
 
 664, 719, 720. 
 
 Moultrie, Rev., 260, 432. 
 
 Pierre, 118. 
 
 Marlow, 66. 
 
 Mountcashel, Lady, 428. 
 
 Pindar, 95. 
 
 Marryat, 692. 
 
 MULLER, F., 385, 696. 
 
 Plato, 67, 247. 1 
 
 Marsais, M. Du, 691. 
 
 Munsey, Rev. W., 648. 
 
 PoE, Edgar A., 193. | 
 
 Marsden, Rev. J., 653. 
 
 
 Pollok, R., 47, 270. 
 
 Martin, W., 137. 
 
 N. 
 
 POMFRET, 88. 
 
 Martineau, H., 138, 360, 492. 
 
 Nassau, Duke of, 33. 
 Nazianzen, G., 716. 
 Neele, H., 587. 
 Newman, Dr., 368. 
 Newnham, 144. 
 Newton, John, 71, 421. 
 
 Pope, 224, 311. 346, 353, 527, 
 
 Martyn, H., 503. 
 Martyr, Justin, 244, 489. 
 Mason, 525, 670. 
 
 575. 659. 
 Porter, Miss, 370. 
 PoRTEUS, Bp., 388, 404, 507. 
 
 Massey, G., 178, 598. 
 Massinger, 176. 
 Mather, C, 146. 
 Mathison, 364, 540, 600, 655. 
 Maurice, 49. 
 
 PRAED, W. M.. 185, 
 
 Prince, J. C, 291. 
 Pringle, 534. 
 Prior, 108. 
 Prout, Father, 50, 483. 
 
 , OIK 1., 140, 432. 
 NiCCHOLES, A., 187. 
 
 NiCHOLLS, Master, 36. 
 Nicholson, Archd., 568. 
 
 Mayne, Jasper, 652. 
 
 Pruen, 472. 
 
 Mede, J., 284, 393. 
 
 Noel, Hon. Rev. G. T., 453. 
 
 PURCHAS, 715. 
 
 Melbourne, 67. 
 
 Norton, Hon. Mrs., 515. 
 
 
 Melvfll, H., 506, 541. 
 Merrick, 318. 
 Metastasio, 586. 
 MiDDLETON, Bp,, 307, 323, 
 
 NoRRis. Bp., 267, 269. 
 NORTHCOTE, 417. 
 NOURSE, 244, 571. 
 
 Q. 
 
 Quarles, 37, 328, 428, 586, 
 
 ■670. 673, 715. 
 
 336. 694. 
 
 
 
 Millar, F., 538. 
 
 0. 
 
 R. 
 
 Miller, T., 370, 
 
 Ogden, 455. 
 
 Raffles, 494. 
 
 Millhouse, 344, 607. 
 
 Opie, 579. 
 
 Raikes, Arch., 703. 
 
 Millingen, 230, 509, 543, 666. 
 
 Orme, 663. 
 
 Raleigh, Sir W., 678. 
 
 Mills, 138. 
 
 OSLER, 228. 
 
 Randolph, 253. 
 
 MiLMAN, Dean, 184. 
 
 Otter, Bp., 200, 263, 274, 362, 
 
 Ranke, 597. 
 
 MiLNER, J., 454, 511, 539. 
 
 713- 
 
 Ray, 91. 
 
 Milnes, M., 241. 
 
 Owen, Dr., 547, 556, 703. 
 
 Reed, 6. 
 
 Milton, 92, 165, 169, 263, 318, 
 
 
 Reinbeck, 482, 591. 
 
 360, 375, 402, 542, 609, 615, 
 
 
 Rennell, Rev. T. 
 
 621, 624, 707, 712. 
 
 P. 
 
 Reunell, 494, 669. 
 
 Mitchell, 107, 
 
 Paley, 54, 158, 266, 268, 357, 
 
 Reynolds, Bp., 96, 228, 342^. 
 
 MiTFORD, Miss, 626. 
 
 530. 586, 649. 
 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS. 
 
 725 
 
 Reynolds, Sir J., 7, 296, 555. 
 RiCARDO, 363, 481. 
 Richard, A.B.. 369. 
 Richardson, D. L., 363, 364. 
 RiCHTER, J. P., no. 
 Ridley, Bp., 666. 
 roanaive, 689. 
 Robinson, R., 37. 
 
 Mrs., 378. 
 
 Robins, J., 536. 
 
 Rodd, T., 46. 
 
 Rogers, S., 32, 276, 626, 677. 
 
 J., 300, 482, 664, 697. 
 
 Roscommon, Earl of, 364. 
 Rose, H. J., 454, 696. 
 rossetti, 174. 
 Rousseau, 115. 
 ROWE, 83. 
 Rowland, D. 528. 
 Ruskin, 686, 704, 710, 712, 713. 
 Russell, Lady, 265. 
 Rust, Bp., 272. 
 
 S. 
 Sacheverel, 286. 
 Sackville, 702. 
 Sancroft, Archb., 259. 
 Sanderson, Bp,, 109, 204, 491, 
 
 595- 
 Sandford, Bp., 232. 
 
 Mrs. J., 118. 
 
 Sandon, Dr., 439. 
 Savage, 29. 
 scaliger, 256. 
 Schiller, 356, 552. 
 
 SCOBELL, 17. 
 
 Scott, Sir W., 8, 14, 89, 96, 
 134. 157. 226, 266, 280, 353, 
 438, 479, 648, 649. 
 
 Secker, Archb., 109, 135, 
 258. 
 
 Seed, 108. 
 
 Seneca, 650. 
 
 Shakespeare, 41, 66, 67, 82, 86, 
 90, 102, 173, 178, 185. 239, 
 261, 267, 273, 274, 277, 278, 
 280, 283, 287, 291, 298, 299, 
 300, 321, 322, 334, 342, 349, 
 351. 352, 358. 360, 361, 362. 
 380, 381, 388, 405, 406, 432, 
 
 433. 447. 449. 450. 454. 455. 
 484, 489, 493, 513, 514, 516, 
 
 524. 539. 575. 578. 595. 610, 
 627, 645, 652, 665, 678, 682, 
 686, 687, 692, • 
 
 Sharp, Archb., 185, 454. 
 
 135. 
 
 Shaw, Dr., 628. 
 Shee, Sir M. A., 404. 
 
 Shelley, 360, 404, 464, 590, 
 
 602, 614, 695, 700. 
 Shepherd, 567. 
 Sherlock, Bp., 120, 327, 394, 
 
 567. 
 Shirley, 272, 715. 
 Short, T. V., 512. 
 Shuttleworth, Bp., 540, 578, 
 
 618. 
 
 SiBBS, 139. 
 
 SiGOURNEY, 96, 164, 196, 416. 
 
 Simeon, 454, 565. 
 Sinclair, 112, 204. 
 Slade, 255. 
 Smalridge, Bp., 594. 
 Smart, 260. 
 Smedley, 580. 
 Smiles, 285. 
 
 Smith, Adam, 213, 307, 376, 
 452. 
 
 Charlotte, 627. 
 
 Pye, 351. 
 
 Sydney, 447. 
 
 Alex., 708, 715. 
 
 Smyth. Prof., 630. 
 Socrates, 346. 
 Somerville, Mrs., 44. 
 South, Bp., 7, 145, 278, 587, 
 
 596. 
 
 Dr., 264, 291. 
 
 Dean, 215, 291, 476, 
 
 636, 666, 686. 
 SOUTHEY, 17, 18, 21, 113, 173, 
 
 182, 222, 250, 274, 318, 322, 
 
 328, 383. 434. 478. 508. 564, 
 
 628, 683, 701, 718, 719. 
 Spencer, Hon. R., 63, 418, 
 
 664. 
 Spenser, 53, 63, 391, 526, 698, 
 
 700. 
 Sprague, 42. 
 Stanhope, Dean, 162, 253, 
 
 597- 
 Stanley, 165. 
 Stebbing, Rev. H., 103, 173, 
 
 598. 
 Stewart, D., 40, 286, 290, 345, 
 
 347. 45*^- 
 Stillingfleet, Bp., 258, 375, 
 
 548. 552. 565- 
 Stoughton, 396. 
 Story, Judge, 298. 
 Stowell, 537. 
 Strafford, Earl of, 580. 
 Strickland, A., 620, 653. 
 Sturm, 373, 433. 
 Styles, Dr., 208. 
 Sully, 648. 
 Sumner, Bp., 123, 258, 282, 
 
 488, 685, 707. 
 
 Sutton, C, 282. 
 Swain, C, 386, 514, 718. 
 SWARTY, 516. 
 Swift, Dean, 320. 
 SWINTON, 708. 
 
 Taylor, Bp. J., 5, no, 164, 
 253. 299, 335. 336, 405. 413, 
 452, 456, 470, 475, 511, 512, 
 564, 681, 689, 720. 
 
 S., 43, 143, 521. 
 
 THE Water Poet, 
 
 443. 
 
 Jane, 361. 
 
 Temple, L. S., 434. 
 
 Tennyson, 58, 69, 159, 169, 
 172, 173, 177, 195, 246, 249, 
 265. 307. 324. 355. 445. 485. 
 545. 587. 633. 668, 698. 
 
 Theodore, 204, 224. 
 
 Tieck, 75. 
 
 TiLLOTSON, Abp., 298, 386, 
 405. 513. 541. 568, 667, 699. 
 
 Thomson, 36, 54, 82, 84, no, 
 179, 249, 276, 277, 323, 365, 
 367. 371. 384. 287, 398, 432, 
 450, 488, 536, 551, 624, 625, 
 638. 
 
 TOWSEND, T., 677. 
 
 G., 393. 
 
 TOWNSON, 415. 
 TOPLADY, 589. 
 
 Trafford, F. G., 316. 
 Trench, Dean, 550. 
 Trusler, 340. 
 Tucker, 159. 
 TucKFiELD, 112. 
 Turner, Sharon, 289, 371, 
 410. 
 
 18, 45, 258, 577. 
 
 TUSSER, T., 281. 
 Tyler, J. R., 488. 
 Tyndale, Bp., 124, 683. 
 Tyrius, M.. 6. 
 
 U. 
 
 Unwins, Dr., 224. 
 Usher, Archb., 457. 
 
 Valpy, Dr., 241, 244. 
 Van Den Vondel, 24. 
 Vattel, 138. 
 Vaughan, II, 126, 273, 536. 
 
 Virgil, 46, 
 
726 
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS. 
 
 
 
 
 Welby, 169. 
 
 Wood, A., 362. 
 
 
 W. 
 
 West, 52, 209, 498. 
 
 Woodward, 547. 
 
 
 Wake, Abp., 513, 538. 
 
 Westness, 270. 
 
 Wordsworth, 29, 43, 96, 
 
 170, 
 
 Wakley, S., 685. 
 
 Whately, Archb., 615. 
 
 176, 209, 321, 367, 375, 
 
 384. 
 
 Walker, 199, 201, 274, 393. 
 
 Whewell, Professor, 329. 
 
 391. 445. 
 
 
 Waller, 291, 342, 685. 
 
 Whistlecraft, 68. 
 
 Worter, 27. 
 
 
 Walsingham, Sir F., 562. 
 
 White, G., 372. 
 
 WORTHINGTON, 393, 414, 
 
 485. 
 
 Walton, I., 139. 
 
 KiRKE, 477, 623, 620. 
 
 Wyatt, Sir T., 708. 
 
 
 War BURTON, E., 529. • 
 
 Whitehead, 552. 
 
 Wycliffe, Bp., 139. 
 
 
 Warton, T., 35, 623. 
 
 Whittier, 182, 244. 
 
 
 
 Warwick, A., 6, 16, 33, 34, 
 
 Wiffen, 624, 720. 
 
 
 
 151. 159. 160. 194. 218, 222, 
 
 Wilberforce, 33, 107, 288, 
 
 
 
 252, 264, 272, 291, 332, 341, 
 
 306, 322, 539. 
 
 Y. 
 
 
 390, 402, 407, 453, 463, 464, 
 
 Wilderspin, 199, 212. 
 
 Young, Dr. 5, 34, 173, 
 
 230, 
 
 513. 561. 563. 567. 573. 577. 
 
 Willis. N. P., 35, 177, 641. 
 
 250, 256, 278, 384, 393, 
 
 595. 
 
 630, 663, 665, 682, 686, 705, 
 
 678. 
 
 605, 608, 611, 650, 668. 
 
 
 Waterland, 414. 
 
 Wilson, Bp., 15, 146. 
 
 M. D., 205, 352, 
 
 363. 
 
 Watson, Bp., 48, 80, 92, 218, 
 
 Professor, 109, 152, 
 
 401, 464. 
 
 
 312. 328. 
 
 316, 477, 588, 601, 625. 
 
 Yorke, 458. 
 
 
 Watts, Dr. I., 15, 30, 252. 
 
 WiNSLOw, 130, 302, 351, 625. 
 
 
 
 Waugh, Dr., 516. 
 
 Wither, 140, 254, 
 
 
 
 Wayland, President, 660. 
 
 WOGAN, 493. 
 
 
 
 Weber, C. M. Von, 667. 
 
 WoLSELEY, Sir C, 48. 
 
 Z. 
 
 
 Webster, 194, 273, 569. 
 
 Wombwell, a., 300. 
 
 Zimmerman, 583, 649. 
 
 
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 Masters, Apprentices, and Ser- 
 vants, Working Contracts. 
 Auctions, Valuations, Agency, 
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 II 
 
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 INFORMATION, in Geography, Biography, History, Mythology, Biblical Know- 
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 " The ' Dictionary of Univer.sal Information." published by Mr. S. 0. Beeton. supplies a desidera- 
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 ledge, in consequence of their high price, are accessible only to a few. In such works no special pro- 
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 Mr. Beeton to some extent enters a new Held in devoting a Dictionary exclusively to projjer names in 
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