PS =^il I 237. VOU.V Ip^cE a CKNTS L.n^S^l\» ii |[ i\ov. 9, 1B86, r «^-»*'^ ^ ( SIO.OQ A YEAH. ,)l| The Elzevir Library— Continued; BIOGRAPHY. 11 Sir Isaac Newton. James Parton 3c 16 Life of Gustave Dore. Illustrated 2© 35 Alex. H. Stephens. Norton 8e 38 Richard Wagner. Bertha Thomas 2c 41 Peter Cooper. C. Edwards Lester 8c 50 Life of Irving, by R. H. Stofldard, also three other sketches. 10c Life of "Washington. Wm. M. Thayer 25c 75 Sam Houston. C. Edwards Lester 15c 100 James Ferguson, the Astronomer ^c 104 Count Runxford. John Tyndall 2c 135 Wendell Phillips. Gteo. Wm. Curtis 2c 142 Lecture on Emerson. Matthew Arnold 2c 155 Thomas Carlyle. Augustine Birrell 2c 178 Life of Hannibal. Thomas Arnold, of Rugby Sc 183 Julius Caesar. H. G. Liddell 8c 219 Charles Brockden Brown. Prescott 3c 220 Cervantes. Prescott 3c 221 Sir Walter Scott. Prescott 5c 222 Mohere. Wm. H. Prescott 3c Marcus Aurelius. Matthew Arnold 3c Thackeray. By author of Rab and His Friends 5c Cyrus the Great. Geo. Rawlinson 2e life of Chinese Gtordon. Archibald Forbes 15c 367 Philosophy of Style. Herbert Spencer 3c By RALPH WALDO EMERSON. '' 213 On Intellect 2e 214 On Art -. ... 2c. 237 On Experience . ... 2c 238 On Cliaracter 2e 239 On Manners - . . 2c 323 Self -Reliance 3c 165 On Heroism 2c 168 On Love 2c 208 On Nattire 4c 209 Method of Nature 2c 210 On History 2c 212 On Friendship 2c By MAURICE THOMPSON. 302 Cuckoo Notes 3c 303 Anatomy of Bird Song . . 3c 305 Some Hyoid Hints , 2a FAMOUS POEMS. 361 Poe, Edgar A. The Raven, and other Poems 3c 339 Spenser. The Red Cross Knight and Dragon 3c 836 Arnold, Matthew. Favorite Poems 3c 335 Keats. The Eve of St. Agnes, and Other Poems 3c 334 Shelley, Percy Bysshe. Favorite Poems 3c 333 Chaucer. The Story of Grisilde 3c 325 Dana, Richard H. The Buccaneers 2c 320 Mediaeval Religious Poems. The Celestial City, etc 3c 316 Gray's Elegy, and Other Poems 3g 315 Southey. Inchcape Rock, and Other Poems 3c 314 Browning, Robert. The Pied Piper of Hamlin, etc 3c 313 Browning, Mrs. Ladv Geraldine's Courtship 3c 311 Hood. The Bridge of Sighs, and Other Poems 3c 277 LowelPs Early Poems 15c 256 Bryant's Early Poems 15c 249 Whittier's Early Poems 15c 240 Longfellow's Early Poems 10c 366 Pope's Essay on Man 5c 150 Moore. Irish Melodies 8c 362 Goethe. Hermann and Dorothea 5c 106 Aytoun. The Heart of Bruce, etc • • 2c 375 Coleridge. Ancient Mariner . • 3c JOl Byron, Lord. Mazeppa 2c 89 Campbell, (Jertrude of Wyoming 2c 36 Schiller's Song of the Bell, etc... 2c 28 Ingelow, Jean. Songs of Seven, and Other Po«ns 3c 380 Eliot, George. How LLsa Loved the King 3e 358 Biu-ng, Robert. Cotter's Saturday Night, etc 8c 377 Goldsmith. The Deserted Village, Etc 3« 360 Tennyson, Alfred. EnochArden 3c K^4 EXPEKIENCE. The lords of life, the lords of .U(e,— I saw them pass, In their own guise. Like and unlike, Portly and grim, Use and Surprise, Surface and Dream, Succession swift, and spectral Wrong, Temperament without a tongue, And the inventor of the game Omnipresent without name; — Some to see, some to be guessed, They marched f i"om east to v/est : Little man, least of all, Among the legs of his guardians tall, Walked about with puzzled look: — Him by tlie hand dear nature took; Dearest nature, strong and kind, Whispered, 'Darling, nevermind! To-morrow they will wear another face, The founder thou! these are thy race! ' Where do we find ourselves ? In a series of wliicli wo do not know the extremes, and believe that it has none. We walce and find ourselves on a stair ; there ai'e stairs l)elow us, wliich we seem to have ascended ; there are stairs above us, many a one, wliich go upward and out o» sight. But tlie Genius which, according to the old belief, stands at -^e door by wliich we enter, and gives us the lethe to drink, that we may tell no tales, mi?ed the cup too etro'igly, and we cannot shake off the lethargy now at noonday. Sleep lingers all our lifetime about our eyes, as night hovers •tS^ day in the boughs of the fir-tree. Ail things swim and glitter. Our life is not so 34 EXPERIENCE, much threatened as our perception. Ghost- like we glide through nature and should not know our place again. Did our birth fall in some fit of indigence and frugality in nature, that she was so sparing of her fii-e r.iid so lii>- eral of her enrth,that it ap]Hvirs to us tli.-it \v<^ hick the affirnnuive principle, and ihougii we have health and reason, yet we have no sujx'j- fluity of spirit for new creation ? We have enough to live and bring the year about, but not an ounce to impart or to invest. Ah that our Genius were a little more of a gf>nius ! We are like millers on the lower levels of a stream, when the factories above them have exhausted the water. We too fancy that the upper peo])le must have raised their dams. If any of us knew what we were doing or where v/e are going, then when we thiidc we best know ! We do not know to-day whether we are busy or idle. In times when v»o thought ourselves indolent we have after\var<'s discovered, that much Vv^as accomplished, and much was begun inns. All our days are S) unprofitable while they pass, that 'tis wonder- ful where or when we ever got anything of this which we call wisdom, poetry, virtue. We never got it on any dated calendar day. Some heavenly days must have been inter- calated somewhere, like those that Ilermes won with dice of the Moon, that Osiris might be born. It is said, all martyrdoms looked mean when they were suffered. Every ship is a romantic object, except that we sail in. Em- bark, and the romance quits our vessel, and hangs on evei-y other sail on the horizon. Oui-- life looks trivial, and we shun to record it. Men -seem to have learned of the horizon the art of perpetual retreating and reference. * Yonder uplands are rich pasturage, and my neighbor has fertile meadow, but my field,' says the quf^rulous farmer * only holds the world together.' I quote another man's say- ing; unluckily, that other withdraws himself EXPERIENCE, 35 in the same way, and quotes me. 'Tis tlie trick of nature tlius to degrade to-day ; a good deal of buzz, and somewhere a result slipped magically in. Every roof is agrccahle to the eve, until it is lifted ; tlien we find tragedy :uh\ moaning women, and hard-eyed husbands, nnd deluges of lethe, and the men ask, ' What's the news?' as if the old were so bad. How many individuals can we count in society? how many actions? how many opinions? So much of our time is preparation, so much is routine, and so much retrospect, that the pith of each man's genius contracts itself to a very tew hours. The history of literature — take the net result of Tiraboschi, AVarton, or Schle- ji^el,^ — is a sum of very few ideas, and of very lew original tales, — all the rest being variation i)f these. So in this great society wide ?ying around us, a critical analysis would find very few spontaneous actions. It is almost all custom and gross sense. There are even few opinions, and these seem oi-ganic in the speak- ers, and do not disturb the universal neces- sity. What opium is instilled into all disaster ! It shows formidable as we approach it, but there is at last no rough rasphig friction, but the most slippery sliding surfaces. We fall soft on a thought. Ate Dea is gentle, *' Over men's heads walking aloft, With tender feet treading so soft." People give and bemoan themselves, but it is not half so bad with them as they say. There are moods in which we court suffering, in the hope that here, at least, we shall fin'd leality, sharp peaks and edges of truth. But it turns out to be scene-painting and counter- feit. The only thing grief has taught me, is to know how shallow it is. That, like all the rest, plays about the surface, and never intro- duces me into the reality, for contapt with- 36 EXPERIENCE. which, we would even pay the costly price of sons and lovers. Was it Boscovich who found out that bodies never come in contact ? Well, souls never touch their objects. An innavi- gable sea washes with silent waves between us and the things we aim at and converse with. Grief too will make us idealists. In the death of my son, now more than two years ago, I seem to have lost a beautiful estate, — no more. I cannot get it nearer to' me. If to-morrow I should be informed of the bankruptcy of my principal debtors, the loss of my property would be a great inconvenience to me, perhaps, for many years ; but it wouk] leave me as it found me, — neither better nor worse. So is it with this calamity : it does not touch me : some thing which I fancied was a part of me, which could not be torn away without tearing me, nor enlarged with- out enriching me, falls off from me, and leaves no scar. It was caducous. I grieve that grief can teach me nothing, nor carry me one step into real nature. The Indian who was laid under a curse, that the wind should not blow on him, nor water flow to him, nor lire burn him, is a type of us all. The dearest events are summer-rain, and we the Para coats that shed every drop. Nothing is left us now but death. We look to that with a grim satisfac- tion, saying, there at least is reality that will not dodge uSo I take this evanescence and lubricity of all objects, which lets them slip through our fingers then when we clutch hardest, to be the most unhandsome part of our condition. Nat- ure does not like to be observed, and likes hat we should be her fools and playmates. We may have the sphere for our cricket-ball, but not a berry for our philosophy. Direct strokes she never gave us power to make ; all our blows glance, all our hits are accidents. Our relations to each other are oblique and casual. EXVKiiiENCE. 37 Dream delivers us to dre.im, and there is no end to illusion. Life is a train of moods like a string of beads, and, as we pass through til em, they prove to be many-colored lenses which paint the world their own hue, and each shows only what lies in its focus. From the mountain you see the mountain. We ani- mate what we can, and we see only what we animate. Nature and books belong to the eyes that see them. It depends on the mood of the mMi5, whether he shall see the sunset or the fine ])oem. There are always sunsets, and there is always genius ; but only a few hours so serene that we can relish nature or criticism. The more or less depends on structure or tem- ])erament. Temperament is the iron wire on w^liich the beads are strung. Of what use is fortune or talent to a cold and defective nature : Who cares what sensibility or discrimination a man has at some time shown, if he falls asleep in his chair ? or if he laugh and giggle? or if he apologize ? or is affected with egotism ? or thinks of his dollar ? or cannot go by food ? or has gotten a child in his boyhood ? Of what use is genius, if the organ is too convex or too concave, and cannot find a focal distance with- in the actual horizon of human life ? Of what use, if the brain is too cold or too hot, and the man does not care enough for results, to stimu- late hira to experiment, and hold him up in it? or if the web is too finely woven, too irritable by pleasure and pain, so that life stagnates from too much reception, without due outlet? Of what use to make heroic vows of amendment, if the same old law-breaker is to keep them ? What cheer can the religious sentiment yield, when that is suspected to be secretly dependent on the seasons of the year, and the state of the blood ? I knew a witty physician who found theology in the biliary duct,' and used to affirm that if there was disease in the liver, the man became a Calvinist, and if that organ was sound, he became a Unitarian. Very mortify- S8 EXPERIENCE. ing is the reluctant experience that some un- friendly excess or imbecility neutralizes the promise of genius. We see young men who owe us a new world, so readily and lavishly they promise, but they never acquit the debt; they die young and dodge the account : or if they live, they lose themselves in the crowd. Temperament also enters fully into the sys- tem of illusions, and shuts us in a prison of glass which we cannot see. There is an op- tical illusion about every person we meet. In truth, they are all creatures of given tempera- ment, which will appear in a given character, whose boundaries they will never pass : but we look at them, they seem alive, and we ])resume there is impulse in them. In the moment it seems impulse ; in the year, in the lifetime, it turns out to be a certain uniform tune which the revolving barrel of the music- box must play. Men resist the conclusion in the morning, but adopt it as the evening wears on, that temper prevails over everything of time, place and condition, and is inconsumable in the flames of religion. Some modifications the moral sentiment avails to impose, but the individual texture holds its dominion, if not to bias the moral judgments, yet to fix the measure of activity and of enjoyment. I thus ex])ress the law as it is read from the platform of ordinary life, but must not leave it without noticing the capital exception. For temperament is a power which no man will- ingly hears any one praise but himself. On the platform of physics, we cannot resist the contracting influences of so-called science. Temperament jiuts all divinity to rout. I know the mental proclivity of physicians, I hear the chuckle of the phrenologists. The- oretic kidnappers and slave-drivers, they esteem each man the victim of another, who winds him round his finger by knowing the law of his being, and by such cheap signboard^ ESPURIENCB. SO as tlie color of Ins bonrd, or tlio slopo of liis occiput, T'onds the iiivciilory of his fortunes and cliarncter. 'V\\r Lvrcsscst iiinornnce docs nnt disixust IdvC tliis impudent knowinc'uoss. ^i'lic ):liysici:ins snv, tliey are not n).Mt«'rialists ; 1 lit tlu'V arc : — Spii'it is matter reduced to an extreme tlunness : O i-:<> thin ! — I>ul the/r/^/(5«/ should bo, t/i((t w/iic/i «.s' v'.^s- ow)i eviclence. What notions do tiiey attach to love ! what to religion ! One would not Vv'illinLily pronounce these words iii their hcar- ing, and give them the occasion to ])rofane them. I saw a gracious gentleman who adapts his conversation to the form of the head of the man he talks with ! I had fancied that the value of life lay in its inscrutable possibi- lities ; in the fact that I never know, in addressing myself to a new individual, what may befall me. I carry the keys of my castle in my hand, ready to throw them at the feet of my loi'd, whenever and in what disguise so- ever he shall ajipear. I know he is iu the neighborhood hidden among vagabonds. Shall I jireclude my future, by taking a high seat and kindly adapting my conversation to the shape of heads? When I come to that, the doctors shall buy me for a cent. 'But, sir, medical history; the report to the institute; the proven facts! ' — I distrust the facts and the inferences. Temperament is the veto or limitation-power in the constitution, very just- ly applied to restrain an opposite excess in tiie constitution, but absurdly offered as a bar to original equity. When virtue is in pres- ence, all subordinate powers sleep. On its own level, or iu view of nature, temperament is final. I see not, if one be once caught in this tcap of so-called sciences, any escape for the man from the links of the chain of physical necessity. Given such an embryo, such a history must follow. On this platform, one lives in a sty of sensualism, and would soon come to suicide. But it is im]iossible that 40 EXPERIENCE, the creative power should exclude itself. In- to every intelligence there is a door which is never closed, through which the creator passes. The intellect, seeker of absolute truth, or tlio heart, lover of absolute good, intervenes for our succor, and at one whisper of these high jDOwers, we awake from ineffectual strui'- gles with this nightmare. We hurl it into its own hell, and cannot again contract oursehes to so base a state. The secret of the illusoriness is in the neces- sity of a succession of moods or objects. Gladly we would anchor, but the anchorage is quicksand. This onward trick of nature is too strong for us: Pero si muove. When, at night, I look at the moon and stars, I seem stationary, and they to hurry. Our love ol the real draws us to permanence, but health of body consists in circulation, and sanity ol mind in variety or facility of association. We need change of objects. Dedication to one thought is quickly odious. We house with the insane, and must humor them ; then conversation dies out. Once I took such de- light in Montaigne, that I thought I should not need any other book; before that, in Shakspeare ; then in Plutarch ; then in Plo- tinus ; at one time in Bacon ; afterwards in Goethe ; even in Bettine ; but now I turn the pages of either of them languidly, whilst I still cherish their genius. So with pictures ; each will bear an emphasis of attention once, which it cannot retain, though we fain would continue to be pleased in that manner. ITow strongly I have felt of pictures, that when you have seen one well, you must take your leave of it ; you shall never see it again. I have .1 good lessons from pictures, which I have ;)ce seen without emotion or remark. A de- lict ion must be made from the opinion. v\ liich even the wise express of a new book or occurrence. Their opinion gives me tid- EXPERIENCE. 41 ings of their mood, and some vague guess at the new fact, but is nowise to be trusted as the lasting relation between that intellect and that thing. The child asks, ' Mama, why don't I like the story as well as wlien you told it me yesterday?' Alas, child, it is eveii so with the oldest cherubim of knowledge. But will it answer thy question to gay, Bf- cause thou wert born to a whole, and tln^ story is a particular? The reason of the pain this discovery causes us (and we make it late in resjiect to works of art and intellect), is the plaint of tragedy which murmurs from it in regard to persons, to friendship and love. That immobility and absence of elasticity which we find in the arts, we find with more pain in the artist. There is no power of ex- pansion in men. Our friends early appear to us as representatives of certain ideas, which they never pass or exceed. They stand on the brink of the ocean of thought and power, but they never take the single step that would bring them there. A man is like a bit of Lab- rador spar, which has no lustre as you turn it in your hand, until you come to a particular angle ; then it shows deep and beautiful colors. There is no adaptation or universal aj^plicability in men, but each has his special talent, and the mastery of successful men consists in adroitly keeping themselves where and when that turn shall be oftenest to be practised. We do what we must, and call it by the best names we can, and would fain have the praise of having intended the result which ensues. I cannot recall any form of man who is not superfluous sometimes. Bui is not this pitiful? Life is not worth the taking, to do tricks in. Of course, it needs the whole society, to give the SNumietry we seek. The parti-colored wheel must revolve very fast to appear white. Something is learned too by conversing with BO much folly and defect. In fine, whoever 42 EXPEBIENCE. loses, we are always of the gaining party. Di- A inity is behind our failures and follies also. The plays of children are nonsense, but very educative nonsense. So it is with the Inrgest and solemnest things, with commerce, govern- ment, church, marriage, and so with the his- tory of every man's bread, and the ways by which he is to come by it. Like a bird which alights nowhere, but hops per])etually from bough to bough, is the Power which abides in no man and in no woman, but for a moment speaks from this one, and for another moment from that one. But what help from these fineries or pedan- tries ? What help from thought ? Life is not dialectics. ^Ye, I think, in these times, have had lessons enough of the futility of criticism. Our young jieople have thought and written much on labor and reform, and for all that they have written, neither the world nor themselves have got on a step. Intellectual tasting of life will not supersede muscular activity. If a man should consider the nicety of the passage of a piece of bread down his throat, he would starve. At Education-Farm the noblest theory of life sat on the noblest figures of young men and maidens, quite pow- erless and melancholy. It would not rake or pitch a ton of hay ; it Avould not rub down a horse ; and the men and maidens it left pale and hungry. A political orator wittily com- pared our party ])romises to western roads, which opened stately enough, with planted trees on either side, to tempt the traveller, but soon became narrow and narrower, and ended in a squirrel-track, and ran up a tree. So does culture with us ; it ends in head-ache. Un- speakably sad and barren does life look to those, who a few montl:s ago were dazzled with the si)lendor of the promise of the times. *' There is now no longer any right course of action, nor any self-devotioii left among the KXPKLIJCXCE. 43 li'niiis." Objoctioiis .'ui look scornful and to cry for company. I am grown by sympathy a little eager and senti- mental, but leave me alone, and I should relish every hour and what it brouglit me, the pot- luck of the day, as heartily as the oldest gossip in the bar-room. I am thankful for small mercies. 1 compared notes with one of my friends who expects everything of the universe, and is disappointed when anything is less than the best, and I found that I begin at the other extreme, expecting nothing, and am always full of thanks for moderate goods. I accept the clangor and jangle of contrary tendencies. I find my account in sots and bores also. They give a reality to the cir- cumjacent picture, which such a vanishing meteorous appearance can ill spare. In the morning I awake, and find the old world, KXPKIilENCE. 46 wife. ])abes, and mother, Concord and Boston, ilie (k'.ir old spiritual world, and even tlie dear old devil not far off. If we will take the good we find, asking no questions, we shall hav« lie.Mping measures. The great gifts are not t:nt by analysis. Everything good is on the iiighway. The middle region of our being is l!ie temperate zone. We may climb into the tliin and cold realm of pure geometry and life- less science, or sink into tliat of sensation. Ik'lween tliese extremes is the equator of life, of thought, of spirit, of poetry, — a narrow belt. ]\l()reover, in po])ular experience everything good is on the highway. A collector peeps into all the ]>icture-shops ot' Europe, for a landscape of- Poussin, a crayon-sketch of Sal- vator ; but the Transfiguration, the Last Judgment, the Communion of St. Jerome, and what are as transcendent as these, are on the walls of the Vatican, the Uffizii, or the Louvre, where every footman may see them ; to say nothing of nature's pictures in every street, of sunsets and sunrises every day, and the sculpture of the human body never absent. A collector recently bought at public auction, in London, for one hundred and fifty-seven guineas, an autograph of Shakspeare : but for nothing a school-boy can read Ilamlet, and can detect secrets of highest concernment yet nnpublished therein. I think I will never read any but the commonest books, — the Bible, Homer, Dante, Shakspeare, and Milton. Then we are impatient of so public a life and ]danet, and run hither and thither for nooks aiul secrets. The imagination delights in the wood- craft of Indians, trappers, and bee-hunters. We fancy that we are strangers, and not so intimately domesticLted in the planet as the wild man, and the wild beast and bird. But the exclusion reaches them also ; reaches the climbing, flying, gliding, feathered and four- footed man. Fox and wood chuck, hawk and inipe, and bittern, when nearly seen, have no 46 EXPERIENCE. more root in the deep world than man, and are jiist such superficial tenants of the globe. Then the new molecular philosophy shows astronomical interspaces betwixt atom and atom, shows that the world is all outside : it has no inside. The mid-world is best. Nature, as we know lier, is no saint. The lights of the church, the ascetics, Gentoos and Grahamites, she does not distinguish by any favor. She comes eating and drinking and sinning. Her darlings, the great, the strong, the beautiful, are not children of our law, do not come out of the Sunday School, nor weigh their food, nor punctually keep the commandments. If we will be strong with her strength, we must not harbor sucli disconsolate consciences, bor- rowed too from the consciences of other na- tions. We must set up the strong present tense against all the rumors of wrath, past or to come. So many things are unsettled which it is of the first importance to settle, — and, pending their settlement, we will do as we do. Whilst the debate goes forward on the equity of commerce, and will not be closed for a cen- tury or two, New and Old England may keep shop. Law of copyright and international copyright is to be discussed, and, in the interim, we will sell our books for the most we can. Expediency of literature, reason of literature, lawfulness of writing down a thought, is questioned ; much is to say on both sides, and, wliile the fight Avaxes hot, thou, dearest scholar, stick to thy foolish task, add a line every hcnir, and between whiles add a line. IJight to hold land, right of property, is disputed, and the conventions convene, and before the vote is , taken, dig away in your garden, and sj>end your earnings as a waif or godsend to all se- rene and beautiful purposes. Life itself is a bubble and a scepticism, and a sleep within a sleep. Grant it, and as much more as they will, — but thou, God's darling! heed thy pri- l^JXl 'ERIEN CE. 47 vnte dream : thou wilt not be missed in the sconiim; and scepticism : tliere are enough of tliem : stay there in thy closet, and toil, until the rest arc agreed what to do about it. Tiiv sickness, they say, and thy ]>uny habit, require that thou do this or avoid that, but l:now that thy life is a flitting state, a tent for a night, and do thou, sick or well, finish that stint. Thou art sick, but shalt not be worse, and the universe, which holds thee dear, shall be the better. Human life is made up of the two elements, ])0\ver and form, and the proportion must be invariably kept, if we would have it sweet and sound. Each of these elements in excess makes a mischief as hurtful as its defect. Everything runs to excess : every good quality is noxious,' if unmixed, and, to carry the dan- jrer to the edge of ruin, nature causes each man's peculianty to superabound. Here, a- mong the farms, we adduce the scholars as ex- am pfes of this treachery. They are nature's victims of expression. *You who see the ar- tist, the orator, the poet, too near, and find their life no more excellent than that of mecha- nics or farmers, and themselves victims of partiality, very hollow and haggard, and pro- nounce them failures, — not heroes, but quacks, — conclude very reasonably, that these arts are not for man, "but are disease. Yet nature will not bear you out. Irresistible nature made men such, and makes legions more of such, every day. You love the boy reading in a book, crazing at a drawing, or a cast : yet what are these millions who read and behold, but incipient writers and sculptors? Add a little more of that quality which now reads and sees, and tliey will seize the ])en and chisel. And if one remembers how innocently he began to be an artist, he perceives that nature joined with his enemy. A man is a golden impossi- bility. The line he ratist walk is a hair's breadth. 48 EXPERIENCE. The wise through excess of wisdom is made a fool. How easily, if fate would suffer it, we might keep forever these beautiful limits, and adjust ourselves, once for all, to the perfect cal- culation of the kingdom of known cause and effect. In the street and in the newspapers, life appears so plain a business, that manly resolution and adherence to the multiplication- table through all weathers, will insure success. But ah ! presently comes a day, or it is oidy a half-hour, with its angel-whispering, — which discomfits the conclusions of nations and of years ! To-morrow again, everything looks real and angular, the habitual standards are reinstated, common sense is as rare as genius, — is the basis of genius, and experience is hands and feet to every enterprise ; — and yet, he who should do his business on this understanding, would be quickly bankrupt. Power keeps quite another road than the turnpikes of choice and will, namely, the subterranean and invisi- ble tunnels and channels of life. It is ridicu- lous that we are diplomatists, and doctors, and cosiderate people : there are no dupes like these. Life is a series of surprises, and would not be worth taking or keeping, if it were not. God delights to isolate us every day, and hide fi'om us the past and the future. We should look about us, but with grand politeness lie draws down before us an inpenetrable screen of purest sky, and another behind us of purest sky. ' You will not remember,' he seems to say, ' and you will not expect.' All good conversation, manners, and action, come from a spontaneity which forgets usages, and makes the moment great. Nature hates calculators ; her methods are saltatory and impulsive. Man lives by pulses ; our organic movements are such ; and the chemical and ethereal agents are undulatory and alternate ; and the mind goes antagonizing on, and never prospers but by fits. We thrive by casualties. Our chief EXPERIENCE. 4© experiences have been casual. The most at- tiTiCtive class of people are those who are pow- erful obliquely, and not by the direct stroke : men of genius, but not yet accredited : one gets the cheer of their light, without paying too great a tax. Theirs is the beauty of the bird, or the morning light, and not of art. In the thought of genius there is always a sur- ])rise ; and the moral sentiment is well called " the newness," for it is never other ; as new to the oldest intelligence as to the young child, — " the kingdom that cometh without observation." In like manner, for practical suc- cess, there must not be too much design. A man will not be observed in doing that which he can do best. There is a certain magic about his properest action, which stupefies you pow- ers of observation, so that though it is done before you, you wist not of it. The art of life has a pudency, and will not be exposed. Every man is an impossibility, until he is born ; every thing impossible, until we see a success. The ardors of piety agree at last with the coldest scepticism, — that nothing is of us or our works, — that all is of God. Nature will not spare us the smallest leaf of laurel. All writ- ing comes by the grace of God, and all doing and having. I would gladly be moral, and keep due metes and bounds, which I dearly love, and allow the most to the will of man, b^it I have set my heart on honesty in this chapter, and I can see nothing at last, in success or failure, than more or less of vital force sup- plied from the Eternal. The results of life are uncalculated and uncalculable. The years teach much which the days never know. The persons who compose our company, con- verse, and come and go, and design and exe- cute many things, and somewhat comes of it all, but an unlocked for result. The individ- ual is always mistaken. He designed many things, and drew in other persons as coadjutors quarrelled with gome or all, blundered much. 60 EXPERIENCE. and something is done ; all are a little ad vance* but tlie individual is always mistaken. It turn, out somewhat new, and very unlike what Ik promised himself. The ancients, struck with this irreducible- ness of the elements of human life to calcula- tion, exalted Chance into a divinity, but that is to stay too long at the spark, — which glit- ters truly at one point, — but the universe is w\irm with the latency of the same fire. Tlie miracle of life which will not be expounded, but will remain a miracle, introduces a new element. In the growth of the embryo, Sir Everard Home, I thuik, noticed that the evo- lution was not from one central point, but ro- active from three or more points. Life has no memory. That which proceeds in succes- sion might be remembered, but that which is coexistent, or ejaculated from a deeper cause, as yet far from being conscious, knows not its own tendency. So is it with us, now scepti- cal, or without unity, because immersed in forms and effects all seeming to be of equal yet hostile value, and now religious, whilst in the reception of spiritual law. Bear with these distractious,with this coetaneous growth of the parts : they will one day be inemhers^ and obey one will. On that one will, on that secret cause, they nail our attention and hope. Life is hereby melted into an exj)ecta- tion or a religion. IJnderneath the inhariuo- nious and trivial particulars, is a musical |)ci-- fection, the Ideal journeying always with us, the heaven without rent or seam. Do but observe the mode of our illumination. AYhen I converse with a profound mind, or if .".t any time being alpne I have good thoughts, I do not at once arrive at satisfactions, as when, being thirsty, I drink water, or go to the fire, being cold : no ! but T am at first aji]irised of mv vicinity to a new and excellent region of life. By persist inu- to read or to think, tlii?? reirion irives further siii-n of itself, as it wero EXPERIENCE. 61 in flashes of light, in sudden discoveries of its ])rofound beauty and repose, as if the clouds tliat covered it parted at intervals, and siiowed the ap])roaching traveller the inland inountnins, with the tranquil eternal meadows spread at tlieir base, whereon flocks graze, and shepherds pipe and dance. But every insight i'roiu this realm of thought is felt ;is initial, and promises a sequel. I do not make it ; I arrive there, and behold what was there already. I make ! O, no ! I clap my hands in infantine joy and amaze- ment, before the first opening to me of this august magnificence, old with the love and homage of innumerable ages, young with the life of life, the sunbright Mecca of the desert. And what a future it opens ! I feel a new heart beating with the love of the new beauty. I am ready to die out of nature, and be born again into this new yet unapproach- able America I have found in the West. " Since neither now nor yesterday began These thoughts, which liave l)eeu ever, nor yet can A man be found who their tirst entrance knew." If I have described life as a flux of moods, I must now add, that there is that in us which changes not, and which ranks all sensations and states of mind. The consciousness in each man is a sliding scale, which identifies him now with the First Cause, and now with the flesh of his body ; life above life, in infi- nite degrees. The sentiment from which it sprung determines the dignity of any deed,, and the question ever is, not, what you have done or forborne, but, at whose conimand you have done or forborne it. Fortune, Minerva, Muse, Holy Ghost, — . these are quaint names, too narrow to cover this unbounded substance. The baflied intel- lect must still kneel before this cause, which refuses to be named, — ineffable cause, which every fine genius has essayed to represent by 52 EXPERIENCE. soino emphatic symbol, as, Thales by water, AnaximeiK'S by air, Aiiaxagoras by (iVov?) t'.ioiiglit, Zoroaster by fire, Jesus and the mod- erns by love : and the metaphor of each has become a national religion. The Chinese Mencius has not been the least successful in his generalization. "I fully understand lan- •guage," he said, " and nourish Avell my vast- flowing vigor." — " I beg to ask what you call vast-flowing vigor ? " — said his companion. " The explanation," replied Mencius, *' is difticult. This vigor is supremely great, and in the highest degree unbending. Nourish it correctly, and do it no injury, and it will fill up the vacancy between heaven and earth. This vigor accords with and assists justice and reason, and leaves no hunger." — In our more correct writing, we give to this generali- zation the name of Being, and thereby con- fess that we have arrived as far as we can go. Suffice it for the joy of the universe, that we have not arrived at a wall, but at intermin- able oceans. Our life seems not present, so much as prospective ; not for the affairs on which it is wasted, but as a hint of this vast- flowing vigor. Most of life seems to be mere advertisement of faculty : information is given us not to sell ourselves cheap ; that we are very great. So, in particulars, our great- ness is always in a tendency or direction, not in an action. It is for us to believe in the rule, not in the exception. The noble are thus known from the ignoble. So in accept- ing the leading of the sentiments, it is not what we believe concerning the immortality of the soul, or the like, but the universal im- pulse to believe., that is the material circum- stance, and is the principal fact in the history of the globe. Shall we describe this cause as that which works directly ? The spirit is not helpless or needful of mediate organs. It has plentiful powers and direct effects. I am explained without explaining, 1 am felt with- EXPEUIEt^CE. tJ3 out acting, and where I am not. Therefore all just persons are satisfied with their own praise. They refuse to explain themselves, and are content that new actions should do them that office. They believe that we com- municate without speech, and above speech, and that no right action of ours is quite un- aft'ecting to our friends, at whatever distance ; for the influence of action is not to be meas- ured by miles. Why should I fret myself, because a circumstance has occurred, which hinders my presence where I was expected ? If I am not at the meeting, my presence where I am, should be as useful to the com- monwealth of friendship and wisdom, as would be my prescuce in that place. I exert the same quality of power in all places. Thus journeys the mighty Ideal before us ; it never was known to fall into the rear. No man ever came to an experience which was satiat- ing, but his good is tidings of a better. On- ward and onward ! In liberated moments, we know that a new j^icture of life and duty is already |)Ossible ; the elements already exist in many minds around you, of a doctrine of life which shall transcend any written re- cord we have. The new statement will com- prise the scepticisms, as well as the faiths of society, and out of unbeliefs a creed shall be formed. For, sce|)ticisms are not gratuitous or lawless, but are limitations of the affirma- tive statement, and the new philosophy must take them in, and make affirmations outside of them, just as much as it must include the oldest beliefs. It is very unhappy, but too late to De helped, the discovery we have made, that we exist. That discovery is called the Fall of Man. Ever afterwards, we suspect our instruments. We have learned that we do not see directly, but mediately, and that we have no means of correcting these colored and distorting lenses which we are, or of computing the amount of t)4 EXPERIENCE. their errors. Perhaps these subject-lenses have a creative power ; ])erhaps there are no objects. Once we lived in w^hat we saw ; now, the rapaciousness of this new power, which threatens to absorb all thinos, eno^ajyes us. Nature, art, persons, letters, religions, — objects, successively tumble in, and God is but one of its ideas. Nature and literature are subjective phenomena ; every evil and every good thing is a shadow which we cast. The street is full of humiliations to the proud. As the fop contrived to dress his bailiffs in his livery', and make them wait on his guests at table, so the chagrins which the bad heart gives off as bubbles, at once take form as ladies and gentlemen in the street, shopmen or bar- keepers in hotels, and threaten or insult w^hat- ever is threatenable and insultable in us. 'Tia the same with our idolatries. People forget that it is the eye which makes the horizon, and the rounding mind's eye which makes this Of that man a type or representative of humanity with the name of hero or saint. Jesus the "providential man," is. a good man on wdiom many people are agreed that these optical laws shall take effect. By love on one part, and by forbearance to press objection on the other part, it is for a time settled, that we will look at him in the centre of the horizon, and as-* cribe to him the properties that will attach to any man so seen. But the longest love or avei*- sion has a speedy term. The great and crcs- cive self, roofed in absolute nature, supplants all relative existence, and ruins the kingdom ot mortal friendship and love. Marriage (in wdmt is called the spiritual world) is impossible, ^)v* cause of the inequality between every subject and every object. The subject is the receivei' of Godhead, and at every comparison must feel his being enhanced by that cryptic might. Though not in energy, yet by presence, this magazine of substance cannot be otherwise than felt : nor can any force of intellect at* EXPERIENCE, 55 tribute to tlie object the i)roper deity wliiel) 8lee]>s or wakes forever in every subject, r^^evcr can love make consciousness and ascrij>- tion e(]nal in force. Tliei'e will be the same \\\\i between every me and thee, as between I he orifj^inal a.nd the i)icture. Tlie universe is the bride of the soul. All j^rivate symjjathy is ]iartial. Two human beings are like globes, which can touch only in a ])oint, and, whilst they remain in contact, all other ]»oints of each of the spheres are inert ; their turn must :dso come, and the longer a, ])articular union lasts, the more energy of appetency the parts not in union acquire. Life will be imaged, but cannot be divided nor doubled. Any invasion of its unity would be chaos. The soul is not twin-born, but the only begotten, and though revealing itself as child in time, child in appearance, is of a fatal and universal power, admitting no co-life. Every day, every act betrays the ill-con- cealed deity. We believe in ourselves, as "we do not believe in others. We permit all things to ourselves, and that which we call sin in others, is experiment for ns. It is an instance of our faith in ourselves, that men never speak of crime as lightly as they thiid<: : or, every man thinks a latitude safe for him- self, which is nowise to be indulged to another. The act looks very differently on the inside, and on the outsiod engravings. 727 large dou- ble-column pages, $3.00, reduced to 81. 75" A remarkably interesting and exhaustive his- tory of one of the greatest religious movements of the ages. Prepared with the greatest care, diligent research, and earuest and long-continued toil, its great merits were in- stantlv recognized, it bec4ime immediately popular, and for more thali half a century it has been the standard his- tory of the great Reformation of which it treats. Xo less than six different English editors issued the work, while it was also printed in Grerman, Dutch, Italian, Swedish, Spanish, and Armenian. It is supjwsed that more than 2lH3.(KX) copies have been sold in the United States alone. It is probably now more widely disseminated throughout the country than any other relig- ious historical work. The qualities which have made it popular for more than fifty years will continue to keep it a standard and invaluable book. The edition here offered is printed from large type, is profusely illustrated, and wonderfully low in price. St. Augustine. St. AuiTostine, Confessions of. Translated by E. D. Ptsey, D.D. Ideal Edition, cloth. 60c. *' Xo one mind has ever made such an im- pression on Christian thought. Xo one can hesitate to acknowledge the depth of his spiritual conviction and the strength, solidity, and penetration with which he handled the most difficult questions and wrought all the elements of his experience, and his profound scriptural knowledge, into a great system."— John Titlloch, Principal of St. An- drew's University. THE ALDEX CATALOGUE.— Se^ jroat pages for terms, etc Tlie TZSToman's Story. Holloway. The Woman's Story, as told by twenty famous AiMericiin women, wliose names are appended. Edited by Laura (_:. Hollowav. with a biographical sketch and aiine jwrtrait of each author. Large l:2ino, cloth, $1.00 Agents Wanted. By 20 Famous Women. Abba Gould Woolson. Harriet Beecher Stowe. Ha.rriet Prescott Sp( >ff ord. Rebecca Harding Davis. Edna Dean Proctor. " Josiah Allen's Wife." Nora Perry. Augusta Evans Wilson. Louise Chandler Moulton Celia Thaxter. " Grace Greenwood."" Mary J. Holrnes. Jlargaret E. Sangster. Oliver Thorne Miller. Elizabeth W. Champney. Julia C. R. Dorr. Marion Harland. Louisa May Alcott, Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Rose Terry Cooke. '•The book shows what thoroughly good work in fiction has been done by Axnerican women, how wide a range the}' have taken as novelists, and how high the literary merit of theii- writings is." — Literary World, Boston. " A book compiled upon such a plan can not fail to be interesting on many accounts, and few books of half a thousand [)ages will be found more entertaining by the majority of readex's." —The Northwest Magazine, St. Paul, Mmn. ' ' Story lovers, and they are millions, will be delighted with the work, both for the merit of the stories and for the faces of the authors. On the whole it is a grand hit. We predict for the work a wide sale and great fa.yor/''— Herald Gospel Liberty, Dayton. ■*' 'The Short Story' is a wonderful achievement in lit- erature, and to its production the best efforts of the most highly gifted of our \\Titers have been devoted for years. This volume more than any other with which we are acquainted, will show to what degree of perfection the American woman has carried the art of telling the short story well, and besides having an interest to the student of literature, will prove of lasting interest as a charming book for the fireside circle."— 37ie Guardian, Philadelphia, Pa. " The sort of book that is a well-spring of delight in every household. The reading matter is well enough, being favorite tales selected, as the editor informs us, by each author f lom her own writings, but the portraits that accompany the biographical notices are a unique experience in most of our lives. There is no false senti- ment in the manner in which these talented ladies are reproduced. The ]Vliotographs are naught in extenuation and naught in malice. And we congratulate the persons they represent on the absence of feminine vanity that would prevent the publication of this faitliful record. The sketches are done by a practised hand. Mrs. HoUoway is the accomphshed author of 'The Ladies of the White House,' ' The Mothers of Great Men and Women.' "-r77ie Hartford Courant. "It was a happy thought to select a story from a score of our representative female writers of fiction and embody them in a single book, appending a portrait and a brief biographical sketch of each. We have thus a composite picture of the best types and characteristics of our most noted and popular female writers. As 1 1 lese sketches were ' selected by their authors for this volume,' 'and in every case the writers pronounced them to be their best sketch work.' we are able to test tlieir judgment by the verdict of the public. The ' sketch ' prefacmg each story is in admirable taste brief, tense, sensible, and informing, without flattery^ oc laudation. As Americans, we have reason to be proud of such a list. We doubt if aay other nation can make a better exhibit of living female talent in the world of fiction. The book merits and will doubtless get a wide circulatioa."— r/i^ Homiletic Heview, New York. EPICTETUS. Kl)is()i)liy of liic givatcst of all moral teachers/ —Sunday A'ews, (Jliarleston, 8. C. " A beaiit'ful edition of tlie crippled philoso- pher. The philosophy of Epictctus is stamped with an intensely practical character, and exhibits a high, idealistic Jypeof morality. He is an earnest, sometimes stern and sometimes pathetic, preacher of righteousness, who de- spises the mere graces of a literary and rhetorical lecturer, *ud the subtleties of an abstruse logic." — The American, Nashville, Tenn. " In these days of liberal views regarding the essentials of religion, when eventhe Westminster Catechism must stand or fall on its merits, the thoughtful man will welcome any evidence brought to his attention of the fact that in all ages of the world there have been ' Seekers after God,' to whom moral questions were all important, and who believed profoundly and taught unceasingly the bottom truths in which all good men have coufldence and hope. Stoic philosophy, of which Epictetus was an emi- nent teacher, was certainly a light to the feet of Grecian citizens of an age when its opposite ideal. Epicureanism, or the following of pleasure as an end, tlireatened to plunge the world into the ruin of utter selfishness. This edition is in a very useful form, well printed, double leaded, and translated into good idiomatic English." — The Republic, St. Louis, Mo. " Plato, Aristotle and Epictetus are a trio of rjreat names which deserve to live as long as civilization. Seldom have sentences been translated into more terse and expressive English than those of this old Stoic, who lived in the last half of the first century of the Christian era — but there is no evidence that he had ever heard of the teachings of Christ. The true position of man in the world according to Epictetus is that he is a member of a great system which comprehends God and men. Each human being is a citizen of two cities, one in his own nation, and also of the city of gods and men. All men, he says, are sons of God and kindred in nature with the divinity. He claimed that each man has within him a guardian spirit — a god within him whicli never sleeps. The writing is one to interest thoughtful readers." — Inter Ocean, Chicago. McCartliy's Sliort His- tory of Ireland. McCartliy. A Short History of Ireland, from the Earliest Times to 1882. By Justin H. McCarthy. Ideal Edition, large type, cloth, 35c. '•An excellent history of Ireland. I^rief, bright, entertaining." — Christian Advocate, Detroit, Mich. " It is a good book to read, and i2:ood to liavt* haudy for reference, since the liistory of Ireland is ' mak- ing ' every day more prominently in the public vision tiiau any other country." — Methodist Recorder, Pittsburgh. " A Short History of Ireland brings the narrative down from the earliest time to the present d;iy. It is sufficiently full to present a good piclure of Iri.-^li settlement and civilization, anil of Irish degradaliun and misery." — Western Christian Advocate, Cincinnati, O. "This little hook is one of Mr. McCa!-tii\'s best productions. It tells the storj' of Ireland from liic earliest times down to 1882. It is an interesting story thai Mr. Mi;Carthy tells of the history and romance and traiii- tion of a great people, of the pathos of tlidr lives, of the heroism of their deeds, of the sutfenngs which have made them a race of mart3'rs." — Sunday News, Charleston, 8. C "The reader will e.xpect and find that it em- bodies the romance, tlie heroism, and the pati»os that a literary enthusiast will bring to such a subject. The reader who has not lime at hand for more complete history will tind the little volume of value. '^r<» crowd the chang- ing history of Ireland from the earliest times to the present day into such small space, by an entliusiastic admirer, when there is so much to tell, takes courage. But he makes it both entertaining and instructive history." — Iiitcr- Ocean, Chicago. " We are glad to welcome this new editi»>n. It is in the large, fair type which is getting to be understood as Mr. Alden's style. It is neatly bound, and as is usual with this publisher the book is oHered at an astordshingly low price. Mr. McCarthy is naturally elo (iU(.'nt. Whatever his pen touches becomes interesting to his ivatlers. But it was to be expected lie would be at Ids best in a history of Ireland. The history mit,dit pa.ss for a novel in its depiction of heroic conduct and its touches of romance and the trauedy in individual as well as national life. One would be behind the times who did not make himself familiar with Irish history in tlu>se (lays. There is no book better adapted to tlie public want or more timely than this."— Farm, Field and Stockman, Chicago The Elzevir Library— Continued. BY SIR WALTER SCOTT. 803 The Lady of the Lake 10c 131 Rokeby 6© S72 Marmion 10c | By JOHN RUSKIN. 357 Sesame and Lilies. 8c I 358 Etbics of the Dust 8c lis Crown of Wild Olive 8c I 207 Art and Life Selections. . .12c ^y NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 347 Moss^ from an Old Manse. I. . 10c 34C " •' " " " n 10c 343 Twic fold Tales. I lOc 225 " " " n lOc 234 Gra' dfather's Chair lOc MISCELLANEOUS. 5 W Json, Andrew. The Sea-Serpents of Science 2c 7 Richardson, Charles F. Motive and Habit of Rea.ding 2e 10 Alden, Ellen Tracy. Queen Mable and Other Poems 2c 12 A^'illiams, W. Mattieu. 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Progress of the Working Classes 3e 143 Thoughts from Greek Authors, .^ischylus, etc 3e 145 The same — Aristotle, etc 2c 146 The same— Demosthenes, Diogenes, etc 2c 147 The same— Euripides, etc 2e 155 Thomas Carlyle. By the author of Obiter Dicta 3c 157 Lubbock, Sir John. On Leaves 4c 160 Birrell, Augustine. Obiter Dicta 15c 365 Burke on the Sublime and Beautiful 10c 163 Holyoake, G. J. Co-operation 10c 173 Bernard, George S. Cfivil Service Reform 18c 185 Froude, James Anthony, Erasmus and Luther . . 2c 200 Lubbock, Sir John. Pleasures of Reading 2g 229 Froude. James Anthony. History of the Knights Templars. . 5c 234 Transcendentalism, an Essay 5c 281 Johnson, Dr. Rasselas 7c 290 Saintine, J. 2. B. Picciola 7c 321 Bright, John. The Love of Books Sc 349 Irving. Rip Van Winkle 3c 372 Washington's Farewell Address, etc 3c Froude, James Anthony. On Education 3c Brown, Dr. John. Rab and his Friends Se Euskin. The Lamp of Memory Sc White, Prest., A. D. Message of the Nineteenth Century to the Twentieth Jc Hameiton, Philip Gilbert. Women and Marriage 3c Selections from Confucius and Mencius 36 Richardson, Prof. Ch«is. F. The Choice of Books lOe Classic Essays. Part II. complete 10c Mill, John Stuart. Socialism Sc Phelps, J. W. Madagascar, A History 10c 197 Canon Farrar. On Temperance 2c IdO — laecOa i}< Nations ^ The Elzevir Library— Contin aed . By THOMAS CARLYLE. 3^ Tlie Hero as Poet ; Dante, Shakespeare . V. 343 The Hero as Pi'ophet ; Mohammed and Islam oethe , • — 4c On the Choice of Books 'ic By;T. B. MACAULAY. 105 Virginia, Ivry 2c I 192 Essay on W-na. Pitt 5e ^8 Essay on Milton 5c The Athenian Orators 2c Frederick The Great 12c | Essay on History he By HANS ANDERSEN. 56 The Story Teller 8c 58 Shoes of Fortune 8c 59 Christmas Greeting 9c 60 The Ice Maiden 8c 61 Picture Book without Pic- tures 8c 62 The Ugly Duck, etc 8c 63 Mud King's Daughter. So By CHARLES LAMB. 170 Last Essays of Elia 12c 1 Essays— Selections 3c AMERICAN HUMORISTS. 19 James Kussell Lowell 3c | 20 Ai-temus Ward • 2o 108 Kerr, Orpheus C. Tints of the Times, etc 2c 175 Sheridan. The School for Scandal . . 8c 179 Jouson, Ben. Every Man in His Humor S<; 195 Classic Hmuorists ; Anacreon, Barham, etc 2c 294 Dr. Rankin. Brechin Ballads . ..2c 312 Cowper. John Gilpin's Ride, and Other Poems . . dc SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS- Ideal Edition, each 7c.— 20 Plays f 07- JSl.OO.. 342 The Tempest. 344 Gentlemen of Verona. 245 Merry Wives of W. 246 Measure for Measure. 247 The Comedy of Ei'rors 348 Much Ado. 250 Love's Labor Lost. 251 Midsummer Night. 253 Merchant of Venice. 253 As You Like It. 254 Tiiming of the Shrew. 255 Airs Well. 260 Twelfth Night. 261 The Winter's Tale. 262 Kiug John. 2G4 Tragedy of Richard II. 2a5 Henry IV. Part I. 366 Henry IV. Part II. 367 Life of King Henry V. 268 Henry VL Part I. 269 Henry VI. Part II. 270 Henry VI. 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W. L. Collins. 91 Lucian. W. L. Collins. 92 Plautus and Terrence. Ctollina. 5t ^Eschylus. Bishop of Colombo 95 Lucretius. W. H. Mallock. yO PMuy. Church and Brodribb. 96 Pindar. Rev. F. D. Morice. i 97 Hesiod and Theognis. Davis. iMiiiiiii 015 785 878 6(