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THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
PITHY PAPERS. 
 
PITHY PAPERS 
 
 SINGULAR SUBJECTS. 
 
 BY OLD HUMPHKEY. 
 
 LONDON: 
 THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY; 
 
 Instituted 1799. 
 
 DEPOSITORIES, 56, PATERNOSTER-ROW; 65, ST. PAUL*S- 
 
 CHURCHYARD ; AND 164, PICCADILLY ; AND 
 
 SOLD BY THE BOOKSELLERS. 
 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 On things that cost nothing 1 
 
 On Ships Missing 9 
 
 On Unpromising Scenes . . . . .19 
 
 On Laughter 29 
 
 On the expression, " We let them Die " . . .37 
 On Mysterious Advertisements . . . . .46 
 
 On Anger and Admiration ...... 57 
 
 Old Humphrey turned Fisherman . . . .66 
 
 A Homely Chapter . . . . . . .76 
 
 On the common saying, " I quite forgot it" . . .86 
 On the Footmarks in the Slough . . . . if5 
 
 Old Humphrey out of his Depth 101 
 
 On Peculiarities and Predilection* - . . .109 
 
 M316S17 
 
VI COMTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 On Racing . . , . . . . .118 
 
 On the People who pass 128 
 
 Old Humphrey tries his hand as a Painter . . .136 
 On the Clock in the Kendal Museum . . . .146 
 
 Old Humphrey in a DifficUty 155 
 
 On Exaggerated Expressions 165 
 
 On Providential Preservation 172 
 
 On Climbing 181 
 
 On Collections in Places of Divine Worship . .188 
 
 On Favourite Authors -194 
 
 On Extremes 205 
 
 On Character . . . . * . . . .213 
 
 On Terms used in War 222 
 
 On Associations 230 
 
 On Outside Show . . . . . . .237 
 
 On Old Times 247 
 
 On Almshouses 253 
 
 On Cedar Pencils 260 
 
 On the varying Moods of the Mind .... 269 
 Old Humphrey in his Altitudes 279 
 
CONTENTS. Vll 
 PAGE 
 
 On the Gay Dreams of Youth 285 
 
 On Designs for Pictures 295 
 
 On the Beauties of Creation ..... 299 
 
 To the Young Ladies of an Extensive Establishment . 304 
 
 On Experience 311 
 
 On Earthly Trials 318 
 
 On Strong Emotions 326 
 
 On the going down of the Sun 331 
 
 G;* Tracts . 340 
 
PITHY PAPERS. 
 
 ON 
 
 THINGS THAT COST NOTHING. 
 
 IF you are in the habit of calling to mind your 
 mercies, and of gratefully acknowledging them, 
 you will not take it amiss that I should refresh 
 your memory by adding to the long list a few that 
 may have escaped your recollection. In a word, 
 you will not object to my reminding you, and my 
 own heart also, of some of the many good things 
 we enjoy which cost us nothing. 
 
 We pay, and in many cases smartly too, for 
 what we obtain from our fellow-creatures. I dare 
 say that, whether your years have been few or 
 many, you have never yet met with those who 
 have offered to provide you with food, clothing, or 
 habitation, without payment. Such things are 
 quite out of the question, and this 1 say without 
 
2 ON THINGS THAI COST NOTHING. 
 
 the slightest reflection upon humanity. The com- 
 forts and conveniences, the bits and drops, we get 
 from our fellow men ought to be requited. Not 
 that there are no good Samaritans in the world, 
 ever ready to supply oil and wine to the afflicted 
 and destitute ; to convey them, as it were, to some 
 friendly inn; with a liberal hand to take out 
 "twopence," or as much as may be required, to 
 give to the host on such occasions, with a gene- 
 rous promise as to any further outlay : but these 
 are individual cases of kindness and peculiarity, 
 and will not apply to mankind at large. As a 
 general principle, the commonest food, the coarsest 
 raiment, and the meanest habitations of humanity, 
 are charged to the uttermost farthing. We can 
 reasonably expect valuable gifts from our heavenly 
 Father alone. 
 
 Hurried on by hourly occupations, and taken 
 up with daily cares, we seldom look over the 
 lengthy catalogue of gracious gifts that God in 
 his goodness has bestowed. Were we more fre- 
 quently to catechise ourselves than we do in these 
 things were we, as schoolboys repeat their past 
 lessons, to number up our past and present mercies, 
 it would prove a most profitable employment. Let 
 us call to mind a few of our bountifully bestowed 
 blessings now. 
 
 And first comes the grateful sense of our exist- 
 
ON THINGS THAT COST NOTHING. 3 
 
 ence, the heart-beating, pulse-throbbing conscious- 
 ness, that we are breathing creatures, endued with 
 life. We see, hear, smell, taste, and feel, and are 
 thrillingly susceptible to what affords us pleasure 
 We think, reason, anticipate, remember, and en 
 joy, and are sensible that this glowing and grate- 
 ful consciousness of existence is the free gift of 
 our heavenly Father. 
 
 And then comes the elevating, the ennobling 
 knowledge that we are not like the beasts that 
 perish ; but that our Creator formed us in his own 
 image, breathed into us a spirit of life, a living 
 soul that shall never die ! What a gift is the gift 
 of immortality ! 
 
 The pyramids shall crumble, day by day; 
 The everlasting hills shall fade away ; 
 But we shall live, though they in ruins sever, 
 For ever, and for ever, and for ever ! 
 
 Our gratuitous enjoyments are not only good, 
 but many of them very delightful and even glori- 
 ous. We pay nothing for fresh air, and the fresh 
 water of the brook; nor for the blue vault of 
 heaven, piled up, day by day, with snowy and 
 golden clouds ; yet these things are not only valu- 
 able, but inestimable. Ask the afflicted tenant 
 of the sick chamber, or the wretched inmate of 
 a gloomy jail, immured for years in his dreary 
 
4 ON THINGS THAT COST NOTHING. 
 
 prison-house, ask him whether the fresh air is a 
 hlessing of little value : why his very heart yearns 
 for a breath of that which we partake of so freely 
 and think of so lightly. Speak to the hectic 
 patient, gasping under the dominion of fever ; or 
 the heat-oppressed traveller in the sultry desert ; 
 speak to him of the fresh water of the brook ; 
 nothing to him would be so delightful in the whole 
 world as a draught of fresh water, to cool his 
 parched throat and furry tongue. "When the 
 blind they who were once blessed with sight 
 when they roll upwards their sightless balls, you 
 may guess what they would give for a glance at 
 that bright firmament above them, which you and 
 I regard with little emotion. 
 
 Sunrise and sunset cost us nothing, all glowing 
 and glorious as they are. Colours that are only 
 to be seen in the heavens, and brightness beyond 
 description, are profusely spread, and we have 
 sight to behold tnem, pulses to throb, hearts 
 to beat, and minds to contemplate with wonder, 
 thankfulness, and joy. Rising and setting suns 
 are common-place exhibitions to us, when, were 
 there only one such exhibition to be witnessed 
 in a century, multiplied millions, nay almost half 
 the population of the globe, would behold it with 
 rapture. 
 
 Have you looked on the silvery moon, gliding 
 
ON THINGS THAT COST NOTHING. O 
 
 through clouds of bewildering beauty, and gazed 
 on the blue #rch of heaven, spangled with glit- 
 tering worlds, till you have adored their almighty 
 Maker with increased admiration, love, and joy ? 
 If so, you must have felt that these things fill the 
 mind with conceptions of immensity, power, good- 
 ness, and glory ; and I need not tell you that we 
 have them for nothing. 
 
 Regard the vegetable world ! why, every indivi- 
 dual tree, bush, shrub, and plant, is enough of 
 itself, ay, more than enough, to impart a thrill of 
 transport to him who feels that he has, in nature's 
 God, a merciful Father and almighty Friend. 
 Look, then, at the unbounded liberality of our 
 great Creator's vegetable gifts ! The spreading 
 oak, the towering elm, the goodly ash, and the 
 romantic fir, challenge our admiration ; nor can 
 we gaze without some increase of delight on the 
 fair flower of the chestnut, the straight stem of 
 the poplar, the silvery bark of the birch, or the 
 drooping branches of the weeping willow. These 
 things, and a thousand more such, we have for 
 nothing. 
 
 The balmy breeze, the scent of the new-made 
 hay, the odour of the flowering vetches, and the 
 bean-field, are ours without payment. Who ever 
 paid a farthing for the daffodil of the dale ; the 
 purple heath-flower of the mountain and the moor ; 
 
 B2 
 
t) ON THINGS THAT COST NOTHING 
 
 the warbling of happy birds ; the murmuring of 
 crystal brooks ; the waving of butterflies' wings ; 
 the joyous hum, and, if I can say it without irre- 
 verence, the incessant halleluia of the insect 
 world? Nature is liberal, nay prodigal, of her 
 gifts ; her spacious halls are flung open ; her 
 goodliest exhibitions are free, and her abundant 
 banquets are " without money and without price." 
 
 We give money, and time, and labour, for many 
 things of little value : but we never give either the 
 one or the other for the cheerful sunbeam, and 
 the grateful shower ; the grey of the morning, the 
 twilight of evening ; the broad blaze of noonday ; 
 and the deep silence and darkness of the midnight 
 hour ! The poorest of the poor have these, and 
 they have them for nothing. 
 
 There are among the vast, the mighty, and ter- 
 rible things of the earth, those that yield us a 
 deep delight, and we have them without payment : 
 the mountain towering to the skies, the fearful 
 precipice, the headlong torrent, and the coming 
 storm, are some of them. If you have stood in 
 the war of elements, neither with apathy nor 
 affected sensibility, but with natural and strong 
 emotion, holy awe, high-wrought admiration, ador- 
 ing reverence, and delightful dread; you know 
 what I mean by deep delight. There is a deep 
 delight, a dear, though fearful, solemnity in the 
 
ON THINGS THAT COST NOTHING. 7 
 
 darkened clouds ; the flash that illumines heaven, 
 the crash that shakes the solid earth ; the wild 
 sweep of the whirlwind, and the voice of the 
 angry ocean : all these, clothed as they are with, 
 mysterious interest, cost us nothing. 
 
 The freedom of thought, which no earthly 
 power can control, is worth more than a hundred 
 Mexicos, and yet it costs us not the fraction of a 
 farthing. Well may it be said, 
 
 " My mind to me a kingdom is !" 
 
 for there is no other kingdom like it under the 
 sun ; yet this, also, is a gift the free gift of an 
 almighty Benefactor. It costs us nothing. 
 
 The Holy Spirit, the means of grace, and the 
 hope of glory, are freely given, and how much do 
 they comprise ! If you have ever truly enjoyed 
 the day of rest ; if it has been a sabbath to your 
 soul ; if, burdened and bowed down, you have 
 knelt at a throne of grace, and risen from your 
 knees with an enfranchised heart, your soul mag- 
 nifying the Lord, and your spirit rejoicing in God 
 your Saviour ; if, perplexed and bewildered, you 
 have opened, with trembling hands, the Book of 
 'truth, and the Spirit of the Eternal, like a sun- 
 beam, has opened your eyes and enlightened your 
 mind to see the wondrous things of God's holy 
 law, so that the crooked has been made straight 
 
8 ON THINGS THAT COST NOTHING. 
 
 to you, and the rough places plain ; if you have 
 entered the house of God, panting after eternal 
 life, as the hart panteth after the water-brooks, 
 and a message has been sent you from the Lord 
 by the mouth of his ministering servant, as it 
 were, taking a burden from your back, healing 
 your wounds, binding up your broken bones, satis- 
 fying your spiritual hunger, and leading you to 
 the cross of Christ to rejoice you will truly 
 thank God for these things, and not forget that 
 they cost you nothing. 
 
 These, though many, form but a small part of 
 the good gifts we enjoy ; for the things which cost 
 us nothing are numberless. But now comes the 
 crowning question to you and to myself. How, 
 with such mercies, can we help magnifying the 
 Lord? How, with such abundant gifts, can we 
 do less than live to his glory ? 
 
ON SHIPS MISSING. 
 
 A FEW hours ago I was looking over " Lloyd's 
 List" to qbtain some nautical information, when 
 my eyes fell on the words " Ships Missing." A 
 chilliness, a sickness of the heart, came over me. 
 " Ships Missing !" What an affecting announce- 
 ment ! how full of melancholy interest and intense 
 anxiety ! 
 
 The sailing of a ship excites hope, the arrival 
 of a vessel calls forth joy, while the knowledge of 
 a shipwreck occasions grief : these are all distinct 
 and intelligible sensations. But what a mingling 
 of painful emotions, what a forlorn hope, a 
 fearful foreboding, and terrible suspense, does the 
 announcement that a ship is " Missing" produce 
 in the minds of those interested therein ! 
 
 There are many terms used in "Lloyd's List" 
 which are fearfully significant. They afford us a 
 brief concentration of disasters ; a kind of sum- 
 ming up of maritime calamities. Thus we have 
 " A ship went down behind the pier " " A strange 
 vessel foundered" "No assistance could be 
 
10 ON SHIPS MISSING. 
 
 given" " Crew drowned" " All on board lost " 
 " Not a soul saved." These are short items, 
 but how much of varied and intense suffering do 
 they set forth ! 
 
 Have you ever seen a merchant ship leaving 
 harbour, with a fair breeze filling her sails ; or 
 entering the port with a goodly freight ? Do you 
 know aught of the pleasures or the dangers' of 
 the deep ? Have you felt the delight of dashing 
 through the dark blue waters with a favourable 
 gale; or experienced the terror of the angry 
 tempest, when the masts have gone by the board, 
 when the bulwarks and quarters have been broken 
 in, and the storm-beaten vessel, with parting tim- 
 bers and six feet water in the hold, has laboured 
 hard in the trough of the sea, 
 
 " One "wide water all around her, 
 All above her one black sky ?" 
 
 If you know all, or any of these things, you 
 will not churlishly refuse to ponder the page that 
 makes " Missing Ships" the subject of its re- 
 marks. 
 
 Iri days gone by, a friend who was dear to me 
 set sail for Newfoundland. We had been school- 
 fellows, and the bonds of friendship and affection 
 that bound us together were strong ; how did I 
 yearn for his safe arrival ! but I will be brief. 
 He had a fair voyage there, but the ship in which 
 
ON SHIPS MISSING. 1 1 
 
 he sailed on his return was not sea-worthy ; 
 nearly forty years have rolled by, yet never have 
 I heard aught of the " Nancy" but this, that she 
 was among the ships that were " Missing." Since 
 then, what scenes of desperate pirates, and cruel 
 bondage, and desert isles, and sharp-pointed rocks, 
 and storms and shipwrecks, and drowning sailors, 
 has my imagination drawn ! How often in my 
 fancy has my friend sprang forward, clad in the 
 wretched attire of a broken-down seaman, to meet 
 the grasp of my extended hand ! 
 
 "When a vessel has been wrecked, whatever 
 may be the loss of cargo and life, distressing as 
 the intelligence may be, a time comes when the 
 tears of sorrow cease to fall, and the heart learns 
 to be reconciled to its bereavement. There is 
 a merciful provision in human cares, whereby, 
 like the ocean waves, one swallows up another ; 
 but when does the time arrive that the announce- 
 ment, " Ships Missing," can be read without a 
 pang by those whom it concerns ? It is, as I said, 
 nearly forty years since the "Nancy" should have 
 returned, and, even now, my eyes are brimming. 
 
 I am giving but a melancholy signification to 
 the term "Ships Missing," but certainly not a 
 more melancholy one than the case requires. I 
 want to excite sympathy towards sailors. Their 
 courage and their usefulness, their dangers and 
 
12 ON SHIPS MISSING. 
 
 their deprivations, should bind us to them. We 
 owe them much ; much ought we to repay. 
 
 Let us suppose that we have relations and friends 
 among the sailors of a missing ship : we will call 
 her the Rover : 
 
 " She widely spread her snowy wing, 
 
 Like the sea-gull of the ocean, 
 And shaped her way, like a living thing, 
 Of graceful form and motion." 
 
 But the time of her arrival is gone by : days, 
 weeks, and months have passed, and no tidings 
 have been received. She is still " Missing." She 
 may have been blown by stress of weather to the 
 north or south, to the east or west ; but of this 
 we know nothing. All is uncertainty, doubt, and 
 fearful apprehension. One thing only we know, 
 and that one thing we know too well, the ship is 
 " Missing." 
 
 By and by comes a rumour of a wreck off 
 Antigua, in the West Indies. A squall caught 
 the ship, when she could not clear the rocky 
 headland that stretched out far into the sea. 
 She struck upon the rock, her rudder was torn 
 away, her sails rent, her masts went by the board, 
 and the wild waters made a clear sea over her 
 shattered hull. 
 
 Night came on, and the exhausted crew looked 
 
ON SHIPS MISSING. 13 
 
 up hopelessly at the lowering sky, that poured 
 down a deluge of rain on their heads. Some 
 tried to get ashore by their boats, but these were 
 swamped, and went down with their crews. Ano- 
 ther day came, and another night. One by one 
 had the mariners been washed from the wreck, 
 till a few only were left. At last the timbers 
 gave way, the vessel parted at mid-ships, a wild 
 cry was heard, and she was swallowed up by the 
 wide yawning deep. One sailor only was flung 
 alive on the rocky headland, to tell the fearful 
 news of the shipwrecked vessel. Was this ship 
 the Rover ? No ! but she may have shared a like 
 disaster. 
 
 Next comes a newspaper fraught with sad in- 
 telligence. A gallant ship has been lost amid the 
 icebergs of the north. She was hurried through 
 Davis' Straits, and got frozen up in Baffin's Bay. 
 The crew caught a few seals, and these eked out 
 their scanty stock of provision. They then took a 
 white bear and a walrus, but things grew worse 
 and worse. Their sufferings were dreadful in 
 that inhospitable clime. Almost famished, they 
 made great exertions, sawed their way through 
 the ice, and forced a passage through the floes ; 
 but a strong current carried the ship, when she 
 was disabled, between two large drifting icebergs, 
 which fast approached each other. It was a 
 
14 ON SHIPS MISSING. 
 
 dreadful moment when they met ; for the ship 
 was between them, and her timbers were crushed 
 as though they had been paper. One seaman 
 only escaped, and he miraculously, to recount the 
 loss of his companions. Think not that this ves- 
 sel was the Rover. No ! she has never been 
 heard of; but who shall say that she did not 
 founder amid the icebergs of the north ? 
 
 Now come advices from abroad ; a British mer- 
 chantman has been boarded by pirates and cap- 
 tured. The cargo was taken away, the crew mur- 
 dered, and the vessel scuttled. Surely this was 
 not the Rover ? No, the Rover yet is " Missing." 
 She may have been scuttled, her cargo taken, and 
 her crew murdered. Fearful thought ! but we 
 cannot tell how the case may be. We only know 
 that she is yet " Missing." 
 
 Perhaps the next source of fearful information 
 is the mate of a whaler, who says that when blown 
 about by tempestuous weather among the South 
 Sea Islands, they saw a merchant ship, which had 
 struck on the rocks, boarded by savages in their 
 canoes ; these he believed to be cannibals, and he 
 fears the crew must have all fallen under their 
 spears. The Rover is yet " Missing ;" what if 
 she be the ship the mate has described! The 
 very thought is distressing. 
 
 Now comes a private letter from a captain 
 
ON SHIPS MISSING. 15 
 
 cruizing off Coromandel, relating the lamentable 
 occurrence of a ship struck by lightning, and 
 burned to the water's edge. The captain saw her 
 when she was first struck, and stood towards her, 
 but the weather was too rough to render her as- 
 sistance. The consternation of the crew was ter- 
 rible; what with the tempest, and the heaving 
 ocean, and the fire, they seemed distracted. The 
 flames ran up the rigging, the blazing masts fell 
 over the gunwale, the fire reached the powder 
 room, the vessel blew up with a tremendous ex- 
 plosion, and not one of the crew escaped destruc- 
 tion. Is it possible that this vessel could be the 
 Rover ? Very possible : the thought is horrible ; 
 but we know no more. The Rover is still 
 among the " Missing :" 
 
 The ROVER is missing! her mariners sleep, 
 As we fear, in the depths of the fathomless deep; 
 And no tidings shall tell if their death-grapple came 
 By disease or by famine, by flood or by flame. 
 The storm-beaten billows that ceaselessly roll 
 Shall hide them for ever from mortal control 
 And their tale be untold, and their history unread, 
 Till the dark caves of ocean shall give up their dead ! 
 
 Perhaps you have paused and pondered, as well 
 as I, on the announcement, " Ships Missing ;" 
 and you may have clothed the term with yet more 
 melancholy significance than my pen has attached 
 to it ; but do you feel real sympathy for the sons 
 
16 ON SHIPS MISSING. 
 
 of the ocean who breathe in storms and live in 
 almost perpetual danger? With only a plank 
 between them and a watery grave, they " go down 
 to the sea in ships, and do business in great 
 waters." The winds that waft them to their de- 
 sired haven may blow them on the rugged rock ; 
 the waves that bear them on their course may 
 overwhelm them with destruction. Disease and 
 war, and desperate hunger and raging thirst, and 
 tempests, and lightning, and shipwreck, are ever 
 in their track. One hour becalmed on a glassy 
 sea, and another dashed headlong forward by the 
 raging storm : 
 
 " Mid dangerous shoals the sea-toss'd bark is borne, 
 By tempest shaken, and by lightnings torn ; 
 While freed from harm, perils are ever nigh, 
 Death's shaft flies near her, if it passes by." 
 
 How great our obligations to sailors ! They 
 have dared every danger, taken abroad our manu- 
 factures, brought back the produce and the riches 
 of other lands. They have been the convoy of 
 the missionary to distant climes, and the guardian 
 of the Holy Scriptures, bearing them in safety 
 across the wide world of waters. These things 
 have been done ; but have we repaid them ? 
 " We are verily guilty concerning our brother." 
 
 We have seen that there is " but a step between 
 him and death ;" yet we have not instructed him 
 
ON SHIPS MISSING. 17 
 
 to seek eternal life. We have commended his 
 bravery, laughed at his follies, and tolerated his 
 guilty excesses ; but have we warned him of his 
 danger, added to his true comfort, and sought his 
 everlasting good? Tell me not that there are 
 societies for the sailors ; books, and ship libraries, 
 and other advantages for these brave men. I 
 know this ; but I know also that what has been 
 done, compared with what ought to have been 
 done, is but as a drop to the mighty ocean. A 
 fraction only of the debt we owe has been paid. 
 
 Look again at the sailor in his dangers. I 
 speak not now of the perils of the deep. You 
 may bid me look at Greenwich Hospital if you 
 will, and tell me that it is a noble institution, a 
 princely asylum for disabled seamen, once thun- 
 derbolts of war ? Care has assuredly been taken 
 to protect the mariners of king's ships from the 
 evils of poverty ; but when was the arm of the 
 nation raised to protect the sailor from himself? 
 
 See him, with weak judgment and strong pas- 
 sions, approach his native land ! Girt around 
 with temptations, with an uninstructed mind, and 
 no principle to guard and guide him, he falls into 
 the hands of the spoiler. "He goeth as an ox 
 to the slaughter, or as a fool to the correction of 
 the stocks." He is permitted to be the victim of 
 the cruel, the rapacious, and the abandoned, who 
 
18 ON SHIPS MISSING. 
 
 devour his substance and " hunt for the precious 
 life ;" he drinks in iniquity like water ; he is 
 robbed alike of his money and his raiment, and 
 is flung forth a degraded and penniless outcast, 
 to beg or to starve. 
 
 Many years ago, a friend of mine put into my 
 hand a letter written to him by Admiral Nelson, 
 wherein, speaking of sailors, the Admiral quoted 
 these lines: 
 
 " God and our sailor we alike adore, 
 In times of fear and danger, not before; 
 The danger o'er, both are alike requited, 
 God is forgotten, and the sailor slighted." 
 
 And, truly, there is much point and truth in the 
 quotation. What has been done for the welfare 
 of sailors is creditable to the doers, but it will 
 not excuse you and me. To our reproach will it 
 be, if we find not out some means to do them 
 good. I shall have sadly missed my object in 
 noting down these feeble remarks on " Missing 
 Ships," if I have not moved you to think more 
 kindly of seamen, and worked up your philan- 
 thropy to some practical expression of goodwill 
 to sailors. 
 
ON UNPROMISING SCENES. 
 
 THOUGH the country, to a lover of nature, is 
 ever fair to look upon, yet there are moods of mind 
 when the heart yearns with more than common 
 desire for mountains and moors, green fields, and 
 woods and waters. It was when in a mood of this 
 kind that I found myself, the other day, in a spot 
 which had very few attractions. 
 
 Had the prospect around me been a lovely 
 one, which was far from the case, the dull, thick, 
 heavy atmosphere would have prevented me from 
 revelling in its beauties. I stood, as it were, 
 cooped up between two low banks of earth, each 
 of them having a ditch on the far side, and a 
 flat field beyond ; one of these ditches was dry. 
 Thus circumstanced, being weary, I sat me down 
 on the brow of one of the banks, and having no 
 distant object of interest to gaze on, I seemed of 
 necessity constrained to look down into the dry 
 ditch for a subject of speculation. You will 
 readily admit that this presented me with only an 
 unpromising scene. 
 
20 ON UNPROMISING SCENES, 
 
 There is nothing, however, like an inclination 
 to turn "all occurrences to the best advantage." 
 An enterprising spirit and a grateful heart will 
 seize upon some favourable point in the most 
 forbidding landscape, and gild the gloomiest pro- 
 spect under heaven. I soon discovered an abun- 
 dant source of reflection in the following objects 
 that lay scattered in the dry ditch before me, 
 within the space of a few yards : an old hat, a 
 broken flower-pot, the bowl of a tobacco pipe half- 
 full of tobacco, an oyster shell, a dead cat, a piece 
 of a letter on which was plainly written the word 
 " Farewell !" a Dutch tile, a corroded tin kettle, 
 the neck of a wine bottle, and a large bone. You 
 shall have, as correctly as I can give them, my 
 musings on the curious catalogue I have laid 
 before you. 
 
 " It would not be an easy thing to trace that 
 well-worn, crownless, and almost brimless old hat 
 to its original owner ; nor should I be able to 
 make out, without much trouble, whether it was 
 sold by Christie, or bought at a slop shop in 
 Leadenhall-street, Aldgate, or Hounsditch; but 
 as it matters not two pins who was the buyer or 
 who was the seller of it, I am content to leave 
 the point unascertained. The history of a hat 
 may be soon given from the moment it has passed 
 through the necessary battening, hardening, work- 
 
ON UNPEOMISING SCENES. 21 
 
 iiig, blocking, napping, dyeing, stiffening, finish- 
 ing, lining, and binding, and been exposed for 
 sale in the window, till it lies, like the useless 
 f emnant there in the ditch, too tattered to defend, 
 and too worthless to cover the brow of the 
 meanest mendicant. It is for a time worn with 
 pride and preserved with care, and not discarded, 
 perhaps, till after its first renovation. It then 
 has a second proprietor, loses grade, and passes 
 rapidly on its downward career. The old 
 clothesman, the coachman, cabman, and potboy, 
 in their turns, become its possessors, till worn, 
 drenched, crushed, and cuffed out of its propri- 
 ety, it becomes, at last, the football of the idler, 
 and the truant, and is kicked into the muddy 
 ditch, the inglorious receptacle of all that is 
 valueless and vile. 
 
 " It may be that the old worn-out beaver, there, 
 in its better days adorned a banker's brows, and 
 in its decline covered the uncombed locks of the 
 bricklayer and the beggar. Now, if it could tell 
 only one-half of the worldly schemes and vain 
 desires which dwelt in the heads of its several 
 owners^ a full-sized book might be written about it, 
 though, perhaps, not of the most edifying charac- 
 ter. There it lies, and there it is likely to lie, till 
 its separated atoms are scattered abroad as ma- 
 nure to fertilize the ground. 
 
22 ON UNPROMISING SCENES. 
 
 " The broken flower-pot brings before me some 
 pleasant pictures. It may have contained mig- 
 nionette ; and the setting of the seed, the watch- 
 ing, the watering, and the springing up of tlift 
 sweet-scented plant, may all have afforded plea- 
 sure to one who had no other garden. It may 
 have stood in 
 
 * Some pretty window, that commands 
 Fair meadows green and wooded lands. 
 So sunny, that the latest ray 
 Its panes receive of parting day.* 
 
 Or it may have held a rose tree, a geranium, or a 
 myrtle, the gift of a friend ; and I can imagine 
 the bright eyes of the young, and the furrowed 
 brows of the old, bending over it with interest. 
 Oh, what an amount of quiet joy and peaceful 
 delight has the Giver of all good conferred upon 
 the human race in the green leaves, of plants and 
 the painted petals of flowers ! s 
 
 " The tobacco-pipe bowl, half-full of tobacco, at 
 once sets the smoker before me. I see his un- 
 washed face and uncombed hair, his dirty and 
 ragged attire, and his hat on his head, set on one 
 side. I hear, too, his immoral jest and infidel 
 laugh, as he pursues his sabbath-breaking course, 
 with an ugly cur yelping before him. And now, 
 am I not ashamed to have drawn such a picture 
 
ON UNPKOMISING SCENES. 23 
 
 as this ? How do I know but the pipe may have 
 belonged to some honest and diligent workman, in 
 the habit of indulging himself in a few whiffs at 
 the close of his labour ? How do I know but 
 that, while the curling fume ascended towards 
 heaven, his thoughts may have ascended too, in 
 gratitude and praise to the Father of mercies for 
 the ease and tranquillity he enjoyed? Shame! 
 shame! for my want of that charity which 
 'hopeth all things,' and which should have in- 
 fluenced me even in drawing the sketch of an 
 unknown smoker. 
 
 " I might content myself, when looking on the 
 discarded oyster shell, in alluding to the too com- 
 mon practice among us of being friendly to those 
 who have wherewith to serve us, and of flinging 
 them away, or deserting them, when they no 
 longer answer our purpose ; and, indeed, though 
 the reflection may be, as the adage has it, ' as old- 
 fashioned as Clent Hills,' I hardly know one of 
 the kind on which we could muse more profitably. 
 Policy may say, c Where is the use of having 
 aught to do with those who can be of no use to 
 us?' but Christian principle should bind us 
 with the band of brotherhood to all man- 
 kind, to the rich and the strong, but especially 
 to the poor and the helpless. The history of 
 that oyster shell faithfully related would not be 
 
24 t ON UNPROMISING SCENES. 
 
 without its interest, including as it should do 
 all the scenes in which it has acted a part, from 
 the season when it was first wrenched away from 
 its dwelling-place on the ocean rock, to the mo- 
 ment when, flung edgewise into the air by the 
 holiday-loving urchin, it alighted on its present 
 place of degradation. 
 
 "The dead cat will hardly bear a reflection: 
 for the ruffled fur, the projecting eye, and lacer- 
 ated limb of poor grimalkin tell too plainly a 
 tale of cruelty. A recent worry has taken place, 
 and tabby, whose silky skin has so often been 
 stroked with tenderness by the soft hand of her 
 kind-hearted mistress, has at last, I fear, been set 
 upon by cruel tormentors, and torn and mangled 
 by their infuriated dogs. It would go hard with 
 many if they were treated as they treat the brute 
 creation ! 
 
 " What a volume is comprised in that scrap of 
 a note or letter, bearing the word ( Farewell !' 
 The word is far from being written freely, but 
 the writer may have been an indiffetent scribe, or 
 have sat down under circumstances of haste or 
 emotion. The word may have been written by a 
 parent to a child, or by a son or daughter to a 
 parent; by some soldier, about to pack up his 
 knapsack for the march : or by some sailor, whose 
 ship was soon to spread her sails for a foreign 
 
ON UNPROMISING SCENES. 25 
 
 shore. It may have been written with the light- 
 heartedness of one bidding adieu for a day, 
 
 ' Farewell! come sunshine, wind, or rain, 
 To-morrow we shall meet again P 
 
 Or it may have been flung on the paper by the 
 hurried hand and agitated energy of one bidding 
 farewell till f this mortal shall have put on im- 
 mortality :' 
 
 ' Farewell, then ! Farewell, then ! though bitter it be, 
 I will drink of the cup, for thou gavest it me ; 
 And I know that thou willingly wouldst not impart 
 A pang or a sorrow to trouble my heart. 
 Farewell, though the word be denouncing a doom ! 
 Farewell, though it sound as a voice from the tomb ! 
 Till the crash of creation shall sever the spell, 
 Farewell ! If for ever for ever, Farewell ! * 
 
 " The Dutch tile, broken as it is at three of its 
 corners, is still sufficiently entire to tell me that 
 the blue picture on its surface is intended to 
 represent the beheading of the giant Goliath. 
 David is not exactly the fine stripling that I have 
 always supposed he must have been, neifher does 
 Goliath quite come up to my beau ideal of a 
 Philistine giant ; but we ought not to expect 
 perfection in a painted Dutch tile more than in 
 other things. I dare say it has had, in its time, 
 many admirers ; nor will I, in its present low 
 r> 
 
26 ON UNPROMISING SCENES. 
 
 estate, visit it with my reproach. Before now, I 
 have been as much interested in the uncouth 
 scriptural figures on a set of Dutch tiles, as if 
 they had been drawn by Raffaelle and coloured 
 by Titian. 
 
 " How many a mess of pottage has been boiled 
 in that old tin kettle I cannot say ; but it would 
 by no means be a hazardous speculation to con- 
 clude that the utensil will never boil another. 
 The handle is gone, its corroded sides are dented 
 in, and that capacious hole at the bottom would 
 puzzle a clever tinman to mend. But tin kettles 
 were not intended to last for ever, and the one 
 before me seems to have done its duty. Let us, 
 then, learn a lesson from it, and do ours, and so 
 long as we are fit for service render ourselves use- 
 ful to mankind. 
 
 " Were I a toper, the neck of the wine bottle 
 might furnish me with a subject on which to 
 descant for an hour; and, even as it is, some 
 turbulent festive scenes are rising before my 
 fancy. However, I can take my choice, and 
 either set the bottle, of which the glassy fragment 
 was a part, on the sideboard of the intemperate, 
 while the walls are ringing with the song of the 
 drunkard ; or place it, filled with good wine, by 
 a patient in the sick chamber, languishing with 
 disease, and pain, and poverty, to whom it has 
 
ON UNPROMISING SCENES. 27 
 
 been sent by way of charity. I have now a scene 
 like this latter one fresh in my remembrance 
 wherein 
 
 4 A good man broke his own repose, 
 To mitigate another's woes.' 
 
 carrying with him a bottle of port wine to a poor 
 afflicted neighbour, who was all but exhausted 
 with weakness : ' Blessed is he that considereth 
 the poor ; the Lord will deliver him in time of 
 trouble/ Psa. xli. 1. 
 
 "And now I come to the large bone there, 
 which, belonging, as no doubt it did, to some 
 animal of the inferior creation, may yet well 
 serve to remind me of my own mortality. It is 
 a hard thing, while life is lustily beating in our 
 hearts, and the warm blood healthfully rushing 
 through our veins, to realize, even in imagin- 
 ation, that our frames will, indeed, be unstrung ; 
 our bones actually disjointed, mingling with the 
 earth that we now tread upon ; and yet the time 
 is hastening on when this must be the case. Oh 
 for a hopeful looking forward to he end of our 
 pilgrimage, a cheerful conviction that through 
 mercy we shall be permitted to finish our course 
 with joy, and find the end thereof eternal life ! 
 If,' says a writer, ' only one hour of joy be per- 
 mitted me in time, let it be that which is nearest 
 to eternity.' 
 
28 ON UNPROMISING SCENES. 
 
 " We do well to mingle with the solemnities of 
 death the brighter prospect of eternal life, and to 
 regard our afflictions as the means by which God 
 conveys to us our mercies : 
 
 * Sorrow, and tears, and woe are meant 
 To win the soul from sin and pain ; 
 And death is oft the herald, sent 
 To bid us seek immortal gain." 
 
 You perceive that I have found enough to muse 
 upon, even in the unpromising scene already de- 
 scribed, and that the old hat, the broken flower- 
 pot, the tobacco-pipe bowl, the oyster shell, 
 the dead cat, the piece of a letter, the Dutch 
 tile, the tin kettle, the neck of the wine bottle, 
 and the large bone have been turned to some 
 advantage. My observations may call forth 
 yours ; at all events, there is a moral in my 
 musings ; it is this, That you should never be cast 
 down by the most hopeless case ; but, on the 
 contrary, make the best of the most unpromising 
 scene. 
 
ON LAUGHTER. 
 
 IT is an old observation, that mankind have 
 three marks set upon them, whereby one person 
 is known from another. We know our friends 
 when we see them, by their appearances ; when 
 we do not see them, by their voices ; and when 
 they are at a distance from us, by their hand- 
 writing. I am half tempted to add a fourth 
 mark ; for most of our friends, might, I think, be 
 identified by their laughter. 
 
 Some express the lightness of their hearts by 
 their Ha, ha, ha's ! or their He, he, he's ! others 
 are equally emphatic in their Hi, hi, hi's ! and 
 their Ho, ho, ho's ! while others indulge in bois- 
 terous laughter, which is mirth in convulsions. 
 Some men, by their continual giggling, seem to 
 take the laughing philosopher for their model, 
 who held that there was nothing in the world worth 
 crying for ; while others, adopting the opposite 
 opinion, appear to consider a laugh as next neigh- 
 bour to a sin. For my own part, I cannot but 
 
30 ON LAUGHTER. 
 
 regard the faculty of laughter as one of the 
 goodly gifts of our almighty and indulgent Creator, 
 enabling us, at the same moment, to make our hi- 
 larity audible, to relieve our joy-oppressed hearts, 
 and to communicate the same pleasurable emotion 
 to others. An ill-natured laugh is a reproach to 
 any one ; but a kind-hearted, good-natured laugh 
 is so good a thing, in my estimation, that I regret 
 it should ever be indulged in unreasonably or un- 
 seasonably. 
 
 There is as great a variety in laughter as in 
 other things. Some laugh till the tears roll down 
 their cheeks. Some hold their sides, as if under 
 no small apprehension of their ribs giving way ; 
 while others indulge, amid their paroxysms, in 
 the expression, " Oh, my back ! my back ! " as 
 though pleasure and pain, ecstasy and agony, 
 were mingled together in such an unbearable de- 
 gree of intensity, that enjoyment and endurance 
 were equally afflictive. I remember a painful in- 
 stance of a fit of laughter continuing for several 
 hours, with very slight intermission. Wearied and 
 exhausted beyond measure, the unhappy laugher 
 could not restrain her emotion : if for an instant 
 her excitement subsided, a recurrence to the 
 cause of her extravagant mirth instantly re- 
 produced it. 
 
 I once had a German neighbour, a man of 
 
ON LAUGHTER. 31 
 
 small stature, of friendly habits and hasty temper, 
 who was a most extraordinary laugher. Then 
 again, his laugh was of so strange a kind ; for 
 though I have heard all sorts of laughter, from 
 the wide-mouthed burst, or rather bellow, distin- 
 guishable at the distance of good part of a mile, 
 to the writhing, inaudible giggle, which consists 
 of spasmodic motion, and not of sound ; yet never 
 has a laugh regaled my ears like the spirit-stir- 
 ring Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! of my German neigh- 
 bour. 
 
 This laugh was made up of five sonorous 
 Ha's ! uttered rapidly in the same tone. It had 
 no preparatory announcement ; no unnecessary 
 appendages ; no lingering accessories : but came 
 forward by itself, and stood alone, based on its own 
 merits. It was a full-bodied, proud, and princely 
 pouring-out of a mirthful heart. Most laughers 
 give notice of the coming clap, which dies away 
 by degrees, and after it has passed, they require 
 some time to compose themselves ; but not so 
 with rny neighbour. He withdrew from his 
 mouth his cigar or his ornamented hookah, just 
 long enough to peal out his Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 in parenthesis, and then resumed his whiffing 
 occupation, as though insensible that any inter- 
 ruption had taken place. If a friend entered the 
 house, he was received with the royal salute, 
 
32 ON LAUGHTER. 
 
 IT a, ha, ha, ha, ha ! When he left it, the same 
 noble discharge did honour to his departure. At 
 all times, and on all occasions morning, noon, and 
 night ; spring, summer, autumn, and winter the 
 Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! of my neighbour was ever 
 ready. 
 
 A change came over his worldly affairs, and my 
 German neighbour left his habitation. Days, 
 weeks, months, nay, years flew round, and I 
 knew not whether he were on this, or on the 
 other side the seas. This is, indeed, a world 
 of change, and when for a protracted season we 
 lose sight of our friends or neighbours, we, with 
 some reason, speculate on their departure, and 
 number them among the dead. They " that 
 dwell in houses of clay, whose foundation is in 
 the dust, which are crushed before the moth," 
 are not expected to have here an abiding dwell- 
 ing place, " Ah !" thought I, " my poor neigh- 
 bour is, most likely, in his narrow house." 
 
 I was sitting one day with my book before me, 
 now pondering its pages, and now musing on 
 the past, the present, and the future, when sud- 
 denly a well-known sound burst upon my ears. 
 You have already guessed what it was, and you 
 have guessed aright. It was the well-remem- 
 bered laugh of my some-time neighbour, unim- 
 paired in power, undiminished in duration, and 
 
ON LAUGHTER. 33 
 
 unchanged in character : the Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 of days gone by, rang through the walls of the 
 adjoining chamber. My old neighbour was paying 
 a transitory visit to a friend in his old habitation, 
 and could hardly do less than indulge in his 
 accustomed greeting. The hour passed, his visit 
 drew to an end, and as he walked away, a right 
 royal open-air Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! proclaimed 
 his departure. 
 
 We are told in the book of Proverbs that 
 " even in laughter the heart is sorrowful ;" and, 
 now and then, instances occur wherein the truth 
 of the text is painfully set forth. As there is 
 no peace to the wicked, so it follows that their 
 outward mirth is mingled with inward care. 
 How hollow must be the mirth of one who is 
 in continual fear ! and how heartless the laugh- 
 ter of him who, on account of his crimes, has 
 ever in prospect before him the loss of life or 
 liberty ! 
 
 In looking back on the past, many a laughing 
 friend rises to my remembrance. The time, the 
 occasion, the family group, or friendly gather- 
 ing, with the various attitudes of the mirthful 
 guests, are all before me, and the laughter-loving 
 playmates of my youth are strangely mingling 
 with the less numerous companions of my age. 
 "There is a time to laugh;" and happy is he 
 
34 ON LAUGHTER. 
 
 who enjoys it, without ever mistaking or abusing 
 the occasion. 
 
 How it may be with you I know not, but, of 
 late, my laughs have been "few and far between." 
 Not that my heart is disposed to be less joyous 
 than it used to be, when fit opportunities call it 
 forth, but that mournful occasions have more 
 frequently abounded. 
 
 Mirth may not trespass on the place 
 
 Where silent Sadness reigns ; 
 Nor rudely laugh in Sorrow's face, 
 
 Nor smile where Grief complains! 
 
 Laughter, to be lawful, should observe two 
 points : it should neither give pain to another, 
 nor bring after-sorrow on ourselves. He who 
 cannot call to mind the laughter of yesterday 
 without feeling remorse or self-reproach on account 
 of it to-day, has been merrier than he ought to 
 have been. 
 
 More than once have I stated my opinion, that 
 the very peculiarities of our friends are dear 
 to us, for they form a part of themselves. A 
 change in the cut of their clothes, or an altera- 
 tion in their gait, would be a loss to us. Unless 
 a peculiarity be something worse than whimsical, 
 I cannot spare it in a friend. He must look, 
 move, speak, cough, and laughj just as he used 
 
ON LAUGHTER. 35 
 
 to do ; for if in all, or any, of these points he 
 make a change, he practises an innovation, and 
 thereby defrauds me of a part of himself. 
 
 Give me the spare, angular form of one friend, 
 and the broad back of another, with the spindle 
 leg, the round face, the bare head, the furrowed 
 brow, and the limping foot, as the case may be, 
 of the rest of them, for I could hardly spare the 
 crutch of the cripple I esteem. Take away, at 
 your peril, so much as a freckle off their faces, or 
 a knee-buckle from their attire. I claim them as 
 they are in their manner, mien, voice, and general 
 behaviour ; in their gaieties and their gravities, 
 their laughter and their tears. 
 
 The cares of the world are so many, and find 
 their way so readily into almost every hour of 
 almost every day of the year, that we, require a 
 degree of cheerfulness to counteract them. As a 
 new broom cleans away the dust and cobwebs of 
 an unswept apartment, so does a burst of buoy- 
 ancy sweep away the dust and cobwebs of a be- 
 clouded mind. Cheerfulness is to us, when in- 
 clined to be careworn, as a cool, clear draught to 
 the traveller ; it recruits our strength and spirits, 
 and we start afresh in the path of duty, more 
 able to bear the toil of our pilgrimage. 
 
 If you gather nothing more from my remarks, 
 you will at least gather this that I regard the 
 
36 ON LAUGHTER. 
 
 faculty of laughter as one of the goodly gifts of 
 God, for which we are all bound to be thankful. 
 Oh, how I love to hear the cheerful laugh of 
 a kind-hearted man among a group of merry 
 children ! 
 
ON THE EXPRESSION 
 WE LET THEM DIE." 
 
 WHETHER my pen has already touched upon 
 the subject of irresolution and a want of perse- 
 verance, my memory is not sufficiently retentive 
 to determine ; but, however this may be, I feel 
 urged to give utterance to my present thoughts. 
 Not more dependent is the fire on the fresh fuel 
 that supports it, than is man, in his undertakings, 
 on the motives and fresh impulses that animate 
 his heart. 
 
 Now and then, in my walks, I pass by a row of 
 houses in ruins : some of these dwellings are 
 without roofs, others without doors and windows, 
 and none of them were ever entirely finished. 
 When first their foundations were dug, no 
 doubt the builder intended to complete his work ; 
 but unexpected occurrences took place. Per- 
 haps, like a man who begins to build a tower 
 without counting the cost, he found the expense 
 
38 ON THE EXPRESSION, 
 
 too great for him ; perhaps his attention was 
 called aside by other objects ; or, it might be, 
 that some new plan presented itself to his mind, 
 and jaundiced him against the old one ; but what- 
 ever was the case, as I said, the houses were 
 never finished; and now, in their ruins, they 
 furnish me with a striking illustration of the 
 manifold embryo undertakings of mankind, which 
 are never brought to maturity. 
 
 What goodly resolutions do -we form, and how 
 resolvedly do we purpose to maintain them ! Some- 
 times they refer to the Eternal, whose glorious 
 name we desire to honour, whose holy law we 
 resolve to obey, and to whose service we yearn to 
 devote ourselves afresh, with all the energy of our 
 hearts, and all the enthusiasm of our souls. Some- 
 times they refer to our fellow-beings ; a conscious- 
 ness comes over us of a duty unperformed ; we have 
 some injury to forgive, some worthy, though dis- 
 tressed, sufferer to relieve, or some neglected friend 
 to address with affection. Sometimes they refer to 
 ourselves, some error we are bent to correct, some 
 bad habit we are resolved to overcome, or some 
 benevolent object we are determined with untiring 
 perseverance to pursue. Our hearts beat, and 
 our pulses play ; we bend our knees with all 
 the fervour of devotion at the throne of grace for 
 strength to aid us in our weakness ; and we go 
 
WE LET THEM DIE. 39 
 
 forth, strong as a giant refreshed with wine, 
 steady in our purpose to be faithful, even unto 
 death, in our undertaking. To-morrow comes, all 
 our fervour is abated, our resolution weakened, 
 and our attention drawn aside to other objects of 
 regard. A few days, or weeks, or months are 
 added to the annals of revolving time, and where 
 are the goodly resolutions that engrossed our 
 very being ? We allow them to pass from our 
 remembrance we let them die and they are as 
 though they had never been, or, at best, only 
 arise at intervals to our remembrance, to upbraid 
 us for our inconstancy. 
 
 Let us look for a moment at domestic life. 
 -Little master must have a white mouse : it will 
 be so pleasant to see him turn round his wiry 
 cage he will take such care of him, and feed 
 him every morning. Oh, yes ! he must have a 
 white mouse. Little miss wishes to have a 
 canary. She promises to give him seed, and fill 
 his water-glass with her own hand ; so she really 
 must have a canary ! The bird and the white 
 mouse are bought, and dearly are they loved and 
 petted, and very regularly are they fed ; but, in 
 process of time, a squirrel is introduced in a 
 new ornamented brass-wire cage, and then the 
 canary and the white mouse are gradually neg- 
 lected, until, at last, they are both found dead at 
 
40 ON THE EXPKESSION, 
 
 the bottom of their cages for want of food. As 
 with the poor mouse and bird, so has it been with 
 some of my most favourite plans. I have de- 
 lighted in them for a season, and afterwards 
 abandoned them ; first I have petted them, and 
 then I have let them die. 
 
 A book, perhaps, has been read by me, wherein 
 a bright example of kindness, benevolence, or 
 generosity has kindled my spirit. I, too, would 
 be kind, benevolent, and generous ; I, too, would 
 show that virtue was alive in my heart. It was 
 a thing settled and done in my determination, 
 that I would not be behind-hand with any being 
 below the stars in such thoughts, and words, and 
 deeds, as those which had called forth my admi- 
 ration. There might be something eccentric in 
 these warm-hearted emotions, something to smile 
 at ; but there was, also, sincerity. The worst of 
 it was, that, like the dew of the morning, these 
 glowing determinations passed away. For a 
 season they lived within me, and then, I let them 
 die. 
 
 Oh, why should visions fair and bright 
 Thus fade, and vanish from our eight ? 
 
 Again and again, when no eye has been on me, 
 but the eye of the Omnipresent, moved by some 
 outward circumstance, or inward monition, have 
 
WE LET THEM DIE. 41 
 
 I rigidly examined myself, baring my own bosom, 
 and dissecting my own heart. My errors have 
 been acknowledged, mourned over, and renounced, 
 and I have steadfastly resolved, looking, alas ! more 
 to my own energies than to the Source of all 
 strength, to renounce them for ever. How 
 resolutely have I determined to fight ! How 
 triumphantly have I exulted in my conquests ! 
 Strong as I was, I became weak. Full as my 
 resolvings were of life and vigour, I let them die. 
 Often have I stood gazing on the sunlit clouds 
 of heaven, their glory blinding my eyes, and their 
 beauty gladdening my spirit, till my mind has 
 been moved to some course of holy plan or vir- 
 tuous action ; some high-wrought aspiration has 
 been embodied and moulded into a distinct form 
 and purpose : and as often have I been gently 
 influenced by the silvery moon, gliding through 
 the clear blue sky, to the same virtuous end. At 
 such a day of the year, and at such an hour of 
 the day, would I renew the covenant with myself, 
 that I then had made. Neither health nor 
 sickness, riches nor poverty, success nor disap- 
 pointment, should deter me in my righteous un- 
 dertaking. The midday sun and the midnight 
 moon have both been witnesses of my emotion on 
 such occasions, and they are witnesses still but 
 of what ? Not of my strength of purpose, my 
 E 2 
 
42 ON THE EXPRESSION, 
 
 unbroken courage, and my perseverance, but of 
 my weakness, my irresolution, and my incon- 
 sistency. Had I, seeking Divine aid, kept my 
 emotions alive, all had been well, and I should 
 have gained my ends. But no ! I let them die ; 
 and with them died, also, the enterprises I had 
 undertaken. 
 
 Is it not thus with us all, from childhood to 
 hoary age ? Does not the boy leave his whip for 
 a drum , his drum for a peg-top ; his peg-top for 
 a kite ; and his kite for a cricket-bat or ball ? Is 
 not each, in its turn, desired and neglected? 
 attained with ardour, and flung aside with apathy? 
 And does not man, in like manner, show the 
 same love of change ; the same fickleness of pur- 
 pose in the objects of his regard ? One new pro- 
 iect takes the place of another ; he plans what he 
 does not execute ; he begins what he has not 
 energy to finish. Rarely does a year pass without 
 witnessing the death of one favourite design, and 
 the birth of another. Enterprise after enterprise 
 and project after project we call into being, and 
 then we let them die. 
 
 Hundreds and hundreds attempt languages ; 
 they learn a little grammar, conjugate a few verbs, 
 write a few exercises, commit to memory a few 
 phrases, and then abandon their design. Thou- 
 sands ana 1 thousands undertake music, and after 
 
WE LET THEM DIE. 43 
 
 afflicting their neighbours with their dissonance, 
 fling aside the instruments which at first afforded 
 them so much delight. Some begin to learn 
 short-hand, but fall strangely short of its attain- 
 ments ; while others make large pretensions in 
 other pursuits, which are in their turn neglected 
 and forgotten. Thus, labouring without profit; 
 ploughing and sowing, and reaping no harvest ; 
 paying a price, without securing the purchase, 
 we go on, arousing within us a spirit of achieve- 
 ment, and then letting it die. 
 
 But, though it is so frequently thus in the 
 common affairs of life, this want of perseverance 
 and stability is yet more strikingly shown in holy 
 things. Where is the Christian man who could 
 not, were he humble-minded and open-hearted 
 enough to acknowledge his infirmity ; where 
 is the most highly favoured of the followers 
 of the Redeemer, who could not tell of seasons, 
 wherein he has said, like the slothful man, 
 " There is a lion in the way ;" arid wherein he 
 has done like the children of Ephraim, who, 
 " being armed and carrying bows, turned back in 
 the day of battle ?" Reason have we, indeed, to 
 cry aloud to the Strong for strength, that our 
 energies may be sustained, that our determina- 
 tions may be kept alive, and that we may not let 
 them die. 
 
44 ON THE EXPRESSION, 
 
 Do you know nothing, reader, of this weakness 
 of resolution, this infirmity of purpose, this want 
 of perseverance ? Did you never, when reading 
 the word of the Most High, or listening to some 
 faithful minister of the gospel, whose heart, run- 
 ning over with zeal and love, and whose lip, 
 touched with a burning coal from the altar of the 
 Eternal, were both affectionately and eloquently 
 addressing you ; did you never feel moved to 
 an ejaculation of feeling, a prayer of earnest 
 desire, and a holy purpose amounting to this 
 From this day forward, come health or sickness, 
 joy or sorrow, others may do as they will, " but as 
 for me and my house, we will serve the Lord ?" 
 And have you not, in spite of the glow that you 
 felt in your bosom, and the tear that swam in 
 your eye, afterwards become cold and worldly- 
 minded ? In a word, did you go on, or draw 
 back from your hallowed resolution ? Did you 
 maintain your ardour, or did you let it die ? 
 
 I would rather that you should pursue this 
 subject than myself, my pen having already run 
 on to some length. If you put down half the 
 things of which it may be said with truth we let 
 them die, the catalogue will be found to be a long 
 one. While, however, to our reproach, we let 
 friends die, and opportunities of doing good, and 
 noble resolves, and high-wrought emotions, and 
 
WE LET THEM DIE. 45 
 
 benevolent plans, and hallowed resolutions, there 
 are some things, more than others, that we should 
 take especial care to keep alive in our memory ; 
 and the truth that Jesus Christ died for sinners, 
 and that " He is able to save them to the utter- 
 most that come unto God by him, seeing he ever 
 liveth to make intercession for them," Heb. vii. 25, 
 is among them. This should not languish in our 
 regard. This should be kept fresh and unfading 
 in our remembrance : whatever else may die, this 
 truth should live for ever. Let past remembrances 
 lead to present humiliation, and to earnest prayer 
 that the Holy Spirit may bring former lessons to 
 our remembrance, and enable us, whatever we do, 
 to do all to the glory of God. 
 
ON MYSTERIOUS 
 
 ADVERTISEMENTS. 
 
 ALMOST every reader of the public journals, 
 especially of " The Times," must have been, . 
 at one season or other, arrested by the mysterious 
 advertisements which not unfrequently appear. 
 These advertisements are usually the mediums of 
 communication between those who are ignorant of 
 each other's whereabout, or who, knowing it, 
 have motives for avoiding the accustomed channel 
 of epistolary correspondence. Whim, policy, 
 deceit, interest, shame, fear, crime, and other 
 things less censurable than some of these, have 
 their full share in such mysterious communica- 
 tions. 
 
 Suppose, as this subject seems novel, we take 
 a glance at a file of "The Times," making a 
 brief comment on such articles of the mysterious 
 kind as may take our attention. Here is one to 
 begin with, and no doubt we shall find others 
 as we proceed. We will treat each advertise- 
 ment as if it had but just appeared in the news- 
 paper. 
 
ON MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISEMENTS. 47 
 
 "B. will be glad of a private interview with C, 
 at his convenience." 
 
 And who are B. and C. ? and with what object 
 is this private interview to take place? The 
 wide field of conjecture is open there is ample 
 room for speculation. The case, whatever it 
 be, is not an urgent one ; it is no affair of life 
 and death ; or it would not be allowed to stand 
 over in so leisurely a way to suit the conve- 
 nience of C. Perhaps B. is an attorney, or a 
 surgeon, or a monied man ; and C. has applied 
 to him for counsel, or assistance. Or, perhaps C. 
 has to communicate something of supposed im- 
 portance to B. But if we guess for an hour, it 
 will bring us not a whit nearer the truth. The 
 interview must take place, and all that we can do 
 is to hope that it will be to the advantage of both 
 parties. 
 
 " E. P. wishes to hear of his friends." 
 
 Ay, but how comes it that E. P. is absent from 
 his friends ? or how is it that he does not give 
 them an address, thereby enabling them to hold 
 direct communication with him without useless 
 expense and trouble ? Is he hiding himself? or 
 wandering without a settled home? or afraid to 
 trust them with his place of abode? Charity 
 that hopeth all things, should lead us to. put the 
 kindest construction on the conduct of others. 
 
48 ON MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISEMENTS. 
 
 
 
 It may be, that E. P. has good reasons for re- 
 maining in the shade ; but while we hope this, 
 we have reason for fears. 
 
 " G. A. F. I am glad to find you admit your 
 conduct to be indefensible in quitting your home 
 and employment ; pray, therefore, consider the 
 anxiety we are all in, and the dangerous state of 
 your poor mother, and return home immediately. 
 We shall not reproach you, be assured ; but, on 
 the contrary, will do all in our power to remove 
 any cause of unhappiness. G. F." 
 
 It seems that G. A. F. has taken the first 
 proper step to recover his lost ground he has 
 acknowledged his error. Let us hope that the 
 second will be taken by him also : and that he 
 will gladden the heart of his poor mother by 
 returning to his employment : with contrition, 
 humility of mind and an earnest seeking for 
 God's blessing, the worst case may be mended. 
 Get back, G. A. F., to the point whence you wan- 
 dered into crooked pathways. " Rend your heart 
 and not your garments, and turn unto the Lord 
 your God," Joel ii. 13, and you will find that 
 there is yet peace in store for you. 
 
 " Alpha is informed that his information shall 
 be considered strictly confidential, and that he 
 shall be subjected to no annoyance whatever in 
 consequence of giving it." 
 
ON MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISEMENTS. 49 
 
 And what is the delinquency, Alpha, that thou 
 art about to disclose? and who are they whose 
 misconduct thou hast made up thy mind to ar- 
 raign ? If conscience urges thee on, speak and 
 act boldly; but if thou art moved by interest, 
 envy, hatred, or malice, make a pause. 
 
 " Boatswain may proceed Hambro', May 3rd." 
 
 Have we a smuggler here, and is Hambro' the 
 place of rendezvous? Hambro', or Hamburgh, 
 is a free city of Germany, seated on the rivers 
 Elbe and Alster, famous for commerce ; and it 
 may be that Boatswain is thus directed to proceed 
 there by his employer, who is not aware exactly 
 of his present situation. This is a mere conjec- 
 ture, an arrow shot at a venture, perhaps very wide 
 of the mark ; but if Boatswain be really a con- 
 traband dealer, the sooner he quits his questionable 
 occupation, and gets into an honest calling, the 
 better. "He that walketh uprightly walketh 
 surely: but he that perverteth his ways shall 
 be known," Prov. x. 9. 
 
 "To Alfred. The letter has come safely to 
 hand, for which accept a thousand thanks." 
 
 A welcome communication it seems, conveying 
 good tidings, or containing some substantial proof 
 of remembrance, kindness, or affection. The safe 
 arrival, however, of the letter being acknowledged 
 in the newspaper, implies some mystery some 
 
 F 
 
50 ON MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISEMENTS. 
 
 motive on the part of Alfred why he should not 
 be addressed openly. Perhaps we had better not 
 pursue the subject farther, lest it lead to the con- 
 clusion, that though possibly it may be a case 
 of kindness, probably it is not unalloyed with 
 error. 
 
 "Should this meet the eye of L. W., she is 
 earnestly entreated to go immediately to her 
 mother's at Kensington, where she will be af- 
 fectionately received, and everything forgiven. 
 Her family and friends are in the deepest anguish 
 and distress of mind, and timely attention to this 
 may prevent fatal consequences." 
 
 And is L. W. one of the many mistaken wan- 
 derers who seek abroad what they have not 
 endeavoured to secure at home? who hope to 
 find more peace with strangers than with their 
 friends ? A home and a mother are among the 
 last things that should be willingly forsaken ; 
 and L. W. will no doubt find, if she have not 
 found already, that a false step is much easier 
 taken than it is retraced. At present, her parent 
 has a home and a heart open to her, and it will 
 be well if she undervalues neither the one nor the 
 other. 
 
 "To A. B. X. Yes ; B. C. will meet him to- 
 morrow any time he may fix, or on Saturday before 
 12 o'clock. B. C., Post Office, Strand." 
 
ON MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISEMENTS. 51 
 
 There is a business-like appearance in this ad- 
 vertisement a promptitude and straightforward- 
 ness that intimate the parties are anxious to settle 
 the point between them. The time specified, too, 
 "before 12 o'clock," gives the affair a daylight 
 openness, that relieves it from sinister associations ; 
 arid yet, after all, it may be other than it appears. 
 No doubt by this time A. B. X. has put his hand 
 to paper, and that now a letter for B. C. is lying 
 at the Strand Post Office. 
 
 " F y and M ie are once more implored to 
 return to their broken-hearted parents. All will 
 be forgiven if they return. M -ie should well 
 consider for what and for whom she forsakes 
 father, mother, brothers, and little sister, all 
 of whom pray and implore her to return to 
 them. E ." 
 
 F y, you are treading in slippery pathways ! 
 M ie, you are planting thorns in your pillow ! 
 The seeds you are sowing will spring up, and bud, 
 and blossom, and bear bitter fruit. Oh that en- 
 treaty could reach you, enter into your erring 
 hearts, and sink into your souls ! To-day may be 
 in time ; to-morrow may be too late to return ! 
 Why should ye wring the hearts that love you, 
 and bring on yourselves deep remorse? 
 
 " March 3rd. W. C. M." 
 
 He must be a shrewd guesser who could give 
 
52 ON MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISEMENTS. 
 
 even a probable signification to this advertisement. 
 The date given may set forth the time of a birth, 
 a baptism, a wedding, or a death. It may an- 
 nounce a period for an interview for the payment 
 of a debt, the sailing of a ship, the quitting a 
 habitation, or the entering on a new engagement. 
 It may refer to a trifle or a thing of importance ; 
 it may be connected with good or evil ; it may be 
 wholly confined to time, or it may lead to con- 
 sequences stretching out to eternity. 
 
 "A. M. B. Return, and, by medical treat- 
 ment, you may recover from your present state of 
 mental aberration. The sufferings of your friends 
 cannot be expressed." 
 
 A melancholy case this, no doubt. A. M. B., 
 instead of shunning his friends, should seek them, 
 and remain among them. Whether his malady 
 be brought about by imprudence, by looking on 
 wine when it appears bright in the glass, or 
 whether it be a direct visitation of the Almighty, 
 he should hedge himself round with the protection, 
 counsel, and kindness of those who are interested 
 in his welfare. A wanderer from his friends 
 with a disturbed intellect is indeed a pitiable 
 being. 
 
 " To B. A. Five pounds will be given." 
 
 That is, in all probability, on condition that 
 he shall do what he has undertaken to do give 
 
ON MYSTEK10US ADVERTISEMENTS. 53 
 
 promised information, convey to its owner the 
 article he has found, or explain the process with 
 which he is acquainted. He has, no doubt, to 
 earn his five pounds in some way or other, unless 
 he have already rendered a service which this sum 
 is intended to recompence. If B. A. be rich, 
 the five pounds will hardly be worth his accept- 
 ance ; but if he be poor, it may greatly add to his 
 comforts. At any rate, let us hope that the ser- 
 vice done, or to be done, is an honest one, and 
 that the reward will be well laid out. 
 
 "Anonymous letter. If 'One who wishes to 
 be honest,' will communicate confidentially rela- 
 tive to the system of abstraction, he may rely on 
 secrecy, and will be remunerated for his trouble. 
 Address to J. P." 
 
 And now a settled plan of dishonesty, a system 
 of abstraction, is to be brought to light. " Honesty 
 is, indeed, the best policy." The ground will 
 now crumble beneath the feet of those who ima- 
 gine they stand safely. So true it is, that " there 
 is no peace to the wicked." The writer of the 
 letter seems to be one who cannot rest by night, 
 or be at ease by day, while he is a partaker with 
 evil doers. The sooner he despatches a letter 
 to J. P. the better, but his accepting a recom- 
 pence will render the rectitude of his intentions 
 questionable. 
 
 F2 
 
54 ON MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISEMENTS. 
 
 " Should this meet the eye of C. E. M., who 
 left his home early on Monday last, and is sup- 
 posed either to have gone, or is about to go, 
 abroad, and he will write to his parents, he will 
 now find that they are anxious to further his 
 views." 
 
 Perhaps here has oeen a mutual error. C. E. 
 M. may have fixed his mind on some course, 
 unreasonable, either in itself, or as to the manner 
 or time of pursuing it, and his parents may have 
 been harsh, arbitrary, or uncomplying. Matters 
 have arrived at a crisis, and C. E. M., in anger or 
 despair, has left his home, either to carry out his 
 plans, or recklessly to seek a foreign land. It is 
 very doubtful whether C. E. M. will ever cast his 
 eyes on the advertisement, or, seeing it, return 
 home, till resentment is exchanged for repentance. 
 " Children, obey your parents in all things : for 
 this is well pleasing unto the Lord. Fathers, 
 provoke not your children to anger, lest they be 
 discouraged," Col. iii. 20, 21. 
 
 "C. N. J. T. regrets exceedingly what has 
 occurred. It was done in a moment of irritation, 
 and C. N. J. may be assured, if he will forget it, 
 the same shall never occur again. Direct to T., 
 care of ." 
 
 Oh, what mischief has the tongue occasioned ! 
 Truly, " the tongue can no man tame," Jas. iii. 8. 
 
ON MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISEMENTS. 55 
 
 What terrible consequences have followed anger ! 
 t( He that hath no rule over his own spirit is like 
 a city that is broken down, and without walls, 5 * 
 Prov. xxv. 28. Again and again, no doubt, T. 
 has read the words, " Be not hasty in thy spirit 
 to be angry," Eccl. vii. 9, and " Let all bitterness, 
 and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil 
 speaking, be put away from you, with all malice : 
 and be ye kind one to another," Eph. iv. 31 ; and 
 yet he has allowed his temper to burst forth as a 
 flood: so that he has either said or done that 
 which has fallen like scalding oil on another's 
 heart, and which is now a cause of deep affliction 
 to his own. If C. N. J. is wise, he will not 
 absent himself as a fugitive, fostering resentment; 
 but rather forgive the offence committed against 
 him, and proffer the hand of fellowship to the 
 offender. The wounds inflicted by passion are 
 often difficult to heal ; and judging by the earnest- 
 ness of T., he has great doubts whether his 
 trespass will be passed over. Well would it be, 
 did we all of us heed more the exhortation, " If 
 it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peace- 
 ably with all men," Rom. xii. 18. 
 
 Having thus far proceeded, it will be needless 
 to prosecute the subject farther. Different readers 
 will attach different meanings to the paragraphs 
 quoted ; and many will, perhaps, give shrewder 
 
56 ON MYSTERIOUS ADVERTISEMENTS, 
 
 guesses than mine as to their real signification. 
 A public journal is an epitome of life, an abridged 
 account of every-day human affairs ; and the 
 mysterious advertisements which appear in its 
 columns constitute one of its peculiarities. The 
 quotations we have given, and the comments we 
 have made thereon, may draw the attention of 
 many to the subject, and thus the mysterious 
 advertisements of " The Times" may excite 
 increased interest, and afford additional gratifi- 
 cation. 
 
ON 
 
 ANGER AND ADMIRATION. 
 
 HOWEVER desirable it may be to keep the spirit 
 tranquil, and to have the heart filled with bro- 
 therhood and affection for mankind, I hardly 
 know how we can preserve our distinctions of 
 right and wrong uninjured, without fostering an 
 ardent love for that which is good, and a strong 
 abhorrence of that which is evil. He who can 
 hear of an act of generosity and kindness without 
 manifesting admiration, or witness a deed of 
 oppression and cruelty without feeling emotions 
 of indignant anger, can scarcely be estimated 
 either as the enemy of vice, or the friend of virtue 
 and humanity. 
 
 The great difficulty, however, is to practise, at 
 the same time, Christian integrity and Christian 
 charity, neither allowing our kindly feelings to 
 cloak evil, on the one hand, nor to permit our 
 zeal to degenerate into bitterness, on the other. 
 In judging the errors of others, we should bear 
 
58 ON ANGEK AND ADMIRATION. 
 
 in mind our own infirmities ; and in condemning 
 sinful men, our own sinfulness should never be 
 forgotten. 
 
 Now, I am rather afraid the very errors which 
 my pen has here pointed out for others to avoid, 
 are those into which I myself have frequently 
 fallen. Hardly can I hope to have escaped the 
 inconsistency of being too indulgent in some 
 cases, and too severe in others ; but leaving this 
 matter altogether undecided, let me briefly allude 
 to some of the many characters, among mankind, 
 which have either moved me with anger, or called 
 forth my admiration. 
 
 When glancing over the pages of infidel books, 
 before now, I have felt very, very angry with their 
 writers. A score others, besides Voltaire and 
 Paine, have excited my wrath in no moderate 
 degree, If it be a bad deed to take a poor man's 
 bread, it must be still worse to take away his 
 hope. Though I can make a liberal allowance 
 for diversity of opinion, and do feel more sorrow 
 than anger for an infidel, yet I cannot but be 
 greatly moved by those who, by ribaldry and 
 jesting, can lightly rob a poor man of that 
 which is more to him than the oil of his joints 
 and the marrow of his bones. Those who can 
 hinder pilgrims in their way to heaven for the 
 paltry gratification of showing their own cleverness 
 
ON ANGEK AND ADMIKATION. 59 
 
 in placing impediments in the road, must be, 
 indeed, the enemies of mankind. 
 
 Caligula, who made his horse consul and high 
 priest, who attempted to famish Rome, who put 
 innocent people to death for his amusement, and 
 fed wild beasts with human victims in his palaces ; 
 Nero, who assassinated his mother, sacrificed his 
 wife, set Rome on fire, and played on an instru- 
 ment of music during the conflagration ; and 
 Dionysius, who for his tyranny and cruelty was 
 execrated as a monster, with a throng of ruthless 
 oppressors of the same relentless character, have 
 roused my indignation in youth, in manhood, and 
 in years ; and, had not a better influence than 
 my own restrained me, I could have almost poured 
 maledictions on their memory. 
 
 How often have those demons incarnate, Pizarro 
 and Cortes, the former the cruel conqueror of Peru, 
 and the latter the sanguinary oppressor of Mexico, 
 greatly ruffled my spirit when it was at peace, and 
 made me bitter when I was meek-minded and 
 merciful ! I could have borne with their hateful 
 ambition, and forgiven their greedy thirst of gold ; 
 but their ruthless tyranny, their reckless cruelty, 
 and their wholesale slaughter of a people, perhaps 
 the most timid and defenceless on the earth, is 
 absolutely intolerable. The ravenous wolf and 
 ferocious tiger will cease to pursue their prey when 
 
60 ON ANGER AND ADMIRATION. 
 
 gorged to the full; but unceasing treachery, 
 rapine, violence, and murder, marked the career 
 of these human scourges of the western world. 
 
 Many fearful accounts are related of the Spanish 
 inquisitors, and never did a more selfish and cold- 
 blooded set of wretches baud themselves together 
 in conspiracy against humanity. Oh, how my 
 blood has boiled in my veins at what I have read 
 of the deceit, hypocrisy, oppression, and horrible 
 cruelty of these sleek-headed, murderous fiends, in 
 their hidden dungeons of silence, mystery, terror, 
 and abomination ! It is bad enough to see the 
 grim-visaged, broad-breasted villain, in his law- 
 less career of pillage and murder ; but when all 
 that is bad, and bitter, and relentless, and abomi- 
 nable, lurks beneath a head slightly sprinkled 
 with grey hairs, and disguises itself in the garb 
 of sanctity, wickedness becomes doubly wicked, 
 and cruelty more cruel : the knife seems to carry 
 a keener edge, and the dagger to wear a sharper 
 point, I am ashamed of what I have felt when 
 calling to mind the enormities of these Spanish 
 inquisitors. 
 
 The slaughter-breathing bigotry and unrelent- 
 ing bitterness of Gardiner, Stokesley, and the 
 royal tigress, queen Mary, have often made my 
 eye and my heart glow with anger ; and that 
 monster of a man, the scourge of God's people, 
 
ON ANGER AND ADMIRATION. 61 
 
 that bloated, brutal, martyr-burning Bonner, is 
 another who has harrowed up my heart, and 
 called into exercise the fiercest passions of my 
 soul. When I have pictured him brow-beating 
 the meek and lowly, striking on the mouth, with 
 his ruffian fist, the defenceless, torturing the pri- 
 soner in his captivity, and, with malignant glee, 
 delivering over to the burning stake the servants 
 of the Lord; forgetful of my own infirmities, 
 and of the meekness that ought to characterize 
 Christian men, I have risen upon him in my 
 wrath, I have beaten him with many stripes, I 
 have smitten him under the fifth rib, I have hewed 
 him in pieces as Samuel hewed Agag in Gilgal. 
 
 But enough of anger, for it suits me not ; my 
 fit is over ; and were Gardiner and Stokesley, or 
 even Bonner and queen Mary now by my side, I 
 should feel for them something very like com- 
 passion. Let me turn to some of those who have 
 made me in love with humanity. I have a strong 
 predilection for all who have publicly or privately 
 added to the general hoard of human happiness. 
 All who have increased the knowledge, the comfort, 
 and the joy of human beings, or lessened their 
 griefs and cares, have a place in my affections. 
 
 As I have received much of pleasure from the 
 travels of such as have wandered in distant lands, 
 I ought to bear them in my kindly remembrance. 
 
 G 
 
62 ON ANGER AND ADMIRATION. 
 
 Humboldt, Bruce, Bullock, and Belzoni ; Denhara, 
 Steadman, and Mungo Park ; Parry, Ross, and 
 Franklin ; Clarke, Campbell, Hall, Waterton, 
 Lander, and Catlin, with a goodly throng of 
 others, are entitled to my regard. While reading 
 their works, I have entered into their adventures, 
 shared their dangers, and felt interested in their 
 safety and success. 
 
 To authors of well-directed talents and virtuous 
 affections, my gratitude is as unbounded as the 
 debt which I owe them. A catalogue of all I 
 love would indeed be a lengthy one. Painters, 
 and sculptors, and engravers, have made me their 
 debtor. Nor would I forget the labours of such 
 as have smoothed the path of literature, explained 
 and defined words, and rendered the reference to 
 Holy Scripture more easy than before. Among 
 these, Johnson, with his Dictionary, and Cruden, 
 with his Concordance, I hold in high estimation. 
 
 Upright judges, and talented and conscientious 
 members of the healing art, and founders of 
 hospitals, asylums, and almshouses, and liberal 
 contributors to Christian and benevolent institu- 
 tions, and promoters of Sunday Schools Raikes, 
 and Fox, and Lancaster, and, Bell, among them ; 
 there are none of these that I do not greatly honour. 
 Nor are the kind-hearted friends of animals, de- 
 fenceless animals, unentitled to my warmest thanks. 
 
ON ANGER AND ADMIRATION. 63 
 
 The ministers of the gospel have won their way 
 to my highest regard. John Wickliff, the morning 
 star of the Reformation ; and the uncompromising 
 Martin Luther, who, when dissuaded from attend- 
 ing the Diet of Worms, replied, that if he knew 
 there were as many devils there as tiles on the 
 houses, he would face them all. Bradford, 
 Cranmer, Latimer, Hooper, Knox, and Jewell, 
 with Hall, Leighton, Hopkins, Watts, Doddridge, 
 Whitefield, Wesley, and a hundred more ; these 
 were not men of parts only, but men of piety ; 
 not merely the friends of mankind, but also, in 
 the midst of their infirmities, good, and true, and 
 faithful servants of the Lord. 
 
 Though it is now time to close my remarks, 
 this must not be done without one word being 
 spoken to the memories of missionaries who have 
 finished their course, and found the end to be 
 eternal life. I cannot think of such men as Eliot, 
 and Swartz, and Brainerd, and Henry Martyn, 
 without honouring them for their labours. Their 
 memory is dear to me. I read the record of their 
 earthly existence with intensity of interest and 
 unfeigned admiration, and I love to contemplate 
 them as among the shining ones, now gathered 
 around the throne of the Eternal. 
 
 Were I altogether to omit Wilberforce in my 
 rapid glance at the friends of humanity, I should 
 
64 ON ANGER AND ADMIRATION. 
 
 do an equal injustice to his memory and my own 
 affections. As one of the brightest examples of 
 Christian philanthropy, he is one of those whom 
 I delight to honour. 
 
 One word would I utter aloud amid the avalanches 
 of Switzerland and Savoy. Ye monks of St. 
 Bernard, I never visited your hospitable mountain- 
 home ; ye have never warmed me with your 
 welcome amid your eternal snows, nor spread your 
 homely board in ministering to my necessities ; 
 but when I hear of your opening your doors freely 
 to the frozen stranger, and sending out your very 
 dogs on errands of mercy, my heart yearns towards 
 you with more than admiration. I stop not to 
 scrutinize the orthodoxy of your faith, I make no 
 inquiry about the soundness of your creed, but 
 regarding you as a mercy-loving brotherhood, I pour 
 on you a warm-hearted blessing, and take upon 
 myself, in the fulness of my affections, to thank 
 you on behalf of those you have benefited by your 
 kindness. 
 
 Who ever hears the name of Howard without 
 offering him the homage of the heart for a life 
 devoted to benevolence and humanity? For 
 myself, my affections have been fully drawn out in 
 the contemplation of his benevolent career. Not 
 only in spirit have I attended him through the 
 prisons of England and France, the gloomy jails 
 
ON ANGEE AND ADMIRATION. 65 
 
 of Germany and Holland, and the damp, dismal, 
 and infected dungeons of Italy, Spain, Portugal, 
 and Turkey, but at Cherson also, with clasped 
 hands and bended knees, hanging over the good 
 Samaritan in his dying hour. Nor doubt I that 
 this devoted Christian, this mitigator of so much 
 sorrow on earth, has had an abundant entrance 
 into the joys of heaven. 
 
 You have now had enough of my admiration, 
 uid perhaps more than enough of , my anger : try 
 to turn the one and the other to account, and 
 then, whether I have acted wisely or not in noting 
 down these observations, you will be sure to act 
 wisely in making them useful. 
 
OLD HUMPHREY TURNED 
 FISHERMAN. 
 
 IF, on reading the above title, your fancy should 
 portray me going out at peep of day, at noon, or 
 at dewy eve, as a real brother of the angle and 
 the ingle, with the several parts of a fishing-rod 
 nicely packed together, a tin box well supplied 
 with several kinds of baits, and a basket grace- 
 fully suspended from a belt slung across my right 
 shoulder ; if you should suppose me, like another 
 Isaac Walton, wending my way to the quiet nooks 
 of the running brook, my mind occupied with 
 peaceful thoughts and gentle musings, wishing ill 
 to none, and good to all, purposing to give away 
 all the fish I catch, and disposed, as fishermen 
 have in very doubtful sentimentality expressed 
 themselves, to use " the very worm with humanity, 
 handling him tenderly, and treating him as a 
 friend ;" if such a picture as this should present 
 itself to your minds, dismiss it at once, for I am 
 not in quest of the finny tribe. They are human 
 
OLD HUMPHREY TURNED FISHERMAN. 67 
 
 beings that I mean to catch, and it shall go hard 
 with me but you shall be among the number. 
 
 More than forty winters have cast their snows 
 on the earth, and as many summer suns have set 
 forth the power and goodness of God by gilding 
 the heavens and the earth with glory, since I last 
 baited a hook or cast a line upon the waters. I 
 have no accusation against the scaly inhabitants 
 of the wave, and they can advance no reasonable 
 complaint against me, unless it be that of having, 
 now and then, temperately partaken of a turbot 
 or a salmon at another's table, or of a sole, an 
 eel, or a haddock at my own. 
 
 But to my occupation. I said that I meant to 
 catch human beings. Girding my loins, then, 
 with the strength of an upright intention, and 
 looking above for a blessing, I will at once enter 
 on my calling as a fisherman. I mean to catch 
 all my readers. 
 
 It will hardly answer my purpose to fish with 
 a line and bait, hooking only one of you at a 
 time. This will be too tedious an affair. I 
 must use a drag-net, and thereby secure a heavy 
 haul. Come, let me suppose that I have acquitted 
 myself creditably, and that I have succeeded in 
 entrapping any of you who are anywise afflicted in 
 mind. What a heavy draught ! One word with 
 you before I resume my occupation. 
 
68 OLD HUMPHREY TURNED FISHERMAN. 
 
 I must regard you, my afflicted friends, as 
 among the heavily laden of the earth. You are 
 walking in the shade, drooping as the bulrush, 
 and perhaps sighing to yourselves, " I shall never 
 again lift up my head. My burden is beyond my 
 strength. The spirit of a man may sustain his 
 infirmities ; but a wounded spirit who can bear ?" 
 
 Your minds may be depressed on many accounts ; 
 you may have desires without hope of attaining 
 them, and fears which appear certain to be 
 realized ; you may have spoken words that you 
 cannot recall, and done deeds that cannot be 
 undone ; you may be sorrowing for errors com- 
 mitted by yourselves or by others ; and dark as 
 the present is, the future may be still darker to 
 your view. 
 
 But, it may be, that your distress is of a yet 
 deeper kind, that you really do think God has 
 " forgotten to be gracious," that " his mercy is 
 clean gone for ever," and that his promise has 
 failed " for evermore." You may be sorrowing 
 for sin, living without hope, and looking forward 
 to "judgment and fiery indignation." A worse 
 case than this, for discomfort, sorrow, and tribu- 
 lation, can hardly be imagined ; but as the 
 darkest night is succeeded by sunrise, so may 
 your gloom be followed by gladness, and your 
 shadows be dispersed by sunshine. 
 
OLD HUMPHREY TURNED FISHERMAN. 69 
 
 If I did not know that the High and Holy One 
 can make a path through the sea, and a high road 
 through the wilderness ; if I did not know, in 
 one word, that what is hard, yea impossible to his 
 creatures, is possible and easy to him, I should 
 despair of many cases, and perhaps of yours 
 among them ; but as it is, I am strong in hope, 
 for "to the Lord our God belong mercies and 
 forgivenesses, though we have rebelled against 
 him," Dan. ix. 9. Take your trouble, be it what 
 it may, to the compassionate. Redeemer. Cast 
 your burden on him who hath said, " Come unto 
 me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and 
 I will give you rest," Matt. xi. 28. Do this 
 humbly, heartily, perseveringly, arid confidingly, 
 and you shall yet sing of mercy. 
 
 Having made the most of my first haul, and 
 disentangled my meshes, let me now try what 
 success will attend my second draught. There ! 
 little cause have I to complain, for * heavy pull 
 is required already. Judging by the weight of 
 my net, it must be almost full : my foil seems 
 well rewarded. 
 
 Let me imagine that I have this time secured 
 all my readers who are afflicted in body. Here 
 you are all collected together, and a sigh of 
 unfeigned sympathy breaks from my very soul. 
 
 Some of you may be deformed in your frames, 
 
70 OLD HUMPHREY TURNED FISHERMAN. 
 
 having a short arm or leg, or a twisted body, or a 
 rise on the shoulder, or you may be of very 
 diminutive stature ; though there are heavier 
 trials, yet these, to many, are not very light. 
 Some may have weak eyes, tender feet, or giddi- 
 ness, or be much troubled with toothach, head- 
 ach, indigestion, rheumatism, gout, or cramp in 
 the limbs or stomach; while others may have 
 been tried with a fractured limb, or may be 
 afflicted with general debility, blood-spitting, 
 jaundice, fever, dropsy, epilepsy, paralysis, or 
 consumption. Of themselves these make a 
 lengthened list, and yet these are but a part of 
 the infirmities allotted to humanity. A word 
 with you on the subjects of your visitations. 
 
 If you are naturally deformed, you have a right 
 to complain on this principle only, that your 
 wisdom is greater than that of the all-wise 
 Creator, who fashioned you according to his 
 will. Unless you are quite sure that your wisdom 
 is of this exalted kind, you had better be 
 quiet and submissive. If pride whispers in your 
 ear, that, on account of your infirmities, many 
 people will disregard you, be as deaf as a post. 
 A true naturah'st is not apt to complain of the 
 form of anything in creation, which is as God 
 made it ; and a true Christian would be ashamed 
 of himself, and have just cause for shame too, 
 
OLD HUMPHEEY TUENED FISHERMAN. 71 
 
 if he undervalued a fellow-heir of immortality 
 merely because the Father of mercies had been 
 less bountiful to him than to himself. Take 
 courage, and bear up against your infirmity. 
 
 But if your trials are of the weightier kind to 
 which I have alluded, and believe me, I am not 
 inclined to underrate them, nor to think lightly 
 of them ; if they are of the most afflictive cha- 
 racter, even unto death, still would I say, refuse 
 not consolation. One man thinks that the sea 
 separates distant countries from each other, but 
 there are seafaring men who say that the ocean 
 joins them. Now, this latter opinion, looking on 
 the waters as a pathway for ships, is quite as 
 correct, and a great deal more agreeable, than the 
 former. Let us learn a lesson from the seafaring 
 man, then, and regard the bright side of even our 
 afflictions. Instead of considering sicknesses 
 and diseases to be only so many painful visita- 
 tions, let us try to regard them, also, as so many 
 different roads to the golden gates of heaven. 
 Take your trouble, be it what it may, to the com- 
 passionate Redeemer. Cast your burden on him 
 who hath said, " Come unto me, all ye that 
 labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you 
 rest." Do this humbly, heartily, perseveringly, 
 and confidingly, and you shall yet sing of mercy. 
 You have read the words in the Revelation, 
 
72 OLD HUMPHREY TURNED FISHERMAN. 
 
 " These are they which came out of great tribu- 
 lation," Rev. vii. 14 ; and if your afflictions should 
 be so far sanctified as to lead you to the cross of 
 the Redeemer, and to heaven, you will have 
 abundant reason to rejoice that they ever came. 
 
 And now for the third and last effort with my ' 
 drag-net. I thought that my former hauls were 
 large, but the present one seems to be yet larger. 
 If all were real fish that I have now caught, well 
 might I boast of my success : but no ; they are 
 only such of you as are afflicted in your estate, 
 and to you individually I thus speak. 
 
 What ! has the " gold become dim," and the 
 "most fine gold changed?" Are your money- 
 bags lighter than they were ? Have your riches 
 in reality made "themselves wings" and fled away? 
 Is the snug estate mortgaged to its full worth ? 
 Have you sold out what you had in the funds ? 
 Do you no longer keep an account with a banker? 
 Is your dwelling-house smaller than it used to be? 
 And are your luxuries and comforts sensibly 
 diminished? These things are trying; but if 
 they are your heaviest trials, thank God with a 
 grateful heart for your present position. 
 
 "Ay ! ay !" say you, " this is fine talking, but 
 you know not the worst of it. Had my troubles 
 come upon me through losses, and crosses, and 
 unexpected misfortunes, I could have borne them 
 
OLD HUMPHREY TURNED FISHERMAN, 73 
 
 with the patience of a martyr : but it has been 
 otherwise ; my own carelessness, if not my own 
 folly, has reduced me ; for though I have never 
 wilfully or willingly injured another, yet have I, 
 thoughtlessly or through neglect, foolishly lost 
 my property, and thereby not only shorn myself 
 of my comforts, but injured also those who are 
 about me. My trouble is not my deprivations 
 alone, but the knowledge that I have brought 
 them on myself." 
 
 I must frankly admit that this alters your case, 
 and flings a darker cloud around you ; but there 
 is a rainbow even in this shadowy and showery 
 state of things, for your being so sensible of your 
 own demerits is a sign with which I would not 
 willingly part. Once more I say, Take your 
 trouble, be what it may, to the compassionate 
 Redeemer. Cast your burden on him who hath 
 said, " Come unto me, all ye that labour and are 
 heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Do this 
 humbly, heartily, perseveringly, and confidingly, 
 and you shall yet sing of mercy. Though you 
 have lost much, you have not lost all ; though the 
 feast has gone by, you may haply, even yet, fill 
 up seven baskets with the fragments that remain ; 
 for what with humility of mind, patience, ac- 
 quiescence to the Divine will, watchfulness over 
 yourself, increased diligence, a prayerful spirit, 
 
 H 
 
74 OLD HUMPHREY TURNED FISHERMAN. 
 
 and a grateful heart, you may be a wiser, a better, 
 and a happier man than you were in the days 01 
 your prosperity. In the midst of your more 
 limited means, and your less dainty bits and 
 drops, you may have more true sunshine of soul 
 than ever you had before, The Lord may lift up 
 the light of his countenance upon you, and put 
 gladness into your heart, more than in the time 
 when your corn and wine increased. 
 
 If there be any of my readers who have escaped 
 me ; if my drag-net has let a few go by, who are 
 neither troubled in mind, body, nor estate, (I 
 apprehend there cannot be very many of this 
 description,) to such I would say, Have a care of 
 yourselves, for yours is no common case. Hardly 
 do I know whether or not to congratulate you on 
 your freedom from affliction. However, as it is 
 not at all likely to last long, let me urge you 
 to be thankful morning, noon, and night for 
 the ease you enjoy, and also to prepare for trial ; 
 for " man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly 
 upward," Job. v. 7. 
 
 If you know anything of the occupation of a 
 fisherman, you are aware that it cannot be carried 
 on long together without weariness, and will, 
 therefore, not be surprised if I now quietly walk 
 away with my drag-net on my shoulder. You 
 shall have, however, a parting admonition in the 
 
OLD HUMPHREY TURNED FISHERMAN. 75 
 
 words of the apostle Peter, who was, you know, 
 an eminent fisherman : " If any man suffer as a 
 Christian, let him not be ashamed ; but let him 
 glorify God on this behalf;" and, "Let them 
 that suffer according to the will of God, commit 
 the keeping of their souls to him in well-doing, 
 as unto a faithful Creator," 1 Pet. iv. 1(5, 19. 
 
A HOMELY CHAPTER, 
 
 IT is no uncommon affair for young people to 
 measure themselves two or three times a year, 
 and it would be no had thing if we were all in 
 the habit of measuring ourselves in after life; 
 not to see the height of our poor perishing bodies, 
 but to know the state of our minds ; to find out 
 whether, or not, we are growing in grace, and in 
 the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus 
 Christ. This remark is capable of application by 
 all ; at the present moment, it will be applied by 
 me. 
 
 When stealing a glance at the many subjects 
 on which my pen has been employed, and on the 
 manner in which I have treated them, some fear is 
 entertained by me, of having, at times, lost sight 
 of that unaffected homeliness and simplicity with 
 which I began my observations, and which I in- 
 tended should characterize all that fell from my 
 pen. I am quite inclined to believe, that the 
 indulgence awarded me, and the kind manner in 
 which I have been welcomed, has been mainly 
 
A HOMELY CHAPTER. 77 
 
 owing to the plain, familiar, and friendly style I 
 have adopted. My readers have felt at home: 
 they have not been afraid of me ; they have found 
 me willing to learn as well as to teach ; and, while 
 I have faithfully pointed out their infirmities, 
 I have not been backward in acknowledging my 
 own. 
 
 This being the case, it behoves me, now and 
 then, to look over my former productions ; for I 
 really am afraid that no single article of mine has 
 appeared more likely to be useful, or more gene- 
 rally acceptable to my indulgent readers, than they 
 were. This is rather a humiliating truth, and it 
 makes me anxious to measure myself : to go back 
 to years gone by, and see if, haply, I may not 
 profit from the past, by comparing the stream 
 with the fountain. Not willingly, as the furrows 
 increase on my brow, would I decrease in useful- 
 ness, or decline in the estimation of my friends. 
 
 I have taken up my pen, on the present occa- 
 sion, to write a plain and homely chapter, on the 
 bodily afflictions of such of my fellow pilgrims as 
 I meet with in my daily walks, thinking that this 
 subject will come home to the hearts of others as 
 well as to my own. Just at this time I feel more 
 than ordinarily desirous of the attention of my 
 poorer readers. I should rejoice to be a means 
 of usefulness among the inhabitants of Hanover- 
 
78 A HOMELY CHAPTER. 
 
 square ; but I hope not less so to be popular in 
 an almshouse. 
 
 In walking out yesterday, a sharp twinge or two 
 of rheumatism in my shoulder, disposed me to 
 sympathize with every one I saw that appeared to 
 be at all afflicted. 
 
 The first man I met, seemingly out of health, 
 was tall, and walked on slowly and carefully ; I 
 did not, however, pay much attention to him until 
 he stopped to cough. Now stopping to cough is 
 a simple expression, but it means a great deal. I 
 often meet men of strong frame, whose cough 
 denotes health rather than sickness ; whose loud 
 " hem !" proceeding from hearty lungs, rather 
 courts attention, than seeks to avoid it ; but when 
 a man stops to cough, leaning one hand on his 
 stick, and placing the other on his loins, it tells a 
 tale ; it says plainly that he is ailing, and that 
 coughing and walking, at one and the same time, 
 are more than he can well manage. 
 
 Well, as the tall man walked on, I observed 
 how thin his legs were, how dependent he was on 
 his stick, and how loosely his great coat hung on 
 his slender frame. "Are you ready," said I to 
 myself, " to be placed in the same circumstances ? 
 Hale and strong as you now feel yourself to be, 
 the time is hastening on, when you must reason- 
 ably expect to become a little like him." Once 
 
A HOMELY CHAPTER. 79 
 
 more the tall man stopped to cough, arid my wish 
 was, that as his flesh and heart were failing him, 
 God might be the strength of his heart, and his 
 portion for ever. 
 
 On turning into a square, I met a short fat 
 gentleman, in a little carriage, which was drawn 
 along the pavement by one servant in livery, and 
 pushed along by another. When I looked at the 
 handsome livery of the servants, I thought the 
 gentleman must be rich ; but when I regarded his 
 face, I knew him to be poor ; he had no health, 
 no intellect, no enjoyment. This sad state of 
 things was too plainly told to be misunderstood. 
 Had a hard-working labourer been present, he 
 might have thanked God for his tough crust and 
 pallet of straw. I was present, and I walked on, 
 more thankful than ever for my numberless mercies, 
 thinking within my heart, that a healthful body 
 and a grateful spirit were worth more than all the 
 riches and all the livery-servants in the world. 
 
 The next afflicted person that attracted my at- 
 tention was a Jew, with an old clothes-bag on his 
 back : he was in years, his nose large, his low 
 forehead covered with deep wrinkles, while a long 
 beard descended from his chin. If the clothes 
 in his bag were no better than those on his back, 
 they were worth but little. Neither his face, nor 
 his clothes, nor his bag, however, caught my 
 
80 A HOMELY CHAPTEE. 
 
 attention so much as his infirmity. One of his legs 
 was so terribly swollen that he could scarcely drag 
 it along. I regarded him with pity, though low 
 cunning was visible in his quick-glancing eye. 
 
 I thought of Moses, the lawgiver, and of Aaron, 
 arrayed in his brave apparel. I thought of the 
 goodly glory of Solomon's temple, and then of the 
 fallen state of the people of God, when they were 
 carried away captive, and those who carried them 
 away captive required of them a song ; and then 
 came the remembrance of the touching reply, 
 " How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange 
 land ?" Psa. cxxxvii. 4. So vividly did the picture 
 come before me of the ancient Jews, hanging their 
 harps on the willows, and sitting down to weep by 
 the rivers of Babylon, that I could, almost, have 
 lifted up my voice and wept. Neither the dirty 
 wretchedness, nor the low cunning of the old Jew, 
 prevented me from regarding him with strong 
 sympathy and compassion. I longed to heal his 
 infirmity, to array him in braver garments; to 
 take away the blindness that has fallen on Israel, 
 and to hear him cry out to the Saviour, with 
 Thomas of old, "My Lord and my God!" 
 John xx. 28. 
 
 A pale-faced woman, neatly clad, hobbling along 
 on a pair of crutches, heaved a sigh as I passed 
 her, that seemed to come from her soul. Though 
 
A HOMELY CHAPTER. 81 
 
 I knew not her ailment, seeing that she was a 
 daughter of affliction, I commended her to Him 
 who can make the halt strong of foot, and the 
 cripple to run like the roe. 
 
 He who walks abroad in quest of bodily infir- 
 mity, will not go far without accomplishing his 
 errand. A day-labourer was borne past me, lying 
 at full-length on a door, which rested on the 
 shoulders of four of his fellow workmen. He had 
 fallen from a scaffold ; and one of the accom- 
 panying throng told me that some of the poor 
 fellow's bones were broken. A great coat had 
 been thrown over him, so that I saw not his face. 
 If kindly feelings and unaffected sorrow could 
 have set his fractured limbs, he would have had 
 no need to have entered the hospital. 
 
 A young man with a short leg, lengthened out 
 by a- kind of patten, and a taller figure, with an 
 empty sleeve pinned across his breast, came in 
 sight nearly together. With kindly interest did I 
 regard them both, while I felt grateful for my 
 hands and my feet. 
 
 Many ailing people passed me, but my eye 
 lighted on one apparently in perfect health. He 
 was a big-breasted man, of a powerful frame. His 
 look was confidence, and his stride was strength, 
 but he had a wooden leg. I thought of what he 
 must have passed through. What occasioned the 
 
82 A HOMELY CHAPTER. 
 
 loss of his leg I know not ; perhaps a hold attack 
 on the field of battle, or a fall from his hunter in 
 a desperate fox-chase ; for he was certainly not a 
 man to take things by halves, nor to be intimi- 
 dated by common danger. Had he known that 
 I pitied him, perhaps he would have despised me, 
 for he evidently pitied not himself. There was a 
 rampant resolution in his countenance, a defiance 
 of fear, a demeanour which, put into words, would 
 be these : " I have lost my leg, but am still un- 
 subdued ; and had I a dozen legs, and were to 
 lose them all, my spirit would remain unbroken." 
 He strode past me with a bustling gait, as one 
 proud of his power, and prodigal of his resolution, 
 and I looked after him with pity. 
 
 But why did I pity him ? why, for those very 
 qualities on account of which he valued himself; 
 for the great strength of his giant body, and the 
 dauntless resolution of his mind. " How much 
 of suffering and trial," thought I, "will be re- 
 quired to pull down that strong-knit iron frame, 
 and that lofty spirit !" I have seen a huge and 
 strengthy horse struggling in the death grapple, 
 and marvelled at his desperate energy. But I 
 will pursue the metaphor no further. We are all 
 in God's hands, for life and death ; and whether 
 we are strong as Samson, or weak as infancy ; 
 high-minded as Belshazzar, or meek as Moses ; 
 
A HOMELY CHAPTER. 83 
 
 he will deal with us according to his good plea- 
 sure. 
 
 As I turned the corner of a broad street, I well 
 nigh stumbled against a little slender man, and 
 was quite disposed to consider that the fault lay 
 with him, as he did not give way an inch at 
 my approach ; but we are too often hasty in our 
 judgments. A glance at his green shade set me 
 right, for I then perceived it was his infirmity 
 rather than his fault, for his sight was too imper- 
 fect to enable him to see distinctly the impedi- 
 ments in his path, or the people that were pass- 
 ing by him. His tread was uncertain, and he 
 rather groped his way, by the aid of his stick, 
 than pursued it directed by his eyes. How 
 much do our infirmities bind us to our fellow- 
 pilgrims, who are afflicted in the same way as 
 ourselves ! Having weakened my own eyes, by 
 reading small print in my youth, a sad fault, and 
 by poring over books late at night in my age, a 
 fault yet greater, I have need, in my studious 
 hours, of all the assistance that spectacles and 
 green shades can afford me. No wonder, then, 
 that I regarded the little slender man with com- 
 miseration. Eyesight is a precious sense; the 
 diamonds of the earth are as dust to it. Close 
 your eyelids for an instant, and try to fancy that 
 you are never to open them again, and you will 
 
84 A HOMELY CHAPTEK. 
 
 gaze around you afterward with delight, and, 1 
 hope, with thankfulness, also. 
 
 I was standing still, and watching the move- 
 ments of the green-shaded passenger, when a 
 short, thick-set man came waddling along, with 
 slits cut along the sides of his shoes. How softly 
 did he move, and how carefully did he put down 
 his poor feet to the ground. It would manifest 
 but little shrewdness on my part, were I to 
 suspect that he had both corns and bunions ; 
 for the case was so plain, that to have doubted it 
 would have been a libel on my powers of percep- 
 tion and understanding. If molehills did not 
 literally become mountains to the tender-footed 
 pedestrian, at least it may be asserted, with truth, 
 that a very small stone was to him a source of 
 very great annoyance. On he went, as I stood 
 still, waddling, limping, and treading tenderly, 
 according to the smoothness or roughness of his 
 path. 
 
 You must not suppose that these cases of 
 bodily infirmity came before me one after an- 
 other, treading, as it were, on each other's heels. 
 No ; it was in the course of a walk of some 
 length, that I observed them among many 
 others ; and at this moment I feel more thank- 
 ful for sound lungs, tolerably good sight, and 
 the use of my limbs, than if I had not made 
 
A HOMELY CHAPTER. 85 
 
 these homely comments on my afflicted friends. 
 How is it with you ? Are you hale and upright, 
 or ailing, infirm, and afflicted, in mind, body, or 
 estate ? We are sure to be tried at one time or 
 another. Oh, let us take our infirmities, of what- 
 ever kind they are, to the great Physician : for he 
 who cured Naaman of his leprosy, can assuredly 
 make us whole, or cause patience to have " its 
 perfect work," if suffering be continued. 
 
ON THE COMMON SAYING, 
 
 "I QUITE FOEGOT IT." 
 
 A GOOD friend of mine, who has helped my 
 pen to many a subject, is in the habit of adding 
 to his communications the words, " Try what you 
 can make of this, if the subject bites ;" meaning 
 that if the topic should lay hold of me, moving 
 me to write energetically, I should at once enter 
 upon it, and not otherwise. 
 
 It may be that you have seen a bear dragged 
 to a stake to be baited, a lively exhibition of un- 
 willingness; and regarded a greyhound in the 
 slips " straining for the start," an equally vivid 
 illustration of eagerness ; and if so, I need not 
 bring forward any other figures whereby to set 
 forth the striking difference between disinclina- 
 tion and desire. I like a subject to bite before I 
 enter on it : I love, when it is before me, to feel 
 as " standing in the slips," and not as being 
 " dragged to the stake." 
 
"I QUITE FORGOT IT." 87 
 
 It is, then, for the reason just stated, and be- 
 cause I feel much interested in the subject, that I 
 now make a few remarks on the common saying, 
 " I quite forgot it." If my present emotions are 
 stifled, I may never have any of the same kind 
 equally energetic. I will at once commence my 
 observations. 
 
 A correspondent, who appears to be all alive 
 to the importance of this subject, writes to me 
 thus : " I am a shopkeeper, with two shopmen 
 and a son behind the counter; I have also a 
 maid-servant and a housekeeper, besides a family 
 of five children. I say to James, 'Have you 
 done so and so ?' ( No, sir, I quite forgot it/ is 
 the reply. ( Charles, have you been on that 
 errand ?' ' No, sir, I quite forgot it.' William, 
 have you taken that letter to the post ?' ' No, 
 sir, I quite forgot it.' ' Susan, have you sent to 
 the shop for that article I wished you to get ?* 
 ' No, sir.' ' Why have you not ?' ' Because, sir, 
 I quite forgot it.' 'Ann, did you call at Mr. 
 Thompson's, and tell him I should not be able 
 to meet him to-day as I proposed?' 'No, sir, 
 I quite forgot it.' Servants and children, as well 
 as masters, are very forgetful ; and the reply, 
 ' Oh, I quite forgot it,' comes so readily, and so 
 frequently, that I determined to drop a note to 
 Old Humphrey to draw his attention to it, that 
 
00 ON THE COMMON SAYING 
 
 he might give us a chapter on the subject of for- 
 getfulness, or from the words, ' I quite forgot it ;' 
 thinking that it might arouse the memory of 
 some who quite forget, not only to such things of 
 this world as they ought to remember, but to those 
 also of the world to come." 
 
 Now, there is such an apparent singleness of 
 purpose, such an honesty of intention, and withal 
 so much that may be made practically useful in 
 the remarks of my correspondent, that I am 
 quite inclined to add to them a few brief obser- 
 vations, with the hope that, together, they may 
 induce some to remember what now they are 
 too much in the habit of forgetting. It occurs 
 to me that my pen has scribbled a few lines on 
 this' subject before, but of this I am not quite 
 certain. 
 
 On the first view of the case, it seems hard to 
 blame any one for a defective memory. Are v/e 
 not all in the habit of forgetting things, in spite 
 of our best resolutions to remember them ? Can 
 we forget half of what we would willingly bury 
 in oblivion ? or remember half of those things 
 which we desire to be ever present to our recol- 
 lection? A bad memory surely is an affliction 
 heavy enough of itself, without reproach being 
 added to the burden. 
 
 I am afraid, however, that this kind of reason- 
 
* C I QUITE FORGOT IT." 89 
 
 ing, though it serves our purpose excellently in 
 apologizing for ourselves, is far from being satis- 
 factory when offered to us as an excuse for others. 
 When we have neglected to deliver an important 
 letter, we may be satisfied in making the obser- 
 vation, " It was an oversight of mine, I quite 
 forgot it ;" but when any one neglects to deliver 
 an important letter or communication to us, and 
 offers us such an unsatisfactory apology, what 
 heart-burnings, what uncharitable thoughts, and 
 what bitter words does it not frequently occasion ! 
 
 You must allow me to strip the phrase, " I 
 quite forgot it," of all the false reasoning that is 
 usually attached to it, and to show it up in all its 
 naked deformity. I admit, though a bad memory 
 may often be made better by judicious and per- 
 severing effort, that it is, sometimes, an infirmity, 
 and that those who have a bad memory, and 
 cannot help it, are not fit objects of censure ; but 
 I do not admit that a bad memory is the cause of, 
 or has, of necessity, anything to do with, the fre- 
 quent observation, " I quite forgot it." 
 
 If I am told that a man, whom I am in the 
 habit of seeing with a sack of flour on his back, 
 is very weak in his body, or that another, whom I 
 frequently meet walking at the rate of four or 
 five miles an hour, can hardly creep along, I do 
 not believe what is said of them. It may suit 
 i 2 
 
90 ON THE COMMON SAYING, 
 
 the purpose of the one to be thought weak IE 
 body, and of the other to be considered almost 
 incapable of walking ; but I have positive proof 
 that the contrary is the fact. Is not this clear? 
 Can we arrive at any other conclusion ? I think 
 not. 
 
 But what has this to do, say you, with the 
 matter ? How do you apply this reasoning to the 
 case of those who are in the habit of saying, " I 
 quite forgot it ?" In this manner. If I observe 
 that such as most frequently excuse themselves 
 on account of a bad memory, in things in which 
 others are interested, have no deficiency of memory 
 in things in which they themselves have an ad- 
 vantage, I am as much justified in asserting the 
 strength of their memory, as I am in declaring the 
 man who carried the sack of flour to be a strong 
 man, and he who walked at the rate of four or five 
 miles an hour to be a fast walker. 
 
 We now, then, come to the root of the matter, 
 and must perceive that though this habit of quite 
 forgetting things, appears to spring from the want 
 of a good memory, it really arises from the want 
 of a good principle. This may sound harshly in 
 the ears of some of my readers ; but as I would 
 apply it to myself as freely as to others, I must 
 be at liberty to repeat my observation, that the 
 habit of excusing a neglect of duty by the remark, 
 
" I QUITE FORGOT IT." 9 1 
 
 " I quite forgot it," is much more to be attributed 
 to a deficiency of principle than to a deficiency of 
 memory. 
 
 If the same " Charles/' who quite forgot to go 
 on the errand of his master, is in the habit of 
 forgetting to go on his own errands ; if the same 
 " William," who quite forgot to take the letter to 
 the post, is in the habit of forgetting to post his 
 own letters ; and if the identical " Susan," who 
 quite forgot to go to the shop for the article 
 wanted, is very much accustomed to forget to go 
 shopping herself, when she requires, or thinks she 
 requires, a new cap, or bonnet, or fresh ribands, 
 why then, I shall be quite disposed to admit the 
 plea of a bad memory; but if, on the contrary, 
 they never do forget these things, then am I 
 compelled to ascribe their errors to a defective 
 principle, and not to a defective memory. 
 
 " I quite forgot it." Indeed ! I have no patience 
 with such an idle excuse. Where things which 
 ought to be remembered are forgotten once through 
 a bad memory, they are forgotten half a dozen 
 times for want of a disposition to do to others as 
 we would have them do to us. 
 
 One or two questions would I fain put to those 
 who are in the habit of neglecting a duty, and of 
 apologizing for it with the pitiful excuse, " I quite 
 forgot it." Do you try to remember it? No 
 
92 ON THE COMMON SATING, 
 
 doubt, when a thing has been important to your- 
 selves, to your pleasure, or your profit, you have, 
 before now, made a memorandum of it ; or asked 
 those around you to remind you of it. You have 
 tied a knot in your pocket-handkerchief, or fastened 
 a riband round your wrist, or a thread round 
 your finger ; and resorted to other contrivances to 
 assist your memory. Now, are you in the habit 
 of doing the same things to assist you in the 
 discharge of those duties which you so frequently 
 quite forget. Be honest to yourselves in replying 
 to these questions. 
 
 My readers must remember that this hack- 
 neyed phrase, " I quite forgot it," is not confined 
 to any class of people or grade of life. The child 
 and the parent, the husband and the wife, the 
 master and the man, the mistress and the maid, 
 where conscience is not lively, and where prin- 
 ciple sleeps, are too much accustomed to bring it 
 into daily use. 
 
 I knew a kind-hearted husband whose services, 
 he being in a public situation, were required to be 
 rendered with great exactness in regard to time, 
 so that it was absolutely necessary to his comfort 
 and peace that his meals should be prepared with 
 great punctuality. His wife knew this, and yet it 
 was a rare thing for the good man to sit down to 
 his dinner at the appointed time. His wife was 
 
"l QUITE FORGOT IT." 93 
 
 from home, or very busy, or prevented from at 
 tending to it, or one thing or other, but generally 
 the ready excuse that reached the husband's ears 
 was this, "I quite forgot it." Constant dropping 
 wears away stone, and continued neglect will 
 diminish the truest affection. No wonder that his 
 temper was soured, and his love changed into 
 severity. The good man died, leaving his widow, 
 among other things, the unwelcome remembrance 
 that for years, by a culpable inattention to his 
 comfort, she had robbed him of his peace, and 
 filled up his cup of bitterness to the brim. 
 
 I knew a son, who, when at a distance from an 
 afflicted mother, always forgot to write to her, 
 when a letter would have given her comfort, and 
 always remembered to write when he wished her 
 to supply him with the means of extravagance. 
 Was this, think you, a proof of a bad memory, or 
 of a bad heart ? 
 
 But I need not multiply instances to prove 
 that the common-place saying, "I quite forgot 
 it," is, in general, nothing more than the poor, 
 thin, flimsy, transparent veil with which we try 
 to hide our neglect of duty ; and that whether 
 we are, or are not, we ought to be, altogether 
 ashamed of it. If we forget either what we owe 
 to our heavenly Father, for the yearly, daily, 
 and hourly manifestations of his goodness, or 
 
94 ON THE SAYING, " I QUITE FORGOT IT." 
 
 what is due to our fellow beings of all classes 
 around us, a time is coming when we shall 
 have too much cause to remember it. Let, then, 
 fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, masters 
 and men, mistresses and maids, with old Humphrey 
 and all his readers, looking upwards for help, 
 determine together, from this time henceforward, 
 to have nothing at all to do with the sentence, 
 " I quite forgot it ;" not doubting that this resolve 
 will improve our memory, our integrity, our 
 affection, and our peace. 
 
ON THE 
 JFOOTMAKKS IN THE SLOUGH, 
 
 IF I were to give an account of half the scrapes 
 that I get into, many a hearty laugh would be 
 indulged in at my expense. An old man appears 
 absolutely ridiculous, in many situations, wherein 
 a young one would hardly excite attention. The 
 other day, in attempting to go the nearest road to 
 a cottage, I got so completely set in a clayey 
 slough, that I could not, for a season, stir back- 
 wards or forwards. There I stood, waving my 
 hand in the air, to keep my balance, my right 
 foot bedded up to my ankle in the clinging clay ; 
 while the other was only uplifted for a moment, 
 afterwards to plunge to a deeper depth. Down 
 went my foot, and up squirted the muddy water 
 over my clean lambs' -wool stockings, as unerringly 
 as if a well-aimed squib had been purposely 
 directed against my legs. I certainly did cut a 
 most deplorable figure. 
 
 It is well for me that, in such circumstances, I 
 
96 OX THE FOOTMARKS 
 
 can generally extract amusement from my cala 
 mity ; and, what is yet better, the merriment of 
 my heart is frequently followed by a profitable 
 reflection ; it was thus with me in the case 
 alluded to. Most likely I should have backed 
 out of the bog, and given up my visit to the 
 cottage, had not some footmarks, in the clayey 
 slough, caught my attention ; these plainly told 
 me, that, bad as the place was, travellers had found 
 their way through it. I took courage at the 
 thought. " There are ' footmarks in the slough,' " 
 said I ; " somebody has been here before me." 
 
 Christian reader, if thou art in the right way to 
 heaven, it is likely enough that thou art passing 
 through " much tribulation ;" now look well at thy 
 condition, however sad it may appear, and see if 
 thou canst not take comfort that there are " foot- 
 marks in the slough." 
 
 Is thine a trying condition ? Art thou knocking 
 at mercy's gate to obtain forgiveness of sins, and 
 the hope of everlasting life, and does it not yet 
 appear to be opened ? Thine is a sorrowful 
 condition, but keep up thy courage. There are 
 " footmarks in the slough," ay, in the very slough 
 in which thy feet are sticking. The Canaanitish 
 woman passed along the same way, and was as 
 fast set, for a time, as thou art ; but mark how 
 gloriously she came out of it. " woman, great 
 
IN THE SLOUGH. 97 
 
 is thy faith : be it unto thee even as thou wilt !" 
 Matt. xv. 28. 
 
 Art thou in a tempted condition, urged on by a 
 vigilant enemy to commit sin ? There are " foot- 
 marks in the slough." Mark well how Joseph 
 escaped out of this place ; keep close to his foot- 
 steps, and thou shalt escape too. " How can I 
 do this great wickedness, and sin against God?" 
 Gen. xxxix. 9. 
 
 Art thou in a backsliding condition, ready to 
 give up all, because thou hast departed from the 
 right way ? There are " footmarks in the slough." 
 Royal footmarks are before thee ; the man after 
 God's own heart came here, and bitter were his 
 lamentations ; yet he recovered his footing, and 
 was restored unto favour : for "if we confess our 
 sins," God "is faithful and just to forgive us our 
 sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness," 
 1 John i. 9. 
 
 Art thou in a rebellious condition? Is thy 
 heart cavilling with, and replying to the Lord, 
 under the mysterious dispensations of his provi- 
 dence ? There are " footmarks in the slough." 
 Jonah floundered here till he got weary of his 
 life, and thought that he did " well to be angry," 
 even unto death. Humble thyself under the 
 mighty hand of God ; and the Lord who spared 
 Nineveh and Jonah, also, will deal as gently with 
 
98 ON THE FOOTMARKS 
 
 thee ; for " he is gracious and merciful, slow to 
 anger, and of great kindness," Neh. ix. 17. 
 
 Art thou in a benighted condition ? Hast thou 
 no light to see the road before thee? Have 
 neither sun, moon, nor stars appeared for many 
 days? There are "footmarks in the slough." 
 Behold the footmarks of the patriarch Abram, 
 who travelled here ; when called by God to go 
 forth out of his country, and he journeyed, " not 
 knowing whither he went!" Notwithstanding the 
 horror of great darkness that fell upon him in this 
 place, " to the land of Canaan he went forth, and 
 to the land of Canaan he came." " Who is among 
 you that feareth the Lord, that walketh in dark- 
 ness, and hath no light ? let him trust in the name 
 of the Lord, and stay upon his God," Isa. 1. 10. 
 
 Art thou in a persecuted and despised con- 
 dition, suffering shame and reproach for thy 
 Leader and Lord ? There are " footmarks in the 
 slough." 1 should marvel if thou couldest tell 
 nie of a saint on earth, or in heaven, who has 
 altogether escaped this place. Nay ! Moses even 
 turned out of a smooth path to wade through this 
 quagmire, preferring it to the pleasant paths and 
 broad high roads of the land of Egypt. Here are 
 the crimson footprints of those who suffered even 
 to the death ; " not accepting deliverance, that 
 they might obtain a better resurrection." It was 
 
IN THE SLOtrGH. 99 
 
 in this spot that John the Baptist was beheaded. 
 Here Paul was stoned, and left for dead. Here 
 Stephen cried out, "Lord Jesus, receive my 
 spirit." The noble army of martyrs perished 
 here ; and I cannot promise thee a clear escape 
 from it, any more than thy brethren ; but I know 
 that he will never leave thee, nor forsake thee, 
 who has said, " Be thou faithful unto death, and 
 I will give thee a crown of life," Rev. ii. 10. 
 
 Art thou in a suffering condition, afflicted in 
 mind, body, and estate ; eating thy bread in 
 bitterness, watering thy couch with tears ? There 
 are "footmarks in the slough." Observe how 
 deep Job sank in this place, yet he came out 
 again, and found a better road than he had ever 
 known before. "Our light affliction, which is 
 but for a moment, worketh for us a far more ex- 
 ceeding and eternal weight of glory," 2 Cor. iv. 1 7- 
 
 Art thou in a desolate condition ? Alone, desti- 
 tute, forsaken? Is "lover and friend put far 
 from thee, and thine acquaintance into dark- 
 ness?" There are "footmarks in the slough." 
 Hagar and Elijah laid themselves down in despair 
 in this place ; but God appeared for them when 
 they cried to him. " Can a woman forget her 
 sucking child, that she should not have compas- 
 sion on the son of her womb ? yea, they may for- 
 get, yet will I not forget thee," Isa. xlix. 15. 
 
100 ON THE FOOTMARKS IN THE SLOUGH. 
 
 Art thou in a desponding condition, and dost 
 thou envy the ungodly ? Art thou ready to faint 
 in the furnace, and cry, It goes well with the 
 wicked ? There are " footmarks in the slough." 
 David's foot "had well nigh slipped" here. Good 
 old Jacob was tried hard here, and began to think 
 his grey hairs would go down in sorrow to the 
 grave. " All these things," said he, " are against 
 me." But he had good reason to alter his mind 
 after that, and see things in a very different light. 
 "Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and 
 lean not unto thine own understanding. In all 
 thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct 
 thy paths," Prov. iii. 5, 6. 
 
 Art thou in a dying condition ? There are " foot- 
 marks in the slough " footmarks in the dark val- 
 ley ! Thousands, who cried out in this place that 
 they should sink to rise no more, are now casting 
 their crowns before the throne of God, and sing- 
 ing everlasting praises to the Redeemer, who 
 lifted them out of the terrors of death, and gave 
 them victory over the grave. 
 
 Take courage, then, Christian reader, and be 
 assured, there shall no temptation befall thee, 
 but such as is common to man. However sad 
 thy condition, somebody has been in it before 
 thee. There are " footmarks in the slough." 
 
OLD HUMPHEEY 
 OUT OF HIS DEPTH, 
 
 IN my time I have been a bold swimmer, strik- 
 ing out fearlessly in the pond, brook, or river, as 
 the case might be. I have plunged headlong 
 from the high bank, bottomed the deepest part of 
 the water, remained long beneath the surface, and 
 re-appeared far from the point where I took my 
 leap. I have played most of the pranks that good 
 swimmers delight in ; and once on a summer's 
 day not willingly would I part with the grateful 
 remembrance of the achievement I fished up 
 from the bottom of the troubled waters a drown- 
 ing fellow-creature, and was thus made a means 
 in the hands of God of saving human life. 
 
 You may think, perhaps, and I fear with too 
 much reason, that I am speaking proudly. Oh, 
 the pride and the folly of an old man's heart ! 
 Every year, every day, and I had almost said 
 every hour, do I increasingly feel how much the 
 good opinion of my friends is owing to their own 
 kind-heartedness, and to their ignorance of my 
 manifold infirmities : but to my subject. Once, 
 K 2 
 
102 OLD HUMPHKEY OUT OF HIS DEPTH. 
 
 before I could swim, I got out of my depth, and 
 had not timely assistance been at hand, the ob- 
 servations I am now making had never been writ- 
 ten down. It was in the deep water that I got 
 out of my depth in the case to which I have 
 alluded, but often and often, since then, have I 
 got out of my depth in very different situations. 
 
 There is much diffidence necessary in the 
 thought, word, and deed of a man when thinking, 
 speaking, or acting under circumstances that are 
 new to him. He who has never pondered on the 
 subject of the poor laws, should not be severe on 
 the conclusions of those who have. He who has 
 never been at sea should be a little chary of his 
 nautical terms ; and the man who is not accus- 
 tomed to the whip and the reins had better not 
 attempt to drive four in hand in Cheapside. 
 
 Now, though these observations are very rea- 
 sonable, and of a kind calculated to impress the 
 reader of them in favour of the wisdom, of the 
 writer : yet, with shame I confess that I am not 
 entitled to unconditional confidence. In other 
 words, it by no means follows that, because I can 
 lay down an excellent rule for another, I always 
 rigidly observe it myself. 
 
 Though usually on my guard against the as- 
 sumption of knowing that of which I am ignorant, 
 and always desirous to keep my standing in 
 
OLD HUMPHREY OUT OF HIS DEPTH. 103 
 
 a creditable manner, yet it has, occasionally, 
 happened that I have ventured out of my depth in 
 troubled waters, and been taken off my legs. It 
 may be that you may laugh if I give you an illus- 
 tration, but that will not hinder me from pursuing 
 my design. 
 
 Some time ago, in conversation with a stranger, 
 I made some remarks on the currency, one of the 
 many subjects on which I am profoundly ignorant. 
 The stranger appeared to assent to my observation, 
 and led me onwards very amicably, gradually 
 growing deeper and deeper in his remarks, till 
 my situation became very critical. Willingly 
 would I have drawn back, but this he would by no 
 means allow ; on he dragged and pushed me, 
 whether I would or not, till he got me quite out 
 of my depth, and then gave me as complete a 
 ducking as ever I had in my life. The man un- 
 derstood the subject thoroughly: he was altogether 
 master of it, and showed me no mercy. When, at 
 last, I succeeded in getting out of his clutches 
 and this I did not do very easily I made up my 
 mind either to obtain a little more knowledge on 
 the subject, or never again to converse on the 
 currency* Have you ever met with anything like 
 this in your own experience ? If you have, hardly 
 need I say, Keep within your depth ! my friends, 
 keep within your depth ! 
 
104 OLD HUMPHREY OUT OF HIS DEPTH. 
 
 On another occasion and I rather think that 
 I have somewhere adverted to the circumstance 
 before when in company with one who looked 
 like a farmer, I rated my own powers of conversa- 
 tion rather too high and his somewhat too low, so 
 much so, that it was with great unwillingness I 
 entered into conversation with one to whom I 
 thought I could impart so much, and from whom 
 I expected to derive so little. True it is, that the 
 farmer-like man began with pigs and barley-flour, 
 turnips and the price of grain, but he did not end 
 there. On he went, taking me with him, talking 
 of the produce of the land, of population, of mining 
 operations, of human labour, of machinery, of the 
 resources of the country, of exports and imports, 
 of political economy and government, till I was 
 not only out of my depth, but absolutely over 
 head and ears in trouble. Why, the man was 
 one of our great capitalists, and was on his way 
 to the members of the privy council, with his 
 papers in his pocket. I could have hid my face 
 in my hat. If I was proud when we began to 
 talk, I was humble enough when we left off. 
 What he thought of me I know not, but I well 
 know that I thought myself to be a great simpleton. 
 A little humility is better than a great deal of 
 pride . 
 
 There are, however, graver subjects than these, 
 
OLD HUMPHREY OUT OF HIS DEPTH. 105 
 
 on which I sometimes foolishly ponder subjects 
 that are too deep for me to comprehend. Only 
 an hour ago, I was thinking of sin and sorrow, 
 and wondered that both should so much abound 
 in a world created and peopled by One infinitely 
 wise, and good, and holy. The murdering Cains, 
 the betraying Judases, the hard-hearted Pharaohs, 
 the haughty Belshazzars, the deceitful Delilahs 
 came before me, with all the evil inclinations of 
 my own sinful heart. There came, too, the 
 afflicted Jobs, the bereaved Rachels, the mourn- 
 ing Jeremiahs, the deaf #nd dumb, the blind 
 and the lame, with all the bodily pains and 
 mental agonies of those who consume the night 
 with their groaning, and water their couch with 
 their tears. I thought I pondered in vain. I 
 was out of my depth, and could not comprehend 
 the mystery that engaged my reflections. The 
 subject was too deep for me ; it absolutely over- 
 whelmed me. "Be thankful for thy mercies," 
 said I, giving up the point, "and leave the 
 miseries of mankind to Him whose ' way is in 
 the sea,' whose c path is in the great waters/ and 
 whose c footsteps are not known.' Fear him, 
 love him, obey him, and glorify him ; and what 
 thou knowest not now, haply, thou mayest know 
 hereafter." 
 
 Often and often do I get out of my depth, 
 
106 OLD HUMPHREY OUT OF HIS DEPTH. 
 
 when reflecting on the evils that abound. I allude 
 not here to sin, nor to the sorrow that springs 
 obviously from sin, but to such evils as the 
 plague, the famine, the wild tornado, the devas- 
 tating torrent, the devouring flood, and the ex- 
 terminating volcano. The crooked-billed eagle 
 tearing the lamb, the lion rending the antelope, 
 and the scaly monsters of the deep preying on 
 their kind, are mysteries that I cannot unravel. 
 You tell me that man's transgression has occa- 
 sioned them, and that the Most High overrules 
 them for good. I hear you, but you make the 
 matter no plainer. Mysteries they are, and mys- 
 teries they are meant to be ; intended, no doubt, 
 among other designs of Him who does all things 
 well, to baffle the wisdom and to humble the 
 pride of his creatures. I am out of my depth 
 when I think of these things, and am glad to 
 exclaim, " Oh the depth of the riches both of the 
 wisdom and knowledge of God ! how unsearch- 
 able are his judgments, and his ways past finding 
 out !" Rom. xi. 33. And hence, also, I learn a 
 lesson of humble adoration : " For of him, and 
 through him, and to him, are all things : to whom 
 be glory for ever. Amen." Rom. xi. 36. 
 
 I have, at times, lost myself in thinking of the 
 Almighty Creator and Preserver of mankind, and 
 have been reproved by the solemn inquiry : 
 
OLD HUMPHREY OUT OF HIS DEPTH. 107 
 
 " Canst thou by searching find out God ? Canst 
 thou find out the Almighty unto perfection ?" 
 Job xi. 7. I have been, too, sadly out of my depth 
 in thinking on eternity, on the unnumbered orbs 
 of heaven, and on God's intelligent creatures, 
 as well as on the myriads of animals, the myriads 
 and myriads of the finny and the feathered race, 
 and the myriads and myriads and myriads of the 
 insect world ; living, eating, acting, enjoying, and 
 suffering ; all made by one Almighty Being, infi- 
 nite and incomprehensible ! How wise it is to 
 keep within our depth ! Oh that I could be 
 more simple-minded on such subjects ! Oh that 
 I could with truth say, " Lord, my heart is not 
 haughty, nor mine eyes lofty ; neither do I exer- 
 cise myself in great matters, or in things too 
 high for me," Ps. cxxxi. 1 . 
 
 I might allude to many other subjects, but 
 there is one on which I love to find myself out of 
 my depth the inimitable love, and mercy, and 
 goodness of God. " For God so loved the world, 
 that he gave his only-begotten Son, that whoso- 
 ever believeth in him should not perish, but have 
 everlasting life," John iii. 16. If, like me, you 
 are given to speculate on things that you cannot 
 comprehend, here is a subject that will suit us 
 both, for it is altogether unfathomable. Here 
 may we be bewildered without injury, nay, get 
 
108 OLD HUMPHREY OUT OF HIS DEPTH. 
 
 out of our depth and lose ourselves with ad- 
 vantage. May this subject, then, be more fre- 
 quently in your minds, and increasingly occupy 
 the heart, the intellect, and affections of Old 
 Humphrey ! 
 
ON PECULIARITIES AND 
 PREDILECTIONS, 
 
 WHAT a strange and unaccountable creature is 
 man in his predilections and prejudices : now 
 voluntarily pursuing real drudgery as a pastime ; 
 and now shrinking beneath a light visitation, as 
 though the weight of the world were on his 
 shoulders ! 
 
 I am fond of noticing the different tastes that 
 men manifest in their hours of leisure ; for these 
 are often, as much opposed as they well can be 
 to the business and profession they follow. You 
 have observed this, no doubt, as well as I have. 
 
 I have known a banker, well versed in the 
 mystery of angling, making his own rods, plat- 
 ting his own lines, forming his own floats and 
 artificial flies, and sitting, hour after hour, for 
 the luxury of a "bite" or a "nibble" from the 
 fish in his own brook or pond ; a baker, manifest- 
 ing a strong taste for architecture, rivalling and 
 surpassing educated architects in the style and 
 L 
 
110 ON PECULIARITIES AND PREDILECTIONS. 
 
 beauty of its pillars, pilasters, and pediments, his 
 entablatures, cornices, and capitals ; a builder, 
 fond of black-letter books, seeking with avidity for 
 illuminated missals, and bidding almost any price 
 for a real Caxton ; a barrister, an industrious 
 collector of insects, running after yellow moths, 
 pursuing, helter-skelter, the green dragon-fly, 
 and lying in wait by the hour, with flapper in 
 hand, to surprise an emperor of Morocco ; 
 a mercer, leaving his silks and his satins to 
 cultivate land, dressing himself in coarse clothes 
 and thick-soled shoes, introducing patent drills 
 and improved clod-crushers, and changing the 
 "Times" newspaper for the "Farmers' Jour- 
 nal;" a grocer, deeply skilled in horse flesh, 
 colts, aged and three-years-old, bay mares and 
 grey geldings, and knowing how to treat them 
 for the grease and the glanders, the poll-evil, 
 the spavin, and the staggers ; a cutler, pro- 
 foundly versed in botany, quite at home among 
 monandria, diandria, triandria and all other classes, 
 and monogynia, digynia, trigynia and all other 
 orders, discoursing freely on calyxes, corallas, 
 stamens, pistils, pericarps and receptacles ; and 
 a brass founder, indulging in his love of paint- 
 ings, always visiting picture galleries, attending 
 public auctions, rummaging in brokers' shops, 
 and ever on the eve of buying or selling a Van- 
 
ON PECULIARITIES AND PREDILECTIONS. Ill- 
 
 dyke, aPoussin, aCuyp, aWilkie, a Landseer, or 
 a Turner. 
 
 The same thing may be observed of men in 
 conversation. Affected by some influential cir- 
 cumstance, they show what is uppermost in the 
 mind : thus, one who has lately attended a lec- 
 ture on mesmerism, indulges his friends very 
 liberally with his notions of manipulations, som- 
 nolency, somnambulism, and clairvoyance. A 
 second, a warm supporter of "singing for the 
 million," has his mouth full of crotchets and 
 quavers, Exeter Hall, harmony, Handel, and 
 Hullah. While another, whose son has been a 
 lieutenant in the Chinese expedition, can talk of 
 nothing but the taking of Chin-kiang-foo, the 
 twenty-one millions of dollars paid to the British, 
 and the five free-trade ports of Canton, Amoy, 
 Foo-chow-foo, Ningpo, and Shang-hae. 
 
 These remarks will, very likely, set you think- 
 ing of your own peculiarities ; but however that 
 may be, I have alluded to them, in some degree, 
 as an introduction to my own. Many are my odd 
 whims and fancies ; but perhaps I have a stronger 
 predilection, in my leisure hours, to walk abroad 
 and observe persons and things than for any 
 other pursuit. I notice the countenances of those 
 I meet, ponder their actions, and pick up their 
 passing remarks. 
 
112 ON PECULIARITIES AND PREDILECTIONS. 
 
 If I go near a seed shop, where flowers and 
 plants are exhibited in the window, I am sure to 
 step aside to admire them, repeating, perhaps, to 
 myself, as I depart, " What gifts are these of the 
 goodness of our heavenly Father ? ' If God so 
 clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and 
 to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much 
 more clothe you, O ye of little faith ?' " Matt. vi. 
 30. If I see a sparrow, from the house-top, 
 wing his way to the court-yard below, I marvel 
 at the ease and lightness with which he does that 
 which man cannot perform. " The sparrow is a 
 common bird," I say to myself, " but what a 
 gift has God given him in those fluttering wings 
 that bear him through the yielding air ;" and 
 then comes the text, " Are not two sparrows 
 sold for a farthing? and one of them shall 
 not fall on the ground without your Father. 
 But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. 
 Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than 
 many sparrows," Matt. x. 29 31. In this 
 manner, trifles afford me pleasure, so that, 
 oftentimes, in the course of a single day, my 
 gratification is not only abundant, but also, of 
 a very varied character. 
 
 As I walked out yesterday, a heavily laden 
 porter went past me with a load on his head and 
 shoulders, which seemed better suited for a camel 
 
ON PECULJAK1TIES AND PREDILECTIONS. 113 
 
 than for a man. As I walked behind him, I ad- 
 rnired the sturdiness and steadiness with which 
 he carried his load. His body and limbs were 
 clothed with strength, and he, apparently, made 
 light of that which would have overwhelmed me. 
 " I hope," said I, whispering to myself, " he is 
 grateful to his Maker. Why, in the property of 
 bodily strength, this man is worth half a dozen 
 Old Humphreys." 
 
 An ox, of a most gigantic size, was being driven 
 slowly along the road : from his huge limbs and 
 prodigious bulk, I suspected that the enormous 
 animal had come from the cattle show. So broad 
 and level was the creature's back, that a boy 
 might, almost, have played at ring-taw upon it. 
 Two streams of hot breath rushed from his 
 nostrils, and the care with which he picked the 
 softest part of the road told me that he was foot- 
 sore. At times he looked sullen, and glared 
 around, as if half disposed to make a run at a 
 passenger ; but this was out of the question, for 
 he was not formed for running, being, as it were, 
 anchored to the ground by his own weight. With 
 a fair start I could have beaten the uiiwieldly 
 brute myself at that exercise. While marvelling 
 for a moment at, to me, the unsightly mass of 
 living flesh, I observed a butcher gazing on the 
 bulky beast with evident admiration. " Oh," 
 
 L2 
 
114 ON PECULIARITIES AND PREDILECTIONS. 
 
 thought I, " we have all our predilections, and a 
 butcher is as much entitled to gratification as I 
 am. While other objects are affording me satis- 
 faction, many a better man, perhaps, in the shape 
 of an honest farmer, is reaping as large a harvest 
 of pleasure from the sight of a Durham ox, a 
 Herefordshire heifer, a Leicestershire sheep, or a 
 Northamptonshire prize pig." 
 
 In the afternoon of yesterday, a blind man came 
 towards me, as I walked along the street, and I 
 could not but remark, what indeed I have often 
 observed, that strange union of boldness and fear 
 visible in the face of the blind. A blind man seems 
 to set his face as a flint against danger, and yet 
 carries his head in a position to start back in- 
 stantly, should he come in unpleasant contact 
 with person or thing. He makes manifest an 
 equal desire and ability to go on and to draw 
 back, as circumstances may require. It is not 
 improbable that you have observed the same 
 thing. Habit gives him courage to advance, and 
 experience points out the necessity of being pre- 
 pared to recede. So long as we are blessed with 
 sight, so long shall we have a proof of God's 
 goodness, that ought continually to call forth 
 sympathy for the afflicted as well as our gratitude 
 and praise. 
 To-day I was in the neighbourhood of Regent's 
 
ON PECULIARITIES AND PREDILECTIONS. 115 
 
 Park, when a young man elegantly dressed, with 
 light kid gloves on his hands, passed on before 
 me, mounted on a spirited grey horse, a noble 
 animal. A glance at the rider would have told 
 one much less accustomed to read humanity than 
 I am, that he had not fallen into the error of 
 estimating himself or his horse too lowly. 
 
 The rider had, evidently, in view two objects 
 somewhat opposed to each other. One was to 
 show off' his steed by making him caper, and the 
 other to sit gracefully and perfectly at ease in the 
 saddle. His dexter hand was placed on his thigh, 
 and with the weaker one he negligently held the 
 white reins, just as he came to a dirty part of the 
 street, where two ladies and a baker's man were 
 passing. Whether it was in consequence of any 
 private prompting, I cannot tell, but, suddenly, 
 the horse made a spring, which fairly unseated 
 the rider, making him fain to lay hold of his 
 horse's neck to keep himself from the ground, 
 and also splashed from head to foot the two ladies 
 and baker's man. While the unfortunate eques- 
 trian was reinstating himself again in his saddle, 
 he had to endure the gibes of the baker's man, 
 who bawled out to him to turn back and beg the 
 ladies' pardon. 
 
 This reminded me of an affair of my own, when 
 I was a younger man than I now am. Being on 
 
116 ON PECULIARITIES AND PREDILECTIONS. 
 
 horseback in the country, I had put myself into 
 an excellent attitude on the approach of an open 
 carriage filled with company, when, very provok- 
 ingly, my steed took fright ; off went my hat, to 
 the diversion of the carriage company, and off, 
 too, went Humphrey in a gallop, in such an un- 
 horsemanlike position that a cavalry corporal 
 would have been ashamed of him. Pride is pride 
 in the town and in the country, and is as un- 
 lovely in the one as in the other. Both Hum- 
 phrey and he of the kid gloves were rightly 
 served. "When pride cometh, then cometh 
 shame : but with the lowly is wisdom," Pro^. 
 xi. 2. 
 
 As I passed on, a child fell down, slipping off 
 the edge of the pavement into the dirt. I made 
 the best of my way to pick up the poor thing out 
 of the mire ; but when had man the readiness of 
 woman in doing a deed of kindness ? Before I 
 had reached the spot, a comfortable, motherly- 
 looking creature, in a plaid shawl, had done what 
 I intended to do, and in a much better manner 
 than I could have performed it. Man may boast 
 of his intellect as much as he will ; but woman 
 goes a-head of him in kind-heartedness and af- 
 fection. "While he rejoices with them that rejoice, 
 she will weep with them that weep. 
 
 On turning the corner of a street into a square, 
 
ON PECULIARITIES AND PREDILECTIONS. 117 
 
 I came upon a man with a barrel-organ, and a fine 
 one it was. He was playing the tune of the old 
 hundredth psalm. " Oh," thought I, repeating the 
 first verse of the psalm, "here is an 'invitation in 
 which we ought all to join. 
 
 4 All people that on earth do dwell, 
 Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice ; 
 Him serve with fear, his praise forth tell, 
 Come ye before him, and rejoice.' " 
 
 It is not necessary to my enjoyment, when I 
 hear music, that it should be performed in an 
 orchestra, and emanate from costly instruments 
 and celebrated performers. Sometimes the song 
 of the lark, and sometimes the lay of the linnet, 
 will set me off at once with melody in my heart, if 
 not on my tongue, to sing a song of thanksgiving. 
 I was just in a mood of the kind when the strains 
 of the barrel-organ reached me , and when I left 
 the square at the opposite angle, I was chanting, 
 in an under tone, the words 
 
 " Ye know the Lord our God is good ; 
 His mercy is for ever sure ; 
 His truth at all times firmly stood, 
 And shall from age to age endure.' 1 
 
ON RACING, 
 
 You will hardly expect, notwithstanding the 
 title of my present paper, to obtain much inform- 
 ation from me about Ascot, Epsom, or Newmarket. 
 If at present you know but little about the affairs 
 of the "Turf," my remarks are not likely to add 
 much to your slender stock of information. He 
 who has aught of ambition to be classed among 
 " the knowing ones," must qualify himself under 
 a much more able instructor than he would find in 
 Old Humphrey. 
 
 In my youthful days I was swift of foot, and 
 few, of my own age, among my playmates, could 
 pass me in the race. My schoolfellows gave me 
 the name of " Greyhound " for my speed, and 
 that of "Squirrel" for my skill in climbing. It 
 is not, however, to boast of my victories, but 
 rather to acknowledge my defeats, that I have 
 now taken up my pen. 
 
 I do not remember to have enumerated, in the 
 long list of my infirmities, the error of putting of 
 to the last moment necessary duties, and yet this 
 
ON RACING. 119 
 
 is an error which, to my shame be it spoken, has 
 subjected me to much inconvenience. Often and 
 often do I delay till the morrow, what should be 
 done to-day; and continually do I find myself 
 engaged in fanciful projects referring to future 
 times, when I ought to be occupied in those 
 things which demand immediate attention. 
 
 To speak in the mildest language, it is unwise 
 not to secure those objects which have the first 
 claim upon us, and equally so to defer to the last 
 moment a duty that must needs be performed. 
 He who allows himself but five minutes to put a 
 letter in the post, merely because he can walk the 
 distance in the time, is inconvenienced by the loss 
 of a moment he is all hurry, turbulence, and 
 confusion, and is very likely, by some unexpected 
 hindrance, to be too late ; whereas, if he allows 
 himself ten minutes, he runs no risk, but se- 
 cures his object with ease, tranquillity, and good 
 humour. 
 
 Continually am I racing against old father 
 Time, and continually is the stalworth old boy too 
 much for me ; he is too long in the stride, excel- 
 lent in his breath and then, look at his huge, 
 long wings ! As for stopping a moment, he never 
 thinks of it. On he goes, turning aside for no- 
 thing, making way at a fearful rate, never look- 
 ing behind him, and keeping up the same pace 
 
120 ON RACING. 
 
 to the end of his course. Somehow or other 
 he always gets the start ; and though, now and 
 then, I come up with him, I never can pass him. 
 With all these advantages he adds another he 
 tries me hard at the beginning of the race, whereas 
 I am too apt to depend on beating him at the 
 last push. Again I say, Old Hourglass is too 
 much for me. 
 
 Many a hard turn have I had with Time ; but 
 whether it has been up hill or down, for a short 
 distance or a long one, on horseback or on foot, by 
 land or by water, he has always been more than a 
 match for me. As often as he has beaten me, so 
 often have I laid down some new plan to beat him 
 the next time, but I might just as well run a race 
 with the wind. One would think, when looking 
 at his picture, and judging from his aged brow 
 and ancient figure, that, of necessity, he was grow- 
 ing a little infirm, but no, not he ! he has the 
 constitution of a horse ; had he a frame of cast 
 iron and sinews of wire, I question if they would 
 wear half so well as his own. 
 
 One of my manifold races with old Time was 
 on a late occasion ; the affair was not much to my 
 credit, but, at all hazards, you shall be made ac- 
 quainted with the matter. I had to breakfast 
 with a friend at eight o'clock, and had rather 
 committed myself than otherwise by intimating, 
 
ON RACING. 121 
 
 that as the clock struck, my shadow would be 
 tolerably sure, to darken his doorway. My friend 
 was no lie-a-bed, but, on the contrary, an early 
 riser, and accustomed, unfortunately for me, to be 
 punctual at his meals. 
 
 It was a glorious summer morning, and I was 
 up by times, so that, after attending to many 
 things, by half-past seven, or a little more, 
 shaven and shorn, and habited in my best black 
 coat, I was ready to start in the direction of the 
 dwelling-house to which I was invited. My 
 watch I knew, or thought that I knew, was a 
 quarter too fast : this allowed me almost three 
 quarters of an hour for the performance of my 
 walk. 
 
 The sun was blazing in the east as I closed the 
 door after me, and stepped on at a nimble pace, 
 well knowing that, though I had time enough for 
 my purpose, I had not a minute to spare. Un- 
 luckily I had forgotten a paper, which required me 
 to return, and this occasioned me no small incon- 
 venience, for papers on which you can lay your 
 hand at once, in a season of leisure, are often diffi- 
 cult to be found in a moment of haste. Full ten 
 minutes were lost by this untoward occurrence. 
 
 Resolutely bent on making up for the delay 
 thus occasioned, by increased speed, I walked 
 hastily, and soon came to the church, when, to my 
 
 M 
 
122 ON RACING. 
 
 astonishment and confusion, I found out that my 
 watch, instead of being, as 1 supposed, a quaiter 
 of an hour too fast, was absolutely a quarter of 
 an hour too slow. Here was a pretty piece of 
 business ! A broiling hot day, a distance of a 
 mile and a half good measure before me, break- 
 fast, too, ready at eight precisely ; and the church 
 clock within three minutes of striking What 
 was to be done ? To alter my watch would only 
 hinder me, without mending the matter. With 
 a sort of desperate resolution I hurried on. 
 
 Long before I reached the second church on 
 my road, the clock clamorously announced the 
 hour of eight, every stroke thrilling through my 
 brain and making my back ache. In my imagina- 
 tion I saw my meek-minded friend with his book, 
 by the breakfast-table, now and then turning 
 his eyes to the window. There was the uncut 
 loaf and the fresh butter, and the frizzled bacon 
 and the marmalade pot ; the cocoa was already 
 made, and the tea-chest stood open ; and then 
 rushed upon me the remembrance that, " as the 
 clock struck, my shadow would be tolerably sure 
 to darken the door-way." 
 
 You may smile at this event, and certainly I 
 deserve to be smiled at, and laughed at, too, for 
 my folly ; but had you witnessed my distress, I 
 hope you would rather have pitied than derided 
 
ON KACTNG. 123 
 
 rne. I was about to take a shorter road across 
 some waste ground by the New River, when I 
 caught sight of a board, forbidding any one to 
 trespass on pain of prosecution. Then I met a 
 cab which appeared to be empty, but on pressing 
 forwards eagerly to engage it, I discovered that 
 it was already occupied by two persons : thus, all 
 things seemed against me. Never was the sun 
 so hot, never was the hill so steep, never was the 
 way so long, and never did time run so fast. I 
 blamed my watch and the church clock, and tried 
 hard, but all in vain, to justify myself. On I 
 stumbled, the sun scorching my head, and the 
 loose, hard gravel stones sadly hurting my feet, 
 till, at last, with a red face, and bathed in perspi- 
 ration, I entered the breakfast-room, where sat 
 my forbearing friend, meekly awaiting my arrival, 
 the finger of his Egyptian hieroglyphical time- 
 piece pointing at half-past eight, if not at some- 
 thing more. Thus ended this hard struggle with 
 old father Time as usual, to his advantage. He 
 seems to carry his scythe and his hour-glass 
 without being at all incommoded by them. 
 Incommoded ! Were you to put a pack-saddle 
 on his back, and to load him like a camel, I verily 
 believe that he would run on with quite as light a 
 foot, and as sturdy a stride as ever. 
 
 I once had a match with old Time of a different 
 
124 ON RACING. 
 
 description, for I rode in a post-chaise, leaving my 
 long-winged opponent to get along in the best 
 way he could. We had to run from Southampton 
 to Gosport, a distance of eight, ten, or a dozen 
 miles, I really forget which. My mind was made 
 up to win, but the worst of it was, old Sharp- 
 scythe had made up his mind to win too. You 
 shall have the particulars. 
 
 It happened that I wanted, with two friends, to 
 get on board a steam-boat at Southampton, about 
 to cross the Channel, but, owing to the want of 
 proper information, we allowed the steam-boat to 
 quit the pier, without being aware of her de- 
 parture. As the loss of our passage was a matter 
 of some importance, I at once proposed an attempt 
 to overtake the steamer by galloping to Gosport 
 in a chaise and four ; one of my companions, 
 however, objected to the expense of four horses ; 
 and so, there being no time to debate the matter, 
 we set off in a chaise and pair, a mode of pro- 
 cedure which seemed to me to bring us fully 
 within reach of the sarcastic proverb, "penny 
 wise and pound foolish ;" as, if we lost the race, 
 we should not only lose the hire of the chaise and 
 pair, but be, also, compelled to wait two or three 
 days for another steamer, for steamers were less 
 numerous then than they are now. 
 
 Well, off we set, fast enough in all conscience 
 
ON KACISG. 125 
 
 for our horses, if not fast enough for ourselves. 
 Crack went the whip, round went the wheels, and 
 up and down went the driver in his stirrups, as if 
 determined to earn the reward we had promised 
 him, in the event of his being at Gosport in 
 time. Every effort was made that could be made 
 by a man and two horses, and the result of all 
 was, that we reached Gosport, jumped into a boat 
 with our luggage, and got out half a mile to sea 
 just in time to witness the steam-packet passing 
 by, mocking our efforts with the white foam of 
 its paddle-wheels and the black smoke of its 
 chimney. The race was lost. Had we been 
 running against the steamer merely, another pair 
 of horses might have enabled us to have won ; 
 but as we were running against old father Time, 
 too, I have some doubts whether we should have 
 beaten him, even had we driven as many horses 
 as Royalty drives in her state carriage. Why 
 did we not procure proper information in proper 
 time, and thus avoid expense, anxiety, and dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 But now, having hitherto treated the subject 
 jocosely, let me regard it for a moment in a 
 graver point of view ; I love a little liveliness, 
 but I love also, when I get you in a good humour, 
 to whisper a word or two in your ears, that may 
 sink deep into your hearts. In my foregoing 
 
 M2 
 
126 ON EACING. 
 
 remarks, I have set forth in a somewhat humour, 
 ous way, my own infirmity of not taking " time 
 by the forelock;" or, in other words, of not 
 making that prudent arrangement of time, which 
 would enable me to discharge my several duties 
 without hurry, confusion, and disappointment. 
 How does this matter affect you ? Can you bear 
 to be catechised by old Humphrey ? 
 
 Are you hurrying helter-skelter through your 
 hours, and through your years, running after time 
 with the Quixotic notion of overtaking it ? or are 
 you steadily keeping up with it, doing the year's 
 duties in the year, the day's duties in the day, 
 and the hour's duties in the hour ? Point not 
 your fingers at me, but answer for yourselves. 
 My errors are no excuse for yours. I have not 
 spared myself, nor will I now spare you. 
 
 Remember that " time is the stuff that life is 
 made of," it ought not then to be wasted or 
 misused. Things of value are weighed by small 
 weights, and measured by small measures. 
 Pebble stones are bought by cart-loads, but 
 diamonds by carats. Look at a clock or a watch, 
 and you will find that time is not meted by 
 years, but by hours; not by months, but by 
 moments. Count the grains of sand that tell 
 out an hour in an hour-glass, and it will weary 
 you. Judge by these things of the costliness of 
 
ON BACING. 127 
 
 time, and ask yourselves how you are expending 
 your treasure. 
 
 It is not so much the amount of time we devote 
 to an object, as the proper application of it that 
 insures our success. He who is in time for the 
 coach may perform a journey with ease by mid- 
 day, which he who is a minute too late for it, may 
 toil till midnight in vain to achieve. It is not by 
 rising early and late taking rest, so much as by 
 prudent forethought, arrangement, and regularity, 
 that the daily duties of life are most easily and 
 most satisfactorily discharged. 
 
 To sum up the whole set a proper value on 
 time, by keeping eternity constantly inn view ; de- 
 vote your time to the best objects, apportion it 
 prudently to the effectual discharge of your daily 
 duties, and earnestly seek the Divine blessing on 
 your thoughts, your words, and your deeds ; then 
 shall you avoid the hurry, the confusion, the 
 anxiety, the racings against time the disappoint- 
 ment, and the self-reproach too well known to Old 
 Humphrey. 
 
ON THE PEOPLE WHO PASS, 
 
 WHETHER at home or abroad, in the country 
 or the town, in the highways or byways of the 
 retired village or crowded city, it is to me a source 
 of unceasing interest and pleasure to observe the 
 people who pass. Talk of pictures ! Why the 
 fellow-beings that people our pathways form some 
 of the most interesting pictures in the world, ever 
 new and ever changing ! When you see people 
 in company, or meet them by appointment, they 
 adapt their manners to the occasion ; they are on 
 their guard ; they have a part to perform : but 
 when they pass by, it is otherwise ; they are free 
 from restraint, and they are themselves. Again 
 I say, that the people who pass, form some of the 
 most interesting pictures in the world. 
 
 Whether the passer-by is a rich man or a poor 
 man, a lady in satin or a woman habited in a 
 threadbare cloak, is not of material consequence. 
 Scores that I often meet, though neither remark- 
 able for riches or poverty, are full of character, and 
 I liaye very little doubt that Old Humphrey himself 
 
ON THE PEOPLE WHO PASS. 129 
 
 has points and peculiarities enough about him to 
 attract the attention, and excite the complacent 
 smile of many a passer-by. I love to think so, 
 arid for this reason ; that, when fully persuaded 
 my neighbours are amused at my peculiarities, I 
 feel more at liberty to indulge in a good-humoured 
 smile at theirs. 
 
 For years I have been accustomed to see, at a 
 certain hour, a gentlemanly little man, of the old 
 school, go by, carrying a walking-stick, and 
 wearing an ample waistcoat, with drab-coloured 
 breeches, light stockings, buckles at the knee, and 
 strings in his shoes. He is evidently what is 
 called " well to do in the world ;" for he walks 
 leisurely, and seems always in good humour with 
 himself and all around him. There is no hurry, 
 no bustle, no care visible in his demeanour; he 
 seems to have a contented, affable, and unper- 
 turbed spirit. On he goes, seeing everybody and 
 everything ; now looking at a shop window or a 
 passing vehicle ; now turning round to take a re- 
 trospective glance, apparently measuring with his 
 eye the distance he has walked. The sun may 
 shine, and the shower may fall, but he makes no 
 difference in his clothing. Winter and summer 
 find him the same ; for never yet have I seen a 
 great coat on his back, or a boot on his leg. He- 
 can speak pleasantly to the poorest man he meets, 
 
130 ON THE PEOPLE WHO PASS. 
 
 and yesterday I saw him exchanging, familiarly, 
 a few words with the governor of the Bank of 
 England. I take him to he an upright, respect- 
 able, contented, and worthy man ; and I hope that 
 he is looking heavenward, for it is, indeed, time 
 he should do so, seeing that, like myself, he 
 carries years on his brow. He has my blessing. 
 
 I often meet, in my evening walk, a short, fat, 
 clumsy-looking, ill-favoured man, dressed in a 
 corduroy jacket with huge pockets, a blue apron, 
 white cotton stockings not over clean, and ill-made, 
 high-topped shoes. With a pipe in his mouth, he 
 lounges at a corner, or leans over a gate, seemingly 
 looking out for some one to exchange a word with 
 him. He is the landlord of a small public house, 
 that does, I fancy, very little business. I really 
 do pity the man, for the long hours of his lazy 
 life must hang heavy on his hands. I wonder 
 whether he has a Bible ! One would think it would 
 be the greatest blessing in the world to him. 
 Rather than lead such a life as he does, I would 
 gladly work in a saw-pit, or break stones on the 
 highway. 
 
 Among the passers-by who have attracted my 
 attention, is an old lady in faded mourning, who 
 not only looks hopeless, but seems like one who 
 never had any hope, so wo-begone is the expres- 
 sion in her face. Her eyes appear to be looking 
 
ON THE PEOPLE WHO PASS. 131 
 
 for what she has no expectation of finding. She 
 is evidently walking in the shade, with a heavy 
 heart, and knows not, perhaps, that affliction 
 cometh not forth of the dust, nor trouble of the 
 ground. Mourner as she is, may she be led in 
 her weakness to the Strong for strength, and be 
 taught that God is her " refuge and strength, a 
 very present help in trouble," Psa. xlvi. 1. 
 
 For some years I had noticed, driving by in a 
 phaeton and pair of horses, morning and evening, 
 a portly-looking gentleman, with a broad-brimmed 
 hat, peaked before and behind, and curled up 
 at the sides. He was said to be either a stock- 
 broker or a wholesale dealer in tobacco ; but how 
 that might be, I cannot tell. It happened that in 
 mounting an omnibus I found him sitting beside 
 me, when that appearance of health in his face 
 which had often caught my attention at a distance, 
 assumed, in my eyes, a different character; he 
 was evidently an ailing man. He spoke to me 
 freely of his ill health, and of some matters which 
 had caused him much anxiety. Alas ! in a few 
 days after, he was borne past me in his phaeton, in 
 a dying state, and expired in a few hours. There 
 is, indeed, but a step between us and death ; and 
 happy is he who can say, " I know that my 
 Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the 
 latter day upon the earth : and though after iny 
 
132 ON THE PEOPLE WHO PASS. 
 
 skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall 
 I see God," Job xix. 25, 26. 
 
 Not unfrequently do I see pass by a well-dressed 
 lady, whose cheerful countenance and sunny smile 
 are like a cordial to my heart. Two or three 
 times have I seen her stop to speak to poor 
 people. I have taken it into my head that she 
 must be well known to the sick, the afflicted, and 
 distressed ; and that, by adding to their comforts, 
 - she increases her own. I know her in the distance, 
 feel respect for her as she passes by, and honour 
 her when she is out of sight. 
 
 Two or three times in the course of the week I 
 have been in the habit of meeting a tall, pilgrim- 
 like looking man, of some fifty or sixty years, 
 dressed in well-brushed, dark-blue clothes, his coat 
 having long skirts. His appearance is striking 
 and interesting. His hat is rather broad in the 
 brim, his knees are somewhat wide apart, and he 
 carries in his hand a stick or staff, of the olden 
 fashion, too tall by far for the top to be held in 
 the hand like a common walking-stick : while his 
 dexter grasp secures his staff, his weaker hand 
 carries a blue bag. His fresh colour, healthy ap- 
 pearance, and lightness of foot, betoken temper- 
 ance ; while the intellect and thought visible in 
 his face, bespeak him to be a man of talent and 
 sober reflection. I may be wrong in supposing 
 
ON THE PEOPLE WHO PASS. 133 
 
 him to occupy some place of trust and importance 
 in the city ; but I can hardly err in pronouncing 
 him to be a peculiar and respectable character. 
 Latterly he has excited more than ordinary interest 
 in my heart ; for not only is he clad in deep 
 mourning, with the symbol of sorrow round his 
 hat, but his walk has been slower than before, and 
 his face impressed with a greater degree of serious- 
 ness. Whoever he may be, he has my sympathy. 
 We are both aged, and I hope we are both pilgrims 
 to the city with the golden gates. 
 
 There is another that I have often seen, habited 
 in a light cloak, with an umbrella in his hand, 
 when the heavens, in my judgment, (but I am not 
 over weather-wise,) have had little in them prog- 
 nosticating rain. It may be that he has some 
 cause for carefulness, though he has a good broad 
 back of his own, a round face, and a cheerful 
 expression of countenance. All are not strong who 
 appear so ; and I would that he had a little more 
 colour in his cheeks. He walks with a steady 
 pace, like one whose communings with himself are 
 of a peaceful kind. Now and then he looks up at 
 the clouds so earnestly that I have sometimes 
 thought he was looking beyond them. Some weeks 
 ago, I saw him a little way in the country, and the 
 green trees, the blooming flowers, the rippling 
 brook, and the bees and butterflies, seemed by 
 
 N 
 
134 ON THE PEOPLE WHO PASS, 
 
 turns to engage his attention. Not an aged person 
 passed without his speaking to him, and for 
 every little boy or girl he had a book with a 
 picture in it, and no doubt also some profitable 
 instruction. As I passed by him in the church- 
 yard, I saw some children around him, whom I 
 guessed to be his own Sunday scholars : he was 
 pointing to a little grassy mound, and was teaching 
 them to recite this verse : 
 
 " Putting off till to-morrow, 
 Will lead us to sorrow ; 
 Beginning to-day 
 Is the very best way." 
 
 " Oh," thought I, " if that is the nature of your 
 communications, ' Peace be with you ; I wish you 
 success in the name of the Lord.' J; 
 
 Among those who pass by of an objectionable 
 character, I notice a tall thin man, dressed in 
 shabby black clothes. He has some claim to 
 superior manners, but poverty and bad habits have 
 set their mark upon him, not only soiling and 
 destroying his dress, but also branding his brow. 
 The first time I saw him, he affected to mistake 
 me for a certain member of parliament: then 
 came his ready tale of distress, followed by an 
 appeal to my pocket. This appeal I responded 
 to. Surely it was worth a trifle to be regarded as 
 
ON THE PEOPLE WHO PASS. 135 
 
 an M.P. ! The next time we met, he repeated 
 his flattering mistake, and again I was accosted by 
 him as a member of the legislature. The third 
 time I saw him, he was in the very act of playing 
 off the same prank on another, and thus I became 
 better acquainted with his daily avocation. " Oh, 
 oh !" thought I, " if everybody can be made a 
 Member of Parliament at th6 rate of a shilling a 
 head, I will be an M.P. no longer!" I often see 
 him prowling about in the city, gaunt, seem- 
 ingly hungry, and keen as a sportsman after his 
 game. What a sad compact is that formed by 
 poverty and deceit ! 
 
 I might give you fifty other specimens, but, for 
 the present, let the few that I have enumerated 
 suffice. Once more, I say, that the people who 
 pass, form one of the most interesting pictures in 
 the world. 
 
OLD' HUMPHREY 
 
 TRIES HIS HAND 
 
 AS A PAINTER, 
 
 SAY not that I cannot paint a picture ; tell me 
 not that I cannot sketch from the life ; for the 
 yearning desire struggling within me, persuades 
 me to the contrary. What, if a man has never 
 practised as a limner does that unfit him to be 
 nature's draughtsman? Must he, as a matter of 
 course, sketch plaster models and marble statues, 
 stroll about the fields with his portfolio, under- 
 stand proportion and perspective, possess a just 
 perception of grace and beauty, and be at home 
 in all the arts of invention, composition, and 
 colouring ? Must he, I say, as a thing of necessity, 
 study at the Royal Academy, visit Italy, become 
 learned in the Italian, the Dutch, the German, 
 the Flemish, and the French schools, and have 
 always at the tip of his tongue the names of 
 Michael Angelo, Raphael, and Guido ; Albert 
 Durer, Holbein, and Kneller ; Rembrandt, Ge- 
 rard Dow, and Wouvermans ; Rubens, Teniers, 
 
OLD HUMPHREY AS A PAINTEK. 137 
 
 and Vandyke ; Claude, Poussin, and Le Brun ; 
 must he be as familiar with these things as with 
 his old gloves, before he can sketch a faithful 
 portrait from life ? No ; for though, without 
 this knowledge, he might fail with his pencil and 
 colour, he yet might succeed with his pen. 
 
 If the artist can more vividly represent a 
 motionless form, a momentary feeling, and a 
 changeless scene, the writer has an advantage in 
 depicting the altering actions of the body, and in 
 portraying the ever-variable transitions of the 
 mind ; what the pen can effect in one sketch, 
 the pencil would require twenty to perform. I 
 have been arrested by the wonder-working power 
 of the artist ; but the writer, too, can dash in 
 lights and shadows, truthful expressions and vivid 
 colourings, that are seen less by the eye, than 
 they are felt by the heart : the pen, then, and not 
 the pencil, must be the implement in the hand 
 of Old Humphrey. 
 
 Not easy is it, faithfully and effectively, to paint 
 human nature. Its very variety would present 
 enough of difficulty, but, independent of this, 
 it is ever striving to appear other ." than it is ; 
 deceit wears a mask, hypocrisy walks in disguise, 
 affectation expresses what it does not feel, modesty 
 retires from view, virtue hides her acts from the 
 public gaze; so that the forms and features of 
 N 2 
 
138 OLD HUMPHREY TKIES 
 
 humanity, far from possessing a fixed and in- 
 telligible shape, are flitting and changing with 
 the changing hour. If, then, he who would draw 
 truthfully the portrait of human nature, had not 
 a heart possessing the germs of good and evil to 
 consult, and reflection and experience to lend him 
 a helping hand, and if he did not see, hear, 
 compare, reason, and carefully record, his sketch 
 would be false in its proportions, and his picture 
 prove a worthless caricature. But to my purpose. 
 Humanity is before me, and my pen is ready in 
 my hand. 
 
 Look at the blue-eyed babe, nestling in his 
 mother's bosom, the easiest of all cradles. There 
 is a smile on his dimpled cheek, and a peaceful 
 joy spread over his rosy features. His tiny hand 
 is lifted to the lips of his fond parent, who is 
 chanting a silly song, and his infantile ears drink 
 in, at the same moment, the soothing sounds of 
 affection and folly. 
 
 His days roll on, and his mother, his guide, 
 leads him astray, bribing and deceiving him into 
 obedience, promising what she intends not to 
 perform, threatening what she never means to 
 inflict. His first plaything is an unmeaning rattle, 
 for using which, by-and-by, he will be chidden ; 
 and his second a whip, that teaches him cruelty 
 in his earliest years. 
 
HIS HAND AS A PAINTER. 139 
 
 He puts on pride with his new-buttoned clothes, 
 he pursues, unreproved, the fluttering butterfly, 
 and, unconscious of his growing inhumanity, 
 crushes, in his childish grasp, the painted crea- 
 ture that God has made to beautify creation. 
 The worm is impaled on the crooked pin by his 
 childish hand, and he gazes on the gasping min- 
 now without pity, while it leaps on the grass in 
 agony. Growing older, and hardier, and bolder, 
 he robs the poor bird of her eggs and her young, 
 and enters on hostilities against the cat and the 
 cur. 
 
 His lessons are excused, his indulgent parents 
 hide his faults and inflate his childish vanity ; he 
 is petted, and praised, and humoured ; but he is 
 not taught to remember his Creator in the days 
 of his youth. As the unpruned vine, cultivated 
 by no careful hand, grows wild, so the unchecked 
 human will becomes headstrong and unmanage- 
 able; he honours not his parents, but disobeys 
 them ; his distinctions of good and evil are con- 
 fused and confounded ; he thinks as the wilfullest 
 boy among his playfellows thinks, and imitates 
 his daring. 
 
 He goes to school and adds to his knowledge, 
 but not to his virtue, for a wrong direction has 
 been given to his thoughts ; he believes it to be a 
 clever thing to screen himself from his duties, 
 
140 OLD HUMPHREY TRIES 
 
 and to circumvent his companions. He stifles, 
 by degrees, the feeling of shame and reproaches 
 of conscience, and unblushingly denies the fault 
 he has committed. 
 
 He becomes an apprentice, but neither diligence 
 nor uprightness marks his course; he keeps 
 company with bad companions, he reads the page 
 of infidelity, learns to wrangle against truth, dis- 
 regards the sabbath, and scoffs at the lowly 
 followers of the Redeemer : " The fear of the Lord 
 is the beginning of knowledge : but fools despise 
 wisdom and instruction," Prov. i. 7. 
 
 How thorny is the pathway of the evil doer! 
 How full of disappointment the expectation of the 
 ungodly ! He, now, regards his apprenticeship as 
 slavery, he sees before him sparkling pleasures, 
 and looks onward to the time when the chain of 
 his captivity will be broken, that he may enjoy 
 them : 
 
 Revolving years the moment brings 
 That from his bondage sets him free ; 
 
 But when he grasps the glittering things 
 They are not what they were to be ; 
 
 Hope bids him, with delusive power, 
 
 Look onward to some happier hour. 
 
 He saw unnumber'd pleasures wait 
 That manhood only could attain, 
 
HIS HAND AS A PAINTER. 141 
 
 But now, when grown to man's estate, 
 He finds the cherishM vision vain ; 
 For disappointment, grief, or care, 
 In every pleasure cries, Forbear I 
 
 He gives loose to his passions, for he is his 
 own master, and he has no one to restrain him ; 
 the inebriating glass, the midnight revel, and the 
 company of bad associates lead him on to evil ; 
 he wrings the hearts of his kind, but foolish 
 parents ; his youth and his strength are given to 
 folly and vice, and God is not in all his thoughts. 
 
 The records of ruthless war are read by him ; 
 he gazes on the laurel wreath and marble statue 
 over the tomb of the conqueror, and pants for 
 victory, without caring for the justness or unright- 
 eousness of the quarrel. Successful violence, and 
 ill-acquired dominion, are with him national re- 
 putation and renown. A battle is a glorious thing ; 
 he hears not the cries of the wounded, but the 
 roll of the drum, and the blast of the strife-pro- 
 voking trumpet ; he regards not the tears of the 
 orphan, and the wailing of the widow, but the 
 flaunting of flags, the ringing of bells, and the cry 
 of the exulting multitude. 
 
 In a moment of bravado, he becomes a soldier, 
 and crosses the raging deep, as he says, " to serve 
 his country." Ill can he brook the discipline he 
 is compelled to observe, and still less can he 
 
142 OLD HUMPHREY TRIES 
 
 endure, without murmuring, the harassing of a 
 campaign. Short is his career ; maimed in battle, 
 he returns home, with an incurable wound, and 
 with an arm less than he took out with him, to 
 boast of his exploits. But the railing infidel 
 sinks apace ; his gibes and his jests become few, 
 and the muttered despair and agony of his blas- 
 pheming tongue too plainly declare in his dying 
 hour, that " there is no peace unto the wicked," 
 Isa. xlviii. 22. 
 
 I see that my picture, though the outline is 
 correct, is somewhat too sombre you approve 
 not such breadth of shadow. Well ! let me try 
 again. 
 
 The sleeping infant, wrapt in forgetfulness, 
 is now before me : he is slumbering in his little 
 crib, and a pleasant dream, or a pleasant feeling, 
 is dimpling his baby features with a smile. His 
 mother sits beside him with her needle, and now 
 and then she gazes affectionately on his lovely 
 face, and then continues singing, with a soft and 
 plaintive voice, the cradle hymn, 
 
 " Hush, my babe, lie still and slumber ; 
 
 Holy angels guard thy bed ; 
 Heavenly blessings, without number, 
 Gently falling on thy head." 
 
 Again and again his birth-day has come round. 
 
HIS HAND AS A PAINTER. 143 
 
 He, is still feeble and defenceless; but if one 
 might be allowed to conceive of guardian spirits 
 assuming human shape, sure that is like one, 
 who, in the form of his mother, fondly watches 
 over him. He is kneeling beside his best earthly 
 friend, with lifted hands lisping his evening 
 prayer learning from her look, as well as from 
 her tongue, the love and reverence that are due 
 to the Lord of life and glory. 
 
 His short frock is laid aside, he is dressed in a 
 blue jacket and trousers ; nor can he gaze on the 
 buttons or thrust his hands into his pockets with- 
 out vanity ; but his mother is at hand, gently to 
 divert and direct his thoughts. She tells him 
 that the sheep has worn his clothes before him, 
 and that the happy singing birds which are thank- 
 ful for a crumb of bread, or a berry on the bush, 
 have gayer clothing than he has. 
 
 He is taught to remove the crawling snail from 
 the dangerous pathway ; to feed the redbreasts 
 in the frosty morning ; to carry the basin of food, 
 or the piece of money, to the poor widow ; and to 
 divide his sweet morsel freely with his playmates. 
 His faults are not allowed to pass unreproved. 
 The evil of his heart is repressed, and he is 
 trained in the nurture and admonition of the 
 Lord ; he obeys his parent, and regards God's 
 holy word with reverence and love. 
 
144 OLD HUMPHREY TRIES 
 
 As a schoolboy he acquits himself with credit, 
 and is welcomed home with satisfaction and joy. 
 As an apprentice he deservedly gains the goodwill 
 of his master, he hears the instruction of his 
 father, and forsakes not the law of his mother. 
 But does he never wander in error's thorny 
 paths ? Yes. Does he not sometimes stumble ? 
 He does ; but his wanderings end in disappoint- 
 ment, and his falls humble his heart, so that he 
 is doubly watchful orer himself, and feels doubly 
 dependent on his heavenly Father. He goes to 
 Him as a chastened child, and receives comfort. 
 Oh, what a refuge in temptation, what a cordial 
 in calamity, what a sheet anchor in the storms of 
 the world is the throne of grace ! 
 
 Guarded by prayers and guided by Christian 
 counsel he launches into life. " Seest thou a 
 man diligent in his business? he shall stand 
 before kings," Prov. xxii. 29. Knowest thou one 
 whose delight is in the law of the Lord ? " what- 
 soever he doeth shall prosper," Psa. i. 3. He 
 obtains a competency, gains the respect and con- 
 fidence of the rich, and is regarded as a blessing 
 by the poor ; his time, his purse, and his talents 
 are well employed ; he is a counsellor in the day 
 of difficulty, a comforter in sorrow, a friend in 
 time of need, and a brother born for adversity. 
 
 His manhood has flown, his hairs are gray, 
 
HIS HAND AS A PAINTER. 145 
 
 and his brow is furrowed with years, but his trials 
 are borne with patience. "Affliction cometh not 
 forth of the dust, nor trouble from the ground ;" 
 his mercies are gratefully enjoyed, for he sees the 
 Almighty hand that has bestowed them. While 
 in time, he looks onward to eternity : while on 
 earth, his desires mount upward to heaven. On 
 the bed of death his faith fails not, for he knows 
 in whom he has believed, and his last faltering 
 accents are, " Lord, now lettest thou thy servant 
 depart in peace, according to thy word : for mine 
 eyes have seen thy salvation/' Luke ii. 29, 30. 
 
ON THE 
 
 CLOCK IN THE KENDAL MUSEUM, 
 
 SOME time ago I received, from an unknown 
 correspondent, written in an excellent hand, the 
 following communication : 
 
 " DEAR OLD GENTLEMAN, I send you a new 
 text. In the museum at Kendal there is a curious 
 specimen of a clock, said to be one of the first ever 
 made on the pendulum principle. It will still 
 keep correct time. On the dial is the following 
 inscription : 
 The gift of James Cock, Maior in Kendall, 1654, 
 
 to the Maior of the same sucksesively. 
 e Time runneth ; your work is before you.' 
 
 <( Dear Humphrey, your sincere well-wisher, one 
 who trusts he has been benefited by your ad- 
 dresses." 
 
 j 
 
 Now this motto, and I would fain fling an old 
 man's thanks to the kind heart that has drawn 
 my attention to it, is a very arresting one : it is 
 
THE CLOCK IN THE KENDAL MUSEUM. 147" 
 
 a text from which, for a few moments, I would 
 freely discourse. 
 
 I said, and truly said, that my communication 
 was written in an excellent hand ; but it is not an 
 unfrequent case for good penmen to have their 
 peculiarities ; fa are left unspecked, 's uncrossed, 
 or you may look in vain for a full stop, or even a 
 comma, in a whole page. One of my correspond- 
 ents carries the straight stroke of a g as far above 
 the line as an I or h ; another sprawls out the 
 word understanding, or any other word of the same 
 length, so as to occupy with it an entire line : 
 while a third writes so small, that I question if he 
 could not with his pen, or his cedar pencil, write 
 a letter, or at least a note, on his thumb nail. 
 
 Not being able exactly to decide whether one 
 letter of my correspondent was a c or an o ; and 
 liking to be particular in such matters, I addressed 
 a letter to the curator of the Kendal Museum, who, 
 by return of post, kindly gave me the information 
 I desired. It is not often that we send two hun- 
 dred and sixty miles for the correction of a single 
 letter of the alphabet. But now to the pleasant 
 task that has been committed to me in so friendly 
 a manner. 
 
 " Time runneth !" Indeed it does, and so rapidly, 
 that there is some danger of our not being able to 
 keep up with it. " The days of oar years are 
 
148 ON THE CLOCK IN 
 
 threescore years and ten ; and if by reason of 
 strength they be fourscore years, yet is their 
 strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, 
 and we fly away," Psa. xc. 10. 
 
 It is a practice with me, when I wish to impress 
 my mind deeply with a subject, to try to hit upon 
 some strong figure or striking illustration that em- 
 bodies it. Before now, I have absolutely quailed 
 with fear, when sitting at my books an hour or 
 two after midnight, at that strengthy figure used 
 by a learned doctor, wherein he asserts, that sit- 
 ting up late at night, is like lighting the taper of 
 life at both ends, and running a red hot poker 
 through the middle of it. This alarming compa- 
 rison has, many a time, scared me from my un- 
 timely studies, and I have slunk away like a 
 culprit, to my repose. 
 
 Now I want a strong figure, one that will be 
 likely deeply to impress the mind of the reader 
 and the writer, with regard to time ; but I cannot 
 find one to my purpose. I have likened time to 
 a ship with spreading sails, about to depart for 
 ever from the shore ; and to 
 
 A winged charioteer 
 
 Lashing his fiery steeds with furious haste ; 
 Shaping, like one on urgent business bent, 
 To heaven's high chancel his unerring way. 
 
THE KENDAL MUSEUM. 
 
 But whether it be that the mind, long accustomed 
 to receive an idea in one shape, finds a difficulty 
 to receive it in another, or from any other cause, 
 neither of these figures equals the common one 
 under which time is usually represented ; that of 
 A stern 'and stalworth old man, with huge wings, a 
 scythe, and an hour-glass. 
 
 In my youthful days 1 have gazed on this ima- 
 ginary figure with awe, and arrayed it with dread 
 reality. At this moment a rude, hut effective en- 
 graving on wood, representing Time, lies before 
 me. The old man has an iron frame, and an iron 
 set of features, stern and pitiless. With him there 
 is no compassion. 
 
 Kneel, sue, and supplicate, conjure, repent, 
 Weep tears of blood, and he will not relent. 
 
 Those wings betoken that in his flight he would 
 leave the screaming eagle far behind him, and his 
 scythe, cumbersome as it would be to another, en- 
 cumbers him not. There is hardly any figure 
 more impressive than the figure of Time. 
 
 And now comes on my remembrance a far more 
 striking picture, drawn by an inspired hand, in 
 the tenth chapter of Revelation: "The angel 
 which I saw stand upon the sea and upon the 
 earth lifted up his hand to heaven, and sware by 
 Him that liveth for ever and ever, who created 
 
 o 2 
 
150 ON THE CLOCK IN 
 
 heaven, and the things that therein are, and the 
 earth, and the things that therein are, and the 
 sea, and the things which are therein, that there 
 should be time no longer." 
 
 But to my subject. "Time runneth; your 
 work is before you." Oh that I had thoughts 
 equal to my emotions, and words equal to my 
 thoughts ! " Time runneth ; " why it seems but 
 as yesterday that my father took me to a country 
 boarding-school. I was then little more than five 
 years old ; and now ! look at these gray hairs ! 
 This brow was then smooth and bright, and now 
 it is graven by revolving years. The other day, 
 as it were, I entered into life, and now the 
 tomb is before me. " Time runneth " with a 
 witness ; and how have I neglected, wasted, and 
 misused it ! 
 
 Never, perhaps, did heart beat with warmer or 
 with less selfish emotions, nor yearn with purer 
 and higher and holier objects, than those which ani- 
 mated the youthful heart of Old Humphrey, and 
 they were all to be embodied in his after life. Alas ! 
 hours, days, weeks, tfionths, and years have passed 
 by ; and he sighs at the painful retrospect, how lit- 
 tle has he done, and how much has he yet to do ! 
 Mortal man wastes his hours and his years in the 
 pursuit of trifles, gewgaws of fame, and baubles of 
 glittering dust, while the time is hastening on, 
 
THE KENDAL MUSEUM. 15 1 
 
 yea, is almost at hand, when moments will be 
 worth millions ! 
 
 And how has it been with you ? Has time hur- 
 ried on, outrunning your intentions, outstripping 
 your projects, and leaving you far behind, in the 
 midst of neglected resolutions, abandoned under- 
 takings, and half-executed plans for God's glory, 
 and the welfare of mankind? Is your heart 
 merry or mourning ? Rejoicing at the works of 
 your hands, or weeping over the wreck of your 
 goodly resolves ? I need not ask : we have both 
 done what we ought not to have done, and left un- 
 done what we ought to have done. We have both 
 sinned and sorrowed, and, alike, stand in need of 
 reproof and consolation. 
 
 But shall we do well to sit down, and waste the 
 few remaining sands in the hourglass of life in 
 unavailing regret that the past have run so 
 swiftly ? No, no ! If we have but little time, the 
 more energy should we display. " Time runneth" 
 still, and our work is yet before us. Let us up, 
 then, and be doing, with all the faculties and ener- 
 gies of our bodies and our souls. 
 
 Perhaps, as time runneth so rapidly, we cannot 
 do better than ask ourselves this plain question, 
 Were this present day known by us to be the last 
 we should spend on this side the eternal world, 
 as it possibly may be, to what would our attention 
 
152 ON THE CLOCK IN 
 
 be directed ? Oh, how the little objects that usu- 
 ally occupy us seem scattered right and left by 
 this inquiry ! Should we give a thought to the 
 news of the. day ? the driving of a bargain ? the 
 heaping together a hillock of glittering dust ? the 
 laying out money to advantage ? the cut of our 
 clothes ? the bits and drops we intended to con- 
 sume ? or, in short, to the securing any worldly 
 advantage, or the forwarding of any worldly ob- 
 ject ? The very suggestion appears a mockery. 
 Nothing, no nothing, in comparison with our eter- 
 nal welfare, and that of those dear to us, would be 
 regarded of sufficient importance to engage our 
 thoughts. 
 
 Think not that I am, here, undervaluing the af- 
 fections that bind man to man, or that I am obli- 
 vious to the numberless duties and kind inten- 
 tions which men, as fathers, husbands, brothers, 
 children, relatives, friends, and neighbours, are 
 bound to regard. These things should be attended 
 to by us, and the other not neglected : but every 
 other object is as dust in the balance, compared 
 with the eternal welfare of the soul. We should, 
 then, be honest to ourselves and to those dear to 
 us, in making the eternal welfare of the soul the 
 first object of our attention and desires. 
 
 Are we right in this matter, standing on a 
 rock ? Is our faith firm, and our hope clear as 
 
THE KENDAL MUSEUM. 153 
 
 daylight? Are we looking to the hills whence 
 cometh our help ? relying without suhterfuge or 
 reservation on the merits and mercy of the Re- 
 deemer, and the all-sufficient sacrifice offered up 
 on the cross for sinners ? or are we diminishing 
 the value of that sacrifice, polluting the pure foun- 
 tain of living waters, and gainsaying the word of 
 God, hy putting in some claim to heaven on our 
 own account, and mingling some miserable amount 
 of our own supposed merits with the costly ransom 
 that has been paid by our Redeemer ? It behoves 
 us to see to this ; for time runneth, and our work 
 is before us. We cannot make ourselves pure, 
 but we may go to the fountain that is open for 
 sin and uncleanness. We cannot save ourselves, 
 but we can go as supplicating sinners to that 
 Lamb of God that taketh away the sins of the 
 world. 
 
 Is there aught to be done by us for the Re- 
 deemer's glory 1 let us do it, for time runneth. 
 Is there aught left undone of duty, kindness, for- 
 giveness, affection, and benevolence to our fellow- 
 men ? let us do it ; for our work is before us. 
 Stirring up our thankfulness towards God, and 
 our good will towards mankind, let us be diligent, 
 in every good word and work, encouraging one 
 another in our way to heaven. 
 
 I should like to see the old clock in the Kendal 
 
154 THE CLOCK IN THE KENDAL MUSEUM. 
 
 Museum : and it ever I find myself in the neigh- 
 bourhood of the lakes, it shall not be passed by 
 without a visit from me. In the mean time, if the 
 few meagre remarks here made should call forth 
 salutary reflections in the minds of my readers, my 
 pen will not have unprofitably commented on the 
 impressive motto forwarded me by my unknown, 
 kind correspondent. Gladly would I write a word 
 of warning on their hearts ; and willingly would I 
 have the inscription, " TIME RUNNETH ; YOUR 
 WORK is BEFORE YOU," graven on my own. 
 
OLD HTJMPHKEY IN A 
 DIFFICULTY 
 
 WELL do I remember, that many years ago, 
 a man of talents, a professional friend of mine, a 
 member of a philosophical society, gave a lecture 
 on phrenology to a goodly assembly of both sexes. 
 In the course of his remarks, he pointed out the 
 difference of structure in the head of a man and 
 the head of a woman. Carried away by his sub- 
 ject, which was then comparatively novel, he 
 made some observations which seemed to give 
 the palm of intellect so necessarily and decidedly 
 to man, that no small offence was taken by his 
 female auditors, who were hardly disposed to con- 
 cede that which he appeared to take for granted 
 as a thing of course. The lecture occupied, I 
 think, about two hours ; but it took more than as 
 many years to blot out the unfavourable impres- 
 sion against himself which it left on the mind 
 and memory of his fair friends. 
 
 Now, though I have a very vivid remembrance 
 of the penalty imposed for my friend's inad- 
 vertent transgression, yet I am about to set my 
 
156 OLD HUMPHREY IN A DIFFICULTY. 
 
 foot on ground almost as tender as that on which 
 he ventured to tread. We are always persuading 
 ourselves that we shall succeed where others have 
 failed that we shall be able to stand where 
 others have fallen ; and it may be owing to this 
 common infirmity that I now hope to find a way 
 where many have lost themselves, and to reply 
 to a difficult inquiry, without, on the one hand, 
 giving offence, or, on the other, withholding just 
 and profitable information. 
 
 It is a common thing with me to have ques- 
 tions proposed, and inquiries made, to which I do 
 not feel equal to reply. In such cases, I usually 
 pass them over, trusting to the consideration and 
 kindness of my friends to put a fair construction 
 on my silence. This course, however, cannot 
 always be taken ; and at the present moment I 
 feel that I ought not to refuse a reply to the fol- 
 lowing questions, proposed for my consideration, 
 by an intellectual and well-informed lady : 
 
 "When is the manifestation of a masculine 
 mind unbecoming in woman ? 
 
 " Why should woman be considered so inferior 
 to man, as to be deemed an intruder the moment 
 she begins to think for herself, and to express 
 her opinion ? 
 
 " Why should not women acquire some of 
 the characteristics by which men are pre-emi- 
 
OLD HUMPHREY IN A DIFFICULTY. 157 
 
 nently distinguished, without losing any of their 
 
 ?! 
 
 You will see at once that I am in a dilemma, 
 that my position is one of considerable difficulty, 
 and that it will require some little tact to main- 
 tain it with credit. Come, then, speed, with thy 
 flying fingers ; wit, with thy ready tongue ; truth, 
 with thine eagle eye ; knowledge, with they mental 
 stores : wisdom, with thy thoughtful brow ; and 
 experience, with thy chastened judgment ; assist 
 me to give a meet response to my fair questioner. 
 But, first, let me fancy her in the very imposing 
 and picturesque attitude of sitting in an elevated 
 chair, an ostrich feather or twain waving in her 
 new cap with the crimson riband, demanding, 
 with an influential toss of the head, an expressive 
 consciousness of the rights of woman, and a re- 
 solute and inflexible determination to preserve 
 them inviolable visible in her countenance, " Why 
 should woman be considered so inferior to man, 
 as to be deemed an intruder the moment she 
 begins to think for herself, and to express her 
 opinions ?" 
 
 Willingly, had I leisure, would I ring a few 
 lively changes on the musical bells of my ima- 
 gination, as a kind of prelude to my graver 
 strain ; but old Father Time, as he passes me with 
 his scythe and hour-glass, holds up his aged hand, 
 
158 OLD HUMPHREY IN A DIFFICULTY. 
 
 and knits his aged brows. " Give the lady aii 
 answer," says he, " in a gentlemanly manner, at 
 once ; for she deserves it." In obedience to my 
 venerable monitor, I thus proceed : 
 
 TO MY RESPECTED CATECHIST. 
 
 Your communication on the mind of woman 
 lies before me ; and I, as in duty bound, though 
 but ill qualified for the task, will give you my 
 best thoughts on the matter. On several occa- 
 sions has the inquiry been made, whether the in- 
 tellectual faculties of woman are equal to those of 
 man, and the question has usually been decided 
 according to the views of the parties engaged 
 in it. 
 
 Those who contend for equality of intellect 
 in both sexes, bring forward female instances * 
 of great learning, sound judgment, and general 
 ability ; and when told that such instances are 
 few compared with celebrated characters among 
 men, reply, that this is sufficiently accounted for 
 by the superior opportunities men possess of 
 acquiring knowledge, and the great difference in 
 their habits and education. For my own part, 
 much rather would I leave the general question 
 in abeyance, than have it decided in a proud and 
 arbitrary manner ; for certain it is, that often, 
 in the presence of well-educated females, I, and 
 
OLD HUMPHEEY IN A DIFFICULTY. 159 
 
 men immeasurably wiser, have blushed with the 
 consciousness of our own inferiority. Still, in 
 dealing faithfully with the inquiry, I would not 
 willingly shrink from giving an opinion. 
 
 By some general agreement, when entered 
 into, or on what precise grounds, I cannot say, 
 the opinion has long been almost universally en- 
 tertained, that man has the advantages of bodily 
 strength and mental power ; and woman those of 
 external charms, elegance, sweetness, delicacy, 
 feeling, patience, and a hundred other excellent 
 qualities, in agreement with the declaration of 
 Milton 
 
 " For contemplation he, and valour formed, 
 For softness she, and sweet attractive grace." 
 
 Nor do I see that either man or woman can, with 
 justice, call in question or complain of this ge- 
 nerally received opinion. If it be no just cause 
 of disparagement to either animal that the lion 
 has not the grace of the antelope, nor the an- 
 telope the power of the lion, in like manner it 
 cannot be a just ground of reproach, either that 
 man possesses not the sensibility and delicacy of 
 woman, or woman the bodily and mental force of 
 man. 
 
 You are too reasonable not to concede this, and, 
 therefore, I will venture the conclusion, that the 
 
J60 OLD HUMPHREY IN A DIFFICULTY. 
 
 proper cultivation of the animal and intellectual 
 powers of man and woman depends on its fitness 
 to qualify them usefully to fill the stations they 
 are severally called on to occupy. Man is the 
 guide and protector, as well as the friend and 
 companion of woman : his bodily and mental en- 
 dowments, then, should be called out in a full, 
 bold, energetic, and decisive manner, that he 
 may properly sustain his position ; while woman, 
 as the affectionate sharer of his joys, the kind 
 soother of his cares, the meek corrector of his 
 stormy passions, the prudent director of his 
 household, and the amiable instructress of his 
 children, especially in their younger years, should 
 be educated suitably for these important objects. 
 Should she, on the contrary, fit herself to take 
 the lead, and man only qualify himself to follow, 
 the usages of mankind, with the authority of 
 Holy Scripture, would be reversed, and a door 
 opened for the introduction of unnumbered evils. 
 These preparatory remarks being made, not ar- 
 rogantly but with the very spirit of fairness and 
 candour, I will consider the knotty questions you 
 have propounded. 
 
 1. When is the manifestation of a masculine 
 mind unbecoming in woman ? 
 
 I should say, as a general reply, when it 
 wounds by its severity, offends by its pride, or 
 
OLD HUMPHREY IN A DIFFICULTY. 161 
 
 disgusts by its boldness. As a high-bred steed 
 requires a strong rein to control its spirit, so 
 a masculine mind in woman requires a double 
 guard of feminine qualities. When strength of 
 understanding is possessed by one of agreeable 
 form and features, elegant demeanour, humility 
 of mind, and sweetness of temper, it is doubly 
 delightful. In such a case, agreeable manners 
 give an added charm to intellect, and intellect 
 imparts a lustre to amiability. 
 
 2. Why should woman be considered so in- 
 ferior to man, as to be deemed an intruder the 
 moment she begins to think for herself, and to 
 express her opinion ? 
 
 No sensible and right-minded person, surely, 
 would either think or act in the manner here 
 supposed. If a woman reflects with judgment, 
 and expresses herself with modesty, good sense, 
 and ability, she must instantly become, in the 
 estimation of the discerning, an object of respect, 
 and will receive that attention to which she is 
 justly entitled. When surrounded by the vain 
 and thoughtless, or when she expresses her opi- 
 nion in an assuming spirit, the case may be 
 otherwise. 
 
 3. Why should not woman acquire some of 
 the characteristics by which men are pre-emi- 
 nently distinguished, without losing her own ? 
 
 p2 
 
162 OLD HUMPHKEY IN A DIFFICULTY. 
 
 I can really see no good reason why she should 
 not, if these characteristics will make her more 
 useful, more amiable, more companionable, or 
 more happy. You are justified, certainly, in at- 
 taining any of our characteristics, so long as you 
 do not lose any of those peculiarly your own. 
 This appears to me the point on which the ques- 
 tion turns, and the point wherein, I fear, even 
 learned ladies have erred. They have not usually 
 succeeded in eminently attaining our characteris- 
 tics, without a fearful loss or modification of their 
 own. You will allow me to speak plainly. In 
 cheerfulness of demeanour, in the prudent ma- 
 nagement of a household, in cleanliness, punc- 
 tuality, forethought, and attention to the comfort 
 of a husband and children, I would match many 
 women of limited education against all the learned 
 ladies in the world. 
 
 It is well known to you that the Christian 
 world have set themselves against cards and dice, 
 those unoifending pieces of pasteboard and ivory, 
 and with some reason too ; for these things have 
 been so frequently perverted to bad purposes, on 
 account of the fatal facility they afford to people 
 to do wrong, that they are regarded with suspi- 
 cion, and set aside. Something like this has 
 taken place with respect to learning among fe- 
 males ; learned ladies have been avoided, cen- 
 
OLD HUMPHREY IN A DIFFICULTY. 163 
 
 sirred, and even ridiculed, however creditable 
 their talents, and estimable the information they 
 have gained, simply because, in the endeavour to 
 attain our characteristics, they have compromised 
 their own. 
 
 Learning has imparted, in some cases, a mas- 
 culine boldness to woman, and we cannot part 
 with her retiredness without a pang. The loss of 
 
 " Those graceful acts, 
 Those thousand decencies that daily flow 
 From all her words and actions," 
 
 and that winning diffidence and modesty that 
 mark her mien, would be but ill supplied by all 
 that languages can give, or books impart. 
 
 It has fallen to my lot to know a few fair, 
 I am almost tempted to say a few of the fairest 
 specimens of females of talent, whose unusual 
 powers were unmingled with aught that was un- 
 womanly ; and willingly would I see the number 
 of such abundantly increase. 
 
 Shall I tell you a secret that is well worth 
 knowing ? It is this : We, " lords of the crea- 
 tion," venerate woman for her piety ; we honour 
 and respect her for her integrity and judgment ; 
 we admire her for her wit, talents, and accom- 
 plishments ; and we love her for her personal 
 charms and her feminine qualities and virtues. 
 
164 OLD HUMPHREY IN A DIFFICULTY. 
 
 She, then, who would be venerated, respected, 
 and admired, must excel in piety, integrity, judg- 
 ment, wit, talent, and accomplishments ; while 
 sne who would be loved, must cultivate with care 
 the personal charms God has bestowed upon her, 
 and guard, as the apple of her eye, her feminine 
 qualities and virtues. 
 
 I have said more than I intended, and only 
 wish that it was more worthy your perusal. Time 
 is hastening onwards, and we are hastening on 
 too : let not, then, our contention be, which has 
 the higher faculties, but rather, which shall apply 
 them to the best advantage. If led on by in- 
 firmity of purpose, we may commit many errors 
 in the pursuit of knowledge ; but hardly shall we 
 err, if our objects are really the Redeemer's glory, 
 and the welfare of those around us for time and 
 eternity. Whatever be our attainments, may the 
 language of our hearts be, " Not unto us, Lord, 
 not unto us, but unto thy name give glory," Psa. 
 cxv. 1. 
 
 I remain, yours, 
 
 With true respect, and Christian regard, 
 OLD HUMPHREY. 
 
ON EXAGGERATED 
 EXPRESSIONS. 
 
 SOME time ago a correspondent, whom I would 
 not willingly neglect, requested me to pen a few 
 plain remarks on the common evil of giving ut- 
 terance to inflated expressions and remarks in 
 common conversation. 
 
 It is a somewhat ungrateful task to tell those 
 who would shrink from the imputation of a false- 
 hood that they are in the daily habit of uttering 
 untruths ; and yet, if I proceed, no other course 
 than this can be taken by me. It is of no use to 
 adopt half measures ; plain speaking saves a deal 
 of trouble. 
 
 I love the man who steps along on his toes, 
 that he may not tread on the toes or the heels of 
 his neighbours. Some are remarkable for this 
 habitual tenderness to their fellow- creatures, and 
 it does my heart good to see it ; but in a case 
 where trifling is losing time, and decision is 
 really necessary, we must run the risk of giving 
 offence if we would really do good. 
 
 My correspondent says, that I make capital 
 
166 OX EXAGGERATED EXPRESSIONS. 
 
 " caps ;" and that if all those who need them 
 would wear them, my hints would be very profit- 
 able. I am, however, sadly afraid that most of 
 the caps I make would fit my own head quite as 
 well as they would fit the heads of my neigh- 
 bours. But to my task. 
 
 The examples about to be given by me of ex- 
 aggerated expressions, are only a few of the many 
 that are constantly in use. Whether you can 
 acquit yourselves of the charge of occasionally 
 using them, I cannot tell ; but I dare not affirm 
 for myself that I am altogether guiltless. 
 
 " I was caught in the wet last night ; the rain 
 came down in torrents." Most of us have been 
 out in heavy rains ; but a torrent of water pour- 
 ing down from the skies would a little surprise us, 
 after all. 
 
 " I am wet to the skin, and have not a dry 
 thread upon me." Where these expressions are 
 once used correctly, they are used twenty times 
 in opposition to the truth. 
 
 " I tried to overtake him, but in vain ; for he 
 ran like lightning." The celebrated race-horse 
 Eclipse is said to have run a mile in a minute ; 
 but poor Eclipse is left sadly behind by this 
 expression. 
 
 " He kept me standing out in the cold so long, 
 I thought I should have waited for ever." There 
 
ON EXAGGEKATED EXPEESSIONS. 16? 
 
 is not a particle of probability that such a thought 
 could have been for one moment entertained. 
 
 " As I came across the common, the wind was 
 as keen as a razor." This is certainly a very 
 keen remark ; but the worst of it is that its keen- 
 ness far exceeds its correctness. 
 
 " I went to the meeting, but had hard work 
 to get in ; for the place was crowded to suffoca- 
 tion." In this case, in justice to the veracity of 
 the relator, it is necessary to suppose that suc- 
 cessful means had been used for his recovery. 
 
 " When I mentioned it to her, she turned as 
 pale as a sheet." I am sceptical enough to believe, 
 that had an actual comparison taken place, it 
 would have been found otherwise. 
 
 " I have been sadly troubled with head-ache ; 
 I thought I should have died, I was so ill." If 
 they who use this expression on every light occa- 
 sion, did really reflect on death as frequently as 
 they represent themselves to do so, it might be 
 attended with the most salutary consequences. 
 
 " You would hardly know her again, she is as 
 thin as a thread-paper." Either the thread -paper 
 must have been of an unusual size, or she must 
 have been very thin indeed. 
 
 " We came along the lane, a horrid road, up to 
 our knees in mud." Some people a little more 
 diffident, satisfy themselves with saying, " It was 
 
168 ON EXAGGERATED EXPRESSIONS. 
 
 over my shoe-tops in mud." All I can say is, 
 that if either the one statement or the other be 
 correct, it is high time the road should be 
 mended. 
 
 " He is a shrewd fellow! as deep as a draw- 
 well." There is an old adage, that truth lies at 
 the bottom of a well : I am afraid that it is not at 
 the bottom of this draw well. 
 
 " We stood there for an hour : my feet were as 
 cold as ice." If the feet were once as cold as 
 ice, there would be very little heat left in the head 
 or the heart. 
 
 " Oh, nothing will hurt him ; he is as strong 
 as a horse." Some go even farther than this, 
 and say, " as strong as an elephant !" but both 
 expressions are too strong to be consistent with 
 fact. 
 
 "It must have been a fine sight ; I would 
 have given the world to have seen it." Fond as 
 most of us are of sight-seeing, this would be buy- 
 ing pleasure at a dear price indeed ; but it is an 
 easy thing to proffer to part with that which we do 
 not possess. 
 
 " It made me quite low spirited, my heart felt 
 as heavy as lead." We most of us know what a 
 heavy heart is, but lead is by no means the most 
 correct metaphor to use in speaking of a heavy 
 heart. 
 
ON EXAGGERATED EXPRESSIONS. 169 
 
 * c I could hardly find my way ; for the night 
 was as dark as pitch." I am afraid we have all, 
 in our turn, calumniated the sky in this manner ; 
 pitch is many shades darker than the darkest 
 night we have ever known. 
 
 " He ran till his face burned like a fire-coal." 
 Ay, and if every one blushed in the same propor- 
 tion in which he departed from truth, he who 
 uses this form of speech would have a face rue- 
 fully red, though not exactly burning like a fire- 
 coal. 
 
 " I have told him of that fault fifty times 
 over." Five times would, in all probability, be 
 much nearer the fact than fifty. 
 
 " I never closed my eyes all night long." If 
 this be true, you acted unwisely ; for had you 
 closed your eyes, you might, perhaps, have fallen 
 asleep, and enjoyed the blessing of refreshing 
 slumber ; if it be not true, you act more unwisely 
 still, by stating that as a fact which is altogether 
 untrue. 
 
 " He was in such a passion that he foamed at 
 the mouth like a mad dog." Rather mad lan- 
 guage this ; but many a man in his descriptions 
 acts like a bad painter, who, almost always, has 
 too much colour in his brush. 
 
 " He is as tall as a church spire." I have met 
 with some tall fellows in my time, though the 
 
170 ON EXAGGERATED EXPRESSIONS. 
 
 spire of a church is somewhat taller than the 
 tallest of them, 
 
 " You may buy a fish at Billingsgate as big as 
 a jackass for five shillings." I certainly have my 
 doubts about this matter ; but if it be really true, 
 the people at Billingsgate must be jackasses in- 
 deed, to sell such large fishes for so little monev. 
 
 " He was so fat he could hardly come in at the 
 door." Most likely the difficulty here alluded to 
 was never felt by any one but the relater ; suppos- 
 ing it to be otherwise, the man must have been 
 very broad, or the door very narrow. 
 
 " You don't say so ! why, it was enough to kill 
 him !" The fact that it did not kill him is a 
 sufficient reply to this unfounded observation ; 
 but no remark can be too absurd for an unbridled 
 tongue. 
 
 Thus might I run on for an hour, and, after 
 all, leave much unsaid on the subject of exagger- 
 ated expressions. We are hearing continually the 
 comparison, "black as soot, white as snow, hot 
 as fire, cold as ice, sharp as a needle, dull as a 
 door-nail, light as a feather, heavy as lead, stiff 
 as a poker, and crooked as a crab-tree," in cases 
 where such expressions are quite out of order. 
 
 The practice of expressing ourselves in this 
 inflated and thoughtless way is more mischievous 
 than we are aware of. It certainly leads us to 
 
ON EXAGGEKATED EXPRESSIONS. 1/1 
 
 sacrifice truth ; to misrepresent what we mean 
 faithfully to describe ; to whiten our own charac- 
 ters, and sometimes to blacken the reputation of 
 a neighbour. There is an uprightness in speech 
 as well as in action, that we ought to strive hard 
 to attain. The purity of truth is sullied, and the 
 standard of integrity is lowered, by incorrect ob- 
 servations. Let us reflect upon this matter freely 
 and faithfully. Let us love truth, follow truth, 
 and practise truth in our thoughts, our words, 
 and our deeds. 
 
ON PROVIDENTIAL PRESER- 
 VATIONS, 
 
 IT is a profitable thing for a pilgrim to look 
 forward to the city with the golden gates ; for a 
 sight of the shining portals of heaven animates 
 him to hear with patience, and to overcome with 
 perseverance, the trials he meets with on earth, 
 Not that he can always do this; for oftentimes 
 there is a cloud in the distance, and a mist 
 around him that obscures his view : but when he 
 can catch a glimpse of his heavenly inheritance, 
 it gives strength to his fainting soul. Nor is it 
 an unprofitable thing, while resting beside the 
 King's highway, to give a backward glance at the 
 crooked lanes, the thorny places, and the quag- 
 mires through which he has been led and merci- 
 fully sustained. Let us apply these observations 
 to ourselves. 
 
 It may be that you are younger than I am, and 
 have not borne so long the heat and burden of 
 the day ; or it may be, that your years outnumber 
 mine ; in either case, your memory will, no doubt, 
 serve to remind you of many narrow escapes, or 
 
ON PROVIDENTIAL PRESERVATIONS. 173 
 
 rather of many merciful preservations, from im- 
 minent danger. 
 
 Now it seems to me that we hardly think 
 enough of these things ; for consider, what can 
 be a stronger pledge that God will protect us in 
 future dangers, than the knowledge that he has 
 preserved us in those which are past ? I am not 
 calling on you to enumerate your mercies, for you 
 may as well try to count the blades of grass, as 
 attempt to do that ; but you may recall to your 
 mind such particular instances of God's almighty 
 and merciful preservation, as may constrain you 
 to say, " O Lord, open thou my lips ; and my 
 mouth shall show forth thy praise," Psa. li. 15. 
 
 In order that you may be persuaded to sum up 
 your preservations, I will here relate to you a few 
 of mine. By them you will see that if the heart 
 beating in the bosom of Old Humphrey be not 
 grateful, it must be harder than stone. 
 
 In the days of my childhood, a servant brought 
 a pan of hot coals to warm the bed, wherein I had 
 been put without her knowledge. You may guess 
 what followed. My agonizing screams confused 
 and confounded poor Betty, and the pan of coals 
 was not removed till it had inflicted on me in- 
 juries that placed my life in danger. On what a 
 spider's thread our existence seems to hang! 
 What is our life ? " It is even a vapour, that 
 Q2 
 
174 ON PROVIDENTIAL PRESERVATIONS. 
 
 appeareth for a little time, and then vanishetb 
 away," James iv. 14. 
 
 Not long after I had recovered my strength 
 from my accident by the warming-pan, I fell 
 through the cellar window of a half-finished 
 house, by which misfortune my forehead, strik- 
 ing against the sharp edge of the brick-work, was 
 laid open. For some time I lay bleeding, and 
 was taken up for dead. Grey hairs are now 
 growing on my head, but the scar on my brow 
 is visible still. Truly may we say to one another, 
 whether we are old or young, " Boast not thyself 
 of to-morrow ; for thou knowest not what a day 
 may bring forth," Prov. xxvii. 1. 
 
 When a school-boy, in attempting to descend a 
 high, rocky bank, my toe caught under the root of 
 a tree, and I was pitched down headlong into the 
 hollow way beneath. A sloping heap of sand at 
 the bottom eased my fall, and, most probably, 
 saved my neck from being broken. Surely dan- 
 gers are ever around us, and "our days upon 
 earth are a shadow," Job viii. 9. 
 
 Before I could swim I was a good diver, and 
 often amused myself with diving in deep water to 
 a certain point, where, when I rose, I caught hold 
 of the top of the granite stones which formed the 
 side of the basin. On one occasion the water was 
 so low, that, when I arrived at the accustomed 
 
ON PROVIDENTIAL PRESERVATIONS. 1 / 5> 
 
 point, I could not reach the granite stones. Again 
 and again I struggled desperately to effect my 
 purpose, but in vain, and was on the point of 
 sinking, being much out of my depth, when a 
 swimmer caught hold of me. 
 
 The result is the same, whether God of his 
 goodness sends an angel from his heavenly throne 
 to save us when in danger, or strengthens the 
 arm of a fellow-mortal for the work of our de- 
 liverance. To him, in either case, be the glory 
 and the praise : " It is a good thing to give 
 thanks unto the Lord, and to sing praises unto 
 thy name, Most High," Psa. xcii. 1. 
 
 In going, on a certain occasion, into an upper 
 room of a very old house, the crazy floor gave way 
 under my feet. Had I not caught hold of tht 
 joist, most likely I should have found my way inh 
 the cellar, and this record of mishaps would never 
 have been noted down by Old Humphrey : " Lord, 
 make me to know mine end, and the measure of 
 in y days, what it is ; that I may know how frail I. 
 am," Psa. xxxix. 4. 
 
 I once accompanied a friend of mine to examine 
 the roof of a chapel, and, while the ringer of the 
 bell was absent from the belfry, we clambered up 
 past the bell to the roof. The place we clambered 
 through was narrow, so that the bell, which then 
 stood with its clapper upwards, when swinging 
 
176 ON PROVIDENTIAL PRESERVATIONS. 
 
 round occupied almost the whole space. My friend 
 and I had crept through a trap- door to the roof, 
 and were on the point of returning ; already had I 
 bent my body to creep through the trap -door, 
 when a loud creak made me withdraw my head. 
 The sound of the ponderous bell at that moment 
 thrilled through my heart. The ringer had re- 
 turned to the belfry, and had pulled off the bell, 
 not knowing that any one was above. Had not 
 that timely creak warned me of my danger, the 
 massy bell must of necessity have dashed me in 
 pieces. In such danger, my language might 
 indeed have been, " There is but a step be- 
 tween me and death," 1 Sam. xx. 3. 
 
 At a period of my life, when I was somewhat 
 more nimble than I am now, I foolishly ventured 
 to cross a precipice on the side of a mountainous 
 hill. The hill was several hundred feet in height, 
 and the precipice, perhaps, between one and two 
 hundred. I had supposed the side of the preci- 
 pice to be hard and firm ; but no sooner had I got 
 to the steepest part, than the ground gave way 
 beneath me. There was no hope but in dashing 
 on, and this I did with all the headlong energy of 
 despair, the earth crumbling beneath my foot every 
 step I took. When I stood on the opposite side of 
 the precipice in safety, I looked back with a degree 
 of terror on the jeopardy that had well nigh de- 
 
ON PROVIDENTIAL PRESERVATIONS. 1/7 
 
 stroyed me : " Walk circumspectly, not as fools, 
 but as wise, redeeming the time," Eph. v. 15, 16. 
 
 During my first visit to London, a friend and I 
 took a boat on the river Thames. Those who 
 remember the fall of water through the centre arch, 
 of old London Bridge, when the tide was return- 
 ing, well know, that to pass through it, in a small 
 boat, without a very skilful boatman, was very 
 dangerous. 
 
 My friend and I, both inexperienced in rowing, 
 had taken up the oars to paddle about in the 
 stream, giving the boatman a cheesecake or two, 
 with which to employ himself. Imperceptibly we 
 got into the strong current, and in a few minutes 
 should have been hurried through the centre arch, 
 and perhaps into eternity, had not the boatman, 
 dashing down his cheesecakes, suddenly caught 
 hold of the oars and rowed for his life. We shot 
 through one of the side arches like an arrow from 
 a bow, and escaped with our lives, not unmindful 
 of our danger, nor unthankful for our preserva- 
 tion by Him " in whose hand is the soul of every 
 living thing, and the breath of all mankind," 
 Job xii. 10. 
 
 In France, I was one night, when travelling, so 
 beset with peril, and driven to such extremity, that 
 I took out my knife, holding it ready opened in 
 my hand to defend myself from any sudden attack 
 
178 ON PROVIDENTIAL PRESERVATIONS. 
 
 of my treacherous companion. I had reason to 
 " offer unto God thanksgiving," and to pay my 
 "vows unto the Most High," Psa. 1. 14. 
 
 Never was I in greater danger than on the 
 occasion of seeing a female relative home late at 
 night. Not being able to make the servant hear 
 by ringing the bell, and fearing lest an accident 
 had taken place, I went round to the back of the 
 house, to clamber over the garden wall. As I stood 
 on the wall, the casement of a cottage near was 
 gently opened : little did I then dream of my 
 perilous situation. At that moment a loaded pistol 
 was directed against my life. The owner of the 
 cottage, hearing people talking, had got up to the 
 window, and seeing, as he supposed, a robber 
 scaling the wall, he stepped back, laid hold of his 
 loaded pistol, cocked it, and placing his finger on 
 the trigger, aimed it at me. At this instant he 
 thought that he recognised his neighbour's voice 
 speaking to me ; and thus was I again mercifully 
 preserved : " O give thanks unto the Lord, for 
 he is good ; because his mercy endureth for ever," 
 Psa. cxviii. 1. 
 
 The last instance of imminent peril that I shall 
 now record, is one of a singular kind. I had de- 
 scended a copper mine, habited in the flannel 
 jacket and slouched hat of a miner, carrying a 
 candle in my left hand. If I remember right, the 
 
ON PROVIDENTIAL PRESERVATIONS. 1 79 
 
 mine was double the depth of an ordinary coal 
 mine. I went down not less than forty or fifty 
 ladders placed perpendicularly against the sides of 
 the different shafts. 
 
 After reaching the bottom, visiting every part of 
 the mine, and observing the different operations 
 performed by the miners, I began to ascend the 
 perpendicular ladders, bathed with perspiration 
 occasioned by heat and fatigue. 
 
 I had ascended about midway, when grasping 
 one of the rounds of the ladder on which I stood, 
 it came out loose in my hand. It happened at 
 the moment that my left hand, which held the 
 candle, had a sufficient hold of the ladder to pre,- 
 vent my fall, otherwise I must have been pre- 
 cipitated down the fearful abyss beneath me. 
 Now, ought not Old Humphrey to be among the 
 first and foremost of those whose hearts and 
 tongues cry aloud, " Let every thing that hath 
 breath praise the Lord?" Psa. cl. 6. 
 
 Haply these instances of providential preser- 
 vation will recall to your memory some of your 
 own that you had forgotten, and prompt you to 
 pay some fraction of the debt of gratitude you 
 owe to your heavenly Father for his parental 
 care and continued loving-kindness ,* so that we 
 may together " sing unto the Lord, and make a 
 joyful noise to the Rock of our salvation. Let us 
 
180 ON PROVIDENTIAL PRESERVATIONS. 
 
 come before his presence with thanksgiving, and 
 make a joyful noise unto him with psalms/' Psa. 
 xcv. 1, 2. 
 
 " When all thy mercies, O my God, 
 
 My rising soul surveys, 
 Transported with the view I'm lost 
 In wonder, love, and praise !** 
 
ON CLIMBING, 
 
 " (ECUMENICAL !" said I, raising my eyebrows, 
 " that is a flight above the common-place under- 
 standing of Old Humphrey." The word was 
 used, as I passed, by a pompous-looking man 
 in conversation with another, who was plainly 
 dressed : " What we want," said he, " is not a 
 trifling alteration, but an oecumenical measure for 
 the good of man." Perhaps it was the pride of 
 my heart which told me that if I did not under- 
 stand the meaning of the word " oecumenical," it 
 was not at all unlikely that he in plain clothes, to 
 whom it was addressed, would be equally at a loss 
 with myself. You may be sure that I took the 
 earliest opportunity of consulting my dictionary, 
 when it appeared clear enough to me that an 
 " oecumenical" measure was neither more nor less 
 than a "general" measure that referred to the 
 world at large. 
 
 Willingly do I concede to every one the right 
 to choose his own language in making known 
 his opinions, though I may call in question the 
 prudence of adopting such terms as are not likely 
 to be generally intelligible. The word " oecume- 
 nical," however, has set me reflecting on the dis- 
 
182 ON CLIMBING. 
 
 position there is among us to indulge in pride of 
 different kinds, to set ourselves up as people of 
 importance, or, in other words, to climb up one 
 above another. With your leave, I will pursue 
 my reflections. 
 
 Is it not strange that a being who possesses 
 nothing good which God has not given him, 
 whose mortal body the worms will shortly de- 
 stroy, should have a heart that is haughty, an eye 
 that is lofty, and a disposition to climb above his 
 fellows? Yet so it is. There have been climbers 
 in all ages, and the fearful falls, the account of 
 which has been handed down to us from one 
 generation to another, have seemingly done but 
 little to arrest this aspiring propensity. 
 
 Hainan was a climber, and terrible was his fall, 
 though he was at last lifted up against his will 
 fifty cubits higher than he wished to be. 
 
 King Hezekiah was a climber. " Oh," thought 
 he, " I will show these Babylonish messengers 
 what a mighty monarch I am. They shall see 
 my treasure-house, my precious things, my gold 
 and silver, and all that I possess, that they may 
 tell their master Berodach-baladan of my riches, 
 my greatness, and my majesty!" Poor Hezekiah! 
 He fell at the word of the prophet from the lofty 
 pinnacle to which he had raised himself. All 
 that he had was to be carried away into a strange 
 
ON CLIMBING. 183 
 
 country, and his sons were to be servants in the 
 palace of the king of Babylon. Bitterly did He- 
 zekiah repent his climbing ! 
 
 David was a climber, even though taken from 
 the sheepfolds. Not satisfied with the greatness 
 to which God had raised him, stirred up by 
 Satan, he must needs climb up higher, by magni- 
 fying himself in the eyes of his people. Those 
 whom he ruled must be numbered, that it might 
 be known how many mighty men he could com- 
 mand, and how numerous they were above whose 
 heads he was raised. Heavy was his fall on that 
 sad occasion, for the famine, the sword, and the 
 pestilence were set before him, and seventy thou- 
 sand of his men were cut off from the land. See 
 what comes of climbing ! 
 
 Long was the revel, and loud the clamorous 
 mirth that rose to the roof of the gorgeous palace 
 of the king of Babylon. Many a chalice brimmed 
 with the juice of the grape, sparkling and moving 
 itself aright, had been quaffed to the gods of gold 
 and of silver, of brass, of iron, of wood, and of 
 stone ; and the golden vessels of the house of the 
 Lord had been grasped by the unhallowed hands, 
 and drained by the blaspheming lips of Belshaz- 
 zar, his princes and his lords, his wives and his 
 concubines ; but suddenly the king's countenance 
 was changed, for he saw the mysterious hand- 
 
184 ON CLIMBING. 
 
 writing on the wall ; his thoughts troubled him, 
 the joints of his loins were loosened, and his 
 knees smote one against another. He climbs too 
 high who tries to get above the power of the 
 Holy One. Belshazzar was., a climber, and fear- 
 ful was his fall : "In that 'night was Belshazzar 
 the king of the Chaldeans slain," Dan. v. 30. 
 
 Have you forgotten the pride of Herod, when 
 he climbed so high by his majesty and his speech- 
 making, that the people cried out, "It is the 
 voice of a god, and not of a man !" Never was a 
 more disastrous fall. Smjtten by the angel of the 
 Lord, " he was eaten of worms, and gave up the 
 ghost," Acts xii. 22, 23. 
 
 We cannot consider too frequently, that man, 
 in the height of his intellect, in the pride of 
 his understanding, is a poor dependent crea- 
 ture ; dependent from the cradle to the tomb, 
 not only on his Creator, but on the meanest 
 things that are around him. His life is a gift : 
 the faculties of his body, and the endowments 
 of his mind, are bestowed upon him by a hea- 
 venly hand, a boon that he does well ever to 
 remember. See him a helpless infant, unable to 
 speak, to stand, or to stir, for his own advantage. 
 See him in the glory of his strength, conquering 
 even the great inhabitants of the deep ; in the 
 pride of his mental power, dragging down from 
 
ON CLIMBING. 185 
 
 above the lightning of heaven ; even then is he as 
 dependent as when he was a child. The air must 
 be purified for him, or he cannot breathe ; the 
 earth must bring forth its produce, and supply 
 him with fuel, and the animal world must feed 
 him and clothe him. See him in hoary age, once 
 more a child in intellect, and bowed down with 
 bodily infirmity. Really, really, there seems no 
 excuse for us when we proudly try to climb above 
 the heads of those around us. 
 
 The word " oecumenical," with which I began 
 my remarks, has already, as you see, drawn me 
 out to some length, and yet I am inclined to pro- 
 ceed a little farther, for I need not limit my illus- 
 trations to ages gone by, seeing that they abound 
 in more modern times ; and if we take the trouble 
 to look for them, we shall find enough, and too 
 many of them in our own hearts. 
 
 Not many years ago, we had a mighty climber, 
 who could not look on a throne without desiring 
 to scramble up to it. The height he did attain 
 would have made any other mortal giddy, and 
 the general opinion is that it made him so, for he 
 came tumbling down when he least expected it ; 
 the diadem fell from his brow, and he died a cap* 
 tive in the isle of St. Helena : 
 
 Napoleon ! we leave thee to slumber and sleep 
 Oh gaze on thine idol, Ambition, and weep J 
 R 2 
 
186 ON CLIMBING. 
 
 But while we now and then hear of crowned 
 heads climbing up one above another, we may see 
 the same things continually going on in common 
 life. Every day and every hour might furnish us 
 with examples in all grades of society, for pride 
 is the besetting sin of thousands. This disposi- 
 tion to get one above another is common, I had 
 almost said universal, though we discern it more 
 quickly in others than in ourselves. How often 
 have I climbed, and fallen ! How often have I 
 suffered for the pride of my heart ! 
 
 In looking at Johnson's Dictionary the other 
 day, it struck me that the learned doctor was in a 
 climbing fit when he wrote his meaning to. the 
 word "network;" for he defines it to be "any 
 thing reticulated or decussated, at equal distances, 
 with interstices between the intersections." Why, 
 the worthy doctor has outdone my " oecumenical" 
 friend twenty times over ! 
 
 If we bestowed half the pains to climb heaven- 
 ward that we do to raise ourselves one above an- 
 other, we should enjoy much more peace than 
 we now have, and endure much less perplexity ; 
 but there are some who, while professing to be 
 pilgrims to the heavenly city, go on their way as 
 proudly as if they had a right to enter heaven ; 
 and yet they have nothing to show should they 
 ever come to the golden gate. " See," says 
 
ON CLIMBING. 187 
 
 Christian, in the Pilgrim's Progress, " this is 
 the coat he gave me freely on the day when he 
 stripped me of my rags !" 
 
 I might go on, but the subject will be much 
 better prolonged by your reflections than by my 
 pen. As I fear we are all given to climbing, 
 some one way and some another, so may we 
 all profit by the words of king Solomon, " Pride 
 goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit 
 before a fall/' Prov. xvi. 18. 
 
ON COLLECTIONS IN PLACES OP 
 DIVINE WOKSHIP, 
 
 So long as Old Humphrey is content to scribble 
 about his own infirmities, to relate whimsical oc- 
 currences, or even to generalize on the errors of 
 mankind, he is not likely to offend many of his 
 readers ; but when he sets up an individual error 
 as a target to fire at, and takes a steady aim, he 
 runs some risk of making himself enemies. 
 
 Now it so happens that I have been taking 
 myself to task rather sharply, in a matter that is 
 to my reproach ; and, possibly, I may be killing 
 two birds with one stone, if I repeat to you the 
 substance of what I have already said to myself. 
 You see I take it for granted that you may be as 
 faulty as I am. 
 
 But should it so happen that you are altogether 
 free from error in this particular case, you may 
 make my remarks useful in applying them to any 
 other error into which you may have fallen. A 
 man who has no wart on his finger, may have a 
 
ON COLLECTIONS IN PLACES OF WOESHIP. 189 
 
 corn on his toe ; he may be all right in the head, 
 yet be somewhat unsound in the heart ; he may 
 be altogether free from one disease, and yet re- 
 quire a little medicine for another. 
 
 This last remark about medicine serves to re- 
 mind me how often, in the course of my life, I 
 have made a bitter draught more nauseous by 
 pulling a wry face and increasing my antipathy 
 against it, when by taking it cheerfully and un- 
 hesitatingly, I might have spared myself great 
 annoyance. Do not you, on the present occasion, 
 follow my bad example. 
 
 Notwithstanding the large sums of money which 
 are sometimes collected by Christian congrega- 
 tions, and the instances that occur of individual 
 liberality, there are few occasions on which nig- 
 gardliness is more generally manifested than in 
 collections for the support of the gospel. "With- 
 out indulging in uncharitable remarks, common 
 observation is enough to convince us of the fact, 
 that to evade a collection, or to contribute to it 
 the least possible sum that decency will admit, 
 is a common practice among professedly Christian 
 people. 
 
 This niggardly acknowledgment, or rather this 
 practical denial, of our attachment to Divine 
 things, is accompanied with so little consciousness 
 of~shame, that even disguise, in many cases, is 
 
190 ON COLLECTIONS IN PLACES 
 
 not resorted to : surely this infirmity ought to 
 bring a blush on our cheeks. 
 
 When do any of us, in our pleasures, in our 
 journeys, in our visits, in the reception of our 
 friends, or in the purchase of any article of dress, 
 make the same hesitation in the expenditure of a 
 half-crown or a shilling, as we do in the case of a 
 collection? And is, after all, the ever-blessed 
 gospel of truth, with all its consolations for time, 
 and its glorious hopes for eternity, a thing of so 
 little consequence with us as to be weighed in the 
 balances against a shilling ? Christians ! Chris- 
 tians ! let us take the matter more to heart, and 
 not thus acknowledge to ourselves, and proclaim 
 to others, what a trifling value we put upon the 
 gospel. 
 
 The celebrated Dr. Franklin, it is said, was once 
 listening to a sermon when he expected there 
 would be a collection. His mind, however, was 
 made up not to give a single farthing. He had 
 in his pocket at the time five pistoles in gold, three 
 or four silver dollars, beside a handful of copper 
 money. 
 
 As the minister proceeded in his discourse, the 
 doctor began to relent, and thought to himself 
 that he might as well part with his copper. Soon 
 after this he was so much affected by what fell 
 from the minister's lips, that he considered his 
 
OF DIVINE WORSHIP. 191 
 
 copper would be too small an offering ; his silver 
 dollars were thus placed in a dangerous position. 
 On went the minister, and in so eloquent and 
 persuasive a manner, that by the time he had 
 finished, the doctor was determined to do all he 
 could for the cause which had been so ably ad- 
 vocated, so he poured into the collector's dish the 
 contents of his pocket, copper money, silver dol- 
 lars, and golden pistoles all together. 
 
 I cannot tell whether, in the instance I have 
 related, Dr. Franklin was moved to act in the way 
 he did because his judgment was convinced, or 
 because his feelings were excited ; but this I do 
 know, that both our judgment and our affections, 
 too, ought to prompt us to support the cause of 
 the gospel. Now let me come a little closer to 
 you in my remarks. 
 
 Did you never, when preparing to set out for 
 the house of God, in recollecting that a charity 
 sermon, or a collection, was appointed for that 
 day, suddenly feel an unusual desire to be profited 
 by the ministry of some servant of the Most High, 
 whom you had never heard, and who preached 
 in a place of worship that you had never before 
 entered ? 
 
 Did you never actually, on such an occasion, 
 " go farther, and fare worse" than you would have 
 done in hearing your own minister, returning 
 
192 ON COLLECTIONS IN PLACES 
 
 home more than half dissatisfied with yourself 
 for the course you had taken ? 
 
 Did you never, after putting yourself to much 
 inconvenience to avoid one collection, stumble 
 upon another, giving your money grudgingly, and 
 resolving never again to be caught by a trap of 
 your own baiting ? 
 
 Did you never, after having made up your 
 mind to give a certain sum, settle down into the 
 prudential belief that half the amount would be 
 more consistent with your circumstances ?. 
 
 Did you never, after having been wrought up 
 to unwonted liberality by the affectionate earnest- 
 ness and pious fervour of a Christian minister, 
 cool in your resolvings, approaching the plate 
 shorn of your strength, and giving merely as ano- 
 ther man ? 
 
 Did you never fumble in your pocket before a 
 collection, holding in your hand a half-crown and 
 a shilling, or a shilling and a sixpence, prepared 
 to give the larger or the lesser coin at the door as 
 circumstances might determine ? 
 
 Did you never give, to secure the good opinion 
 of the plate-holder, what you would not have 
 given to the advocated cause ? In one word, 
 have you, or have you not, over and over again, 
 given that gladly to a human being, which you 
 would hare given grudgingly to God ? 
 
OF DIVINE WORSHIP. 193 
 
 I am ashamed to propose such questions, and 
 perhaps some of you would be equally ashamed 
 honestly to answer them. Away then with all 
 parsimonious pinching and contriving, fumbling 
 and shuffling, grudging and withholding, in the 
 Redeemer's cause. We have been mercifully 
 dealt with : let us thankfully acknowledge that 
 mercy, remembering that "the liberal soul de- 
 viseth liberal things, and by liberal things shall 
 he stand." God has been good to us ; let us at 
 least show that we set some value on his gifts : 
 and as the glorious gospel has been freely given 
 to us, freely let us support it. 
 
ON FAVOURITE AUTHORS, 
 
 IT is said that a man is known by the company 
 he keeps ; and I suppose, too, that a knowledge 
 of the books a man is in the habit of reading 
 would afford us some considerable insight into his 
 character ; but this is a subject that I have no in- 
 clination at present to pursue. 
 
 Neither have I any intention to point out which 
 are the best authors, nor to dwell on the difference 
 between the books of modern writers and the 
 works of those who wrote at a period more remote 
 from our own. I merely mean to indulge in a 
 homely remark or two, either general or particu- 
 lar, as the case may be, on a few of the many 
 highly-gifted servants of God who, by their 
 warm-hearted and holy-minded productions, have 
 largely ministered to the profit and delight of 
 mankind. 
 
 But let me not leave with you the impression 
 that I have always, or generally, been occupied in 
 pondering over the pages of religious books, for 
 this would be inconsistent with truth. Too often 
 
ON FAVOURITE AUTHORS. 195 
 
 have I eaten husks when I might have banqueted 
 on the fatted calf. My mental appetite ever has 
 been, and is now, for a Christian man, too keen 
 after character, and talent, and novelty; and 
 therefore, I will not seek to hide my infirmity ; 
 but while I admit how much of interest I have 
 taken in books of an ephemeral kind, let not my 
 sincerity be doubted when I describe the dear de- 
 light that works of an opposite description have 
 afforded me ; it is of the authors of such works 
 that I am about to speak. 
 
 We have so many good books now, that we un- 
 derrate their value ; had we but few, we should 
 prize them above rubies. It is a glorious thing 
 to be able to live and converse with the wise and 
 good, who have so long been dead ; to hold com- 
 munion, yea, familiarly to companionize with the 
 mighty minds that diffused a glory over departed 
 ages ; to ponder .their works ; to approve their de- 
 signs ; to mark their errors ; to profit by their 
 wisdom ; to reverence their piety ; to love their 
 benevolence ; to pay homage to their talents ; and 
 unfeignedly to preserve and honour their memory. 
 
 To say nothing of the Book of books, the foun- 
 tain of all others that are spiritually-minded, there 
 are numberless tomes that bring us at once, as it 
 were, into the presence of those who wrote them. 
 I cannot tell you what I sometimes feel when in 
 
196 ON FAVOURITE AUTHOKS. 
 
 the company of Bunyan and Baxter ; of Herbert ; 
 of Brown of Haddington ; of Meikle, of Flavel, 
 and Fletcher ; of Hall, and Hopkins, and Jeremy 
 Taylor, and Leighton, and Usher ; of Whitefield, 
 Wesley, and Watts ; of Henry and Scott ; of Bos- 
 ton, and Toplady, and Brooks. I seek no more 
 than my neighbours the favour and the friendship 
 of the ungodly great, but I do hold it an honour 
 to touch the hem of a good man's garment. Some 
 of these had lawn sleeves, and other some, for 
 aught I know, might have linsey; but however 
 this might be, they all loved and served their hea- 
 venly Master, and their hearts were renewed by 
 his grace. Is it nothing, think you, to be able to 
 walk with Luther and Calvin, to talk with Wick- 
 liffe, and to take by the hand Cranmer and Ridley, 
 and old father Latimer, bidding them God speed, 
 and a prosperous journey as they enter their flam- 
 ing chariots that are waiting to bear them to 
 the skies ? 
 
 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 enter- 
 prise and adventure, which clings to me still. 
 Spenser was my delight, and to pore over old 
 father Chaucer's antiquated volumes afforded me 
 much gratification. 
 
ON FAVOUKITE AUTHOES. 197 
 
 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 sunheam 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 
 Has 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. 
 
 
 There is an ardent interest awakened in the 
 mind when reading a favourite author, that, at 
 times, amounts to extreme impatience. I remem- 
 ber noticing something of this in the demeanour 
 of a politician, who was reading the newspaper of 
 the day ; it seemed dangerous to approach him ; 
 he could not brook interruption. 
 
 Some read none but modem authors, while 
 others go back to the ancient Greeks and Ro- 
 mans, and to Josephus, Joseph Ben Gorion, and 
 Geoffrey of Monmouth, with delight. Some read 
 nothing but prose, while others dote on the rugged 
 
 s 2 
 
198 ON FAVOURITE AUTHORS. 
 
 poetry of Robert 01 Gloucester, John Gower, and 
 Andrew of Wynton, or ponder the pages of sir 
 David Lindsay, sir Philip Sidney, and sir Wal- 
 ter Raleigh. I knew one Bible reader, who re- 
 fused either to read worldly books, or to enter 
 into worldly pleasure. His observation invariably 
 was, " No, no ! I have had quite enough of Ma- 
 dam Bubble ! " 
 
 Few writers have had more complete control 
 over their readers than Foxe. His black letter 
 " Acts and Monuments," partly arising from the 
 interest of the subject treated on, partly from the 
 style of the author, and partly from the arresting, 
 old-fashioned illustrations of the burning of the 
 martyrs, at once secures the attention of the 
 reader. I have hung over the bool^ with myste- 
 rious awe and pleasure till more than midnight, 
 and, after all, closed it with strong reluctance. 
 When the trumpet of the archangel shall summon 
 all to judgment, how will the black hearts of the 
 martyr-burning bigots tremble ! How will their 
 blood-red hands be lifted up in hopeless supplica- 
 tion, should one half of the multiplied murders 
 recorded in this book be laid to their charge ! 
 
 The Reformers are favourite authors with Chris- 
 tian people, and the works of Wickliife, Knox, 
 Bradford, ahd Hooper, witn those of Latimer, 
 Ridley, and Cranmer, who suffered in the flames 
 
ON FAVOURITE AUTHOKS. 199 
 
 at Oxford, are held in much estimation. If you 
 really love the orthodox doctrines of the gospel 
 set forth in clearness and simplicity, you cannot 
 but highly value these works, and highly honour 
 their authors. 
 
 Francis Quarles has been the delight of many ; 
 his " Shepherd's Oracles," and his " Divine Fan- 
 cies," have their admirers ; but his "Book of Em- 
 blems" has been much more popular. It has 
 given pleasure to my boyhood, my youth, and my 
 years. Never, surely, were stranger pictures in- 
 troduced into any volume since the art of engrav- 
 ing on wood was discovered, than those in the 
 "Emblems;" which he adopted from a mysti- 
 cal work written by a Romanist named Hugo : 
 they form a necessary part of the volume. I do 
 not ask you whether you have read Quarles, but 
 take it for granted that you must have read, and 
 heartily enjoyed him. 
 
 Beveridge is deservedly a favourite, and Richard 
 Baxter, who declined a bishopric, still more so ; 
 the " Private Thoughts upon Religion" of the one, 
 and the " Call to the Unconverted" and cf Saint's 
 Everlasting Rest" of the other, have been a 
 means, under a heavenly influence, of showing to 
 many the rags of their own fancied merit, and 
 4 directing them to the robes of the all-sufficient 
 righteousness of Christ. Neither Beveridge nor 
 
200 ON FAVOURITE AUTHOES. 
 
 Baxter, however, has had half so many readers or 
 admirers as John Bunyan. His " Holy War" is 
 full of interest ; but his " Pilgrim's Progress" is 
 irresistible. Readers are becoming somewhat 
 more reconciled than they were to the new and 
 beautiful pictures which decorate the latter edi- 
 tions of this work, but at first it was a sad trouble 
 to many. Old Humphrey was one of those who 
 would not hear of the change. He had read the 
 work, man and boy, with the old-fashioned pic- 
 tures in it, and they, with all their uncouthness, 
 had become dear to him. Well ! well ! he has 
 lived long enough to give up many opinions that 
 he once held, and to hold many humbly that he 
 is not at all likely to change. 
 
 It would, perhaps, be difficult to find a young, 
 or an old reader, who knows nothing of " Pil- 
 grim's Progress." Christian, and Christiana, 
 Hopeful, Mr. Greatheart, Faithful, Prudence, and 
 Mercy, are names well known, and the City of 
 Destruction, the Slough of Despond, the Wicket 
 Gate, the Interpreter's House, Doubting Castle, 
 and Vanity Fair, together with the Valley of the 
 Shadow of Death, and the Gate of the Celestial 
 City, are familiar to most people. In this coun- 
 try the influence of " Pilgrim's Progress" is, 
 perhaps, greater than that of any other book, 
 with the exception of the Bible. 
 
ON FAVOUKITE AUTHORS. 201 
 
 Dr. Johnson playfully pushed away a little girl 
 who had not read the " Pilgrim's Progress," say- 
 ing, " Then 111 not give a farthing for you." 
 This was not intended in unkindness, but would 
 excite the child's attention to the book. 
 
 Flavel is another favourite : his book on " Pro- 
 vidence," and his " Husbandry Spiritualized," are 
 influential works. Then there is Hopkins, who 
 wrote an Exposition on the Commandments and 
 Lord's Prayer ; and Hall, often called the British 
 Seneca. The great variety of talent that the 
 Father of mercies has bestowed on man is won- 
 derful ; would that it were always devoted to the 
 glory of its Almighty Giver ! 
 
 Most likely you are as intimate with James 
 Meikle as I am ; but if not, the sooner you get 
 possession of his " Solitude Sweetened" the better. 
 Read it ; dwell upon, enjoy it, and get good from 
 it ; for if you can read it carefully without getting 
 good from it, yours must be rather a peculiar case. 
 Leighton, who wrote on Peter ; and Home, the 
 author of the " Commentary on the Psalms," 
 were no common men, nor were they possessed 
 of common minds. Boston was an admirable 
 writer ; and where could you put your hands on 
 sweeter books than those of Brooks's " Precious 
 Remedies," and his " Mute Christian under the 
 Smarting Rod ?" Talk of a book being worth its 
 
202 ON FAVOURITE AUTHORS. 
 
 weight in gold ! What is gold, heaped up high, 
 in point of real value, compared with works like 
 these ? 
 
 Thus have I glanced at a few of the many 
 Christian authors who have been favourites with 
 the Christian public : but were all of them to be 
 enumerated, the list would, indeed, be a long one. 
 I have said nothing of living authors, though many 
 of them live in my warmest affections. Whoever 
 your favourite authors may be, you will find some 
 advantage in observing this rule in reading them : 
 Let your object be to get good from them, ra- 
 ther than to detect evil in them. It is well that 
 there are Christian readers with keen eyes, sharp 
 intellects, and burning zeal for orthodoxy, other- 
 wise religious books would be much more lax and 
 faulty than they are : but it belongs not to the 
 general reader to enter into a crusade against fine . 
 points, doubtful opinions, and disputed positions. 
 Better, as I say, to try to get good from your 
 author, than to detect evil in him. 
 
 The mistakes that Christian-hearted men make 
 are, no doubt, many, even when they possess the 
 very best of intentions. Some good men seem, 
 to me, to make it a point in their books to say as 
 little about faith, and as much about works, as 
 possible, when all the while you read them you 
 have no doubt at all that their works have sprung 
 
ON FAVOURITE AUTHORS. 203 
 
 from a lively faith in the Redeemer. Other good 
 men, on the contrary, speak of nothing else but 
 faith, when it is equally clear that such faith as 
 theirs must have abounded in good works. The 
 truth is, that good men, like worldly-minded men, 
 have their hobbies, and they will ride them. 
 When you fall in with a good man of this kind, 
 booted and spurred, and ready mounted, let him 
 have his ride. Never you mind either his boots, 
 his spurs, or the nag in which he so much delight- 
 eth ; keep your eye and your heart on his better 
 qualities his humility, his faith, his patience, his 
 love for his brother sinners, and his zeal for the 
 Redeemer's glory. 
 
 The other day I was commenting, to my shame 
 be it spoken, a little more garrulously than I 
 ought to have done, on the peculiarities and infir- 
 mities of a good man, when a Christian friend at 
 my elbow, whose eyes were as ^steadily fixed on 
 his good qualities as mine were on his bad ones, 
 said to me, placing his hand soothingly on my 
 arm, " Never mind, Mr. Humphrey, never mind ; 
 Samson had his weakness, and Solomon had his 
 folly, but Samson was a strong man, and Solo- 
 mon was a wise man, for all that." I felt, indeed, 
 reproved ; for it occurred to me, if I could say so 
 much on the failings of so good a man, what 
 
204 ON FAVOUKITE AUTHORS. 
 
 might not he say on the failings of Old Hum- 
 phrey ? 
 
 I have been looking over the works of two or 
 three of the favourite authors of my boyish days, 
 and find them so poor and meagre in comparison 
 with the estimate I formed of them in my youth, 
 that I marvel how I could ever have valued them 
 so highly. The change, however, must be in 
 myself; that which gives pleasure to boyhood is 
 often little calculated to afford satisfaction to the 
 man. While, then, we enjoy our favourite authors, 
 it will be well if we grow more sober as we sink 
 into years, gradually diminishing our lighter vo- 
 lumes, clinging closer to those which are more 
 spiritually minded, and valuing more than ever 
 that blessed book which has brought life and im- 
 mortality to light, and from whence the excel- 
 lences of all other religious books are derived. 
 
ON EXTREMES, 
 
 HAD I only attended to one half of the rules 
 which I have ventured to lay down in various 
 cases for the guidance of others, how carefully, 
 how creditably, and how exemplarily might I 
 have walked through the world! But we are 
 more disposed to give advice than to take it ; and 
 it is easier to lay down good plans for our own 
 guidance than to carry them into effect with uni- 
 form steadiness and perseverance. A word with 
 you now on the subject of extremes. 
 
 Instead of talking learnedly about Scylla and 
 Charybdis, I will say in more homely language, 
 that in avoiding the watery ditch on one side the 
 road, we often run into the muddy quagmire on 
 the other. Now it is but a sorry source of com- 
 fort when a man considers that he has escaped 
 falling into one puddle up to his knees, by getting 
 into another up to his neck. Avoid extremes ! 
 There is a golden mean that we shall all do well 
 to attain. Though we need not fear being too 
 humble, too honest, too sincere, or too eager after 
 
 T 
 
206 ON EXTREMES. 
 
 heaven, yet, in a thousand things, we may err by 
 carrying matters to excess. 
 
 There are few who run into the extreme of ab- 
 stinence in eating, drinking, and sleeping ; though 
 many grievously err in the opposite excess of 
 gluttony, drunkenness, and sloth. Instances, 
 however, of all kinds of extremes do occur. I 
 knew a man who almost killed himself by an ex- 
 cess of abstinence; and another, a clergyman, 
 who attributed his ill state of health to the 
 circumstance of his lying so much in bed, though 
 it was a rare case for him not to rise before four 
 o'clock in the morning. 
 
 Gravity and mirth are both good in their way; 
 but that which in one degree may be an advan- 
 tage, may, in another, be an evil. Neither exces- 
 sive gravity nor excessive mirth is suited to man. 
 Excessive gravity would rob him of the energy of 
 action, and excessive mirth would unfit him for 
 salutary thought. My advice is, that you neither 
 go scowling through the world like a screech-owl, 
 nor grinning like a monkey. 
 
 With stedfast mind partake life's sweets and sours, 
 And neither grin nor growl away thy hours. 
 
 Prodigality and parsimony are evils ; the one 
 oeing the excess of spending and bestowing, the 
 other the excess of laying up and withholding. 
 
ON EXTREMES. 20? 
 
 For my part, I hardly know which is most to be 
 pitied and despised the poor prodigal who 
 wastes his goods, or the avaricious man who 
 denies himself and others the comforts of exist- 
 ence. Did the prodigal and the parsimonious 
 know how much good might be done by a well- 
 spent penny, they would neither give away use- 
 lessly, nor begrudge hard-heartedly. Whether 
 rich or poor, try to keep up a prudent and a 
 liberal spirit, neither scattering as a spendthrift, 
 nor amassing as a miser. 
 
 Treat not as dross the goodly gifts of Heaven, 
 Nor hold too hard what God has freely given. 
 
 Thoughtlessness and care are extremes that 
 ought to be avoided. Let us neither tempt God 
 by despising his gifts, nor dishonour him by dis- 
 trusting his goodness. There is enough of pain, 
 poverty, sorrow, and sin in the world to call forth 
 reflection and prudence; and there are far too 
 many proofs of our heavenly Father's care for us, 
 to warrant unreasonable anxiety for ourselves. 
 Neither pass away life with reckless indifference, 
 nor waste it in gloomy apprehensions of evil. 
 
 With prudent forethought let thy paths be trod, 
 And fearlessly commit thy ways to God. 
 
 There are those who make haste to be rich, 
 
208 ON EXTREMES. 
 
 adding, at all hazards, field to field, house to 
 house, and barn to barn; and there are, also, 
 who, by imprudence, are industrious in attaining 
 poverty. A wise man will strive to shun, and a 
 go'od man will struggle to avoid the snares that 
 lie in the extremes of riches and poverty. Agur 
 saw these snares, and urgently put up the prayer, 
 " Give me neither poverty nor riches ; feed me 
 with food convenient for me : lest I be full, and 
 deny thee, and say, Who is the Lord ? or lest I 
 be poor, and steal, and take the name of my God 
 in vain," Prov. xxx. 8, 9. If you desire a smooth 
 path on earth, and a bright prospect of heaven, 
 be thankful that your lot is not cast in the ex- 
 tremes of riches and poverty : 
 
 Let neither needless penury be thy rod, 
 Nor useless treasures lure thee from thy God. 
 
 Some have the gift of speech, and indulge it to 
 such a degree that they will run on by the hour 
 in conversation, scarcely allowing those around 
 them to interrupt the current of their discourse. 
 Others are habitually so silent, that drawing an 
 observation from them is like extracting a tight 
 cork from the narrow neck of a bottle. Talkative- 
 ness and taciturnity are extremes which are not to 
 be commended : of the two, however, I prefer the 
 latter ; for talking too much is certainly a greater 
 
ON EXTREMES. 209 
 
 fault than talking too little. If you wish to ren- 
 der yourself useful and agreeable to your friends, 
 you will neither chatter like a parrot, nor sit 
 dumb as though the gift of speech were denied 
 you: 
 
 A man of wisdom tempers well Iris tongue, 
 Nor talks too loud, too rapid, nor too long. 
 
 Severity and weak indulgence are failings that 
 cling closely to parents, though the latter is more 
 common than the former. At times, these ex- 
 cesses are found in the same person, who at one 
 season excuses great faults, and at another sternly 
 reproves trivial errors. Parents ! be on your 
 guard; for what father can hope that his child 
 can love him, if he snaps him up sharply on the 
 least occasion ; and what mother can expect a 
 child to honour her in age, who is allowed to 
 make faces at a bald head? Be kind-hearted, 
 and reprove evil ; but be neither weakly nor 
 wickedly indulgent or severe : 
 
 Be neither swift to censure, weakly blind, 
 Unjustly cruel, nor absurdly kind. 
 
 Credulity and scepticism are sad errors ; for 
 the one will weakly believe what is false, and the 
 other will wilfully doubt what is true. To give 
 credit to every idle report, or to call in question 
 
 T2 
 
210 ON EXTREMES. 
 
 what knowledge and experience have proved, is 
 equally to manifest a want of wisdom. I know 
 those who believe it to be an ill omen to see a 
 solitary magpie ; and I also know those who doubt 
 the eternal truths of God's most holy word : 
 
 Extremes indulged are certain to grow strong, 
 Weakness and wilfulness must both be wrong. 
 
 Sharpness and excessive softness in conversa- 
 tion are extremes attended with great disad- 
 vantage ; the former being disliked, and the latter 
 being always suspected. A friend of mine, the 
 other day, describing two characters, said of them, 
 " The one is as sharp as fresh-gathered mustard, 
 the other is a dear oily man ; both together they 
 would make an excellent salad :" 
 
 Sharp words and soft deceit show want of sense ; 
 Let truth be told, but still without offence. 
 
 Extremes in dress and appearance, though not 
 so objectionable, are still more apparent than ex- 
 tremes in manners. One man wears a very low 
 hat, with a broad brim ; another has one high in 
 the crown, with hardly any brim at all. One 
 wears shoes three inches broad at the toe; another 
 has boots whose points are sharp and turning up 
 somewhat in the style of a Turkish slipper. One 
 man shaves himself clean, and has his hair 
 
ON EXTKEMES. 211 
 
 clipped unreasonably close ; another lets his hair 
 grow long on his head, his neck, and his face. 
 One man takes out with him a thin cane, that can 
 neither defend him nor sustain his weight ; an- 
 other carries a thick cudgel, as though he were 
 about to beat a buffalo. There is hardly any end 
 to excesses and extremes among mankind : 
 
 In word and deed, in manners and in dress, 
 Be ever modest, and avoid excess. 
 
 I might lay before you a catalogue of extremes, 
 and one way of increasing its length would be to 
 add thereto the list of my own excesses ; but 
 enough has been said, perhaps, to set you to work 
 to discover the extremes into which you yourselves 
 most commonly run, in order that they may be 
 corrected. In this undertaking, you will do well 
 to remember that kindly feelings are no security 
 against excess ; nay, very often, they are the very 
 cause of creating it. Prudence and self-denial are 
 gifts worth praying for ; with tbei-* assistance, you 
 may weather the storm of manj i,cmptations, but 
 without them you may be shipwrecked in a sea of 
 good intentions. 
 
 Let me advise you to seek not to discourage 
 the remarks of those kind friends who faithfully 
 reprove you. A friend of mine observes, " That 
 man is not fit for this world, who is not thankful 
 
212 ON EXTREMES. 
 
 to have his faults detected, and his improvement 
 thus promoted." 
 
 With a wise distrust of our own powers, and a 
 strong reliance on Divine goodness and mercy, we 
 may work wonders, or rather, wonders may be 
 worked in us, restraining us from excesses and 
 extremes that set thorns and briers in our early 
 paths, and becloud our view of heaven : 
 
 May grace Divine, with bright effulgent beams, 
 Shine forth and scatter all our strange extremes. 
 
ON CHAEACTBE 
 
 THERE are many people who find much grati- 
 fication in observing the words and actions of 
 others. Wherever they are, whatever they see 
 and hear, and with whomsoever they associate, 
 they are always on the look out for those pecu- 
 liarities that constitute character. You shall have 
 a few of my characters : they are oddly tumbled 
 together ; but you may pick out, here and there, 
 what may prove to be seasonable information. 
 
 There are weak-minded and feeble-bodied in- 
 valids, who are never well, and who never would 
 be well if they could. The doctor must call, the 
 draught must be taken, and every friend must 
 tell them, on pain of serious displeasure, that 
 they look very ill, and must take great care of 
 themselves. I have met with a few of these. 
 
 There are quiet folks in the world, who let 
 others have their way, who sit and laugh in their 
 sleeves at the wilfulness of others, and withal get 
 pitied and pelted into the bargain. This class is 
 somewhat scarce ; but it has come within the 
 range of my observation. 
 
214 ON CHARACTER. 
 
 There are ignorant, hot-headed, high-minded 
 hurley-hurley blusterers, who tyrannize wherever 
 they have power. To rail at servants, to look big, 
 and call about them at inns and other places, and 
 to quarrel with the feeble and timorous, is their 
 delight. 
 
 There are tattling gad-abouts, who can no more 
 withhold from the whole neighbourhood anything 
 they may happen to know or hear, than a cack- 
 ling hen that has just laid an egg. Be it true 
 or false, let it do good or evil, the story must be 
 told. Sorry am I to say, that the tribe of the 
 gad-abouts is a numerous one. 
 
 There are kind-hearted souls, who can never be 
 happy themselves, unless they can make others 
 so. Half-a-dozen such as these in a village, and 
 a score in a town, do more real good, and fling 
 around them more sunshine, than a hundred 
 merely respectable inhabitants. Oh how I love 
 to fall in with beings of this description ! 
 
 There are free givers, who have not a particle 
 of charity. They will head a subscription, visit 
 a benevolent institution, put largely in the plate 
 at the church or chapel door, and plead the cause 
 of the widow and the orphan. These things are 
 done " that they may be seen of men,'* and 
 "verily they have their reward." 
 
 There are passionate persons, so hot and pep- 
 
ON CHARACTER. 215 
 
 pery, so truly combustible, that a word will throw 
 them into a blaze. Whether the offence be small 
 or great, intended or accidental, it is all one. 
 They are like loaded guns, which go off" when the 
 least thing touches the trigger. Of one of this 
 class it was aptly said, 
 
 " He carries in his breast a spark of ire, 
 That any fool may fan into a fire." 
 
 There are thoughtful men who remain at home, 
 and grow wise ; and there are thoughtless wan- 
 derers who go abroad, and come back ignorant. 
 It is not what the eye sees, but what the mind 
 reflects on, that supplies us with wisdom. 
 
 There are persons who, acting from sudden 
 impulses, make use of such high-flown exclama- 
 tions on trifling occasions, that they have no suit- 
 able words for occurrences of importance. They 
 know nothing of the positive and comparative, 
 but always make use of the superlative The 
 squeaking of a mouse and the fall of a church- 
 spire would call forth the same ejaculation. The 
 offenders of this class are usually feminine. 
 
 There are indolent indulgers of themselves, 
 so lethargic that they can make no effort, except 
 on occasions of extraordinary necessity, like the 
 glutton that gorges himself to supply his hunger, 
 and then relapses into his accustomed torpidity. 
 
216 ON CHARACTER. 
 
 There are busybodies, whose own business 
 seems not to be of half so much importance to 
 them as the occupations of others. These sift 
 trifling matters to the bottom; make much of 
 little things, and do a plentiful deal of mischief 
 to all around them. They gain the credit of 
 knowing every body and every thing. Some court 
 them, some fear them, and some despise them ; 
 but every one dislikes them. 
 
 There are susceptible, affectionate, and impul- 
 sive spirits, who quickly manifest their kind- 
 hearted feelings, but do not retain them. Like 
 the spark that gives a momentary warmth and 
 brightness, and is suddenly extinguished, their 
 emotions come and go with the occasion that calls 
 them forth. With many of this class have I held 
 communion. 
 
 There are well-meaning, weak-minded simple- 
 tons, who cannot say, No ! but agree in every 
 thing with every body ; such sentences as these 
 are ever in their mouths : " You are right, sir !" 
 "True! true! true!" "Exactly so!" "It can- 
 not be otherwise!" "Undoubtedly!" "To be 
 sure it is !" " That is what I say !" " There is 
 no question about the matter!" "I see! I 
 see!" 
 
 There are silent and reflecting observers of 
 men and things, who commonly hear and see, 
 
ON CHARACTER. 217 
 
 and say nothing. They neither approve nor con- 
 demn audibly, and many imagine that they have 
 no opinion ; yet there are times when they can 
 speak. When you meet with such an one, hold 
 him, and let him not go ; for he is worth his 
 weight in gold. 
 
 There are speakers fond of fine words; they 
 are so self-sufficient and ill-instructed as to con- 
 found simple language with a deficiency of intel- 
 lect, thereby undervaluing what is really an attain- 
 ment of a high order, and only to be acquired by 
 much study and practice. Students of this kind 
 abound. 
 
 There are thankless repiners, who always re- 
 member to complain of the least of their troubles, 
 and always forget to rejoice and thank God for 
 the boundless blessings he has so liberally be- 
 stowed. A thankless spirit is a curse to its pos- 
 sessor. 
 
 There are true cocoa-nut friends, who with a 
 rough outside possess great kindness of heart. 
 These speak rather with their hands than their 
 tongues ; with their deeds than with their words. 
 If you have such a friend value him ; for you 
 may go far, and not find another. 
 
 There are polished and plausible persons, who 
 have ever fair words at their disposal. They pro- 
 mise freely, but perform slowly. There is a silky 
 
 u 
 
218 ON CHARACTER. 
 
 softness in their persuasions, that ill-prepares 
 you for disappointment. Have a care, my friends ; 
 the velvet-like paw of a cat conceals talons that 
 are dangerous. 
 
 There are rude, unmannerly guzzlers, who take 
 a pride in making themselves at home wherever 
 they go, to the great annoyance of all who are not 
 of the same stamp with them. They who show 
 no respect to others, are utterly undeserving of it 
 themselves. 
 
 There are hard-hearted, callous-minded, money- 
 getting, mammon- clutchers, on whom a tale of 
 distress has no more effect than a ball has on the 
 stone wall against which it is thrown. Where 
 the soul is absorbed in getting, the heart has 
 little pleasure in giving. These mammon-clutchers 
 form a large family. 
 
 There are habitual and industrious Bible- 
 readers, who set a value on the word of God 
 above all earthly things. It is a stronghold 
 where they go for safety ; a treasure-house where 
 they obtain riches, and a never- failing source of 
 wisdom, encouragement, doctrine, reproof, and 
 correction in righteousness. If you know any of 
 this class, keep up your acquaintance with them. 
 
 There are poetical sentimentalists, who revel in 
 the beauties of creation, and prefer worshipping 
 God in the green fields on the sabbath, to meet- 
 
ON CHAKACTEB. 219 
 
 ing in his house with his people. Their senti- 
 ment may be fine, and their poetry excellent ; 
 but their piety is of a very doubtful character. If 
 we truly love God, we truly desire, whatever may 
 be our infirmities, to obey God, " not forsaking 
 the assembling of ourselves together," according 
 to his word. 
 
 There are proud and supercilious sceptics, who 
 affect to pity simple-minded Christians, preferring 
 pride and destruction to humility and peace. 
 They feed on husks, and refuse the fatted calf; 
 they sow the wind, and reap the whirlwind ; and 
 they live without the hope of eternal life, and lay 
 up thorns for a dying pillow. I am afraid that 
 the number of this class is on the increase. 
 
 There are mercy-loving men, who practise kind- 
 ness to man and beast, and refrain from treading 
 on a creeping thing. Mercy is a glorious attri- 
 bute ! freely have we received of it, freely let us 
 bestow it. A friend of this sort, in a shadowy 
 hour, is as balm to a rankling wound. 
 
 There are ill-natured and imperious churls, who 
 are more willingly employed in giving pain than in 
 imparting pleasure. They have no bowels of com- 
 passion, tenderness, and mercy ; but love to re- 
 prove, to condemn, to afflict, and oppress : " The 
 instruments of the churl are evil," Isa. xxxii. 7. 
 
 There are compassionate spirits, whose charity 
 
220 ON CHARACTEE. 
 
 is without judgment ; the semblance of woe is 
 enough to call forth their pity. With them an 
 impostor in rags is always more successful than a 
 poor woman decently clad, or a distressed man in 
 a whole coat. I have half-a-dozen people in my 
 eye while I make this remark. 
 
 There are unstable, whining, weak-headed 
 changelings, who are not to-day what they were 
 yesterday, nor will they be to-morrow what they 
 are to-day. As well may you desire the weather- 
 cock on the church steeple to keep to one point, 
 as expect them to be steady in their purposes. 
 The less you have to do with friends of this kind 
 the better. 
 
 There are narrow-minded men, ay, and women 
 too, who have humanity enough to do a deed of 
 kindness, but not generosity enough to abstain 
 from upbraiding the receiver of it. With one 
 hand they give, with the other they smite. You 
 never hear the last of any act they perform. For a 
 pennyworth of goodwill they exact a pound's worth 
 of acknowledgments. Their little drops of honey 
 are mingled with much wormwood and gall. 
 
 There are grateful spirits that, come good or 
 ill, are always " singing of mercy." To them the 
 heavens declare the glory of God, and the earth 
 is full of the goodness of the Lord. A spirit of 
 this kind is worth a sea full of sapphires ! 
 
ON CHARACTER. 221 
 
 There are prating old men, who talk mvicli 
 about themselves : often are they grave when 
 they should be gay ; frequently do they give ad- 
 vice to their neighbours abroad, while they stand 
 in need of it at home ; and continually, while they 
 appear to others as strong, wise, and good, do 
 they feel themselves to be weak, ignorant, and 
 sinful. Come, come, I have hit at last upon 
 something so much like my own character, that I 
 must stop a while, and muse upon it. If any 
 thing that I have brought forward is suitable to 
 your case ; if, in this budget of odds and ends, you 
 should find a cap that will fit you, put it on and 
 wear it a while for the sake of Old Humphrey. 
 
ON TERMS USED IN WAR. 
 
 WHAT a continual holiday of the heart, what 
 an unceasing jubilee of the spirit would it be, if 
 mankind would always dwell together in peace 
 and love ! But the time is not yet. While sin 
 is alive, sorrow will never die ; and, therefore, 
 though our paths are thronged with countless 
 mercies, we must not expect them to abound with 
 thornless flowers. 
 
 That it is an advantage, nay a duty, to look on 
 the sunny side of things is clear ; and yet there 
 are so many sources of grief and distress, that a 
 thinking man can hardly avoid, now and then, 
 walking in the shade, afflicting himself with re- 
 gret, and shrouding his spirit with melancholy 
 'reflections. 
 
 I was musing, the other day, on the many 
 forms of expression that we meet with, and read 
 over, without emotion, as things of course, though 
 they involve every thing that is dreadful to human 
 nature. Among them I was calling to mind 
 some of the phrases which are used in reference 
 
ON TERMS USED IN WAR. 223 
 
 to war. There is, in many of these, such a bre- 
 vity and careless ease, that we hardly seem re- 
 quired to pause upon them. " The troops were 
 driven into the river." " The town was taken by 
 storm/* " The garrison were put to the sword." 
 " The city was given up to pillage." " The place 
 was burned to the ground." These light and 
 tripping phrases are common-place in military 
 despatches ; and yet, what fearful excesses, what 
 dreadful sufferings they involve ! 
 
 Let us take one of them, and for a moment ex- 
 amine it in a few of its ramifications. True it is, 
 that we are now at peace ; but a calm is often 
 succeeded by an unexpected storm, and the quie- 
 tude of Vesuvius is followed by the loud bellow- 
 ing of the burning mountain. Peace and war 
 depend much on the public mind, and of that 
 public we all form a part ; it may be well, therefore, 
 to keep alive within us that hatred of war, which 
 a review of its cruel excesses is calculated to 
 inspire. Let us take, for our examination, the 
 expression, " The city was given up to pillage." 
 Those who have read much of scenes of warfare, 
 well know that imagination is not likely to exceed 
 the reality of the miseries which war has gene- 
 rally produced. The narratives of Labaume and 
 Porter, Wilson, Segur, Dufens, and others, bring 
 to our view such extravagant scenes of calamity 
 
224 ON TEEMS USED IN WAR. 
 
 and cruelty, such displays of horrible enormity, 
 that we wonder why mankind do not, with one 
 united and universal cry of abhorrence, exclaim 
 against the practice and principle of heart-harden- 
 ing and demoralizing war. 
 
 But let it not be thought that I have any plea- 
 sure in blackening the reputation of a soldier ; 
 neither would I presumptuously brand the brow 
 of him who differs with me in opinion ; but feel- 
 ing, as I do, that the word of God is the word of 
 peace, and that war is a bitter evil ; and knowing, 
 as I do, how thoughtlessly we receive and retain 
 the opinion of those around us, right or wrong, 
 I claim the liberty of free speech, while I endea- 
 vour to excite more consideration and sympathy 
 among the advocates of war, than is usually mani- 
 fested by them. 
 
 " The city was given up to pillage." What is 
 the real meaning of the term, Giving up a place 
 to pillage ? for it explains itself so little, that it 
 may be worth while, for once, if it be only for the 
 sake of impressing it on our memories, to make 
 ourselves familiar with the signification, as ex- 
 plained by past experience. It means, then, 
 neither more nor less than this, that an infuriated 
 soldiery are given free leave and liberty to in- 
 dulge, without restraint, their selfish, brutal, and 
 cruel passions, in plundering, burning, and de- 
 
ON TERMS USED IN WAR. 225 
 
 stroying the property of unoffending people ; and 
 in ill-using, maiming, and murdering them with- 
 out control. This is the plain meaning, so far as 
 we can gather it from the most authentic records 
 of the occurrences which have taken place in 
 cases of the kind. Indeed, it must be so ; for, in 
 giving armed and revengeful soldiers permission 
 to pillage, you give them leave to take, by force, 
 the property of those who, naturally enough, will 
 make a struggle to retain it : the consequences 
 are inevitable, and strife is succeeded by blood- 
 shed. How fearful, then, is the expression, 
 " The city was given up to pillage !" 
 
 The enormity of giving up a city to pillage is 
 not seen or felt, when we read of it as taking 
 place in a distant part of the world ; it comes not 
 home " to our business and bosoms," as it would 
 do, were the occurrence to take place under our 
 observation ; but rapine and murder are crimes 
 wherever they are practised, and pain and heart- 
 rending calamity are as hard to endure in one part 
 of the world as in another 
 
 " The city was given up to pillage." There 
 can be no harm in applying this expression for the 
 moment to the immediate town or city in which we 
 dwell; the place wherein we possess property, and 
 where those live who are dear to us, as the ruddy 
 drops that warm our hearts ; and here let no one 
 
226 ON TERMS USED IN WAR. 
 
 accuse me of wantonly harrowing up human feel- 
 ings. Let no man tell me that I do wrong in 
 painting war in its own sanguinary colours ! I am 
 persuaded it is because Christians have been 
 guiltily silent, as to war's abominations, that so 
 little repugnance is felt against strife and bloodshed. 
 To shrink from a painted battle is affectation, if 
 we have no antipathy to a real one ! Surely, if a 
 monster affright us not, we should not be scared 
 at his shadow ! What I have read of the pages of 
 warfare has wrung from my very spirit a strong 
 sympathy for the victims of violence, and called 
 forth an urgent and irresistible desire to excite the 
 same sympathy in others. Let me, then, pursue 
 my course. 
 
 For a moment, let me suppose the roaring can- 
 non to have brought down our church spires ; to 
 have broken in the walls and roofs of our habita- 
 tions ; and that bomb shells, Shrapnell shells, 
 and Congreve rockets have set buildings without 
 number on fire, and spread confusion around. 
 All at once the thundering of the cannon ceases ; 
 the bombs and rockets are no longer seen in the 
 air, and a new and more dreadful plague spreads 
 abroad. Wild and savage yells are heard, with 
 the rattle of iron hoofs, and trampling of hurried 
 feet. Bands of armed men, on foot and on horse- 
 back, burst in, like a resistless torrent, among us. 
 
ON TERMS USED IN WAR. 227 
 
 Doers are smashed, windows broken. Here, sol- 
 diers broach or stave in the casks ! there, others 
 drain the jugs or the bottles, till, fired with brutal 
 passions, drunkenness, revenge, and fury, they 
 wallow in pollution, and deal around them desola- 
 tion and death. 
 
 Household furniture is destroyed. Cabinets, 
 bureaux, and boxes are broken to pieces. Jewels, 
 money, curiosities, and clothing are huddled toge- 
 ther, to be carried away. Paintings are rent, 
 sculpture mutilated, inscriptions defaced, and 
 family records, love-tokens, and gifts of friend- 
 ship are torn, trampled, and burned. Oaths and 
 blasphemies resound, riot and debauchery are 
 everywhere seen, with the wildest forms of cruelty 
 and death. 
 
 A father has borne all, grinding his teeth in 
 agony ! He has seen the wreck of his property, 
 the destruction of his worldly goods ; but, when 
 the lawless hand of the ruffian soldier lays hold 
 on his family, he can bear no more : starting up 
 in their defence, and seemingly with more than 
 mortal energy, he attacks his enemies. It is in 
 vain ! a dozen bayonets bear him to the ground ; 
 and while he draws his last gasp, his life welling 
 from his wounds, he drinks in the agonizing 
 shrieks of those who are dearest to him, calling 
 uselessly for his aid. 
 
228 ON TERMS USED IN WAR. 
 
 His wife struggles hopelessly, in the savage 
 grasp of the abandoned ruffians, to preserve her 
 babe. Alas ! it is wantonly slaughtered, and mo- 
 ther and child lie bleeding on the ground ; while 
 the cruel jests, and mad merriments of their hard- 
 hearted murderers, echo through the desolated 
 mansion. One would think that the boldest advo- 
 cate for war could not look on this case as his 
 own, without being struck with its enormity. 
 
 Nor is this a solitary scene. The same demon- 
 like career is carried on throughout the city, for 
 the place " is given up to pillage ;" mercy is ex- 
 iled, and neither youth, beauty, wisdom, age, 
 the infant, nor the hoary-headed, meet with com- 
 passion. Rapine, brutality, murder, and confla- 
 gration are abroad. 
 
 Reader, this is the meaning of a city " being 
 given up to pillage!" Are you not called on 
 then to resist, with every power you possess, that 
 spirit of warfare which tolerates such enormities ? 
 Ought you not to bear testimony against it, 
 leaving it on record to your children, and chil- 
 dren's children, to do the same? 
 
 Have you a son in whom you delight, and does 
 he thirstily drink in, as water, the lessons of in- 
 struction you bestow ? Are desires gathering in 
 his heaving breast; and hope, and enterprise, 
 and expectation visible in his brightening eye? 
 
ON TERMS USED IN WAR. 229 
 
 It remains with you I speak with due reverence 
 to the Most High whether he, by sharing such 
 excesses as have been described, shall become a 
 scourge to mankind ; or, by the practice of virtue 
 and humanity, be an ornament and a blessing to 
 his race. 
 
 Have you a daughter, who is your joy and your 
 glory? whose gentleness, tenderness, and affec- 
 tion are to influence, in future years, the more 
 rugged heart of man ? It remains with you whe- 
 ther your child, by encouraging in others the self- 
 ish dreams of ambition and pride, shall strengthen 
 the ranks of war, and spread around desolation 
 and death; or, by the exercise of persuasion, 
 kindness, and mercy, prove the gentle advocate 
 and influential promoter of peace. 
 
 Blame me not for pressing this matter on your 
 thoughts, but rather give it the consideration it 
 deserves. Be convinced, and try to convince 
 others, that the only way to avoid the evils of war 
 is to drink in the spirit of the gospel, and with 
 earnestness, truth, and sincerity, to " follow after 
 the things which make for peace," Rom. xiv. 19. 
 
ON ASSOCIATIONS, 
 
 THOUGH it be a good thing to be plain and 
 practical in making remarks, at times it is plea- 
 sant to indulge in imagination. However excellent 
 a joint may be, very few people would like to sit 
 down to it every day of the year. Whether the 
 banquet be substantial or ideal, in either case 
 variety is a pleasant appendage. 
 
 It is well known that the pleasure or pain we 
 derive from many things, is altogether dependent 
 on the associations we attach to them. Some 
 people are more imaginative and susceptible than 
 others. In my own case, there is hardly a sight 
 meets my eye, or a sound salutes my ear, without 
 bringing with it a train of associations. If you 
 can look me tamely in the face, and ask me what 
 I mean when I speak of associations, it is not to 
 you that I now speak. To such of my readers 
 only as fully comprehend my meaning the follow- 
 ing observations are addressed. 
 
 Oh, what a goodly hoard of secret, silent, and 
 sweet enjoyment has the susceptible and grateful 
 
ON ASSOCIATIONS. 231 
 
 heart all to itself! When about to revel in the 
 pleasures of association, it knows not where to 
 begin, or how to end. I am just now in the mood 
 to indulge my thoughts in my own wild way ; and 
 if I am too wild, if a thoughtless step should bear 
 me beyond the boundary within which a pilgrim 
 should walk, a reproving glance will be sufficient 
 to bring me back again, silent, sorrowful, and grate- 
 ful for the timely warning. Not willingly in my 
 thoughts will I run into error. Riches shall not 
 make me covetous or servile in my mental musing, 
 nor creation's beauty lure me to idolatry. Gold 
 shall not become my hope, nor fine gold my confi- 
 dence ; neither when the sun shineth, or the moon 
 walketh in brightness, shall my heart willingly be 
 enticed, or my hand in homage be kissed by my 
 mouth. 
 
 I am about to put down a few of my associations. 
 Egotist as I am, who will care for them ? This is a 
 question that I cannot answer ; but as I care much 
 for the associations of others, let me imagine that 
 some few will care for mine. It may be, that 
 while I appear to be drawing only on my own 
 mind and memory, I may in reality be also calling 
 forth the mental resources of my friends. 
 
 I have strange, yet pleasing, associations with 
 many trifling things, such as the smell of a cedar 
 pencil, a nasturtian flower, writing paper, and 
 
232 ON ASSOCIATIONS. 
 
 Indian rubber ; the sigbt of a cocoa nut, and old 
 china jar, a guinea fowl, a camel's hair pencil, and 
 a box of water colours, and the taste of a walnut 
 and a tamarind. These associations, however, 
 are indefinite and undefined ; I will speak of some 
 that are more intelligible. 
 
 A rainbow is rich in association. When I think 
 of one, it is with me a dull, dark, drenching day ; 
 care sits on my brow, and sadness in my heart ; 
 my soul is cast down, and my spirit is disquieted 
 within me. The sun breaks forth suddenly, mine 
 eyes are lifted up, and a glorious rainbow is in 
 the skies ; my care is scattered to the winds, my 
 sadness is dispersed, and the bow is not set in the 
 clouds of heaven only, but in my heart. 
 
 I have vivid, though somewhat melancholy 
 associations with an ivy leaf. An arbour comes 
 before me covered with ivy leaves, fluttering and 
 dancing in the breeze. Tall and stately wild 
 lilies are growing near. A lovely face looks up 
 to laugh at the dancing ivy leaves. Will that 
 face never again shine upon me but in memory 
 and associations? Never, till this mortal shall 
 have put on immortality. There is a green hil- 
 lock in an isle of the ocean, and she that sat in 
 the bower lies pale beneath it ; but she died in 
 the faith, and has entered, I have no doubt, into 
 the rest prepared for the people of God. 
 
ON ASSOCIATIONS. 233 
 
 The sight of sealing-wax is influential ; it re- 
 minds me of a store of mottoes, " Dinna forget, 
 and " Gen. xxxi. 49," among them ; and it sets 
 before me a crystal seal, picked up in the rude 
 stone on Mont Blanc, engraved with my initials 
 at Rome, and set in gold in London. 
 
 The sound of a flute, or the sight of a shining, 
 low-crowned, broad-brimmed, sailor-like hat, brings 
 before me a mild and thoughtful countenance, and 
 gentle, expressive eyes that look kindly on me. 
 A clear, rich-toned voice tells of wild scenery 
 in distant lands rocks and caverns, and mid- 
 night adventurous excursions. And then comes a 
 throng of sunny scenes and sunny faces, but the 
 spirits that animated some of them are now be- 
 yond the stars. I must soon follow ; oh, let me 
 hear the cheering appeal, " Be thou faithful unto 
 death, and I will give thee a crown of life," Rev. 
 ii: 10. 
 
 The name of Nancy conjures up to my sight a 
 ship that bore that name. There is one on board 
 her that was the friend of my hoyhood ; we roam- 
 ed the same path, climbed the same tree, sat at 
 the same table, and slept in the same bed. The 
 storm is abroad, the ship is a thousand miles 
 from land, and not sea-worthy. Her sails are 
 torn, her masts are gone by the noard, her bul- 
 warks and her bows are broken. The Nancy is 
 
 tc 2 
 
234 ON ASSOCIATIONS. 
 
 among the "missing," and how, and when, and 
 where she sank through the cold, dark waters, is 
 known only to Him that knoweth all things. 
 
 The purple heath-flower is associated with a 
 moor and a mountain, a cairn and a cromlech, a 
 sweet cottage, by-gone seasons of joy, a bookcase 
 ornamented with trellis-work of brass wire, the 
 portrait of a bard, the sound of a piano ; a youth- 
 ful face, with soft and influential eyes; talent, 
 worth, and kindness. Hark ! the dissonance of a 
 rail-road is dispelling the association, and smoky 
 clouds from steam-engines are blackening the air. 
 
 A loud explosion is fearfully eloquent in my 
 ears, and recalls a dreadful scene. I hurry to the 
 spot. A house is involved in smoke, the roof is 
 blown off; the walls are burst asunder, a dozen 
 wounded sufferers are mingled in the wide-spread 
 ruin, and among them a friend is stretched dead 
 at my feet, with a blackened corpse beside him. 
 Wait ! watch ! be ready ! " for in such an hour as ye 
 think not the Son of man cometh," Matt. xxiv. 44. 
 
 The long-legged, long-necked heron has splendid 
 associations. I am in front of a magnificent 
 palace. Dense masses of soldiery are drawn up 
 in imposing array ; guards, cuirassiers, and lancers 
 glitter in the sun. Generals and field-marshals, 
 in the gorgeous trappings of military attire, are 
 passing to and fro on proud and prancing charg- 
 
ON ASSOCIATIONS. 235 
 
 ers. Princes, dukes, and ambassadors from 
 crowned heads, are assembled in costly carriages, 
 with sumptuous equipages ; tens of thousands of 
 spectators are pressing forwards to gaze on the 
 glowing spectacle, and Britain's queen, right 
 royally arrayed, drawn by eight matchless steeds, 
 is on her way to her coronation. Above the 
 throng a heron is majestically soaring and sailing 
 round and round, a thousand feet in the air. 
 
 A common brier is associated with shade and 
 shine, with pain and pleasure. It is bound 
 round the sods of a new-made grave which I have 
 visited at midnight in all the unreasonableness 
 and rebellion of grief that refuses to be comforted. 
 The stars are high in heaven, and silence has 
 spread her mantle on the resting-place of the 
 dead. I could almost in my frenzied sorrow, tear 
 the beloved one from the grave. A change has 
 come over me : an arrow from the Holy One has 
 reached my heart, a convulsive sob has escaped 
 me, my eyes are streaming, my unreasonableness 
 and rebellion are gone ; and as a chastened child, 
 with an humbled heart, repenting, adoring, and 
 praising, I leave the place. 
 
 A sere leaf is closely connected with forest 
 scenery. I am walking in the woods, my feet 
 deep in the dry, rustling, ruddy leaves thickly 
 scattered on the ground. The winds are up, and 
 
236 ON ASSOCIATIONS. 
 
 the giant trees are waging battle with their huge 
 and agitated arms. My feelings are excited, my 
 heart is happy, and my spirit grateful. 
 
 The word " eternity'' is clothed with heart thrill- 
 ing recollections. I am sitting in the house of 
 God with a goodly throng of fellow-worshippers. 
 Prayers have been offered, and sacred psalmody 
 has rung around the echoing roof and walls. The 
 minister of grace to guilty men is standing up high 
 in the pulpit, fixing his eyes on vacancy as though 
 he could see beyond the narrow limits of the 
 earth, and pronouncing with energy and earnest- 
 ness the words, " Millions of ages crowding on 
 millions of ages ; millions of ages crowding on 
 millions of ages ; and again, millions of ages 
 crowding on millions of ages, are but the begin- 
 ning of eternity !" 
 
 Thus might I prate, without intermission, of my 
 own associations, without any of them claiming 
 kindred with yours. No doubt, however, you 
 have associations, and they may be of a calmer 
 character than those I have enumerated. May 
 such be our thoughts, meditations and associa- 
 tions, that they may serve, in some measure, to 
 dispel the gloom of earth, and increase our desires 
 for the glory of heaven ! 
 
ON OUTSIDE SHOW, 
 
 THINGS are not what they seem ! There is an 
 outward show that, in some cases, dazzles our 
 sight, and in others, deceives our judgment. 
 That which promises much, frequently yields 
 but little, while that which has been undervalued, 
 is often abundantly productive : 
 
 The bitterest herb that grows upon the mountain, 
 Some grateful perfume on the gale may fling ; 
 The welling stream of a neglected fountain, 
 Some healing life-preserving power may bring. 
 
 Whatever may be the outward words and deeds, 
 there is so much that is deceptive hidden beneath 
 them, that we know at the very best, but a part 
 of the truth ; I sometimes think, that the best 
 and the worst deeds of men are yet unchronicled. 
 The men who have forfeited their lives at the 
 gallows amid the execrations of the crowd, and 
 those who have been effigied in marble, calling 
 forth the grateful admiration of mankind, may 
 have been transcendently surpassed in villany, or 
 
238 ON OUTSIDE SHOW. 
 
 
 
 virtue, by hundreds whose names the dust of obli- 
 vion has rendered illegible for ever. 
 
 I have, before, had occasion to say, " that could 
 we see the weakness of the strong, the ignorance 
 of the learned, the cowardice of the brave, and 
 the folly of the wise ; could we only discern the 
 passions and motives that influence the worst, ay, 
 and the best of men, from hour to hour, from day 
 to day, and from year to year, we should be com- 
 pelled to regard every man as wearing a mask, 
 and concealing thereby the real features of his 
 mind/' 
 
 It is a truth, that we hide more than we re- 
 veal ; but God sees through all our disguises, 
 "for his eyes are upon the ways of man, and 
 he seeth all his goings," Job xxxiv. 21. "The 
 Lord seeth not as man seeth ; for man looketh on 
 the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on 
 the heart," 1 Sam. xvi. 7. 
 
 One might imagine that the very knowledge of 
 ourselves would go far to defend us from being 
 led away by the outside of things. How often 
 do we stifle our emotions, trying to appear happy 
 when our hearts are near bursting ; and affecting 
 calmness when strong passion, burning in our 
 veins, is clamorous to break forth like a torrent. 
 There is much in the fiery volcano that resembles 
 the hidden feelings of the human heart. Vesu- 
 
ON OUTSIDE SHOW. 239 
 
 vius may be quiet outwardly, \*hile turbulence is 
 burning within. We may be unconscious of dan- 
 ger, when, all at once, the rumbling earthquake 
 is heard and felt. The smoke bursts into a flame, 
 hot stones and cinders are hurled into the air, 
 and, amid the bellowing thunder, a flood of molten 
 earth and minerals rushes down from the sum- 
 mit of the fiery mountain, spreading desolation 
 around. 
 
 Again, I say, things are not what they seem. 
 We learn, in our very childhood, that the cat's 
 velvet paw is not talonless ; that the blackberry 
 grows on a brier ; that the blooming bud is often 
 cankered at its heart ; that the shining bubble 
 bursts while it glitters in the sun ; and that the 
 sparkling firework ends only in darkness ; and 
 yet, in after years, we suffer ourselves to be de- 
 ceived by appearances almost as much as ever. 
 
 It seems a sort of principle, among mankind, 
 to appear other than they are. Many who are ill, 
 scrupulously hide their infirmities ; while others, 
 who are well, affect to be out of health. There 
 are rich people who try to appear poor, and 
 hundreds of poor people who endeavour to pass 
 themselves off as very rich. Some keep back the 
 truth out of kindness to the feelings of others. 
 Some make mountains of mole-hills, or mole- 
 hills of mountains, so serve themselves or their 
 
240 ON OUTSIDE SHOW. 
 
 friends ; and thousands are, in their minds, bodies, 
 and estates, just the reverse of what their appear- 
 ance sets forth. Motives may be, yea, doubtless 
 are, different in different cases, yet still it is not 
 the less true, that the world is a masquerade 
 wherein one character is always deceiving another. 
 It was so of olden time, it is so now, and is likely 
 to remain so. Oh for a spirit of sincerity one 
 towards another ! Oh for a hearty and unbounded 
 confidence in Him who deceiveth not, but is the 
 same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. 
 
 Then, again, we are so shortsighted, that we are 
 continually taking evil for good, and good for evil. 
 "When Joseph was stripped of his coat, his coat 
 of many colours, when he was cast into the 
 pit and sold to the Ishmaelites, it seemed, no 
 doubt, a rugged path that he was treading, where- 
 as it was the very highway to the favour of Pha- 
 raoh. When Haman erected a gallows, fifty cubits 
 high, he was misled by appearances ; he saw, by 
 anticipation, Mordecai hanging thereon : but his 
 gallows was the instrument of his own destruction. 
 
 Who would have thought that an armed giant, 
 the weight of whose coat of mail was five thousand 
 shekels of brass, and whose spear-staff was like a 
 weaver's beam, could have been brought to the 
 ground with a pebble-stone ? or that the waters of 
 the brook Jordan would be more healing in their in- 
 
ON OUTSIDE SHOW. 241 
 
 fluences than those of Abana and Pharpar, rivers 
 of Damascus? Yet these things were so, and 
 stranger things than these have happened. 
 
 Once more, I say, things are not what they 
 seem : some things are underrated, while others 
 are too highly prized. Samson the strong, saw 
 not in the fair face of his Delilah deceit, trea- 
 chery, bondage, cruelty, and death ; nor did the 
 learned Rabbins of the Jews discern in the fleshly 
 form of the " Man of sorrows," the Lord of life 
 and glory. They were misled by outward appear- 
 ances. Cain thought, that because the presence 
 of Abel was a trouble to him, his absence would 
 give him ease ; but oh, what a mark was branded 
 on his brow, and what a load of sorrow was laid 
 on his heart, by the violent deed he committed ! 
 
 The mighty have been deceived by outside 
 show as much as the mean. The Alexanders 
 and the Caesars of old had thorns enough in their 
 paths ; and the sultans and emperors of more 
 modern times have seldom found the couch of 
 royalty to be a bed of down. The outward splen- 
 dour of a throne, and the phantom of glory, 
 dazzled their eyes, and they saw not the disap- 
 pointments and the disquietudes that awaited 
 them ; the dagger, the bow-string, and the poi- 
 soned bowl dogged their paths. How few, if any, 
 of the heroes of the world have died the death of 
 
242 ON OUTSIDE SHOW. 
 
 the righteous, and found their last end like his ! 
 Look on the minion of ambition, the mighty 
 Napoleon, striding the narrow world like a Colos- 
 sus ! See him at the head of his armies, spurring 
 onward his war-horse, hot after victory, and im- 
 patient for renown ! But what avail his braying 
 trumpets, his golden eagles, his unfurled ban- 
 ners, and his battle array? Does he gather in 
 that harvest of glory which ambition promised to 
 the sickles of his soldiery ? Let the poor hand- 
 ful of captive earth that was shrouded at St. He- 
 lena, and which now lies unconscious of the pomp 
 that surrounds it on the banks of the Seine, give 
 the reply. 
 
 What a mockery is the " bubble reputation," 
 when the breath of the ever-changing multitude 
 is necessary to keep it in the air ! 
 
 But it is not with the high and the mighty 
 that I have to do. Things are not what they 
 seem in common life. A conviction of this fact, 
 brought home to our hearts, may be practically 
 useful. The benighted traveller, weary with his 
 wanderings, and bewildered with the mists and 
 darkness around him, hastens to the distant light, 
 which he fondly dreams to emanate from some 
 hospitable hearth. Already, in imagination, he 
 partakes of the friendly glow ! It is but one 
 more effort that is necessary, and then his wants 
 
ON OUTSIDE SHOW. 243 
 
 will be supplied, and his fears dispelled. Alas! 
 when in the act of realizing all his hopes, he 
 flounders in the mire, into which the wandering 
 wildfire of the marsh has allured him. Common- 
 place as this illustration may be, it is " faithful to 
 a fault," in setting forth the mistakes of hundreds 
 when afflicted in mind, in body, or estate. The 
 royal psalmist said, " When my heart is over- 
 whelmed, lead me to the Rock that is higher than 
 I;" but how many are there who, oppressed by the 
 heat and burden of the day, see, or rather fancy 
 that they see, a far better covert to fly to than Him 
 who is "as the shadow of a great rock in a weary 
 land," Isa.xxxii. 2. How many Wills-o'-the-whisp 
 draw aside the trembling heart, and deceive the 
 wounded conscience, promising much, and per- 
 forming little ! Things are not what they seem. 
 
 The pale-faced invalid, who has been made to 
 possess days of darkness, and to whom weari- 
 some nights have been appointed, hears of some 
 famous mountebank, some medical charlatan, 
 who, reckless of falsehood and dishonesty, un- 
 blushingly undertakes to cure all diseases. To 
 him the sick man hies, sees in him a benefactor, 
 and in his nostrum a healing balm, an infallible 
 restorative to health and vigour. By and by the 
 mountebank is unmasked, and the delusion is 
 made clear; but it is too late the invalid has 
 
244 ON OUTSIDE SHOW. 
 
 been robbed of his remaining strength. Things 
 are not what they seem ! 
 
 The thoughtless spendthrift, who has involved 
 himself in numberless embarrassments ; who has 
 mortgaged his means, and anticipated all his re- 
 sources ; whose way is hedged up with thorns, by- 
 accident casts his eye on a paragraph in some 
 public journal. " Money on easy terms," seems 
 like a sunbeam to his delighted vision, and with 
 breathless haste he hurries off to the kind-hearted 
 and generous lender. Gladly he puts his name 
 to the proffered bills, and in another hour hopes 
 to receive the seasonable supply. Things are not 
 what they seem ! When he returns, the lenders 
 are vanished ! His golden expectations are but a 
 dream ; but the responsibility he has incurred is 
 a fearful reality. 
 
 One of the most striking instances of a deceit- 
 ful outside show, in the natural creation, that I 
 ever remember to have witnessed, was in the 
 trunk of an oak. To all appearance, there stood 
 a goodly tree before me, and its giant branches 
 were redundantly clad with verdure ; but on a 
 closer inspection I found the trunk to be a mere 
 outside shell. The side opposite to that on which 
 I had at first gazed, had, with the heart of the 
 tree, altogether decayed away. Much of a similar 
 nature may sometimes be found among mankind, 
 
ON OUTSIDE SHOW. 245 
 
 an outside, flourishing appearance, without a heart. 
 In a tree this is to be regretted ; but in a human 
 being it is a wretched spectacle. 
 
 I once conversed privately with a public jester, 
 whose avocation was, dressed in gay apparel, to 
 excite merriment in the multitude that gathered 
 around him. What a world of comicality could 
 he throw into his expressive face ! What an ex- 
 haustless fund of drollery did he possess ! and 
 what roars of irrepressible laughter did he call 
 forth amid the crowd ! He was, to all appear- 
 ance, one of the most light-hearted and happy 
 beings that ever wore a smile. But what did he 
 tell me in private ? that the colour on his cheek 
 was painted, that the jests he uttered were hack- 
 neyed, that the mirth he manifested was feigned, 
 and that he was one of the most miserable of 
 mortals on the face of the earth. This may be 
 no ordinary instance of the striking difference 
 between the fiction and the fact, the shadow and 
 the substance, the outside show and the inward 
 feeling ; but approaches to something like the 
 same thing are to be seen around us, every day 
 of our lives. 
 
 Thus have I, in a rambling, unconnected way, 
 dwelt a moment on the subject of outside show. 
 Should you pursue the thought, you may be mote 
 happy in your reflections than I have been in 
 
 Y 2 
 
246 ON OUTSIDE SHOW. 
 
 mine. Certain it is, that things are not what they 
 seem ; let, then, the knowledge of this truth lead 
 us, more and more, to mistrust our own judgment 
 and to look above for wisdom and instruction. 
 
ON OLD TIMES 
 
 To bewail the lamentable changes that have 
 taken place in the world, and to speak in praise 
 of old times, is a kind of charter which has long 
 been enjoyed by old people. Finding that we 
 cannot figure away as we once used to do, we 
 fondly turn to times and seasons when we showed 
 ourselves off to better advantage. This was done 
 by those who went before us, and will, no doubt, 
 be done by those who shall follow after. 
 
 This inclination on the part of age to run back 
 half a century, or perhaps threescore years, is 
 not confined to any particular class, of people. It 
 may be observed in rich and poor, whether they 
 live in town or country. " Times are not as tkey 
 have been ! " " Things are very different now to 
 what they once were ! " and, " Matters are come 
 to a pretty pass now a-days ! " are expressions 
 that most aged people have occasionally in their 
 mouths. True it is that they get laughed at for 
 them, and that they do not always make converts 
 
248 ON OLD TIMES. 
 
 to their opinion ; but, for all this, their opinion is 
 most tenaciously entertained. 
 
 To own the truth, there is a kind of " caste" 
 among aged people which never will, nor can be 
 given up. It is dear to us, and we cling to it till 
 the day of our death. We say to ourselves, 
 " Young people are stronger than we are, and we 
 acknowledge it ; but we are wiser than young 
 people are, and they ought to acknowledge this 
 in their turn/' Whether, therefore, we express 
 it or not, it is a settled thing that our " caste" is 
 a grade higher than theirs. A young fox-hunting 
 squire in his scarlet coat, who has a few thousands 
 a year, may give himself what airs he pleases, 
 and pass by his aged tenant with disdain ; but 
 the old man, if a kind-hearted one, will be sure 
 to mutter to himself, " Poor fellow ! he has not 
 cut his wise teeth yet; he will know better by 
 and by." And if he be not kind-hearted, his lan- 
 guage will be somewhat stronger. 
 
 You have heard old people, no doubt, indulge 
 themselves in praising the days gone by, and in 
 dispraising more modern times. When past times 
 and present times are put in opposite scales by 
 them, past times are sure to be of full tale and 
 weight, and present times are equally sure to kick 
 the beam. 
 
 "Fine doings, now-a-days!" cries the village 
 
ON OLD TIMES. 249 
 
 dame, sitting in her old arm chair, with a stick 
 in her hand, and a pair of spectacles on her nose. 
 " Fine doings ! I have seen times that I shall 
 never see again, more's the pity farmers had 
 hard hands then, and dressed like farmers, not 
 booted and spurred, and mounted on blood horses, 
 as you may see them now. Their sons held the 
 plough, and knew nothing of the boarding school ; 
 their daughters milked the cows, and tended the 
 dairy, and never saw a harpsichord in their lives. 
 Farmers' wives were not then fine ladies, but 
 took their own poultry to market, mounted on 
 their dobbins. Eggs were three dozen for a shil- 
 ling, and fresh butter sixpence a pound ! " 
 
 "Those were the -times," observes the grey- 
 haired hairdresser, whose shaking fingers can 
 hardly handle his scissors. "There has never 
 been much good among us since people left off 
 hair-powder. I have had as many as a dozen 
 wigs on my blocks at once in a morning, all 
 wanted in a hurry, and as many gentlemen and 
 ladies to attend at their own houses. Men looked 
 like men in those days, not like the scarecrows 
 they do now." 
 
 " Ah," exclaims the old citizen, who wears his 
 few remaining hairs powdered and tied in a small 
 tail, and who continues to attend his warehouse 
 from ten to four, though he is worth a hundred 
 
250 ON OLD TIMES. 
 
 thousand pounds, " Business is not what it used 
 to be. Things are sadly changed of late for the 
 worse. Profits are less, and risk is greater. More 
 money was to be made in a month when I first 
 began business, than can be made in a year now." 
 
 " It had not used to be so ! " cries out the 
 white-headed grandfather, in reproving his grace- 
 less grandson for his pert behaviour to his pa- 
 rents. " When I was a boy, I durst as well have 
 eaten my own fingers as answered my father and 
 mother in that manner ; but lads are men now, 
 before they have half a dozen hairs on their chins. 
 No respect ! no duty ! no filial affection ! the 
 times are clean altered. Old men know nothing 
 now-a-days, and youngsters know every thing !" 
 
 " Talk o' fishin," says the Northumberlandshire 
 fisherman, " there's no sic fishin in Coquet now, 
 as when I was a lad. It was nowse then but to 
 flung in and pull them out, by twees-es and 
 threes-es, if ye had sae mony heuks on ; but now, 
 a body may keep thresmV at the water a' day 
 atween Halystane and Weldon, and hardly catch 
 three dizen, and mony a time not that. About 
 fifty year syne, I mind o' seein trouts that thick i' 
 the thrum, below Rothbury, that if ye had stucken 
 the end o' your gad into the water among them, 
 it wad amaist hae studden upreet." If so be that 
 my readers are strangers to the Northumberland 
 
ON OLD TIMES. 251 
 
 dialect, I would fain let them know that the 
 "thrum" means the confined part of a stream, 
 and that a "gad" is a fishing rod. 
 
 In this way it is that we grey-beards give vent 
 to our emotions, confirming one another in opinions 
 which the older we grow the closer we hold. I 
 am not aware that much mischief can arise from 
 our high estimation of days gone hy ; but I do 
 wish that youth and age thought more favourably 
 than they do of each other. 
 
 The prepossession in favour of age, on the 
 part of old men, is pretty much reversed in the 
 opinion of young men. Now my opinion is, that 
 old men should give way a little, and not take it 
 for granted, that judgment and wisdom cannot 
 enter a head whose brows are not graven with 
 age. We should not write the matter down as a 
 Median and Persian law, that old things are bet- 
 ter than new. Remember the words of Holy 
 Writ, " Say not thou, What is the cause that the 
 former days were better than these ? (nor, Why 
 are the present better than the former?) for 
 thou dost not inquire wisely concerning this," 
 Eccl. vii. 10. The question should not be, Are 
 the times better? but, Are we better? Not, Are 
 we making fortunes ? but, Are we making pro- 
 gress on our way to heaven ? What can it mat 
 ter to us, who have so few sands remaining in the 
 
252 ON OLD TIMES. 
 
 glass of life, whether we are great or little, 
 figures or ciphers, somebodies or nobodies, in the 
 estimation of others ? We have had our day, and 
 ought to be thankful ; and we ought, also, to be 
 willing that others should have their day too. 
 
 But while I thus speak, it appears also reason- 
 able that young men should give way a little too, 
 and not be over hasty in concluding that a man has 
 no further business in the world, merely because 
 he speaks slowly, walks softly, and thinks more 
 deeply than he used to do. With a little bearing 
 and forbearing, youth and age, young men and 
 old men, may go on very well together ; but with- 
 out this forbearance, we rudely jostle one another, 
 and sadly tread on each others' toes. 
 
 He who would receive respect, be he young or 
 old, should be willing to pay it, while a knowledge 
 of our own infirmities should render us very com- 
 passionate towards all around. Oh that we could 
 at all times, in the midst of our prepossessions 
 and prejudices, " abhor that which is evil," and 
 " cleave to that which is good !" " Be kindly 
 affectioned one to another with brotherly love ;" 
 and in " honour prefer one another," Rom. xii. 
 9, 10. 
 
ON ALMSHOUSES, 
 
 I AM fond, ay, very fond of almshouses, let them 
 be erected upon what plan they may. Whether 
 huilt in a straight line, a crescent, a circle, or a 
 square ; whether stone, brick, cemented, or stuc- 
 coed, so that they are almshouses for the widow 
 and the aged, I regard them with heartfelt satis- 
 faction. 
 
 As soon as I see a square or an oval stone 
 in the front of small houses inscribed, " Dame 
 Dorothy Hunt, of Booking, in Essex, bequeathed 
 by will the sum of five hundred pounds for the 
 erection of almshouses ;" or, " These twelve alms- 
 houses were built and endowed A.D. 1721, at the 
 sole cost of Mr. Samuel Harwars, draper and 
 citizen of London ;" or, "Mrs. Agnes Aldershaw, 
 spinster, of Whitby, in Yorkshire, erected these 
 almshouses for the reception of sixteen poor 
 women ;" or, " The six almshouses belonging to 
 the worshipful company of Girdlers, were rebuilt 
 by the said company ;" or, indeed, with any other 
 inscription of a similar kind, my heart yearns 
 z 
 
254 ON ALMSHOUSES. 
 
 towards the inmates of the place, and 1 make 
 a pause and call back to my memory some whom 
 I knew of the excellent of the earth, who once 
 inhabited almshouses, but who now, as I humbly 
 hope and trust, are inhabitants of "a building of 
 God, an house not made with hands, eternal in 
 the heavens," 2 Cor. v. 1. 
 
 Even now I can see poor widow Winn in her 
 old arm chair, thanking God for the load of 
 coals which has been just stocked up in her coal- 
 hole. Widow Nokes, too, as lowly-minded and 
 grateful a creature as ever soaked a hard crust 
 in a cup of tea ; she is before me, and I, seated 
 on the side of her little bedstead with a friend, 
 am reading to her from her dog's-eared Bible, the 
 fortieth chapter of Isaiah : " They that wait upon 
 the Lord shall renew their strength ; they shall 
 mount up with wings as eagles ; they shall run, 
 and not be weary ; and they shall walk, and not 
 faint." Andrew Hollins with his lame arm, and 
 Michael Arrowsmith sitting in the sun, on the 
 bench by the almshouse door, with his crutches 
 beside him, are present to my memory. Weak 
 as they were in body, they were both mighty 
 in the Scriptures and strong in the faith of Jesus 
 Christ and him crucified. Thus it is that when 
 saints are sent for to heaven, they leave behind 
 them, in their example, a token of remembrance 
 
ON ALMSHOUSES. 255 
 
 on the earth that tends to the glory of the Re- 
 deemer. 
 
 Yes ! yes ! I like almshouses, especially those 
 of the humbler sort. I like the gardens before 
 the doors, and regard with a friendly feeling the 
 spinach, and cabbage plants, the marigolds and 
 sweet margery, the gillyflowers and sweetwil- 
 liams that grow in them. I would not even kill 
 a caterpillar in an almshouse garden ; by-and-by 
 he will be a butterfly, and pay with interest by 
 his liveliness and beauty for the leaf that he has 
 eaten. 
 
 The old folks that live in almshouses are all 
 favourites with me. As I see them go in and 
 out, whether I speak to them or not, I give 
 them my blessing. Some of them look cheerful, 
 and then they have credit with me for carrying 
 grateful hearts in their bosoms. Others look a 
 little cross; but who can tell what cares may 
 occasion this ? they must be borne with. Chris- 
 tian charity " is not easily provoked, thinketh no 
 evil ; beareth all things, believeth all things, 
 hopeth all things, endureth all things," 1 Cor. 
 xiii. 5, 7. We must not be severe to mark the 
 infirmities of those whose trials may exceed our 
 own. 
 
 Again I say that I like almshouses, and I like 
 heartily, too, the good old souls who founded 
 
256 
 
 ON ALMSHOUSES. 
 
 them, in spite of the uncouth, antiquated sta- 
 tuary that does its best to make them look awful 
 and forbidding. The long curly-haired wigs and 
 flowing gowns of the citizen founders, and the 
 prim, starched-up dresses of the dames and spin- 
 sters, are a little freezing in their influence, and 
 yet I love even these antiquated effigies. It is 
 not orthodox, and consistent with God's holy 
 word, to put up a prayer for the dead; but it 
 is orthodox and consistent with God's holy word 
 to think kindly of them, and to encourage the 
 hope, in the absence of any evidence to the con- 
 trary, that their works of charity were the effect 
 of a lively faith in God's mercy, and a love for 
 the Saviour of sinners, as well as of a desire to 
 be the friend of the friendless, and to add to the 
 comfort of such as stand in need of assistance and 
 support. 
 
 It is an easy thing to say that the founders of 
 almshouses have more desire to get reputation 
 for their charity, than to afford comfort to the 
 partakers of their bounty ; but is it wise, is it 
 just, is it kind, is it Christian-like, thus to attach 
 bad motives to good deeds without a knowledge 
 that will justify such a harsh opinion ? Human 
 nature is full of infirmity, and almshouse founders 
 are no more free from pride, vanity, and ambition 
 than their neighbours ; but let us not leap to the 
 
ON ALMSHOUSES. 257 
 
 conclusion, that because they have served others, 
 they must of necessity have been actuated by the 
 desire to serve themselves. 
 
 Is there one who shall read these remarks, 
 whom God has blessed with the means, and who 
 is fostering the intention in his heart to erect 
 at some future day a row of almshouses? If, 
 with a single eye to God's glory and the good 
 of his fellow beings, such is his design, highly do 
 I honour him ; but let not such an one think that 
 Old Humphrey will for a moment spare the 
 selfish ambition, the poor pitiful vanity, of doing 
 a deed of apparent benevolence, that his name may 
 be trumpeted about in the world, and handed down 
 to posterity as a miracle of philanthropy. I will 
 not say with the poet, 
 
 " Who builds a house to God, and not to fame, 
 Will never mark the marhle with his name ;" 
 
 because, in many cases, it is an advantage, if not 
 absolutely necessary, that the name of the founder 
 of a charity should be made public ; but I do say, 
 that a man should remember, even when he scat- 
 ters his bounty with the most liberal hand, that 
 he is only bestowing a part of what God has al- 
 ready bestowed upon him ; and, therefore, thank- 
 fulness, and not pride, should be the mainspring 
 of his actions. 
 
 z 2 
 
258 ON ALMSHOUSES. 
 
 Some of the sculptured resemblances of the 
 founders of almshouses are ludicrously uncouth. 
 No longer ago than yesterday, I was standing op- 
 posite one of them. There stood the benevolent 
 man in his flowing robe, long curls, waistcoat half 
 down his thighs, and shoes nearly up to his an- 
 kles, with gold collar and gold chain hanging 
 from his neck. His left foot was advanced so 
 much before the other, that he seemed to be 
 holding out his leg to call forth the admiration of 
 the spectator ; and this, for odd thoughts some- 
 times come into my mind, set me musing on the 
 words of holy writ : " The Lord delighteth not 
 in the strength of the horse : he taketh not plea- 
 sure in the legs of a man. The Lord taketh plea- 
 sure in hem that fear him, in those that hope in 
 his mercy," Psa. cxlvii. 10, 11. 
 
 For the last time, I say, then, that I like alms- 
 houses heartily, and that I like those heartily 
 that found them, and those who inhabit them. 
 More than once have I said that active benevo- 
 lence to man is the soul of thanksgiving to God, 
 especially when exercised towards God's people ; 
 and that the Lord of life and glory condescends 
 to accept such offerings, is, I think, borne out by 
 the words, " Whosoever shall give to drink unto 
 one of these little ones a cup of cold water only 
 in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto you, 
 
ON 4.LMSHOUSES. 259 
 
 he shall in no wise lose his reward," Matt. x. 42; 
 and, " Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of 
 the least of these my brethren, ye have done it 
 unto me," Matt. xxv. 40. 
 
ON CEDAR PENCILS, 
 
 ANOTHER odd subject, you will say ; but if you 
 bear in mind from what odd and trivial sources 
 many important thoughts, and words, and actions 
 have arisen, you will let me take my course, and 
 allow me, in my rambling way, to prate a little on 
 the subject of cedar pencils. It is the settled 
 conviction of my mind, that there is no subject in 
 the wide range of thought that may not, directly 
 or indirectly, be connected with profitable medi- 
 tations on the Divine goodness. 
 
 Oh, how much more dependent are we frail 
 and feeble creatures, for our daily comforts on 
 little things, than we are apt to imagine ! What 
 should we do without pins and needles ; thread 
 and string ; snuffers, penknives, and scissors ? 
 Were you to deprive me, and ten thousand others 
 in the world, of our green shades, spectacles, 
 pens, ink, paper, and cedar pencils ; it would be 
 like clipping a fish of its fins, or depriving a bird 
 of her wings. 
 
 A cedar pencil is to me a thing of value ; for 
 
ON CEDAE PENCILS. 261 
 
 without one, how should I note down my passing 
 thoughts in wandering through the highways and 
 byways of life ? I have tried all manner of sub- 
 stitutes in vain. Some time ago I took an inkhorn 
 into the fields, and hung it to a button of my 
 waistcoat ; but a friend told me that every one I 
 met would take me for an exciseman. My pride 
 what poor proud creatures we are ! took the 
 alarm, and my inkhorn was laid by. I then tried 
 the patent pencil-case, which is supplied by points 
 of black lead ; but I could not write with it plea- 
 santly, for the points, such as they were, never 
 seemed free from shaking, so my patent pencil- 
 case was put aside too. A few weeks ago I 
 bought one of the pocket fountain-pens, that, 
 when once properly arranged, enables me, by the 
 pressure of my thumb, to obtain a supply of ink 
 to write with in the open air. It cost me sixteen 
 silver shillings, and for the passing hour did very 
 well ; but the ink was shortly dried up, and then 
 it took me half an hour to render my pocket 
 fountain-pen fit for service. In short, I was 
 obliged to resume my cedar-pencil. 
 
 Both the sight and smell of a cedar pencil are 
 pleasant to me, bringing with them, as they do, 
 so many remembrances of my youth, from the 
 time when I first sketched the outline of a gate- 
 post to the day when I finished my chef d'oeuvre 
 
262 ON CEDAR PENCILS. 
 
 of Conway Castle. Days of my childhood! what 
 a contrast are ye to the present hour! The 
 ruddy-faced boy the grey-headed old man. The 
 future gilded with the bright beams of hope 
 the past shadowed with the dark clouds of ex- 
 perience. Well ! well ! 
 
 With shine and shade, with spring and fall 
 Mercy has mingled with them all. 
 
 The trade of cedar pencil making is conducted, 
 to a considerable extent, by the Jewish people ; so 
 that in their business, no doubt, they are often 
 carried back in imagination to the goodly groves 
 of Lebanon, and the temple of temples built by 
 Solomon. 
 
 How fallen are the Israel of God, and what 
 a lesson do they proclaim to every unbelieving 
 heart ! Who hath rebelled against the Lord 
 with advantage ? " Who hath hardened himself 
 against him, and hath prospered?" Job ix. 4. 
 How many nations have been cut off for their 
 pride and impiety ! The mighty of Babylon and 
 Egypt were brought low, and the princes of 
 Media and Persia were humbled in the dust. 
 " The Assyrian was a cedar in Lebanon with fair 
 branches, and with a shadowing shroud, and of 
 an high stature ; and his top was among the thick 
 boughs. The cedars in the garden of God could 
 
ON CEDAR PENCILS. 263 
 
 not hide him ; the fir trees were not like his 
 houghs, and the chestnut trees were not like his 
 branches ; nor any tree in the garden of God was 
 like unto him in his beauty. Because thou hast 
 lifted up thyself in height, and he hath shot up 
 his top among the thick boughs, and his heart is 
 lifted up in his height : I have therefore delivered 
 him into the hand of the mighty one of the 
 heathen ; he shall surely deal with him : I have 
 driven him out for his wickedness/' Ezek. xxxi. 
 How ought we to pray for the grace of humility ! 
 
 The cedar pencil is a light, cleanly, and port- 
 able appendage, that thousands and tens of 
 thousands carry in their pockets, or their pocket- 
 books, The merchant makes with it his memo- 
 randa on 'Change ; the artist sketches with it the 
 surrounding landscape, amid the lakes and the 
 mountains; the author notes down with it his 
 musing thoughts and wayward fancies on the 
 hill, or in the valley : and tradesmen, of different 
 grades and shades, find a use for it in their several 
 callings. 
 
 What a delightful talent is that of represent- 
 ing on canvas, or paper, the likeness of the per- 
 sons and things that interest us as we journey on 
 in our pilgrimage to a better world ! The camel- 
 hair pencil may be used for this purpose in oil 
 colours and water colours ; the pen may be dipped 
 
264 ON CEDAR PENCILS. 
 
 in bistre, Indian-red, and common ink; and 
 chalks of different colours are very effective ; but 
 neither the pen, the camel-hair pencil, nor chalk 
 are so easily carried about with us, nor are they 
 so ready to use at the instant required, as the 
 cedar pencil. I have a keen gratification in 
 drawings and etchings ; and in a season of leisure 
 could turn over a portfolio by the hour, whether 
 filled with specimens good, bad, or indifferent, 
 from the free and fiery sketches of Raffaelle and 
 Michael Angelo, to the tame scrawls in the trum- 
 pery bag of Old Humphrey. 
 
 What goodly drawings have I seen executed 
 with the cedar pencil ! Again I say, that I am 
 fond of things of this kind ; and while I gaze on 
 them with admiration for the skill of the artist, 
 I go a little farther : I think of Him, who, in his 
 wisdom, mingled the minerals of the earth so as 
 to enable his creatures to make so useful a thing 
 as a pencil. All things were made by him : I 
 thank him for every gift, and among them for 
 that which he has thus provided. 
 
 A friend of mine thinks, and I think with him, 
 that some clever, ingenious pencil-case maker 
 might, with some little trouble, improve upon 
 the cases now in use. It often tries my temper, 
 which, to my shame and sorrow, is sadly too hasty, 
 and ought not to be tried by such trifling things. 
 
ON CEDAE PENCILS. 265 
 
 It often tries my temper when I have to trim 
 up the blunt end of my cedar pencil, and screw 
 it into the sliding ring inside the case ; out of 
 which, perhaps, it falls again in half an hour ; 
 and then, the worst of it is, that with such re- 
 peated shaving and trimming at the wrong end, 
 it soon gets too short to use at the right one, so 
 that, on an average, one third of my cedar pencil 
 is wasted. Come ! all ye free hearted and fine 
 spirited ingenious pencil-case makers, see what 
 you can do. I freely offer you a premium for an 
 improvement. The very first of you that suc- 
 ceeds in giving to the public an improved pencil- 
 case, in which less of the pencil is wasted, shall 
 have I cannot with convenience say a hundred 
 pounds nor yet fifty ; but you shall have instead, 
 the hearty thanks of Old Humphrey. 
 
 It ought to be known, that many of the ink- 
 sheddings of mine which have met the public eye, 
 poor as they are, would be a good deal worse, had 
 they not occasionally received the corrections and 
 curtailments of a judicious friend. Jlis cedar 
 pencil has often been put in requisition to blot out 
 my defective opinions and crude conclusions. 
 
 It was but the other day, that we were sitting 
 together at a table well covered with books and 
 manuscripts at his own habitation. The word of 
 God had been read, we had been on our knees 
 
 2 A 
 
26G ON CEDAR PENCILS. 
 
 together, and a prayer had ascended to the throne 
 that angels gaze upon with holy joy. 
 
 The room, for I love to sketch a picture, was a 
 pleasant one, and its furniture in keeping one 
 part with another. It manifested a distaste for 
 finery and show, and a just appreciation of the 
 substantial comforts, and useful refinements, of 
 civilized society. On the chimney piece stood a 
 time-piece, a la Egyptienne, with a sphinx on the 
 top, and pillars in relief at the corners. This 
 bore an inscription setting forth that it was the 
 respectful tribute of a few grateful Sunday-school 
 teachers, for the long and valued services of him 
 to whom it was presented. Another part of the 
 present consisted of two Egyptian ornaments of 
 the Cleopatra needle kind. Facsimiles of an- 
 cient sculpturings, with hieroglyphics from top 
 to bottom. There were, also, two chalices, of the 
 same form that I could imagine those to have 
 been which were taken from the temple of Jeru- 
 salem; out of which the impious Belshazzar 
 drank wine, when he praised the gods of gold, 
 and of silver, of brass, of wood, and of stone. 
 
 These were the shiny parts of the room ; now 
 for the shadowy. In one of the recesses, pushed 
 back as though they were not to be noticed, stood 
 a pill-box, a medicine-bottle, and a wine-glass. 
 How mute, and yet how eloquent ! They told a 
 
ON CEDAE PENCILS. 267 
 
 tale, that he who runs might read a tale of life, 
 to which none but a fool would refuse to listen 
 with attention. 
 
 Well ! as I said, we were sitting together at a 
 table well covered with manuscripts, and my 
 friend, with his cedar pencil in his dexter hand, 
 had a manuscript of mine before him. I looked 
 over his shoulder as he dashed his pencil most 
 remorselessly across first one passage and then 
 another. At last he came to what I, in my poor 
 notions, had regarded as a sort of climax of all 
 that was eloquent and excellent; when, to my 
 surprise, his ready pencil went through the whole 
 passage in a twinkling ; not with a faint, lightly- 
 drawn line, intimating that the case was a little 
 doubtful, but with a black, bold, resolute, and 
 orthodox dash, putting it, as it were, beyond the 
 possibility to restore it. 
 
 " Stop ! stop !" cried I, " why, that is one of 
 my toppers !" * However, it was all in vain ; for 
 not only was I compelled to witness the extinc- 
 tion of my favourite passage, but, alas ! at last to 
 acknowledge that its annihilation was just. 
 
 Since writing the above, my friend who has been 
 looking over my remarks, has given me the follow- 
 ing additional rap on the knuckles with his cedar 
 
 * See Old Humphrey's Addresses, page 13. 
 
268 ON CEDAR PENCILS. 
 
 pencil : " Those who undertake to give informa- 
 tion to others, friend Humphrey, should, at least, 
 be careful that their own information is correct. 
 Cedar pencils are not made of the wood of the 
 cedar of Lebanon, as you appear to suppose, but of 
 the red cedar, a species of juniper or pine, which 
 grows in North America and the West Indies." - 
 
 On examining the subject more narrowly, I 
 find, as I have often found on such occasions, that 
 he is right, and that I am wrong. The wood of 
 the red cedar is commoner than that of the cedar 
 of Lebanon ; its softness, powerful odour, and 
 property of resisting insects, render it very suit- 
 able for the purpose. 
 
 The plumbago, or black lead, used in cedar 
 pencils, is found in Cumberland, and in several 
 parts of the continent of America. 
 
 I could run on a long time on the subject of 
 cedar pencils ; but as it might not be so pleasant 
 to you as to myself, we will now bring things to a 
 close. Whatever may be our possessions and our 
 powers, they are the gifts of God, and as such 
 should be thankfully acknowledged. Be it little 
 or much that we call our own, by and by it will 
 signify but little. The ungodly possessor of a 
 lead mine and a grove of cedars may be envied 
 for his wealth ; but give me, as a much more valu- 
 able heritage, a grateful heart and a cedar pencil. 
 
ON THE VAEYING MOODS OF 
 THE MIND, 
 
 PEOPLE who lead active lives, and whose cup 
 of occupation is full, are seldom given to much 
 musing. There are others, however, who from 
 easy circumstances, want of energy, or ill-health, 
 pass much of their time unoccupied ; and these 
 may be found musing away many an hour. "When 
 the mind is at ease, and the heart grateful and 
 happy, musing is an excellent thing ; but when, 
 with a discontented and repining spirit, we look 
 on the shadowy side of things, musing is one of 
 the worst habits in the world. 
 
 Though few people are more fully employed than 
 I am, yet am I no stranger to the varying moods 
 of mind that exert their influence over humanity. 
 Let us now allude to a few of them, for as they 
 much affect our thoughts, our words, and our 
 deeds, it becomes us, as far as we can, to give 
 them a profitable direction. Our happy moods 
 may be encouraged, and our unfavourable ones 
 
 2 A2 
 
270 ON THE VARYING MOODS 
 
 repressed ; for a man may be ill-tempered, with- 
 out trying to provoke those around him ; and he 
 may be sad, without wilfully making others as 
 unhappy as himself. 
 
 There is hardly a better way of understanding 
 mankind, than that of narrowly examining our 
 own hearts. Whatever we observe in others, \ve 
 have the germ of it in ourselves. If, therefore, I 
 speak of the varying moods of the mind with 
 which I am familiar, it is most likely that I shall 
 introduce to you some of your old acquaintance. 
 
 There is a careless mood would that I could 
 say, .with truth, I have never known it ; a mood 
 in which we are neither melted by God's mercies, 
 nor affected by his judgments. Friends are car- 
 ried to the tomb, sabbaths pass over us, and time 
 rolls on towards eternity, and still we are at ease. 
 This is a sad state for many reasons, and for this 
 among them, that such mood of mind calls for 
 trouble. Pilgrims were never intended to walk 
 through the world as smoothly as along a bowling 
 green. " Tremble, ye that are at ease." " Be 
 troubled, ye careless ones." We may put it down 
 as a certainty, that so sure as we are careless and 
 at ease, so sure will trouble come upon us. I 
 had rather not sleep, than be unthankful for a 
 good night's rest. I had rather sorrow for sin, 
 than sin without sorrowing. 
 
OF THE MIND. 271 
 
 There is a desponding mood ; and I need not 
 ask if you have ever known it, for the proudest 
 spirit, the stoutest heart that is hooped with ribs, 
 at times gives way to despondency. It is not 
 only in the actual condition of his creatures, but, 
 also, in the moods of their mind, that God puts 
 down the mighty from their seat, and exalts the 
 humble and meek. Before now I have been so 
 shorn of my strength, and left so desolate, that 
 the heavens have been as brass to me, and the 
 earth as iron. I have felt myself to be such 
 a poor, forlorn, good-for-nothing creature, a& 
 to think that I should never hold up my head 
 again. In this weak-minded, God-dishonouring 
 spirit, I have written bitter things against my- 
 self, magnifying my infirmities, diminishing my 
 mercies, darkening my hopes, and heaping up,, 
 instead of clearing away, the brambles in my 
 path. It is hard to fight against, and still 
 harder to conquer this mood, for when it once 
 lays firm hold of us, it drags us down to the 
 very dust. My advice to you is, to wage war 
 against it with all the powers of your mind ; set 
 about something that requires energy of action, 
 something that will force your thoughts into ano- 
 ther channel ; and if, after trying your best to 
 keep clear of the Slough of Despond, you do tum- 
 ble into it at last, do as Christian of old did ; he 
 
272 ON THE VARYING MOODS 
 
 endeavoured to struggle to that side of the slough 
 that was farthest from his " own house, and next 
 to the wicket gate." That is a precious prayer : 
 " When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the 
 rock that is higher than I," Psa. bd. 2. 
 
 There is an anxious mood of mind, in which 
 some are too often found, and, now and then, I 
 have had a touch of it myself. It leads many to 
 overlook their mercies ; to be dissatisfied with 
 such things as they have, and to imagine that the 
 very bits and drops which support them are in 
 jeopardy. I have known some, blessed with 
 riches, who have looked forward in this anxious 
 mood to poverty ; and some inhabiting goodly 
 mansions, who have trembled lest the workhouse 
 should await them. Is this a suitable return to 
 the Giver of all good for his abundant bounty ? 
 Is it not enough to cause him to visit us with the 
 very evil we fear ? Like the disciples of old, we 
 stand in need of the rebuke and the encourage- 
 ment to (t consider the ravens, for they neither 
 sow nor reap ; which neither have storehouse 
 nor barn ; and God feedeth them : how much 
 more are ye better than the fowls !" Luke xii. 24. 
 
 There is a proud and ambitious mood, and a 
 bad mood it is. Sometimes but this is not often 
 the case I catch myself musing on earthly ho- 
 nours and advantages, forgetting the brief tenure 
 
OF THE MIND. 2/3 
 
 of worldly possessions, and that human life is 
 " even a vapour that appeareth for a little time, 
 and then vanisheth away," James iv. 14. 
 
 When the Greek emperors were crowned, in 
 the midst of all the pomp and splendour of their 
 coronation, they were, on one hand, presented 
 with a vase filled with ashes and dead men's 
 bones, and, on the other with flax, which was set 
 on fire. Thus were they, by a double emblem, 
 reminded of their mortality and the frailness of 
 their worldly honours. At the present day, when 
 a pope is crowned, a master of the ceremonies 
 carries a lighted wax taper in one hand, and a 
 basin in the other. In the basin are castles and 
 palaces made of flax ; and the master of the cere- 
 monies sets fire to them three times over, repeat- 
 ing each time the words, " Behold, holy father, 
 how the glory of this world passes away !" 
 
 Now, though I am not likely to be made a 
 pope, (pope Humphrey would sound rather comi- 
 cal !) and still less likely to be crowned a Greek 
 emperor, yet may I get a profitable admonition 
 from the burning flax ; for there are other things 
 in the world that may lead away the affections of 
 an old man beside the temporalities of Greece and 
 Rome. 
 
 As I said before, it is but seldom that I muse 
 upon earthly honours and advantages, for usually 
 
274 ON THE VARYING MOODS 
 
 I hold these things as light as any of my neigh- 
 bours ; yet, now and then, I have been silly enough 
 to give way to such idle and unprofitable specu- 
 lations. If hi these moments of infirmity I could 
 catch a glance, either of my grey hairs or the 
 furrows on my brow, it might set me musing on 
 other things. How is it with you ? Do you find, 
 at times, creeping over you something like the 
 ambitious spirit of Haman, when he wanted to be 
 clad in goodly garments, and paraded through 
 the city? This ambitious mood, this vain and 
 worldly spirit, is no credit to us. Let us pray 
 against it earnestly, lest God should give us what 
 we desire, and withhold what we need. 
 
 There is an humble mood I do not mean a 
 desponding one ; and a sweet mood it is. Oh 
 that I could rest in it for ever. "We need not in 
 this mood be told, for we feel it, that God " giveth 
 grace unto the humble," James iv. 6. I hope, 
 my friends that you are anxious to possess the 
 grace of humility, looking to Him for it who can 
 alone bestow it. We are never so peaceful, never 
 so happy, never so secure, as when we are hum- 
 ble. We then envy no one, and we hate no one ; 
 and, so far from taking credit to ourselves in any 
 thing, our language is, " Not unto us, O Lord, 
 not unto us, but unto thy name give glory," Psa. 
 cxv. 1. In this mood we are feelingly persuaded 
 
OF THE MIND. 275 
 
 of our nothingness, and gladly turn to Him who 
 " is able to save them to the uttermost that come 
 unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make 
 intercession for them," Heb. vii. 25. Now, I am 
 sadly afraid that this humble mood is not exactly 
 the one in which we are most commonly found ; 
 that we cannot always, nor indeed generally, say, 
 " Lord, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes 
 lofty. I have behaved and quieted myself, as a 
 child that is weaned of his mother," Psa. cxxxi. 
 1,2. I 
 
 There is a cheerful and light-hearted mood, not 
 a vain and trifling one ; a mood of mind that gilds 
 this world with sunshine, and makes the path to the 
 next appear as straight as an arrow and as smooth 
 as a bowling-green. We feel no heavy burdens ; 
 we have no apprehensions of evil, but look on the 
 bright side of every thing. We go out with joy, 
 and are led forth with peace ; the mountains and 
 hills appear to break forth into singing, and the 
 trees of the field to clap their hands. The very 
 wilderness is glad, and the desert itself seems to 
 blossom as the rose. 
 
 Are you, now and then, in this delightful mood ? 
 If so, be thankful ; for it is a choice gift on the 
 part of our heavenly Father. None can reason- 
 ably hope to enjoy it long but those who, in pass- 
 ing through this world, have fixed their hope of 
 
276 ON THE VARYING MOODS 
 
 another on Him "who his own self hare our sins 
 in his own body on the tree, that we, heing dead to 
 sins, should live unto righteousness," 1 Pet. ii. 24. 
 
 There is a grateful mood, such as comes over 
 us on our first walk abroad after sickness. The 
 frame is weak, for it has been shaken ; but the 
 heart is grateful and happy. How abundantly, 
 in such a mood as this, does our heavenly Father 
 make amends to us for the pains we have felt, 
 and the weary midnight tossings to and fro we 
 have endured! The fever has left us, the an- 
 guish has departed ; the pulse, that a few weeks 
 ago was tearing away so fearfully and irregularly, 
 is gently beating, and as true in its time as a 
 chronometer. The air is so pure, the clear sky is 
 so blue, and the trees are so green, though we 
 cannot see them very distinctly for the joyful 
 tears that bedew our eyes, that we are filled with 
 thankfulness and delight. We feel, then, the 
 goodness of God. Do you go with me while I 
 describe this grateful mood of mind ? I trust so ; 
 for if you have not known it, you are a stranger 
 to one of the most delightful feelings in the 
 human heart. 
 
 In such a mood as this we can bless God for 
 afflicting us, as well as for raising us up from the 
 bed of affliction. We can bless him as heartily 
 for what he has withheld, as for what he has 
 
OF THE MIND. 277 
 
 bestowed. The truth is, we can bless God for 
 all things, and desire that all things shall bless 
 and praise his holy name. It is not so much our 
 tongues as our hearts and souls that cry aloud, 
 " Praise ye j:he Lord. Let every thing that hath 
 breath praise the Lord. Praise ye the Lord." 
 Psa. cl. 1, 6. 
 
 I might speak of an envious mood, in which 
 we look on those around us with a scowl, on ac- 
 count of something they possess, which we in 
 vain desire to obtain ; of an angry mood, in which 
 we rub up our animosities by dwelling on our real 
 or supposed injuries ; of a repining mood, wherein 
 we fretfully and ungratefully undervalue what it 
 has pleased God to bestow upon us ; and of twenty 
 others of a like kind, from which may the Father 
 of mercies preserve us all. 
 
 There is one other mood, however, which I must 
 not pass by. This is a sunny mood of the mind, 
 in which zeal, and love, and gratitude appear to 
 unite. Oh, it is too delightful to tarry long ! It 
 imparts to us a kind of superior nature, raising us, 
 for the time, above our infirmities. It comes some- 
 times upon me with power, and then such glorious 
 aspirations, such unbounded benevolence, such 
 ardent desires to conceive and achieve all that is 
 kind, lovely, intellectual, pure, elevated, and holy, 
 animate my spirit, that I seem to partake, of the 
 
 2 B 
 
278 ON THE VARYING MOODS OF THE MIND. 
 
 nature of an angel, yearning to be the messenger 
 of peace and of joy to all around ; and then, per- 
 haps, in the brief space of a flying hour, the 
 would-be angel comes tumbling down from his 
 starry heights, stripped of his glory, shorn of his 
 beams, deprived of his disinterestedness a poor 
 infirm, clod-like, worldly-minded, selfish, and 
 spirit-depressed Old Humphrey. I have now 
 given you something to muse on ; and if you are 
 in a mood to turn it to account, an hour devoted 
 to reflection may promote your own good and 
 God's glory. 
 
OLD HUMPHREY IN HIS 
 ALTITUDES, 
 
 As my heart feels bigger than usual in my 
 bosom, and as I am in one of those moods when, 
 if there be aught that is high and holy within, it 
 struggles to come forth, I have seated myself at 
 my study-table, and taken up my pen, to see if, 
 haply, I can fling on my paper any of those elas- 
 tic and spirit-stirring thoughts which, at times, 
 raise us above our common standard. 
 
 There are glorious moments that now and then 
 shed their influence over me ; moments when my 
 spirit springs away, as if disembodied, on some 
 undefined and imaginary enterprise ennobling to 
 humanity, elevated and pure, philanthropic and 
 disinterested. " Few and far between" are these 
 golden glimpses and high-wrought aspirations, 
 but yet they do come, filling with sunshine my 
 whole heart and mind. In these seasons I am 
 weary of being nobody and doing nothing ; my 
 heart yearns for higher and holier objects than 
 those which have occupied me ; the pigmy would 
 be a giant, the sparrow on the house-top an eagle 
 
280 OLD HUMPHREY IN HIS ALTITUDES. 
 
 soaring in the air, and the lowly worm of the earth 
 an angel ay, an archangel of the heavens ! 
 
 But though there is much that is delightful to 
 be found in this earth-spurning, sky-scraping atti- 
 tude of mind, and though it is not the poor piti- 
 ful ambition of holding up my head or my actions 
 higher than those of my neighbours that influ- 
 ences me, yet I am constrained to believe, after 
 some reflection on the matter, that there is much 
 of infirmity and pride mingled with these high- 
 wrought emotions. In such seasons, the real lan- 
 guage of the heart is, perhaps, " If God would 
 send me flying through the world like an angel, 
 I would do every thing for him ; but while he 
 requires me to creep along a lowly pathway, or con- 
 fines me to one little spot, that I may do one 
 little thing, I can do nothing." There is a turning 
 on the heel from the humble path of obedience, 
 to the proud highway of hot-hearted zeal. " I do 
 well to be angry." " Are not Abana and Pharpar, 
 rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of 
 Israel?" Jonah iv. 9 ; 2 Kings v. 12 ; or, in other 
 words, " Is not my way better than God's way ?" 
 
 It may be that some of you are acquainted with 
 this state of feeling, and if so, be on your guard 
 against high-mindedness ! To be satisfied to do 
 that which the High and Holy One has appointed 
 us to perform, is true wisdom. As all angels 
 
OLD HUMPHREY IN HIS ALTITUDES. 281 
 
 cannot be archangels, so hewers of wood and 
 drawers of water must not expect to be builders of 
 the temple ; footmen should not be riders on horses 
 and drivers of chariots, neither can common-place 
 Christians hope to be employed on uncommon en- 
 terprises. To know and to do the will of our hea- 
 venly Father, should be the highest pinnacle of 
 Christian desire. When our ambitious yearnings 
 go mounting in the air like sky-rockets, like sky- 
 rockets, alas ! they soon come tumbling down 
 again. We shall do well to remember, that dia- 
 monds are bedded in dross, and that in like man- 
 ner our purest heavenly desires are imbedded in 
 the dross of a sinful, earthly heart. 
 
 Pride, make of it what we will, is a sad enemy 
 to our peace, and a proud man is a target at which 
 a fool may fire without missing his mark. It may 
 be said of spiritual pride as truly as of any other, 
 that " Pride goeth before destruction, and an 
 haughty spirit before a fall," Prov. xvi. 18. 
 Whenever, impatient of his common duties, a 
 Christian man unreasonably desires to be pro- 
 moted to higher occupations, taking the highest 
 room before the Master says to him, " Friend, 
 go up higher," depend upon it that spiritual 
 pride is at work in his heart. You see what 
 pains I take to prove myself guilty ; but, disguise 
 it as we may, truth is truth ; and as I believe 
 
 2 B 2 
 
282 OLD HUMPHREY IN HIS ALTITUDES, 
 
 that these high-minded emotions of mine spring 
 more from pride than from any other principle, 
 they deserve no quarter at my hands. 
 
 But now, having dealt honestly by myself, let 
 me ask, How is it with you ? If plain dealing be 
 medicine to my mind, it may operate medicinally 
 on yours ; and, to confess the truth, I have no pre- 
 dilection to flog myself, and to let you go free. 
 If you ever do get into one of these high-minded, 
 discontented moods, watch over yourselves nar- 
 rowly, lest it bring trouble and sorrow upon your 
 hearts. It is unlovely, unreasonable, and unchris- 
 tian-like to give ourselves airs, even in our desires, 
 altering the wise arrangements of our heavenly Fa- 
 ther, reversing the order of his glorious system, 
 blotting out from existence what we like not, and 
 retaining only what is suited to our views ; taking 
 the sweet, and refusing the bitter. " Shall we 
 receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not 
 receive evil?" Job ii. 10. What right have we, 
 instead of encouraging thankfulness for the chang- 
 ing seasons, to desire, because it may fall in with 
 our present temper, an eternal spring, an unceas- 
 ing summer, a perpetual autumn, or an everlast- 
 ing winter ? Oh for the hearty emanation from the 
 heart as well as from the lip, " Thy will be done 
 on earth as it is in heaven." 
 
 Never, perhaps, was Peter prouder than when 
 
OLD HUMPHREY IN HIS ALTITUDES. 283 
 
 indignantly he flung back the warning admonition 
 of his Master, and replied, " If I should die with 
 thee, I will not deny thee in any wise," Mark xiv. 
 3 1 ; and yet before the cock crew twice, he denied 
 him thrice. Never was Saul more elated than 
 when, urgent on his high-minded mission, with 
 hot, burning zeal, he bitterly breathed out 
 " threatenings and slaughter against the dis- 
 ciples of the Lord," and yet it was then that he 
 fell to the very ground, Acts ix. Often have I 
 quoted, and often do I yet hope to quote, the well- 
 known lines of honest John Bunyan : 
 
 " He that is down needs fear no fall ; 
 
 He tli.at is low no pride ; 
 He that 'is humble ever shall 
 Have God to be his guide." 
 
 Now, think not that I mean to censure or re- 
 press any lively emotions of zeal, any ardent de- 
 sires to do more than ordinary for God's glory and 
 man's good that may spring up either in your 
 heart or mine ; for that is not the case. It is only 
 when this zeal and these desires make us discon- 
 tented with our station, and disqualify us for our 
 plain, common-place, and intelligible duties, that 
 I would suspect the presence of that pride which 
 requires to be humbled. Oh ! it is a precious 
 thing to possess an humble and willing mind, 
 
284 OLD HUMPHREY IN HIS ALTITUDES. 
 
 ready to do God's bidding, not only in carving the 
 top stones of the temple, but also in hewing wood 
 and drawing water. 
 
 The higher we climb, the greater is our danger ; 
 the faster we run, the more likely are we to stum- 
 ble. It maybe that a sudden sense of my peculiar 
 infirmities has abated the sky-scraping attitude of 
 mind in which I began to pen down these obser- 
 vations, and made me more than usually afraid of 
 high-mindedness ; but it seems as though it 
 would be, at this moment, a relief to me to take 
 the lowest place ; to sit in the gate with Morde- 
 cai, rather than with Haman to approach the 
 throne of the king Ahasuerus. Old Humphrey is 
 in his altitudes no longer, and his parting words 
 are not, " Rejoice in the Lord alway : and again 
 I say, rejoice !" Phil. iv. 4 ; but rather, " Let him 
 that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he 
 fall," 1 Cor. x. 12 ; and, " Be not high-minded, 
 but fear," Horn. xi. 20. 
 
ON THE GAY DREAMS OP 
 YOUTH. 
 
 IT is said that " men are but children fully 
 grown ;" and if I were to be asked in what child- 
 ish amusements they mostly indulge, I would 
 say, in the game of bubble-blowing. We begin 
 to blow our bubbles early in childhood, and we 
 keep it up, with little intermission, to old age. 
 
 With what delight does the young urchin gaze 
 on the glittering globe of soap and water that he 
 has fairly launched into the air ! There it goes ! 
 mounting up with the breeze that blows, and 
 again descending low. One moment as high as 
 the house, and at another almost touching the 
 ground. Onward ! onward it holds its course, 
 escaping every danger, till, at last, it bursts as it 
 strikes against the edge of a tombstone in an 
 adjoining churchyard. 
 
 The bubbles of our after years too, bear a 
 strong family likeness to those of our childhood. 
 Some burst as soon as blown. Some vanish sud- 
 denly in the air ; and if any of them mount over 
 
286 ON THE GAY DREAMS OF YOUTH. 
 
 the churchyard wall, they are sure to disappear 
 amid the tombs. 
 
 " Wishing" is a losing game to all who play at 
 it ; and yet, who is there that altogether refrains ? 
 I never heard but of one man who could say, " I 
 have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith 
 to be content," Phil iv. 11. 
 
 Let us take a stripling from among the many 
 who are, at this moment, banqueting on the airy 
 food of future greatness ; who are, in other words, 
 engaged in bubble-blowing, and enter for a mo- 
 ment into his golden dreams. It is true, he may 
 be poor ; but the Rothschilds were not always 
 rich, though, at last, they amassed millions. He 
 has heard of Whittington, a poor friendless lad, 
 quitting London with his bundle in his hand, and 
 turning back again to wealth and renown, beckoned 
 by the bells ringing out musically, as he fancied, 
 the words, 
 
 " Turn again, Whittington, 
 Thrice Lord Mayor of London." 
 
 Why, it is very possible that, some day, he may 
 be as great a man as Whittington, who had only 
 a cat with which to make his fortune. Not that 
 he has, at present, any very bright prospects 
 before him in real life ; but that only renders the 
 more bright the vision of his fancy. 
 
ON THE GAY DKEAMS OF YOUTH. 287 
 
 Well, then, it is a settled thing with him that 
 he will be a merchant, and sail the seas in a ship 
 of his own, carrying out beads to barter with Afri- 
 cans for ivory and ostrich feathers ; and bales of 
 cloth to exchange for gold. There is no prevent- 
 ing his future prosperity; he will soon become 
 rich, in his own imagination, and ride in a coach 
 and six! 
 
 And now the bubble is at its height ! Poor 
 fellow ! what a pity that he cannot keep it in the 
 air ! Alas ! down it must come, breaking against 
 the very ground. The poor lad works at a trade, 
 marries early, has a large family ; his health fails 
 him, his friends forsake him ; want springs upon 
 him like an armed man, he becomes sick and 
 infirm, and he receives pay from the parish. 
 
 Or, suppose his youthful dream to be of another 
 kind : his bubble, though equally frail with that 
 I have already blown for him, may take a differ- 
 ent direction. He is studious and fond of books, 
 and it may be that he is poetical. Say that 
 Chevy Chase, or the ballad of the Children in the 
 Wood, first lures him to the flowery pathways of 
 poesy. He reads, grows abstracted and imagina- 
 tive, and " mutters his wayward fancies" as he 
 goes. Goldsmith wins him, Cowper and Mont- 
 gomery delight him, Gray fires him, and Byron 
 works him up almost to frenzy, and it is well if 
 
288 ON THE GAY DREAMS OF YOUTH. 
 
 not to moral evil. Like a ship with no ballast 
 and much sail, he pursues his course. He yearns 
 for an earthly immortality. There have been 
 Shakspeares, and Mil tons, and Ossians, and Ho- 
 mer! Why may there not be again? What a 
 delightful thing to publish a volume of unrivalled 
 poetry ; to be lauded by reviewers, to be sought 
 by booksellers, to be courted by the great, and to 
 be highly estimated by the world ! 
 
 Thus he goes on wasting his life in unprofitable 
 dreams ; but see ! the bubble bursts at last. He 
 has feasted his mind and famished his body ; un- 
 able to conform to the common-place usages of life, 
 or to perform its duties, he is crushed by trouble. 
 With an intellect superior to those around him, 
 he is the proverb of the wise, and the butt of the 
 foolish; and, perhaps, ends his day in a lunatic 
 asylum. There may be many, whose sober habits 
 and reflections may think this picture over-drawn ; 
 I have some reason to think the contrary. 
 
 Or, perhaps, he has read books of travels and 
 wondrous adventures by sea and land, and is re- 
 solved to travel ; why should not lie, as well as 
 others, do something wonderful? ascend Mont 
 Blanc, go down the crater of Vesuvius, and mea- 
 sure the Pyramids ! How delightful, after wan- 
 dering in strange lands like Mungo Park, encoun- 
 tering lions in the desert like Campbell, and 
 
ON THE GAY DREAMS OF YOUTH. 289 
 
 delving into the mummy pits of Egypt like Bel- 
 zoni, to return home with real Indian tomahawks, 
 bows, arrows and scalping knives ; with snakes 
 from Africa, fishing tackle from the South Seas, 
 birds of paradise and humming birds from the 
 East ; and monkeys and macaws from the West. 
 
 This is a golden dream in which his fancy in- 
 dulges in his waking hours. His native land is 
 too contracted for his ardent spirit ; he longs for 
 perils and toil, he thirsts for strange adventures ; 
 and after all, perhaps, is put apprentice to a tai- 
 lor or a weaver, passing his days on a shopboard 
 of six feet by three, or growing old in flinging the 
 shuttle and plying the loom in the back garret of 
 some miserable dwelling. What a glittering bub- 
 ble has here burst ! What a gay dream has here 
 passed away ! And yet who shall venture to affirm 
 that a thousand such occurrences as these have 
 not taken place in common life ? 
 
 But his dream may have been yet of a different 
 kind. The stripling may have heard the stormy 
 music of the rattling drum, and gazed upon the 
 gay attire of the recruiting sergeant. He may 
 have " heard of battles," and been fired with the 
 love of victory and fame. 
 
 Strange it is, that when the would-be warrior 
 sees before him the prancing war-horse, and the 
 bannered host, that he cannot see the agonies of 
 
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290 ON THE GAY DREAMS OF YOUTH. 
 
 the dying, and the mangled heaps of the slain ! 
 Strange, that when he hears, in imagination, the 
 neigh of the charger, the clangour of the brazen- 
 throated trumpet, and the roar of cannon, that he 
 cannot hear, also, the agonizing groans of the 
 wounded soldiers, nor the heart-rending wails of the 
 widow and the fatherless! Yet so it is! Selfishness, 
 and sin, and carnage, are crowned with glory. 
 
 But the stripling will blow his bubble. He 
 ponders the page that sets forth the victories of 
 Cressey and of Agincourt, of Blenheim and of 
 Waterloo. He gazes on the marble monuments 
 of renowned heroes, and becomes a soldier ! nay, 
 more ; he is famed for courage, rises in rank, and 
 his fondest wishes are realized. 
 
 But are these gay dreams less vain because 
 they have been partly fulfilled? The stripling 
 has become a hero, with a scar on his forehead 
 and a pair of epaulets on his shoulders. But 
 there is something yet that remains to be told : 
 besides these things, he has a galling wound which 
 the surgeons have pronounced incurable ; and an 
 annoying ball in his body that cannot be dis- 
 lodged ! When alone, too, in the midnight hour, 
 he heaves a sigh, somewhat in doubt whether he 
 should not have led a more useful life in pursuing 
 peace, than in following war ; in being a preserver 
 rather than a destroyer of his species. 
 
ON THE GAY DREAMS OF YOUTH. 291 
 
 Have I said enough ? Old Humphrey has been 
 a blower of bubbles, a dreamer of dreams, through 
 the better part of his days ; let him then run his 
 length on the gay dreams of youth. 
 
 But he may be musical ; and his fanciful reve- 
 ries on humanity may be musical too. The half- 
 penny whistle, the penny trumpet, and the six- 
 penny drum of childhood, have given way to the 
 fife, the flute, the flageolet, and the violin. He 
 studies the gamut, plays solos when alone, duets 
 when with a friend, and talks about Wragge, and 
 Nicholson, and Cramer. On he goes, afflicting 
 the neighbourhood with the dissonance of his 
 unmastered instruments, till he really becomes a 
 decent performer. He now plays a Nicholson 
 flute, and a Cremona violin, besides which he has 
 made some progress on the violincello, and can 
 blow a clear and sonorous blast or two on the 
 keyed bugle. 
 
 But is he satisfied ? No ; there is no point of 
 satisfaction in music, more than in other things. 
 Could he pour forth the full diapason of the peal- 
 ing organ ; were the harmonious crash of the 
 whole orchestra under his control, he would not, 
 he could not, rest satisfied ; he must blow his 
 bubble ; he would compose like Handel, play like 
 Purkiss, and outrival the wondrous performance 
 of Paganini. 
 
292 ON THE GAY DKEAMS OF YOUTH. 
 
 This is the beginning, or rather the noon-day, 
 of his dreamy delight. But what is its end? He 
 joins some musical society, is led into company, 
 neglects his business, spends more than he gets, 
 sinks into poverty, and in his old age is found 
 playing a fiddle to the drunkards in a pot-house, 
 for what pence he can obtain, or spending his 
 breath on a cracked clarionet, a mendicant per- 
 former in the public streets. 
 
 Or, suppose him to have read the adventures 
 of Robinson Crusoe, with the voyages of Captain 
 Cook, and to have fallen in love with the sea. He 
 has met a jack tar in his holiday clothes, and gazed 
 with admiration on his long-quartered shoes, blue 
 jacket, and snow-white trowsers. He has seen him 
 pull out of his pocket, carelessly, a handful of cop- 
 per, silver, gold, and pigtail tobacco. " Oh, it is 
 a fine thing to be a sailor!" thinks he, "to wear 
 clean clothes, to play the fiddle, to dance on the 
 deck, and to have plenty of grog and prize money ! 
 Nothing in the world like being a sailor!" 
 
 And now comes thronging in his midnight 
 dream a ship's crew of light-hearted seamen, a 
 jovial band of jack tars. He hears their songs, 
 he sees them in their well-rigged ship, ploughing 
 through the foaming waves, with dolphins, and 
 porpoises, and flying-fish around them, and a 
 clear blue sky above their heads. 
 
ON THE GAY BREAMS OF YOUTH. 293 
 
 He goes on blowing his bubbles till he has had 
 enough of stormy petrels, glittering icebergs, 
 sharks and shore-crabs, whales and walruses ; 
 sea-weed, sword-fish, and coral rocks; and then 
 wrecks himself on an uninhabited island, that he 
 may give, on his return home, a wonderful ac- 
 count of his dangers and his toils. 
 
 If he were the king of mighty Babylon de- 
 parted, surrounded with his wise men, Chaldeans, 
 soothsayers, and astrologers, they would give him, 
 no doubt, a goodly interpretation of his dreams ; 
 but being only a poor friendless lad, he cannot hope 
 for that advantage. No matter ! when twenty 
 summers and winters have rolled over him, he 
 finds himself as far as ever from the ocean, retail- 
 ing snuff and tobacco in a country village. 
 
 Such are the gay dreams of youth, and most of 
 us have indulged in one or other of them. I 
 know one who has indulged in them all ! ay more 
 than all! and what was the end of his sunny 
 visions? What has become of the gleams of 
 glory that dazzled his youthful fancy in by-gone 
 days ? Let the tear that has fallen on the paper 
 on which I note down these observations, be his 
 reply. The bubbles of his childhood are burst ; 
 the fond dreams of his youth and his manhood 
 are passed away ; he has seen the hollowness of 
 them all, and has been made willing to exchange 
 
 2 c 2 
 
294 ON THE GAY DREAMS OF YOUTH. 
 
 the empty dreams of time for the realities of 
 eternity. 
 
 If he knows anything of his own heart, there 
 is nothing in the honours, the riches, and the wis- 
 dom of this world, that for one moment he would 
 put in comparison with the well-grounded hope 
 of everlasting life. Put together all the renown 
 that mankind has to bestow ; pile up the crowns 
 and sceptres of the earth ; heap high its gold, its 
 costly gems, and glittering diadems, and they will 
 be as dust in the balance, if weighed against the 
 hope of eternal life through Christ Jesus our 
 Lord. 
 
ON DESIGNS FOE PICTURES, 
 
 I WANT to address a few words to the poor and 
 aged followers of the Redeemer. 
 
 If, therefore, you are old, and your coat be a 
 little seedy and threadbare, or your red or brown 
 cloak somewhat the worse for wear ; if poverty be 
 your lot, and trial, in one shape or other, your 
 daily food, you are the very person with whom I 
 wish to talk, that is, if, as a Zion-bound pilgrim, 
 your eyes are looking to the cross of the Re- 
 deemer. 
 
 Aged people should help one another along the 
 rugged roads of life, when they have the oppor- 
 tunity, and a word in season is often a cordial to 
 the heart : let me try to interest you for a mo- 
 ment. Are you fond of pictures ? Most people 
 are the child of seven, and the man and woman 
 of seventy. I am as fond of them now as I was 
 when for the first time in my life I opened the 
 pages of the " Pilgrim's Progress," and gazed on 
 Christian with the burden falling from his back as 
 he came up to the hillock on which the cross was 
 standing. 
 
296 ON DESIGNS FOE PICTURES. 
 
 It lias often struck me, that, had I been a 
 painter, I should have been very happy in the 
 choice of my subjects. "Ay," you will say, 
 " there spoke the pride of Old Humphrey." Per- 
 haps it may be so ; but you shall have a sample 
 of some of my designs, and then you can judge 
 for yourself. What think you of this ? 
 
 An Old Man and Death wrestling for a few 
 grains of sand in an old hour-glass. 
 
 It is from the life, as most of my sketches are. 
 See how the grim skeleton points his dart at the 
 most vital parts of his enemy ; and see, too, how 
 the old man grasps the bony arm of his opponent 
 to stay his stroke. They are grappling as though 
 this and another world were the stakes, instead of 
 a few grains of sand in an old hour-glass. How 
 is it with you, my aged friends ? Does this pic- 
 ture hit you off, think you ? Is there any like- 
 ness in it ? Are you clutching the hour-glass of 
 your old age, to secure the few grains of time it 
 contains ? Are you struggling with death as with 
 an enemy that would rob you of your dearest 
 treasures ? or are you, like Simeon of old, ready 
 to stretch out your hands towards heaven, and 
 say, " Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart 
 in peace ; for mine eyes have seen thy salvation?" 
 Here is another : 
 
 Hope and Faith opening the Doors of Heaven. 
 
ON DESIGNS FOR PICTURES. 297 
 
 This would make a fine picture ; Hope smil- 
 ing, with her anchor beside her, " that anchor of 
 the soul which is both sure and steadfast, and 
 which entereth into that within the veil ;" and 
 Faith clinging to the cross whereon once hung 
 the Redeemer. Both of them should be seen 
 opening the golden gates through which a flood 
 of glory is pouring wide, affording us a peep at 
 heaven while yet we are upon the earth. 
 
 I hope that this design suits your taste, and, if 
 not, I trust the next will : 
 
 Trial and Affliction taking away a purse of gold, 
 and leaving in its place a bag of diamonds. 
 
 An odd design this ; but, if well painted, you 
 would call it a capital good one. The poor pa- 
 tient, when he lost his gold, thought it was all 
 over with him; but see how hopeful and how 
 happy he looks now ; he has just discovered the 
 diamonds that have been left him. 
 
 How many a thoughtless prodigal has spent 
 his substance in riotous living, till God in mercy 
 has stretched him on a sick-bed, his strength has 
 declined, and the cordials and comforts, and doc- 
 tor's bills, have taken away the remainder of his 
 money, and he considers himself lost ; but at last 
 he discovers himself to be richer than ever. 
 "Tribulation worketh patience, and patience ex- 
 perience, and experience hope." " No chastening 
 
298 ON DESIGNS FOB PICTURES. 
 
 for the present seemeth to be joyous, but griev- 
 ous ; nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peace- 
 able fruit of righteousness unto them which 
 are exercised thereby." Here, then, are his dia- 
 monds patience, experience, hope, and the peace- 
 able fruits of righteousness. Before he was 
 afflicted he went astray, but now he keeps the 
 commandments of God. 
 
 You can judge of my talent for designing from 
 three as well as from threescore specimens ; and 
 if you think me but a poor draughtsman, why 
 there is no necessity for my troubling you with 
 any more of my designs. 
 
 However, look over these once more, and try 
 if you cannot get a little real good from the ima- 
 ginary sketches of Old Humphrey. 
 
ON THE 
 
 BEAUTIES OF CREATION. 
 
 I TAKE up my pen under a feeling persuasion 
 of the almost utter impossibility of imparting to 
 others, or even of enabling them to comprehend, 
 my emotions, at particular seasons, when gazing 
 on the works of creation ; and I regret this the 
 more, because such as have feelings more lively 
 than those of their neighbours, run some risk of 
 being set down as enthusiasts and visionaries. 
 
 Willingly would I pass for a plain old man 
 at all times, more prone to draw a profitable les- 
 son from the works of creation, than to indulge 
 in idle ecstasies arid useless sentimentality; but 
 sometimes the boundless beauty of creation so 
 bursts upon me, so takes me, as it were, by 
 storm, that I cannot do otherwise than surrender 
 up, for the moment, my whole being to the de- 
 lightful occupation of feasting my eyes and my 
 heart on the banquet before me, and of adoring 
 the Almighty hand which has not only spread 
 an intellectual table for me in the wilderness, 
 
300 ON THE BEAUTIES OF CREATION, 
 
 but given me a keen appetite to relish the re- 
 past. 
 
 I well know that for an old man to regard the 
 rising or the setting sun, a passing gilt-edged 
 cloud, a brook, a waterfall, a tree, a shrub, a bird, 
 a butterfly, a flower, or a blade of grass, as the 
 case may be, in a transport of delight, must, in 
 the estimation of many, border on the ridiculous ; 
 but Old Humphrey is one that does not often 
 hide his natural feelings because they may fur- 
 nish a little pleasantry to his friends at his ex- 
 pense. While the bursting bud and the warbling 
 bird make my heart beat with joy ; while the 
 kindling heavens bring tears of grateful emotion 
 and admiration into my eyes ; I will tell you that 
 they do so, and you may laugh at me as long and 
 as loudly as you please. 
 
 It would hardly be wise in me to indulge in 
 fairy tales, to build castles in the air for you to 
 admire when you could not inhabit them, or to 
 draw scenes of hanging gardens and oriental ima- 
 gery far beyond your reach. No ; my scenes, for 
 the most part, are those that are round about you. 
 He that is blest with eyesight, and with a grate- 
 ful and susceptible heart, has only to gaze on the 
 earth or the heavens, to be filled with joy and 
 thanksgiving. 
 
 I am a dear lover of nature, and would not, 
 
ON THE BEAUTIES OF CKEATION. 301 
 
 when painting her likeness, be bribed to give a 
 false tint to a sere leaf, nor a wrong crook to the 
 thorn of a bramble. If I were wilfully to falsify 
 the resemblance of the giant oak or the dwarf 
 medlar, the towering cedar or the creeping 
 lichen, I should feel I suppose as a man feels who 
 has committed forgery. 
 
 It was only a few evenings ago that I stood by 
 the side of a secluded pond. At either end of 
 the watery basin rose an oak-tree : the one was 
 tall and wide-spreading, the other stunted, but 
 both gorgeous with foliage. 
 
 Between the trees was a high bank of bushes, 
 brambles, fine long grass, and bright yellow 
 reedy stems, among which straggled the viny 
 tendrils of the black bryony, and the slender 
 wires of the wild convolvulus. The whole bank 
 was a tangled confusion, a glorious assemblage 
 of grateful tints ; rich greens and glowing browns 
 were enlivened with scarlet hips and hawthorn 
 berries. 
 
 While I gazed with admiration, the oblique rays 
 of the sun enriched the pond and the bank, and 
 the varied lights and the deep shadows gave a 
 wondrous interest to the scene before me. 
 
 The sky, the trees, the bushes, the brambles, 
 the straggling wires, and scarlet berries, were all 
 plainly reflected in the clear dark waters. A dry 
 
 2 D 
 
302 ON THE BEAUTIES OF CREATION. 
 
 leaf fell, however, from the bending branches of 
 the oak, a light breeze rippled the surface of the 
 pond, and the whole scene became animated in 
 the reflecting water. But my description is poor 
 and tame. The whole was entrancingly beautiful, 
 and I could hardly endure my emotions of joy. 
 
 I left the pond to gaze on a far more glorious 
 scene, and to partake of a yet more exalted grati- 
 fication. The sun, the brightest object in creation, 
 was about to set. 
 
 Oh, it was glorious, in the midst of all my 
 weakness and unworthiness, to know and to feel 
 that I was God's creature, gifted to gaze on his 
 beautiful creation, and to thrill with overpowering 
 emotions at the soul-absorbing spectacle before 
 me. To the east lay a range of murky moun- 
 tainous hills, on which the dark and almost inky 
 clouds seemed to rest, as they slowly rolled their 
 heavy weight along the lower part of the heavens. 
 In the south, the woods and coppices, rich with 
 the coloured tints of autumn, were illumined with 
 the straggling rays of the declining sun, and right 
 in the west a big black cloud stretched itself 
 across the sky, with edges of gold and silver, 
 bright even to intensity. Behind the cloud was 
 ensconsed the sun, flinging right and left, above 
 and below, his glittering beams. I clasped my 
 hands with transport, and while 1 gazed on the 
 
ON THE BEAUTIES OF CREATION. 303 
 
 glowing scene in an ecstasy, the sun burst forth 
 helow the dark cloud, pouring his unendurable 
 beams in a torrent of light full in my face, blind- 
 ing for a season the enthusiastic idolater who was 
 so engrossed in admiring the king of day, as 
 almost to forget his Almighty Maker, the King 
 of kings and Lord of lords ! 
 
 Silent, solemn, and sublime was that glorious 
 and gorgeous spectacle. Subdued, even to tears, 
 I faltered a prayer to the Father of mercies, that 
 while his glorious creation produced such entranc- 
 ing emotions of wonder and joy in my heart, his 
 grace might fit me, despite of all my unworthi- 
 ness, to discern the greater glories of redemption, 
 so that I might know him, and adore him, and 
 love him, and obey him, and rejoice in him more 
 arid more for ever and ever ! 
 
TO THE YOUNG LADIES OF AN 
 EXTENSIVE ESTABLISHMENT, 
 
 MY UNKNOWN YOUNG FRIENDS How shall 
 I address you whom I have never seen, and, most 
 likely, never shall see, having no knowledge of 
 your tastes, your habits, or your dispositions ? 
 Flatter you I will not ; for thereby should I 
 prove myself to be your enemy : judge you with 
 severity I dare not ; for by so doing I should 
 condemn myself. It has been whispered to me 
 that you read my papers, and thus a desire has 
 arisen in my heart to say a few words to you. 
 
 Youth is usually cheerful, and I dare say that 
 you are so ; but if I write lightly, I may offend the 
 sedate ; and should I express myself very gravely, 
 the cheerful will have no fellowship with me ; 
 they will say, " We thought the old gentleman 
 wore a smile on his face, and a blooming bouquet 
 in his bosom ; but instead of this, he writes as 
 though he had been gathering crabs, drinking a 
 
TO YOUNG. LADIES OF AN ESTABLISHMENT, 305 
 
 draught of vinegar, and dipping his pen in 
 mingled wormwood and gall." 
 
 Again, if I write a long letter, some of you 
 may accuse me of being a tiresome, garrulous, 
 gossiping old man ; and if I write you a short 
 one, "Oh! oh!" you may say; "Is this his 
 letter ? Why it is not worth the trouble he has 
 taken to write it." So, take what course I will, 
 my path, you see, is beset with difficulty. How- 
 ever, I will now tell you the way I shall proceed. 
 That which comes uppermost in my mind shall 
 be freely written in a kindly spirit, without my 
 making it an object to be either very gay or very 
 grave ; very short or very long ; very wise, or in 
 a word, very any thing ; giving you credit for 
 sufficient good humour and kindness to put the 
 best possible construction you can on my com- 
 munication. 
 
 You know that it is the privilege of old men to 
 look very wise ; to shake their heads at young 
 people, and to talk very gravely to them, pointing 
 out how changed the world is to what it was, and 
 how differently young folks used to act fifty 
 summers ago to what they do now. And you 
 know, too, that while an old man is thus occupied, 
 young people try their best to look grave, for 
 which laudable effort they consider themselves 
 at liberty, the moment they are left alone, to 
 
 2 D 2 
 
306 TO THE YOUNG LADIES OF 
 
 indulge in a good-humoured titter at the old 
 gentleman's odd thoughts, odd words, or odd 
 appearance. If you do not know all this, I do. 
 
 Well, you may laugh at me as long and as 
 loudly as you please, provided it be a good- 
 natured laugh, and provided also, that you will 
 try to remember any little piece of advice I may 
 give, which may be likely to do you good. 
 
 Not yet have I forgotten my school-days. My 
 schoolmaster was ill-informed, hasty, and un- 
 reasonably severe; but my schoolmistress was 
 considerate and very kind. She used to stand at 
 one end of the school, and address us in an affec- 
 tionate manner. I was then young; and now, 
 though so many years have been added to my 
 days, I have not forgotten her soft, musical voice, 
 nor the lessons of instruction she endeavoured to 
 impress on our minds. 
 
 Now, thus it will be with some of you in future 
 years ! When he who now addresses you may be, 
 through mercy, in a better world, you will recall 
 your youthful days, assemble your schoolfellows 
 once more together in your thoughts, and live 
 over again your present pursuits. You will then 
 feel gratification from what you remember of 
 the admonitions of your kind instructors, min- 
 gled with regret that you have remembered so 
 little. 
 
AN EXTENSIVE ESTABLISHMENT. 307 
 
 And now, to what are you looking forward ? Is 
 the fair future glowing with rainbow hues ? Oh, 
 what a goodly world is this, when fancy, and hope, 
 and expectation, have to draw its picture ! 
 
 The waving trees and fairy bowers, 
 The verdant fields and fruits and flowers, 
 The sparkling rills and bubbling fountains, 
 Fair vales, and heaven-aspiring mountains, 
 
 are all placed so conspicuously, covered over with 
 a bonny blue sky, and so lit up with sunshine 
 that neither the eye nor the heart suspects that 
 there is any thing like shadow beyond them ; but 
 for all this, my young friends, there are shadows 
 in the world ! 
 
 Think not that Old Humphrey is the man to 
 blight your prospects ; rudely to dash from your 
 hands the cup of pleasure ; or to drive away the 
 smile from your faces. Rather would he put sun- 
 shine into your bosoms than take it away : but he 
 is not, now, writing to please you, so much as to 
 do you good ; let him, then, speak the truth in 
 sincerity and kindness. 
 
 Mankind have been running after earthly hap- 
 piness from the days of old, and they are still 
 keeping up the chase. I have run after it my- 
 self as hard as my neighbours, and have found 
 myself as far behind. If one thing more than 
 
308 TO THE YOUNG LADIES OF 
 
 another can assume different shapes, it is the 
 phantom we pursue that we take for happiness. 
 
 Earthly happiness is sought by all. The sage 
 pursues it in his books and reflections ; the savage 
 discerns it in the wilderness ; the prince views it 
 sparkling in a crown ; the peasant beholds it in 
 abundant crops of grain ; the sailor sees it in the 
 ocean ; the soldier hears it in the stormy fight ; 
 and the school-boy and school-girl hope to find it 
 in a holiday. 
 
 If I could peep into your hearts, from the 
 youngest of you to the oldest, what a medley 
 should I find there of visionary things laid up 
 in store to make you happy ! Waxen dolls and 
 birth-day presents ; glowing hopes and pleasant 
 holidays ; young friends and old acquaintances ; 
 joyous scenes and family gatherings ; satin dresses 
 and kid gloves ; journeys and jubilees ; sun- 
 beams and silvery clouds ! I would not, if I 
 could, take away your enjoyments; but I must 
 whisper the wish that they may be under control. 
 
 We all love to pluck the fairest fruit, and to 
 gather the sweetest flowers ; but put this down as 
 a truth worthy to be graven on a pillar of brass 
 That more enjoyable fruits and flowers grow by 
 the wayside of the path of duty, than in all the 
 wilderness of wilful inclination. 
 
 We all set a value on riches ; but Mexico 
 
AN EXTENSIVE ESTABLISHMENT. 309 
 
 is a long way off, and its gold is hard to gain ; 
 the Bible, a far richer source of real wealth, 
 is at hand. I will point out two texts that are 
 worth a hundred Mexicos : " God is love/* 
 1 John iv. 8. " Christ died for the ungodly," 
 Rom. v. 6. 
 
 Willingly would I write more ; but time 
 presses, and I must hurry on to the end of my 
 remarks. Though I cannot make you happy, I 
 can commend you to Him who has all happiness 
 at his disposal. I can ask of him to bless you 
 with true knowledge, and to keep you from evil ; 
 vea, to guide you by his counsel, and afterwards 
 to receive you to glory. 
 
 Old Humphrey is, usually, cheerful as the day r 
 and he loves to throw around him an air of 
 cheerfulness wherever he goes ; but with all his 
 light-heartedness, and in the midst of all his 
 infirmities, he considers this world as nothing 
 without the well-grounded hope of a better. Were 
 you to place him on the rack ; fling him beneath 
 the wheels of Juggernaut ; yea, grind him to 
 powder between the upper and nether mill-stone ; 
 you would not even then crush out of him the 
 joyous hope of everlasting life through the Saviour 
 of sinners ! 
 
 This is not such a letter as I intended to 
 write ; but give me credit for feeling more kind- 
 
310 TO rOUNG LADIES OF AN ESTABLISHMENT. 
 
 ness and interest in your real welfare than I 
 have expressed, and believe me to be, my unknown 
 young friends, yours in the very spirit of sincerity 
 and kindness, 
 
 OLD HUMPHREY. 
 
ON EXPERIENCE, 
 
 IT is almost impossible for a man to live to 
 grey hairs without passing through a great variety 
 of scenes, and being placed in a great variety of 
 situations. It is this circumstance, in connexion 
 with others, that constitutes the difference be- 
 tween the experience of youth and age. The 
 young, however excellent their talents and ex- 
 tended their attainments, having witnessed fewer 
 scenes, and acted in a less variety of situations, 
 must be, comparatively, deficient in the knowledge 
 of life. The fresh recruit may be' active and 
 strong, and after a little practice become expert at 
 his warlike weapons ; but his military knowledge 
 is not like that of the old campaigner. 
 
 Though my own life has had as little of a strik- 
 ing kind to diversify it, perhaps, as the lives of 
 my neighbours, yet, when I bring to one point the 
 scenes through which I have passed, and the situ- 
 ations in which I have been placed, they present 
 a somewhat formidable array, and force upon me 
 the regret that they have not made me wiser and 
 
312 ON EXPERIENCE. 
 
 better, and much more humble, considerate, for- 
 bearing, and thankful than I am. Now, if, reader, 
 yours is the furrowed brow and the grey hair, 
 most likely your experience has been somewhat 
 like my own. Let me, then, give a glance at the 
 past, for it may be that our mutual reflections 
 thereon may be attended with advantage. I am 
 not a dweller on things of this kind ; a hasty glance, 
 a rapid review, a dash or two of my pen on the 
 several points to which I may refer, will be all that 
 I shall offer. By putting myself in the attitude 
 of a questioner, the end I have in view will be the 
 more easily attained. 
 
 Have you been one of a happy party when the 
 bells of the church tower have rung a merry peal, 
 and when the gay garlanded bride has stepped 
 lightly from her carriage at the church gates? 
 Has she hung on your arm, and have you given 
 her to the rejoicing bridegroom at the altar, and 
 ejaculated a prayer that the presence of the Holy 
 One might rest upon them, blessing them in their 
 basket and in their store, their going out and coming 
 in, from thenceforth and for ever ? 
 
 When the flesh and heart of the aged pilgrim 
 has failed him, and he has given up the ghost, 
 his soul magnifying the Lord, and his spirit re- 
 joicing in God his Saviour, have you been there ? 
 And have you frequently followed the plumed 
 
ON EXPERIENCE. 313 
 
 hearse in sorrowful procession to the house ap- 
 pointed for all living, when the deep drawn sigh, 
 the streaming tears, and the bursting sob of the 
 bereaved mourner have lamented the loss of a be- 
 loved companion ? 
 
 Have you banqueted in the festive hall, and 
 made a meal in the fields of the fruit of the 
 bramble ? Have you talked with the simple, and 
 conversed with the wise ? Have you marked the 
 ways of the evil, and companionized with the 
 good ? Have you read the argument of the infidel 
 with displeasure, and pondered the pages of Holy 
 Writ till your heart exulted in the Lamb that 
 was slain, and your hope mounted to the throne 
 of the Eternal ? 
 
 Have you stepped out of your accustomed path- 
 way to go in search of tribulation? There are 
 hospital scenes, common-place enough to those who 
 frequent them, but fearful to the eye and trying 
 to the sympathies of a stranger, if the milk of 
 human kindness flow within his veins. There ague 
 shakes her bed ; pain grinds his teeth ; consump- 
 tion who has painted her marble cheek, as in 
 sport, with a patch of red, quickly draws hei 
 breath ; fever licks his parched lip with his furry 
 tongue ; and bloated dropsy but enough. I will 
 not dwell upon the scene. 
 
 Have you drawn aside the veil that hides the 
 
 2 E 
 
314 ON EXPERIENCE. 
 
 most afflictive of human spectacles? There are 
 asylums for mental maladies; but not willingly 
 would I trust myself to describe them. "Were I 
 to be fanciful you would be misled ; and were I 
 faithful, you, as well as I, would be afflicted. I 
 would only put the question, Have you seen hu- 
 manity in this depth of its humiliation ? 
 
 Have you assisted in extinguishing fires, when 
 the bellowing fiame and blazing rafters have been 
 fearful to hear and to see ? Have you lent a wil- 
 ling hand in taking the drowned from the waters, 
 and recovering their suspended faculties? Have 
 you helped to bind up the fractured bones of such 
 as have met with frightful accidents ? Have you 
 witnessed the amputation of diseased limbs ? 
 Have you gazed on sufferers who have lost their 
 lives by explosion, and sighed over those who 
 have died by their own hands ? 
 
 Have you travelled on foot and on horseback ? 
 by gig, coach, diligence, carriage, rail-road, and 
 steam-boat ? Have you seen the wonders of na- 
 ture and art, and clasped your hands together in 
 thankfulness to the Father of mercies, for the gift 
 of sight ? Have you climbed the craggy moun- 
 tain, and descended the dangerous mine ? Has 
 the dark cavern been explored by you ; and when 
 the black-winged storm has been abroad, have you 
 been on the angry ocean ? 
 
ON EXPERIENCE. 315 
 
 Have you attended the senate, listening to the 
 speeches of the legislators of your country ? drunk 
 in with delighted ears the message of mercy pro- 
 claimed by the ministers of God's mysteries from 
 the pulpit? and visited the courts of justice, where 
 the injured sought redress, and the guilty felon 
 tremhled? have you seen the judge put his 
 black cap upon his head, and heard him pronounce 
 the sentence of death, while the convicted, horror- 
 struck malefactor has covered his face with his 
 hands at the bar, the big drops of agony rolling 
 from his pallid brow, and trickling through his 
 bony fingers ? Have you watched him through 
 all the gradations of hardihood, hope, fear, and 
 despair ? 
 
 Have you known health and sickness ; strength 
 and weakness ; youth, manhood, and age ? Have 
 you made and lost friends? Have you been 
 praised and blamed? Have you abounded, and 
 known need ; lent and borrowed ; sinned and 
 sorrowed ; succeeded without effort ; and, after 
 striving to the uttermost, met with disappoint- 
 ment? 
 
 Have you witnessed sudden changes among 
 men the favourite of the public being dismissed, 
 and the obscure becoming popular? the weak 
 gaming strength, and the strong waxing feeble ? 
 the rich becoming poor, and the poor amassing 
 
316 ON EXPERIENCE. 
 
 wealth ? Have you seen the mighty pulled down 
 from their seat, and the humble and meek ex- 
 alted? Have you known wicked men, hy God's 
 grace, turn from their wickedness, and good men, 
 through want of watchfulness, fall into temptation ? 
 
 Have you lived in town and country ; fared 
 sumptuously, and been content with the plainest 
 food ? Have you been separated from those you 
 respected, bereaved of those you loved? Have 
 your hopes been realized, and blighted ; and has 
 the dark cloud above you passed by, leaving the 
 sunbeam shining on your head, and thankfulness 
 glowing in your heart ? Have you found that the 
 whole world would not make you happy without 
 God's grace, and that with his presence and 
 blessing you could cheerfully endure the heaviest 
 calamities ? 
 
 Have you joined the acclamations of a crowd, 
 and pondered alone in the silence of solitude? 
 Have you known the upbraidings of your own 
 heart, and heard the still small voice of an approv- 
 ing conscience ? Have you been humbled to the 
 dust by a knowledge of your unworthiness, and 
 exalted above measure by a sense of the love of 
 the Redeemer ? Have you shrunk, in your fear, 
 from a trifling trouble; and been ready, in the 
 abundance of your faith, to play the martyr in 
 the fire. 
 
ON EXPEKIENCE. 317 
 
 Thus might I go on, without limit, to catechise 
 you and myself; but it will be wiser to come to a 
 close. If we have seen, known, and been familiar 
 with these things, how desirous should we be to 
 turn our knowledge and experience to good ac- 
 count ! If we have been dealt graciously with, 
 how grateful should we be to the Giver of all 
 good! If we have been convinced of our own 
 errors and infirmities, how humbly should we 
 carry ourselves, and how forbearing should we be 
 towards others ! If we have seen the uncertainty 
 and hollowness of earthly things, how lightly 
 should we regard them ; and if we have known 
 and felt the peace arising from spiritual and hea- 
 venly blessings, how prayerfully, ardently, and 
 perseveringly should we pursue them ! 
 
 Then fix, my soul, on things above, 
 Thy stedfast hope and glowing love. 
 
 2 E 
 
OF EARTHLY TRIALS, 
 
 I SUPPOSE, with regard to the love of rural 
 scenery, it is much the same with my neighbours 
 as with myself; for among the endless variety, 
 the countless grades and shades of disposition 
 among mankind, every one breathes the fresh air 
 of heaven with pleasure ; every one gazes on the 
 beauties of creation with some degree of delight. 
 
 The spring and summer breezes always set my 
 heart beating. They make me long to be wander- 
 ing on the furze-clad common, to linger on the 
 skirt of the coppice, and to gather primroses in 
 the secluded dell. The spirit of the country seems 
 to beckon me abroad, and I cannot help revelling 
 in my fancy among knoUy green fields and retired 
 lanes, woods, and waterfalls. 
 
 When Old Humphrey is once surrounded by 
 elms, gnarled oaks, hedges, and rural scenes, rich 
 with vegetation, furze, broom, and blackberry 
 brier, chickweed, hay riff, thistle, nettle top, and 
 dandelion ; when the mossy green grass is cool 
 under Ids feet, and the sunlit clouds are bright 
 
ON EARTHLY TRIALS. 319 
 
 above his head, his heart dances for joy. All 
 things around him are then felt, indeed, to be the 
 gifts of God, and he pants, as the hart after the 
 water brooks, to show forth his thankfulness, 
 
 No wonder, when spring and summer bring out 
 the verdure and beauty of shrubs and flowers; 
 when they wake the insect tribes to animated life, 
 and call forth the song of joy from the warbling 
 birds, that the heart of man should join the jubi- 
 lee of creation. Again I say, when the breezes of 
 spring and summer blow, the spirit of the country 
 beckons me abroad. 
 
 It was at an early hour the other day that I 
 wandered forth, enjoying the wondrous beauty of 
 the earth and skies. I turned along a retired 
 path, a sort of bridle-way, but little used, except 
 by the owners of the adjoining fields, and by a 
 band of bird-catchers, who have been long accus- 
 tomed to lime their twigs, to place their cages, 
 and to spread their nets there. Now and then, a 
 solitary rambler, like myself, may be seen with 
 a book in his hand, seeking the privacy that the 
 place affords ; but with these exceptions, the spot 
 is little frequented; no wonder that the green 
 grass flourishes there in abundance. 
 
 In this secluded place, an ass and a horse were 
 grazing. The ass, poor thing, was blind, and 
 the horse seemed to be as heavily afflicted as his 
 
320 OX EARTHLY TRIALS. 
 
 lowly companion. No doubt he was the wreck of 
 what he had once been ; he had neighed and 
 snorted, and arched his proud neck, in his time, 
 and rattled over the ground at a rapid rate. He 
 had, doubtless, been petted and patted, and curry- 
 combed, and corned, as horses are when they pos- 
 sess beauty, when their necks are clothed with 
 thunder, and their hoofs are shod with speed ; but 
 these things were all over with him. The sum- 
 mer of his life was gone, and his high hips, 
 broken knees, rueful coat, and ribs' that might be 
 counted, told a sorrowful tale. 
 
 I stood for some time looking at him, as he 
 eagerly tore away the fresh grass from the green 
 turf ; but it was neither his high hips, his broken 
 knees, his bare ribs, nor his rueful coat that 
 made me gaze on him with interest. One of his 
 hind legs was sorely diseased. Whether occa- 
 sioned by ill-usage, hard work, or accident, I can- 
 not say ; but he could, not set his foot to the 
 ground. Even while he was grazing, he kept 
 raising his diseased limb to an unusual height, 
 evidently in a state of suffering ; hardly could he 
 limp forward when he had closely cropped the 
 herbage within his reach ; and when he did so, 
 he laid back his ears, showed the white of his 
 eyes, and exposed his fore teeth, in a way 
 that spoke eloquently of pain. Poor wretch I 
 
ON EARTHLY TRIALS. 321 
 
 thought I ; but his days are numbered, his trials 
 are almost over. It is but for a time. It will not 
 be so always. 
 
 The poor animal, it is true, had only bodily 
 pain to endure : he had no wants to provide for, 
 no yearnings after life, at least I suppose not, and 
 no fearful forebodings of death ; and therefore he 
 was mercifully dealt with in the midst of his 
 misery ; but the only solid satisfaction that I 
 could fall back upon was what I have already ex- 
 pressed the reflection, It will not be so always. 
 
 This little incident set me thinking on the sor- 
 rows of the animal creation, and then on the afflic- 
 tions of mankind. It was not in a merely senti- 
 mental mood that I mused on human trials. No ! 
 a strong spirit of affection for my species, of ten- 
 der compassion for all that mourn, came over me, 
 and my heart yearned to pour oil and balm into 
 the wounds of the stricken, and to bind up all that 
 were bruised and broken. 
 
 Why there should be so much sin and suffering 
 in the world has been a puzzling question to many 
 a wiser head than mine. This is a shadowy page 
 in God's providence, that I have pondered with 
 pain. I have mused and mourned over it, and 
 blurred and blotted it with my tears. There are 
 gracious passages in the word of God, however, 
 that throw some light on this dark subject, though 
 
322 ON EAKTHLY TRIALS. 
 
 it is sometimes awfully mysterious ; and there is 
 much consolation afforded to my mind by the con- 
 viction, It will not be so always. 
 
 Always ! no ! Tine is but a span, a speck ; 
 and the gloom of the Christian will give way to 
 glory. Shadows shall be exchanged for sunshine, 
 pain for pleasure, and temporary grief for eternal 
 joy. If we only believed in the realities of eter- 
 nity with the same undoubting confidence that we 
 feel as we gaze on the things of sense, then might 
 we smile at calamity, and rejoice in tribulation. 
 
 But there is such a thing (I speak feelingly) as 
 being weak in faith. It is well, therefore, to have 
 a few strong points in creation and revelation to 
 fall back upon in seasons of infirmity. When we 
 doubt the power of God, we should gaze on the 
 sun and the moon suspended in the air, and ask 
 if aught but almighty power could hang and up- 
 hold them there. And when we doubt the mercy 
 and grace of the Redeemer, we should read over 
 again and again these heart-sustaining texts : 
 " This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all ac- 
 ceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world 
 to save sinners," 1 Tim. i. 15 ; " He is able also 
 to save them to the uttermost that come unto God 
 by him/' Heb. vii. 25. 
 
 Far be it from me to draw away the heart of 
 any Christian mourner from the blessed promises 
 
ON EARTHLY TRIALS. 323 
 
 contained in the Holy Scriptures ; these ought to 
 be meat and drink, a refreshing draught and a 
 sustaining cordial to us all; but sometimes a 
 simple, short observation, though lisped by a stam- 
 mering tongue, or written by a very indifferent 
 scribe, may be of service. If then you happen to 
 be afflicted, perhaps you will dwell with me for a 
 moment on the words, It will not be so always. 
 
 There are very few of God's people who have 
 not some open or some secret affliction ; for the 
 words, " In the world ye shall have tribulation," 
 John xvi. 33, are not a figure of speech, but a 
 literal truth. A man may have hidden troubles, 
 as well as hidden treasures, in his strong box, 
 that no one knows of but himself; and this may 
 be your case. We conceal our infirmities and our 
 afflictions, oftentimes, more jealously than we hide 
 our money bags. 
 
 Are they not animating words to say to the 
 blind : " Cheer up fellow-pilgrim, for your eyes are 
 about to be opened ?" To the lame : " Take cou- 
 rage, the use of your limbs will be soon restored, 
 and you will be enabled to run without weariness, 
 and to walk without fainting ? Are they not 
 enough to make the one and the other sing for joy? 
 Why, then, should not you sing ?" " The time is 
 short;" "the kingdom of heaven is at hand;" 
 you are in trial, but It will not be so always. 
 
324 ON EARTHLY TRIALS. 
 
 Whether you are afflicted in the sight or the 
 sinews, the head or the heel; whether you are 
 groping as the poor ass, hohbling about like the 
 poor horse, or not even able to hobble at all, no 
 matter. Whatever may be your troubles, whether 
 afflicted in mind, body, or estate, take courage, I 
 say, It will not be so always. 
 
 What are our troubles of yesterday to us to-day? 
 And what will those of to-day be to us to-morrow ? 
 But you may think that your troubles are pe- 
 culiar. Well, what of that? God's people are a 
 peculiar people, and have peculiar support ; no 
 wonder that their troubles should be peculiar 
 also. Dwell not upon them, but look forward to 
 peculiar joys. These light afflictions heavy 
 though we think them spring not forth of the 
 dust. They are weighed in the balance, and are 
 not a scruple too light or too heavy for your taste. 
 Whether for a moment, 
 
 " The heart is mournful, or with rapture glows, 
 
 Love holds the scale that metes our joys and woes." 
 
 Bear then, your afflictions patiently, submissively, 
 acquiescently : your trouble may be weighty, but 
 It will not be so always. 
 
 If we did but know what our afflictions defend 
 us from, as well as we know what they bring upon 
 us, we should be more reconciled to have them for 
 companions. They may give us pain, and yet be 
 
ON EARTHLY TRIALS. 325 
 
 so blessed as to afford us peace. They may give 
 a gloom to time, and yet impart a glory to eter- 
 nity. I have some friends now, whose afflictions 
 I put into my prayers ; not that they may be re- 
 moved, for that might or might not be a blessing; 
 but that they may be among the " all things" 
 that work together for the good of God's people. 
 
 When I began these homely observations, I 
 hoped to make them better worth your acceptance, 
 but I have found, before now, to my mortification, 
 that strong sympathy has oftentimes none but 
 very weak language at its command. You must 
 give me credit for my thoughts being better than 
 my words ; and taking what comfort you can 
 under your afflictions, from the remembrance that 
 It will not be so always, look steadily, hopefully, 
 and trustfully to the God of all consolation, who 
 hath said, " Even to your old age I am he ; and 
 even to hoar hairs I will carry you," Isa xlvi. 
 4. "I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee," 
 Heb. xiii. 5. 
 
 2 F 
 
ON STKONG EMOTIONS, 
 
 THERE are some who pass through the chang- 
 ing scenes of life with the same moderate excite- 
 ment as that with which they go through the 
 changing seasons of the year. They feel joy, and 
 experience sorrow; but their emotions are not 
 strong, and rarely is a tear of rapture, or of grief, 
 seen glittering in their eyes. This is no doubt 
 the case with, by far, the greater part of man- 
 kind. 
 
 There are others, of a more susceptible sort, 
 more tremblingly alive to the touch of pleasure 
 and pain, of joy and grief; and these manifest 
 stronger emotions. Whether it be an advantage, 
 or the contrary, to possess keen sensibility and 
 strong emotions, is a question on which different 
 opinions are entertained; but all will, perhaps, 
 agree in this, that strong feelings should ever be 
 subject to strong control. For myself, I am sub- 
 ject to strong excitement ; let me question how 
 it is with you. I will try you on many points. 
 Should you ask me what advantages will be de- 
 
ON STRONG EMOTIONS. 327 
 
 rived from my questionings, it may be, that I 
 shall hardly be prepared with an answer ; but it 
 suits the feeling of the moment ; and therefore, 
 as I wish, at one time or other, to have a word 
 with all kinds of readers, let an old man have his 
 way. 
 
 Have you, with mysterious joy, faeld com- 
 munion with the elements, walked abroad with 
 the winds, and gazed on the glowing creation, as 
 on the gift of God ? Have you looked on a leaf 
 and a flower, until your heart has leaped with 
 transport ? Have you fixed your enraptured eyes 
 on the silvery clouds of heaven, till they appeared 
 to be angels' thrones ranged round the celestial 
 sanctuary of the Eternal ? Have you listened to 
 the blustering blast whirling through the forest 
 trees, till it has seemed laden with mysterious 
 and dear delight ? Has your bosom heaved with 
 undefinable sublimity, when the brooding tempest 
 has hovered in the heavens till you have yearned 
 for the climax, the descending deluge, the earth- 
 shaking roar of the thunder, and the soul-arrest- 
 ing fiery flash of the living lightning ? 
 
 Have you, " afflicted, tossed with tempest, and 
 not comforted," burdened with care, and bowed 
 down with a sense of your unworthiness, ever 
 opened the word of God, yearning after conso- 
 lation, as the hart thirsteth after the water 
 
328 ON STRONG EMOTIONS. 
 
 brooks? And have you ever, in such a case, 
 found the words of eternal life as balm and 
 wine to you ; oil to your joints and marrow to 
 your bones ? 
 
 Have you known the agony of a parting mo- 
 ment, bending a lingering gaze on some loved 
 object, dearer than all the earth besides, about to 
 bid you farewell for years ? Have you caught the 
 last look, and followed the fading form, until, 
 dimly descried, it has at last disappeared in the 
 distance, leaving you 
 
 "Alone! alone! all, all alone!" 
 
 in a cold and cheerless world, reft of joy, and re- 
 fusing to be comforted ? 
 
 Have you walked abroad when the all-glorious 
 sun has shined, not on your path only, but into 
 your soul ; when, careering like a conquering 
 king, in his flaming chariot, gorgeously attired in 
 purple and gold, your mind has been filled with 
 transport and you have clasped your hands to- 
 gether, and lifted up your heart to his and your 
 adorable Creator, with emotions which words 
 could not express ? Have you gazed on the 
 moon and stars, till the beauty and immensity 
 of God's glowing creation has filled to overflowing 
 the measure of your joy ; and have the words 
 been wrung from your heart, "Q Lord, open 
 
ON STRONG EMOTIONS. 329 
 
 thou my lips : and my mouth shall show forth 
 thy praise?" 
 
 Have you known trouble, until the earth has 
 appeared brass, and the heavens iron? Have 
 you felt so utterly destitute as to be in love 
 with calamity, willingly hardening your heart, 
 and sternly determining to suppress every pleasant 
 emotion ? And have you, with all the contrition, 
 humility, and simplicity of a child, committed 
 your ways to the High and Holy One that he 
 might direct your paths ? 
 
 Have you felt in your bosom envy, hatred, 
 malice, and all uncharitableness ? Has youi 
 heart glowed with affection for mankind, and 
 have you looked around you to do a deed of 
 kindness; improving all your own means, and 
 longing for wealth and power that you might 
 scatter happiness far and near ? 
 
 Have you, in your Christian pilgrimage, been 
 shut up in Doubting Castle, calling in question 
 the plainest truths, tempted in your own heart 
 to say with the fool, "There is no God?" And 
 have you known such a flood of faith come over 
 you, that you could have laid down your life, 
 yea "played the man in the fire," to bear testi- 
 mony to the truth of the ever-blessed gospel of 
 Jesus Christ ? 
 
 If you have known these things, you are no 
 
330 ON STRONG EMOTIONS. 
 
 stranger to strong emotions, and will agree with 
 me, that they ought ever to be placed under 
 strong control. I have, as it were, but just en- 
 tered on my subject ; you may, perhaps, pursue it 
 with some advantage. 
 
ON THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN.. 
 
 AN hour ago, I was gazing on the setting sun. 
 It was not lost to human vision in its own unen- 
 durable splendour. It flung not around, on earth 
 and heaven, insufferable beams of brightness, ban- 
 ishing and interdicting the eye from an admir- 
 ing participation of its visible glories ; nor yet 
 did it light up and gild the skirts of a gorgeous 
 retinue of accompanying clouds. Hanging in mid 
 air, like the shield of a warrior, intelligible to the 
 sight, the dull, red orb gradually approached the 
 horizon. 
 
 Often have I gazed (who has not ?) on the de- 
 clining sun, till my eyes have swam in tears, 
 and my heart dissolved within me in silent 
 ecstasy at its overpowering magnificence ; but 
 in this instance it was delightful, unblinded by 
 its beams, to watch its perceptible withdrawal 
 from the world. 
 
 As I stood rooted to the spot, the huge red orb 
 entered a coal-black cloud that lay beneath it. A 
 third of it was soon gone ; a half of it disappeared 
 
332 ON THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN. 
 
 as if severed by an Almighty hand, a moiety only 
 being left to illuminate the skies. Still lower it 
 descended, till the rim of it alone was visible ; and 
 then rushed upon me the arresting thought, which 
 had before occurred, that the united power of men 
 and angels could not, for an instant, arrest its course. 
 Had a moment been wanting, in which to offer an 
 effectual prayer for the pardon of individual trans- 
 gression, or the eternal welfare of a sinful world, 
 it could not have been obtained. How invaluable 
 to me did even a moment of that time appear, 
 which, by hours, and days, and months, and years 
 we are wasting as a thing of nought. 
 
 " We toil and spend our lives for trifles vain, 
 
 And waste what worlds of wealth could ne'er obtain." 
 
 Accustomed as I am, when opportunity allows, 
 to watch, with an intensity of interest, the sun go- 
 ing down in the skies, it would be hard for me to 
 impart to you my emotions, when it was made 
 known to me that an aged New Zealand chief had 
 cried out in his own emphatic language, when the 
 probability of sending out missionaries to New 
 Zealand had been intimated to him, "Make 
 haste ! my sun is fast going down." I saw in my 
 fancy, the fierce, the treacherous, the man-de- 
 vouring savage : the ignorant, the implacable, and 
 cruel cannibal, whom God had made willing, in 
 
ON THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN. 333 
 
 the day of his power, to receive the gospel of 
 Jesus Christ, standing amid his brother warriors, 
 tattooed with frightful forms, and besmeared with 
 grease and red ochre, raising aloud, not the wild 
 cry of his native woods, but the brotherly appeal 
 to Christian men, " Come over and help us, and 
 come quickly j make haste, for my sun is fast 
 going down !" 
 
 This affecting appeal on behalf of the old 
 warrior, who had, no doubt, in his time, felled 
 many a human being with his mery (club) and his 
 tomahawk, and perhaps banqueted afterwards on 
 his flesh ; this cry for mercy from the nurciless, 
 whose stony heart had been softened by Divine 
 power, struck me very forcibly ; and when I re- 
 flected, that, not unlikely, his brow had on it even 
 more wrinkles than my own, the case appeared 
 urgent ; time was flying, and I thought of the an- 
 gel which stood upon the sea, and upon the earth, 
 and lifted up his hand to heaven, and swore by 
 Him that liveth for ever and ever, who created 
 heaven, and the things that therein are, and the 
 earth, and the things that therein are, and the 
 sea, and the things which are therein, that there 
 should be time no longer, Rev. x. 5, 6. I seemed 
 bound to profit by the voice from the South Paci- 
 fic Ocean, to take up the cry of the subdued sa- 
 vage, in my own case, and to speak thus within 
 
334 ON THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN. 
 
 my own heart ; " Whatever I have to say, let me 
 say it : whatever I have to do, let me do it ; time 
 presses, and will not allow me to loiter any 
 longer ! let me make haste, for my sun is fast 
 going down." 
 
 It may be that these remarks, now dribbling 
 from my pen, will be read by those who have 
 numbered more years than Old Humphrey ; and 
 il so, take it not unkind, my aged friends, that he 
 should include you, as well as himself, in a few 
 free and friendly observations. Seeing that we 
 have no time to spare, it may not be amiss to con- 
 sider for a moment, the errors and infirmities of 
 age, with a view of avoiding, as much as we can, 
 the one ; and of manifesting, as little as we can, 
 the other. 
 
 It is said that aged people are too often opinion- 
 ated, and not sufficiently considerate towards the 
 buoyant spirits and inexperience of youth ; that 
 they are apt to think, because they are aged, they 
 must of necessity be wise, and are thus led to be- 
 come dogmatical, and even obstinate. Though 
 these are heavy charges, yet I really am afraid 
 that they are not unfounded. How it may be 
 with you I cannot tell, but often do I find myself 
 in the attitude of too angrily rebuking the thought- 
 lessness of the young, when a spirit of forbearance 
 would more become me ; and of too tenaciously 
 
ON THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN. 335 
 
 supporting my own opinion, when it has been but 
 little entitled to consideration. 
 
 Aged people are said, also, to be testy and 
 crabbed, showing more churlishness than kind- 
 heartedness ; they are accused, too, of penurious- 
 ness, and sometimes of great negligence in their 
 habits, and in giving trouble to those around 
 them ; but instead of dwelling on points which 
 may, more or less, affect us, let me advert to one 
 in which, I fear, we are all implicated. We do 
 not, by our words and deeds, leave a general im- 
 pression, that we are sensible of the value of 
 time ; we do not say, emphatically, by our pre- 
 vailing spirit, " We see the emptiness of earthly 
 things ; we are seeking after a heavenly inherit- 
 ance ; we are standing on the confines of an eternal 
 world ; we have no time to spare ; we feel that 
 we must make haste, for our sun is fast going 
 down.'* 
 
 Can we wonder that the mature and the young 
 should not be impressed with the brevity and fad- 
 ing nature of human life, when tottering and 
 grey-haired age, leaning on his staff, is seen tri- 
 fling away time as a thing of nought, and calcu- 
 lating on future years as confidently as though he 
 had but just entered his teens ? The warning 
 voice that has reached us, my aged friends, may 
 have some effect in awakening us to a sense of our 
 
336 ON THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN. 
 
 real position. It seems to say, however praise- 
 worthy our designs, however excellent our objects, 
 they will be altogether useless if deferred. 
 
 " Time, like an urgent charioteer, 
 With winged steeds flies through the year." 
 
 The clouds above our heads are flitting through 
 the skies ; the ground beneath our feet is rapidly 
 crumbling away. Morning, noon, and night, 
 tread on each other's heels. The " time is 
 short." "Make haste!" said the aged chief, 
 " make haste, for my sun is fast going down." 
 
 But though I thus speak to those of many days, 
 yet have I a word for the smooth brow and the 
 ruddy cheek ; for the bright eye, the fair form, 
 and the manly frame. In the days of my youth, 
 an aged oak, hollow, blighted, and almost leafless, 
 stood on a rising ground ; and beside it grew a 
 sapling, green and flourishing. I left them side 
 by side, and returned not to the place till fifteen 
 summers and winters had passed away. And 
 was the old oak gone ? Had the sapling become 
 a stately tree ? No ! there stood the hollow 
 oak as in my younger days ; but the place that 
 knew the sapling knew it no more. Thus has it 
 been with Old Humphrey ! Thus has he been 
 mercifully preserved, while the young around him 
 have fallen in the dust. Receive, then, the lesson 
 
ON THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN. 337 
 
 of instruction that his pen is endeavouring to 
 convey. Reflect on the uncertainty of time ; at- 
 tend, without delay, to the things of eternity, and 
 ponder on the arresting words of the New Zea- 
 lander, " Make haste, for my sun is fast going 
 down," 
 
 What a humbling thing it is to be shorn of 
 your strength just at the moment when you most 
 require it ! To find yourself weak as infancy, 
 while you yearn for the force of a giant. When I 
 took up my pen, I felt like a mighty man clothed 
 with power. I thought that I could, on this sub- 
 ject, be truly eloquent ; but how has the gold of 
 my thoughts "become dim!" how has the most 
 fine gold of my imagination become " changed !" 
 Much did I undertake, little indeed have I accom- 
 plished ; and fain am I now, making a virtue of 
 necessity, to draw from my very helplessness a 
 strong and convincing illustration. If, when full 
 of arduous and high-wrought energy, we cannot 
 always secure the object we have in view, how 
 shall we hope to attain it by supineness and neg- 
 lect? 
 
 Be in earnest, then, my friends, whether you 
 have but lately entered the race that is set before 
 you, or are nearly approaching the goal. What 
 your hands and your heart find to do, do it with all 
 your might ; hesitate not, trifle not, delay not ; 
 
 2 G 
 
338 ON THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN. 
 
 boast not of to-morrow, you know not what a day 
 may bring forth : " Make haste ! for your sun is 
 fast going down." 
 
 What odd whims, what strange thoughts, at 
 times, come into the mind ? It is said that 
 
 " A raven once an acorn took, 
 
 From Basan's tallest, stoutest tree, 
 And laid it near a limpid brook, 
 And lived another oak to see." 
 
 And here am I, pleasing myself with the thought, 
 that Old Humphrey, by taking this cry of the aged 
 chieftain, this New Zealand acorn, and planting it 
 in your mind and memory, may, even yet, live 
 to see it spring up to God's glory. Smile, if 
 you will, at the oddity of my conceit ; things 
 more unlikely to happen have taken place ; but 
 however this may be, the lowly disciple of the 
 Redeemer, the humble and grateful believer in the 
 gospel of Christ, will not fail to be struck with 
 this fresh proof that " the ways of God are not as 
 our ways, nor his thoughts as our thoughts." 
 
 Here is an uneducated heathen, one who, if he 
 have followed the custom of his tribe, has lived 
 in a rude hut of twigs and grass, clothed him- 
 self with mats and rushes, cut his hair with 
 oyster shells, ruthlessly slain his foe with his 
 hennee (halberd) and patoo (battle-axe,) drinking 
 
ON THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN. 339 
 
 his blood, and feasting on his flesh. Here is he, 
 his heart humhled by the power of the gospel, ut- 
 tering a cry resounding like a trumpet in Chris- 
 tian ears a cry that appeals to us all. We know 
 that our life is "even a vapour, that appeareth 
 for a little time, and then vanisheth away." We 
 know, too, that "there is but a step between us 
 and death," and yet, knowing these things, we still 
 require to be reminded of them. Oh, let the voice 
 from New Zealand be drunk in, not by our ears 
 only, but by our hearts, and let our language be, 
 " Lord, make me to know mine end, and the mea- 
 sure of my days ; satisfy me early with thy mercy, 
 and give me to rejoice in thy salvation." Tarry 
 not ; come quickly ; " Make haste ! for my sun is 
 fast going down." 
 
ON TEACTS, 
 
 AMONG the unnumbered recreations which the 
 Giver of all good has placed within the reach of 
 the man of years, the pilgrim far advanced in 
 this world's thorny path, few afford me more real 
 enjoyment than the practice of moving unob- 
 trusively among my fellow-men ; of seeing, with- 
 out, as it were, being seen; observing, without 
 being observed; and of picking up such frag- 
 ments of character and information, as are not 
 only curious and interesting in themselves, but 
 also, capable of being turned to good account. 
 There is a quiet revelling of the heart in such 
 cases, that is not the less enjoyed because it is 
 unseen. Oh, what a treasure-house is a cheerful 
 spirit ! What a source of unlimited enjoyment is 
 a love of character ! 
 
 One half the shrewd sentences, the odd con- 
 ceits, the pithy sayings, the humorous remarks, 
 the striking observations, and the arresting re- 
 flections that I have picked up in my rambles 
 among men, would make a volume of no common 
 
ON TEACTS. 341 
 
 size, and, I could almost persuade myself, of no 
 ordinary interest. The wallet of the beggar con- 
 tains not a greater diversity of scraps and odd- 
 ments than may he found in the loose frag- 
 mentary papers of Old Humphrey. 
 
 It is an excellent thing, in going through the 
 world, to know for what we are fit ; this know- 
 ledge is of very extensive use, and the want of it 
 leads to very great irregularity ; would that I had 
 known something of it in my earlier days ! 
 
 Some men appear made for their position, so 
 much so, that if, in God's good providence, they 
 were to he removed from it, you might search far 
 before you could find a suitable person to fill up 
 the void occasioned by their absence. On the 
 other hand, there are those who appear as much 
 out of place in their calling, as a merry- andrew 
 would be in a pulpit, or a chimney-sweep in a 
 baker's shop. 
 
 Some men have natural gifts befitting them for 
 particular undertakings, and others have acquired 
 attainments which render them equally efficient. 
 When this is the case, keep every one in his pro- 
 per place; the blacksmith to his hammer, the 
 coachman to his whip, the surgeon to his lancet, 
 and all will go well ; but if we put the surgeon's 
 lancet in the hand of the blacksmith, and the 
 blacksmith's hammer in the hands of the surgeon, 
 
 2 G 2 
 
342 ON TRACTS. 
 
 what a pretty piece of business do we make of it ! 
 Again I say, it is a good thing to know for what 
 we are fit, and for what we are unfit. And also 
 to remember, that from the changes in ourselves, 
 and in circumstances around us, what we may be 
 very fit for at one time, we may be very unfit for 
 at another. 
 
 It is now the practice of many Christians to 
 distribute tracts to their poorer neighbours, to the 
 young, to the passer-by, and to all classes likely 
 to be profited thereby ; tens of thousands of 
 printed monitors have thus been sent abroad in 
 the world, and it would be hard to say the amount 
 of good which has been done by these unobtru- 
 sive heralds of peace, these little messengers of 
 mercy ; but I have been struck by the different 
 qualifications of tract distributors : some have ap- 
 peared fit, and some very unfit, for what they 
 have undertaken. 
 
 Good men have not all amiable tempers, or 
 polite manners the more is the pity ; for the 
 abrupt behaviour, the forbidding brow, and the 
 rebuking tongue of a Christian man, are sad hin- 
 drances to his usefulness. There are some men 
 that you can love at once, and there are others 
 with whom you would hardly like to be left 
 alone. I could point out those who, in giving 
 away a dozen tracts, would make a dozen friends, 
 
ON TRACTS. 343 
 
 and I could point out those also, who, in per- 
 forming the same service, would make almost as 
 many enemies. 
 
 It is always a pity when a good deed is done in 
 a bad way. Christians should be mindful of their 
 tempers and habits, and Christian tract distri- 
 butors should remember that they are read, as well 
 as the tracts they circulate. 
 
 It has occurred to me, that if we all made a 
 practice of carrying about with us suitable tracts, 
 for our own especial use, as well as for the use of 
 others, it would go far in fitting us to discharge 
 our duties in the best manner. What say you to 
 the plan ? 
 
 Now do not suppose that I am recommending 
 what will trespass on your pockets. Do not 
 be alarmed for your gold or your silver ; not a 
 single penny am I requiring you to lay out. The 
 tracts that I wish to recommend are not of a 
 common kind. They are not printed on paper 
 with types ; nor adorned with a wood-cut ; nor 
 stitched with needle and thread ; yet have they 
 some especial advantages, a few of which I will 
 describe. 
 
 They will not cost you the value of even a far- 
 thing ; they will take up no room in your pockets : 
 they will not be injured by being carried about 
 with you ; they will rather be improved than 
 
344 ON TRACTS. 
 
 damaged by use ; they may be read without spec- 
 tacles, and they are suited to every place, and to 
 all occasions. 
 
 I might recommend a hundred of these tracts 
 to you ; but there is such a thing as overdoing 
 a matter; half-a-dozen of the most striking of 
 them will be enough for me to speak of on the 
 present occasion. 
 
 The first tract that I advise you always to have 
 about you is, that of a kind-hearted, cheerful dis- 
 position. This will not only contribute to your 
 own happiness, but render you a welcome visitor 
 in every habitation. Like a sunbeam, it will 
 throw a light on every spot. It will give a dou- 
 ble value to the words you speak, and the deeds 
 you perform. It will mitigate pain, dissipate 
 gloom, remove care, and impart consolation ; it 
 will do much towards conciliating your bitterest 
 enemies, if you have any such, and it will bind 
 you closer to your dearest friends. With this in 
 your possession, you may win your way to the 
 hearts of the young and the old, the ignorant 
 and the wise, for it is a pioneer that will prepare 
 you a road for usefulness, making many a crooked 
 path straight and many a rough place plain. If 
 you have this tract, undertakings will be very easy 
 which otherwise would be very hard ; and if you 
 have it not, even though you have all other tracts 
 
ON TRACTS. 345 
 
 in the world, enterprises will be very hard which 
 would otherwise be very easy. One single copy 
 of this useful and agreeable tract is worth a king's 
 crown. 
 
 The second tract that I recommend is, a spirit 
 of love. This is, indeed, of inestimable value. 
 Oh, what a glorious description of it is to be found 
 in the 13th chapter of the First of Corinthians, 
 wherein the apostle says, " Though I speak with 
 the tongues of men and of angels, and have not 
 charity, (or love,) I am become as sounding brass, 
 or a tinkling cymbal !" 
 
 The apostle knew well the great worth of this 
 spirit, otherwise he would never have exclaimed, 
 " Though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, 
 and though I give my body to be burned, and 
 have not charity, it profiteth me nothing !" Let 
 me advise you to read over the apostle's descrip- 
 tion ; it will be better for you to read it in the 
 Holy Scriptures, than to read it copied out by 
 the aged hand that is now noting down these 
 remarks. 
 
 If you have not got a copy of this tract, try 
 your best, and leave no effort untried to obtain 
 one. It would be cheap at any price, if you 
 could buy it ; but you cannot do that. Close not 
 your eyes in slumber, and allow no rest for the 
 sole of your foot, till vou do something towards 
 
346 ON TKACTS. 
 
 obtaining it. Pray, watch, and strive for it, 
 every day. If you succeed, all bitterness of spi- 
 rit, all envy, and hatred, and malice, and un chari- 
 tableness, will be driven away from your heart. 
 You will, then, be able to look on your fellow sin- 
 ners with pity, compassion, and tenderness, and to 
 put up for your deadliest enemies that beautiful 
 prayer of the Redeemer, " Father, forgive them ; 
 for they know not what they do." Again, I say, 
 if it be possible, carry this tract with you every 
 where, to calm the ruffled spirits of others, and 
 to shed peace and tranquillity over your own. 
 
 The third tract that I beseech you by all means 
 to possess is, a hatred of sin. This will prove 
 a better defence to you than plates of brass. You 
 will be better armed by possessing this spirit, than 
 by putting on a coat of mail. On land, or on 
 water, at home and abroad, by day and by night, 
 in your going out and your coming in, always have 
 this tract with you. With God's blessing, it will 
 keep your heart from evil, your eyes from tears, 
 and your feet from falling. 
 
 Men often arm themselves with pistols to de- 
 fend themselves from robbers; why, where one 
 robber attacks us, we are beset with a thousand 
 sins. The robber takes our money, but sin takes 
 away our peace ; the robber may kill the body, 
 but sin destroys the soul ! Yes, yes ! it is a clear 
 
ON TKACTS. 347 
 
 case that you cannot, at all, get on in your Chris- 
 tian course without this tract. It is a good sign 
 when the conscience is tender, and shrinks from 
 evil as the sensitive plant does from the touch. 
 With all your care and watching, the heart will 
 deceive you, " for it is deceitful above all things ;" 
 hut if you have not a hatred of sin, have a care 
 lest you wallow in iniquity as a sow wallows in 
 the mire. 
 
 The fourth tract that I wish you to possess, for 
 it is indeed a treasure, is love to the Saviour. If 
 you have it not, God of his great mercy grant that 
 it may be soon given you, for it will strengthen 
 your hands and your heart, and move you to do 
 more for your fellow sinners, in helping them on 
 their way to heaven, than any thing else in the 
 world. 
 
 Without this tract you may almost as well read 
 the Talmud of the Jew, the Koran of the Moham- 
 medan, or the Shaster of the Hindoo, as the 
 Christian Bible. Seek for it, and value it as the 
 greatest treasure. It will stimulate you to great 
 enterprises, reconcile you to great afflictions, sup- 
 port you in great trials, and afford you great 
 consolation. 
 
 The fifth tract that I would press on your atten- 
 tion is, a confidence in God's promises. Get this, 
 and keep it, and you may "rejoice all day, and 
 
348 ON TRACTS. 
 
 sing in the night." I need not stop to tell you 
 the good things God has promised to his people, 
 for there is no good thing which he has not pro- 
 mised to them. 
 
 Do you think that if we really believed the 
 eternal promises of God, which are yea and ameri 
 in Jesus Christ, that we should ever he cast 
 down ? No ! it is because we believe them not, 
 that we are dispirited. We have gleams of sun- 
 shine, seasons in which we rejoice in the Lord, 
 and joy in the God of our salvation ; but we are 
 such poor, wavering, doubting, unbelieving sin- 
 ners, that we soon begin to falter in our faith, to 
 dishonour God, and to deprive ourselves of peace. 
 
 If we really believed that our heavenly Father 
 would be to us a Sun and Shield, that in six trou- 
 bles he would deliver us, and in seven let no evil 
 come nigh us ; that he would guide us by his 
 counsel, and bring us to glory ; if we had no 
 doubt about the matter, but were fully assured in 
 our minds, that " All the paths of the Lord are 
 mercy and truth unto such as keep his covenant 
 and his testimonies ;" then should we " rejoice 
 alway," and again be ready to rejoice. 
 
 The sixth and last tract that I urge you to 
 carry with you wherever you go, is that of a 
 Christian life. You may judge of the value and 
 importance of this tract, when I tell you that it 
 
ON TRACTS. 349 
 
 embodies the substance of all tbe rest. It has 
 in it the marrow of them all, the very essence of 
 every thing good and desirable. 
 
 I must honestly own that this is a very rare 
 tract, and a perfect copy is not to be obtained. 
 Many people in the world undervalue it, but try you 
 to get it, and when you have it, value it far above 
 the poor perishable bits and drops that sustain 
 your mortal tabernacle. Compared with it silver 
 and gold are as dross, neither can rubies fairly 
 be brought forward in comparison with it. 
 
 And now, perhaps you are ready to ask me, if 
 I carry these tracts continually with me? Oh that 
 I did ! Oh that they clung to me closely as my 
 garments, and were a part of my very being ! 
 
 But, remember, you are not to screen your- 
 selves behind my infirmities. If I am not so 
 kind-hearted as I ought to be : if at times anger 
 flushes my cheek, instead of forbearance and love 
 filling my heart, it is to my reproach, but not to 
 your justification. However numberless my trans- 
 gressions, and faint my love to the Saviour if 
 my faith be feeble, and my life be blotted and 
 blurred with a thousand, ay, ten thousand blem- 
 ishes, these things will neither excuse your de- 
 ficiencies, nor save you from the consequences of 
 error. 
 
 Again I say, and I say it with fervency and 
 
 2 H 
 
350 ON TRACTS. 
 
 affection, get these tracts, if you have them not. 
 Ask them of God, who gives liberally Christian 
 gifts and Christian graces to his people ; and read, 
 mark, learn, and inwardly digest them ; for they 
 will he an ensample and encouragement to others, 
 a lamp to your own feet, and a blessing to your 
 souls. 
 
 In conclusion, bear in mind that what is neces- 
 sary to be done, is necessary also to be done 
 directly. The pyramids may possibly endure a 
 few more flying centuries, and after they are moul- 
 dering in the dust, the " everlasting hills" may be 
 lifting their giant heads to the skies ; but you 
 and I are but creatures of a day, and the sun of 
 to-morrow we may not see. Onward, then, for 
 heaven ! seeking humbly and ardently, as we pur- 
 sue our pilgrimage, the good of man and the glory 
 of the Redeemer. 
 
 THE END 
 
 THF RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY: INSTITUTED 1799 
 
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