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 IN XIX SECTIONS. 
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THE 
 
 Charms of Elocution 
 
 SET FORTH; 
 
 IN A CHOICE SELECTION OF 
 
 READINGS AND RECITATIONS, 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE 
 
 Human Affections and Sympathies. 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY 
 
 On the Pleasures and Advantages of Elocution, 
 By George Vasey. 
 
 "Be mine the glorious aim 
 To store the intellect with gems of thought, 
 To prompt the tongue to utter charmed words, 
 And model all men's acts to noble deeds." 
 
 LONDON: 
 GEORGE VASEY, 13, HAND COURT, 
 
 HIGH HOLBORN. 
 
 1867. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
gfe 
 
Q^^^^ 
 
 ^"g^^ 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 1% /TANY years ago the Editor of the present volume 
 had his attention specially directed to the exami- 
 nation of Poetical Collections, from being requested by 
 various friends to recommend to them some book of 
 poetry containing short interesting poems suitable for 
 their sons and daughters to recite, either at private 
 parties or school examinations. At first sight this 
 seemed a very simple and easy affair, seeing the vast 
 number of such books now in circulation. The task, 
 however, proved to be much more difficult than was at 
 first imagined ; for, after a most diligent and careful 
 search, it was discovered that not five per cent, of the 
 pieces in any of the collections were sufficiently general 
 in their subject, or interesting in their details, for the 
 purpose required ; and moreover, nearly all of them are 
 
6 PREFACE. 
 
 made up of the very flimsiest material, page after page 
 being occupied by ornate and pompous addresses — 
 
 To Mountains, Valleys, or Glens ; 
 To Violets, Tulips, or Roses ; 
 To Dogs, Hares, or Lambs ; 
 To Cuckoos, Sparrows, or Doves ; 
 To Spring, Summer, or "Winter ; 
 To April, May, or December ; 
 To Morning, Noon, or Night ; 
 Et hoc genus omne. 
 
 " Each yellow leaf that falls, each flower that dies, 
 These mere describers with a theme supplies." 
 
 Colton's " Hypocrisy.^' 
 
 Some of these effusions rise a grade higher, and consist 
 of Addresses to Miss A., or Miss B., or Miss C, or any 
 other of the vowels or consonants. A third class is 
 composed of Addresses to Ladies on their Wedding Days, 
 or On the Anniversaries of their Birthdays, or on any other 
 possible vicissitude. 
 
 It must be acknowledged that there are some few 
 collections to which these remarks do not apply, and 
 which contain much excellent poetry. But even in these 
 the interest is not sufficiently general, the subjects of a 
 gieat many are merely local — some merely temporary ; 
 others too classical or too profound ; and not a few of 
 them set up a very low and false moral standard, thus 
 
PREFACE. 7 
 
 insensibly inflating the conscience with high-sounding and 
 specious fallacies of Honour, and Glory, and Ambition. 
 However fine the poetry may be, such productions are 
 not worth preserving ; and are totally unfit to place in 
 the hands of those whose moral sentiments have not 
 yet been fully estabhshed on virtuous principles : they 
 are only calculated to lead the young mind into the 
 ever-erring channels of emulation. 
 
 The present collection exhibits an earnest attempt to 
 avoid all these defects : such subjects only are inserted 
 as have a tendency to draw forth and strengthen the 
 higher faculties of our nature — to promote the increase 
 and dissemination of all the Christian virtues — and to 
 hasten the reign of Peace on Earth and Goodwill to 
 Man. 
 
 "With this view the pieces in the present volume have 
 been selected ; and we feel warranted in asserting that 
 every poem is worthy of being committed to memory. 
 And we may add that the youth who will make himself 
 familiar with the whole of them, will possess a more 
 extensive and choice vocabulary, and will have his mind 
 stored with more beautiful ideas and noble sentiments, 
 than could be acquired by any other means. 
 
 Vocal music has long formed a predominant feature 
 in all social gatherings ; and most undoubtedly it is a 
 delightful ingredient in such meetings -, but we may be 
 
8 PREFACE. 
 
 allowed to suggest that the introduction of Readings and 
 Recitations (when well-chosen, and full of meaning and 
 beauty) should be more in vogue than even the singing 
 of songs and glees ; very many of which contain little 
 poetry, and less sense. And there can be no doubt 
 that Recitation will take precedence of vocal music 
 when the more noble Art of Elocution shall be taught 
 with as much skill and science as are devoted, at the 
 present time, to the teaching of singing and instrumental 
 manipulation. 
 
 Thus — although every family may not develop a 
 young Demosthenes, or Talma, or Macready — a Siddons 
 or a Fanny Kemble — yet every member in every family, 
 when thus trained, will be able to converse, read, and 
 recite, in a manner at once fluent, graceful, and pleasing, 
 realising in every reimion — 
 
 " The Feast of Reason and the Flow of Soul." 
 
 The object of "The Charms of Elocution" is to assist 
 in the advancement of such a glorious consummation. 
 
Introductory Essay on the Pleasures and 
 Advantages of Elocution, 
 
 ^ I ^HE object which the writer of this Introductory 
 -■" Essay has in view is to demonstrate to the reader 
 — that the Art of Elocution is the most important 
 accomplishment which can be possessed by the youth 
 of either sex. 
 
 Perhaps the most important Idea upon which the 
 mind can deliberate — (at all times, but more especially 
 in early life) — is that of ascertaining the relative import- 
 ance of our various duties and pursuits. Every kind of 
 occupation, every kind of accomplishment, which is 
 proper to a human being. Is of importance. But all 
 pursuits and all accomplishments are not of equal im- 
 portance ; each has its peculiar merits, each has its 
 relative degree of importance ; and that degree is greater 
 or less exactly in proportion to the greater or less 
 degree of good or happiness which it Is calculated to 
 impart to the human being. And every kind of labour, 
 study, or amusement should only have that amount of 
 
10 PLEASURES AND ADVANTAGES 
 
 time and energy devoted to it which its relative im- 
 portance demands. 
 
 Unfortunately, our present imperfect systems of edu- 
 cation have a preponderating tendency to invest mankind 
 with strong passions and weak judgments ; and, conse- 
 quently, the usual estimate of the relative importance of 
 human pursuits is generally in the inverse ratio of their 
 real value. That is to say, those pursuits which are 
 demoralising and degrading are sought after with the 
 greatest avidity, whilst those which are refined and 
 elevating are almost entirely neglected, and frequently 
 treated with contempt. 
 
 It will be our present object to exhibit, the positive 
 advantages to be derived from the study of elocution, 
 and leave it to the judgment of the reader to estimate 
 the relative degree of importance which ought to be 
 attached to it. 
 
 The special training which the art of elocution re- 
 quires is essentially of a literary and intellectual cha- 
 racter. It commences by directing attention to the very 
 simplest elements of language, and, by easy and almost 
 imperceptible gradations, leads the student on to those 
 refinements of expressive speaking which constitute the 
 charm of the finished orator. 
 
 In the progress of this study there are three distinct 
 stages involved ; namely, the mechanical, the significant, 
 and the impressive, of each of which it will be necessary 
 to give a short analysis. 
 
 The mechafjical stage consists of a firm and exact 
 articulation, with a true accent and pronunciation. In 
 
OF ELOCUTION. 11 
 
 this stage we are merely required to utter the words 
 justly, completely, and in smooth unbroken series, be- 
 tween the stops or pauses marked, when the words are 
 joined into sentences, but with no further object. 
 
 The significant stage consists of a full utterance and 
 correct emphasis, with a proper tone and modulation of 
 voice. In this stage we are required to make the con- 
 struction and meaning of every sentence plain and in- 
 telligible, by appropriate tones and inflections of the 
 voice, but not with any purpose of conveying the im- 
 pression that the sentiments uttered are our own. 
 
 The expressive stage consists of a varied and appro- 
 priate expression. In this stage we are required to 
 develop and refine those expressive powers which 
 nature supplies when we appropriate the sentiments to 
 be conveyed ; consequently we throw off that restraint 
 which the conscious act of reading necessarily imposes 
 in the two previous stages. 
 
 The first of these stages constitutes a distinct delivery, 
 the second stage makes it significant, and the third (by 
 adding manner, earnestness, and feeling) renders it im- 
 pressive. But this third stage is something more than 
 mere reading — it is speaking ; and when we have 
 acquired the art of distinct, significant, and impressive 
 speaking, we are in possession of all that elocution can 
 teach us. 
 
 We now come to the most important part of our 
 subject ; namely, the modus operandi^-the means by 
 which elocution is taught, and the method by which 
 these means are used : these means and this method 
 
 B 2 
 
12 PLEASURES AND ADVANTAGES 
 
 lead to those happy results which render the accomplish- 
 ment of elocution so highly desirable. 
 
 But in order to place these advantages in the clearest 
 light, it will be necessary to remind the reader of the 
 great influence which conversation exerts in the pro- 
 motion of happiness. Although nothing is more popular 
 and universal than the exercise of conversation, it is, 
 nevertheless, an art which is by no means adequately 
 appreciated or properly cultivated ; in fact, it is not 
 adequately appreciated simply because it is not properly 
 cultivated, if, indeed, it can be said to be cultivated 
 at all. 
 
 Perhaps it is not assuming too much to assert — that 
 the amount of happiness which exists in the world is 
 derived in a greater degree from the friendly and con- 
 genial conversation which is reciprocated by human beings 
 than even from the kind and benevolent actions which 
 they mutually exchange. Undoubtedly we do receive 
 great pleasure and happiness from kind actions ; but the 
 kind actions of every description which we can possibly 
 perform only occupy an inconsiderable portion of our 
 time. Indeed, our sphere of action is extremely limited ; 
 but the affectionate intercourse of sympathy, by means of 
 conversation, is a sphere which is only limited by our 
 intellectual attainments and conversational powers. 
 
 The faculty of speech — that marvellous power by 
 which we communicate our thoughts and feelings to 
 each other — is, doubtless, one of our greatest blessings 
 and one of the greatest sources of our happiness, per- 
 haps it is the very greatest ; consequently, the amount 
 
OF ELOCUTION. 13 
 
 of happiness which we are able to confer upon each 
 other depends, in a very great degree, upon the diligence 
 with which we increase our mental resources, and the 
 care with which we cultivate our capacity to communi- 
 cate or distribute the moral and intellectual wealth which 
 we have acquired. 
 
 As an illustration, let us suppose human beings to 
 be quite equal in point of kindness and benevolent 
 feelings, possessing the same degree of affection and 
 the same good intentions. Now, it must be quite clear 
 that those individuals whose intellectual attainments are 
 the highest, and whose conversational powers are the 
 most varied, and have been the most highly cultivated, 
 will most certainly be able to do the most good and to 
 impart the greatest amount of happiness. 
 
 The only apparent reason why so few ever acquire 
 any degree of excellence in either intellectual attain- 
 ments or conversational power is — that no systematic 
 efforts for the early training of children to think clearly 
 and speak correctly have ever been made. Occasional 
 instances are developed under the care and example of 
 intelligent and cultivated parents, but these are rare 
 exceptions. It is notorious that the great bulk of man- 
 kind are entirely neglected in these respects. No 
 methodical arrangements have ever been established 
 for the general attainment of these important objects. 
 Even the methods to teach reading have been, and 
 still continue to be, so very imperfect that not one in 
 twenty ever learns to read either fluently or signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
14 PLEASURES AND ADVANTAGES 
 
 A new mechajiical method of teaching reading* has 
 recently been put forth, upon which successful experi- 
 ments have already been made, clearly showing that 
 these advantages may readily be secured. This method 
 is a very simplified modification of the systems hitherto 
 used in teaching elocution ; and does, in fact, constitute 
 the introductory lessons in a course of elocution. It 
 may be briefly described as follows : — 
 
 As soon as children have mastered the alphabet, and 
 can read mechanically (according to the method set forth 
 in the Mechanical Reading Preceptor), they should be set 
 to learn a short interesting piece of prose, until they 
 an repeat i t accurately from memory ; and in the course 
 of that exercise they should be taught the exact accent, 
 emphasis, and pauses necessary to give a distinct per- 
 ception of the ideas and meaning. This is signijicant 
 reading. After a fev/ interesting pieces of prose have 
 thus been properly taught (with correct accent, em- 
 phasis, and pauses), a few short instructive poems, or 
 poetical extracts, should also be taught v^^ith the same 
 care and precision, gradually increasing in difficulty as 
 the pupils advance. 
 
 If this method be persisted in, they will learn to read 
 in a firm, distinct, and significant style, and in a shorter 
 time than is now occupied in teaching them to drawl 
 and mumble in the most confused and unintelligible 
 manner. It is almost incredible what a. wonderful effect 
 even one year of such careful training will produce on 
 children of nine or ten years of age. They will read 
 
 * The Mechanical Reading Preceptor. (Whi'taker and Co.) 
 
OF ELOCUTION. 15 
 
 more fluently and intelligibly than the generality of 
 youths of fourteen or fifteen who have been taught in 
 the usual routine methods. This has been proved by 
 experiments which leave no doubt that all children 
 (with sound vocal organs and healthy brains) may be 
 taught, by the time they are twelve years of age, to 
 read and recite in so perfect a style as to satisfy the ear 
 of the most fastidious critic ; and, consequently, they 
 will be able to speak, in their ordinary conversation, with 
 the greatest propriety. 
 
 Of course, when children are being taught to read 
 well, they are also taught to speak well ; and as this 
 result is produced (on the elocutionary system) by 
 means of the best specimens of composition, the pupils 
 thus have their minds stored with beautiful ideas and 
 noble sentiments ; and they are thus, at the same time, 
 taught to think well. As a necessary consequence of 
 their thinking well, the substance and manner of their 
 conversation gradually assume a superior and refined 
 character. In fact, the peculiar excellence of the art of 
 elocution, when properly taught, is — that it develops 
 the judgment and taste, and invariably induces a higher 
 range of thought. 
 
 These admirable results clearly exhibit the very great 
 importance of this elegant accomplishment, and render 
 it highly desirable that it should be made an indispensable 
 branch of every course of education. 
 
 We must urge still further on the reader's attention 
 that, in order to appreciate thoroughly the pleasures and 
 advantages to be derived from the study of elocution, 
 
16 PLEASURES AND ADVANTAGES 
 
 he must bear in mind that the sentences and paragraphs, 
 the verses and poems, which form the lessons and 
 exercises that are used in teaching elocution, are all 
 selected from the best portions of the best authors of 
 every age and country, so that they contain the purest 
 ideas and the wisest sentiments of the purest and wisest 
 minds ; and, moreover, they are set forth in the most 
 refined language which the most highly-cultivated minds 
 could indite. It must also be borne in mind that the 
 method in which elocution is taught (as already ex- 
 plained) compels the pupils to commit these exquisite 
 pieces to memory, so that their minds become, as it 
 were, living caskets, enriched with moral and intellec- 
 tual gems. Delightful instances of such results have 
 been witnessed in both sexes at eleven or twelve years 
 of age ; and it only requires the same diligence and care 
 to be devoted to their training to produce the same 
 beneficial effects in all healthy, well-formed children. 
 This is, undoubtedly, the true method of laying the 
 foundation, not only of talented and accomplished, but 
 of virtuous and amiable, men and women. 
 
 It is worthy of remark that nearly all the wisest and 
 best of the world's great improvers, both male and 
 female, have devoted a considerable portion of their 
 youthful hours to the careful study of the poetry and 
 prose of the best authors, by committing to memory the 
 most beautiful passages of their works ; they have thus 
 been enabled to enlarge their minds and enrich their 
 conversation with the sublime and immortal thoughts of 
 preceding ages. By being thus thoroughly imbued with 
 
OF ELOCUTION. 17 
 
 the beautiful and good, they radiate a halo of moral and 
 intellectual light in every circle of society through which 
 they pass, or in which they reside, at once charming 
 and improving all around. The ability to disseminate 
 pleasure and improvement in this delightful manner, in 
 our present imperfect systems of education, is restricted 
 to rare instances ; but it is a power which all children of 
 good organisation might be blest with if the proper care 
 and attention were duly bestowed on their education 
 and training. 
 
 In going through this course of study, under the 
 superintendence of a properly qualified preceptor, the 
 pupils will inevitably have their minds modelled upon 
 the highest principles of truth and justice, and their 
 conduct and manners formed according to the highest 
 standards of benevolence and virtue. If the rising 
 generation had the benefit of such a course of instruc- 
 tion (which certainly would not occupy more time, or 
 be attended with more expense, than the present in- 
 efficient methods) — if they were thus taught the noblest 
 principles, and were thus trained to purity of conduct 
 and refinement of manners (and why should they not ?) 
 — then we may boldly and safely assert that homes 
 would be (what they ought to be) little heavens upon 
 earth. 
 
 Under our present superficial system of education 
 the refining and elevating accomplishments are very 
 slightly cultivated, and those which inculcate the benevo- 
 lent and virtuous affections are entirely left out, so that 
 our home pleasures and domestic enjoyments are neither 
 
18 ADVANTAGES OF ELOCUTION. 
 
 numerous nor attractive. The natural consequence is 
 that the family circle is frequently deserted for some- 
 thing more varied and exciting. But it unfortunately 
 happens that nearly all our present institutions and places 
 of amusement, instead of presenting recreations and 
 entertainments of an improving and elevating tendency, 
 pander to the lowest cravings of Folly and Vice, and 
 thus the happiness of thousands of homes is blighted. 
 
 We have no hesitation in asserting that the virtuous 
 and intellectual training which is involved in such a 
 course of elocution as we have just described would be 
 the effectual means of gradually diminishing this evil, 
 and of finally destroying it altogether ; in fact, elocu"- 
 tion, taught by the means and in the manner we have 
 indicated in these remarks, might be rendered the easy 
 and pleasant medium of imparting all the moral and 
 intellectual virtues. 
 
 We need hardly add that, were children thus accom- 
 plished and amiable, home would be invested with 
 irresistible attractions ; every hour of repast and recrea- 
 tion would be a delightful party, and every evening 
 would present the character of a charming soiree, con- 
 secrated to elevating and humanising pursuits. 
 
SECTION I. 
 
 Love and Beauty, 
 
 ^ 
 
 $^^ 
 
 '#- 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION I. 
 
 Love ........ 
 
 21 
 
 The Loveliness of Love .... 
 
 22 
 
 True Beauty ...... 
 
 • 23 
 
 The Beauty of Woman .... 
 
 24 
 
 The Beauty of Virtue and Understanding 
 
 27 
 
 A Mother's Love 
 
 28 
 
 A Good and Faithful Wife 
 
 • 30 
 
 My Choice 
 
 31 
 
 Beauty 
 
 • 31 
 
 Uncertainty of Affection .... 
 
 32 
 
 Affection 
 
 33 
 
 What I Love 
 
 34 
 
 The Face that Ever Wears a Smile . 
 
 3? 
 
 Good Temper ...... 
 
 36 
 
 Where is Love Found? .... 
 
 38 
 
 Love and Care 
 
 39 
 
 Love me Little, Love me Long . 
 
 40 
 
 The Love of Woman 
 
 42 
 
 The Contrast of Loves. — Man's Love 
 
 43 
 
 Woman's Love 
 
 44 
 
 The Progress of Love .... 
 
 45 
 
 First Love 
 
 47 
 
LOVE AND BEAUTY. 
 
 Love, 
 
 C\ LOVE ! how wondrous thou and holy ! — 
 ^-^ When nought on earth hath power to quell 
 The iron might of melancholy, 
 
 One touch of thine hath broke the spell. 
 
 One vigil by a fevered bed — 
 
 One solace given to heart oppressed- 
 One pang assuaged — one aching head 
 With gentle soothing lulled to rest. 
 
 To weary age one fond caress — 
 
 Poor guerdon for the love of years — 
 
 One smile at childish playfulness, 
 Or patient care to dry its tears. 
 
 Or less than these : the common flow 
 
 Of simple, self-forgetting mirth, 
 When veils the heart its inner woe, 
 
 So not to cloud the social hearth. 
 
 These, when, as locked in polar ice. 
 
 Lifeless and crushed the heart has lain — 
 
 These, like a breath from paradise. 
 Have warmed it into life again. 
 
22 LOVE AND BEAUTY. 
 
 O gentlest Minstrel ! thou canst tell 
 
 What best can soothe the troubled breast 
 
 He prayeth well who loveth well ! 
 He prayeth best who loveth best ! 
 
 The Loveliness of Love, 
 
 TT is not beauty I demand — 
 
 A ciystal brow, the moon's despair ; 
 Nor the snow's daughter — a white hand ; 
 Nor mermaid yellow pride of hair. 
 
 Tell me not of your stai'iy eyes ; 
 
 Your lips that seem on roses fed ; 
 Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies, 
 
 Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed. 
 
 A blooming pair of vermeil cheeks, 
 Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours ; 
 
 A breath that softer music speaks 
 
 Than summ.er zephyrs wooing flowers. 
 
 These are but gauds ; say, what are lips ? 
 
 Coral beneath the ocean stream. 
 Whose brink, when your adventurer slips. 
 
 Full oft he perisheth on them. 
 
 And what are cheeks ? Mere ensigns oft 
 That wave hot youth to fields of blood. 
 
 Did Helen's breast, though ne'er so soft, 
 Do Greece or Ilium any good ? 
 
 Eyes can with baleful ardour burn : 
 Poison can breathe that erst perfumed. 
 
 There's many a white hand holds an urn 
 With lovers' hearts to dust consumed. 
 
LOVE AND BEAUTY. 23 
 
 For crystal brows there's nought within ; 
 
 They are but empty cells for pride. 
 He who the syren's hair would win 
 
 Is mostly strangled in the tide. 
 
 Give me, instead of beauty's bust, 
 
 A tender heart, a loyal mind, 
 Which with temptation I would trust. 
 
 Yet never linked with error find. 
 
 One to whose gentle bosom I 
 
 Could pour my secret heart of woes. 
 
 Like the care-burthened honey-fly 
 That hides his murmurs in the rose ; 
 
 My earthly comforter ! whose love 
 
 So indefeasible might be. 
 That when my spirit soared above. 
 
 Hers could not stay for sympathy. 
 
 Anon., 1680. 
 
 True Beauty, 
 
 TTE that loves a rosy cheek. 
 Or a coral lip admires, 
 Or from star-like eyes doth seek 
 
 Fuel to maintain his fires ; 
 As old Time makes these decay, 
 So his flames must waste away. 
 
 But a smooth and steadfast mind. 
 Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, 
 
 Hearts with equal love combined, 
 Kindle never-dying fires ; 
 
 Where these are not, I despise 
 
 Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes. 
 
 T. Carew. 
 
24 LOVE AND BEAUTY. 
 
 The Beauty of Woman, 
 
 ^ I ^HE sweetest, brightest flowers that grow 
 
 Are ever loveliest in full blow ; 
 But gazed awhile on by the sun, 
 How soon they wither, one by one ! 
 Like rainbow hues that flush the sky. 
 How soon they fade, how soon they die ! 
 And seem, while we the change deplore, 
 All cast on Desolation's shore. 
 Pale, shrivelled wrecks to what they were 
 Ere touched by Ruin's messenger ! 
 So lovely woman's beauty fades 
 
 When past meridian bloom ; 
 So loveliness soon retrogrades, 
 
 And drops into the tomb. 
 
 Yes ! there's a change in woman's face 
 
 When Time corrodes each blooming grace ; 
 
 Yes ! there's a change, and words are weak 
 
 To tell that change upon her cheek ; 
 
 To tell, as years glide fast away, 
 
 How soon her locks are tinged with grey ; 
 
 How soon her eyes (though beaming bright 
 
 As Venus in the brown twilight) 
 
 Grow dim, and cease to longer prove 
 
 The sweet interpreters of love ; 
 
 The indices to read the mind. 
 
 And mark each varying impulse kind ; 
 
 1 he silent language of the soul. 
 
 As thoughts on thoughts unceasing roll. 
 
 Touch' d by the finger of Decay, 
 
 Thus woman's beauty wastes away — 
 
 Dear woman ! form'd with all that can 
 
 Conspire to charm the heart of man; 
 
LOVE AND BEAUTY. 25 
 
 Form'd with a talismanic power 
 To soothe him in misfortune's hour — 
 To nurse his hopes — to share his grief — 
 To lull his care, and smile relief. 
 
 How beautiful each lucid star 
 When Night rides on her shadowy car, 
 Displaying to the astonish'd eye 
 The splendour of a starry sky ! 
 How lovely looks the pathless deep 
 When Day's bi ight monarch wakes from sleep, 
 Glancing his golden eye with pride 
 On rippling waves that gently glide ! 
 And lovely, too, each gorgeous scene 
 When Earth unfurls her banners green — 
 When all created things rejoice, 
 And Gratitude lifts up her voice ! 
 But what on earth, on sea, in sky. 
 With woman's loveHness can vie, 
 When shining in full beauty's blaze 
 She meets warm Admiration's gaze. 
 And like a seraph di'opped from heaven. 
 
 That once with angels moved. 
 Appears but for one purpose given — 
 
 To love and be beloved ? 
 
 Ah ! why should such a being feel 
 Time's altering hand upon her steal ? 
 Why, struggling hard, with feverish breath. 
 Endure the lingering pangs of death. 
 Cold in the clammy tomb to rot. 
 And there for ever soon forgot ? 
 But so it is — the fiat's gone — 
 A fiat from the Eternal Throne : 
 Each living thing must surely die 
 That crawls the earth, or mounts the sky ! 
 
26 LOVE AND BEAUTY. 
 
 «' God's will be done !" to His decree 
 'Tis ours to bend the willing knee ; 
 To prize the blessings that we share, 
 And trust to His paternal care. 
 
 Touch'd by the finger of Decay, 
 Yes ! woman's beauty wastes away ; 
 But though her peerless graces fade 
 Like blighted blossoms in the shade ; 
 Though age creeps on, with aspect bleak, 
 To steal the roses from her cheek ; 
 Yet still her gentle, feeling breast 
 May hold a prize will make it blest ; 
 A treasure that will ever last 
 When eveiy charm is fading fast ! 
 'Tis heavenly Virtue's radiant gem, 
 More precious than a diadem ; 
 A native purity of mind, 
 Good temper with good sense combined. 
 The tenderness that marks the dove, 
 A heart the residence of Love ; 
 These far transcend each blooming grace 
 That decks the fairest maiden's face. 
 
 Yes ! woman's beauty will decay. 
 Each cherished charm fade fast away ; 
 And fading most where they abound, 
 As Autumn leaves fall to the ground. 
 They leave the stem. What then her form ? 
 A bark dismantled by the storm ; 
 A leafless tree left on the wild, 
 Most beautiful when Summer smiled. 
 Go, lady, go, the mirror view — 
 If Nature has been kind to you! — 
 Admire those teeth of snowy pearl. 
 The rosy cheek, the glossy curl, 
 
LOVE AND BEAUTY. 27 
 
 The tempting lip of richest dyp, 
 
 The sunny lustre of the eye ; 
 
 But guard, ah ! guard the heart within, 
 
 Lest Vanity the fortress win, 
 
 Defiling what is pure and fair. 
 
 As stagnant pools pollute the air. 
 
 O guard that heart from serpent guile — 
 
 From treacherous Flattery's artful smile — 
 
 Then Peace will strew your path with flowers, 
 
 And happiness illume your bowers ; 
 
 Then will the beauty of the mind 
 
 Outvie the loveliest face we find, 
 
 And based on Virtue's sacred rock, 
 
 Unflinching stand Time's rudest shock, 
 
 And all around an incense shed. 
 
 When all inferior charms are fled. 
 
 Heaviside. 
 
 The Beauty of Virtue and Understanding, 
 
 npHE civilised women of the present age (with a few 
 exceptions) are only anxious to inspire love, when 
 they ought to cherish a nobler ambition, and by their abilities 
 and virtues exact respect. 
 
 But virtue will never prevail in society till the virtues of 
 both sexes are founded on reason, and till the aflections 
 common to both are allowed to gain their due strength by 
 the discharge of mutual duties. 
 
 Till society is influenced by a more refined culture, there 
 will ever be a want of high moral feeling and true taste. 
 
 A taste for the fine arts requires great cultivation, but not 
 more than a taste for the virtuous aflections ; and both suppose 
 
 C 2 
 
28 LOVE AND BEAUTY. 
 
 that enlargement of mind which opens so many sources of 
 mental pleasure. 
 
 Why do people huriy to noisy scenes and crowded circles ? 
 Simply because they want activity of mind — because they have 
 not cherished the virtues of the heart. They only, therefore, 
 see and feel (like the vulgar) in the gross, and continually pine 
 after variety, imagining everything insipid which is pure and 
 simple. 
 
 True taste is ever the work of the understanding employed 
 in observing and discriminating the various works of nature 
 and art ; and until women have been taught to cultivate 
 their understandings, it is in vain to expect them to possess 
 those domestic virtues and tastes which are absolutely indis- 
 pensable to happiness. Intellectual and moral enjoyments 
 impart the most unalloyed gratification, and are the nearest 
 approaches to perfect happiness which humanity can realise. 
 Even the ordinary pleasures of sense acquire superior zest by 
 being enjoyed under the influence of a cultivated mind. 
 
 Nothing, in fact, unites people like intellectual enjoyment ; 
 it does more — it gives them mutual respect ; and to each 
 among them self-respect, that corner-stone to all the virtues. 
 
 A Mother's Love. 
 
 A MOTHER'S love — how sweet the name! 
 What is a mother's love ? 
 A noble, pure, and tender flame, 
 
 Enkindled from above, 
 To bless a heart of earthly mould — 
 The warmest heart that can grow old — 
 This is a mother's love. 
 
LOVE AND BEAUTY. 29 
 
 To bring a helpless babe to light ; 
 
 Then, when it lies forlorn, 
 To gaze upon that dearest sight. 
 
 And feel herself new-born : 
 In its existence lose her own, 
 And live and breathe in it alone — 
 This is a mother's love. 
 
 Its weakness in her arms to bear. 
 
 And cherish on her breast ; 
 Feed it from love's own fountain there, 
 
 And lull it there to rest ; 
 Then, while it slumbers, watch its breath, 
 As if to guard from instant death — 
 This is a mother's love. 
 
 To mark its growth from day to day. 
 
 Its opening charms admire. 
 Catch from its eye the earliest ray 
 
 Of intellectual fire ; 
 To trace the gems of moral worth, 
 As kindly sympathies b^am forth — 
 This is a mother's love. 
 
 To train the heart to tmth and love, 
 
 To shun all hate and strife. 
 To raise the thoughts to realms above, 
 
 To teach a holy life ; 
 To impart of righteousness the leaven, 
 And thus prepare a soul for heaven — 
 This is a mother's love. 
 
LOVE AND BEAUTY. 
 
 A Good and Faithful Wife, 
 
 ' I ^HERE'S not a greater blessing 
 
 E'er found upon the earth, 
 More worthy man's possessing, 
 
 Nor yet of greater worth : 
 In poverty or splendour, 
 
 Whatever his form of life, 
 There's nothing like a tender, 
 
 A good and faithful wife. 
 
 A kind and gentle lover. 
 
 Who day by day doth prove 
 How well she watcheth over 
 
 His interest and love ; 
 Who soothes him when in sickness. 
 
 And cheers the path of life, 
 Yet ever showeth meekness — 
 
 A good and faithful wife. 
 
 What man could e'er deceive her. 
 
 Or blight her earthly lot — 
 The heart that loveth ever. 
 
 And loving, changeth not \ 
 That kind and gentle pleader 
 
 Who calms his angiy strife. 
 His friend and interceder — 
 
 A good and faithful wife. 
 
 There's not a greater blessing 
 
 Can in the world be found. 
 More worthy man's possessing. 
 
 Were he to search it round. 
 Dame Fortune may bring pleasure. 
 
 And give a zest to life, 
 But she's his greatest treasure — 
 
 A good and faithful wife. 
 
LOVE AND BEAUTY. 31 
 
 My Choice, 
 
 f~^ IVE me a maid, whene'er I take a wife, 
 
 Prudent in all domestic cares of life, 
 Whose mind's unstained by vanity or art ; 
 Blest with good-nature from a virtuous heart ; 
 Modest, yet free — tme love her aim, her end ; 
 To real religion and to me a friend. 
 Her tender bosom shall my heart contain, 
 From all the world counts great, and I call vain. 
 May grace be in her soul, heaven in her eye ! 
 This, this be her w^ith whom I'd live and die. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 Beauty, 
 
 A S rising on its pui-ple wing, 
 
 The insect-queen* of Eastern Spring, 
 O'er emerald meadows of Kashmeer, 
 Invites the young pursuer near. 
 And leads him on from flower to flower, 
 A weary chase and wasted hour. 
 Then leaves him as it soars on high. 
 With panting heart and tearful eye — 
 So Beauty lures the full grown child. 
 With hue as bright and wing as wild, 
 A chase of idle hopes and fears, 
 Begun in folly, closed in tears. 
 If won, to equal ills betrayed. 
 Woe waits the insect and the maid. 
 
 * The blue-winged butterfly of Kashmeer, the most rare and 
 beautiful of the species. 
 
32 LOVE AND BEAUTY, 
 
 A life of pain, the loss of peace, 
 From infant's play and man's caprice. 
 The lovely toy, so fiercely sought, 
 Has lost its charm by being caught ; 
 For every touch that wooed its stay 
 Has brushed its brightest hues away, 
 Till charm, and hue, and beauty gone, 
 'Tis left to fly or fall alone. 
 With wounded wing, or bleeding breast, 
 Ah ! where shall either victim rest ? 
 Can this with faded pinion soar 
 From rose to tulip as before ? 
 Or Beauty, blighted in an hour, 
 Find joy within her broken bower ? 
 No : gayer insects, fluttering by. 
 Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die 
 And lovelier things have mercy shown 
 To every failing but their own ; 
 And eveiy woe a tear can claim, 
 Except an erring sister's shame. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Uncertainty of Affection. 
 
 A LAS ! how light a cause may move 
 
 Dissension between hearts that love ! 
 Hearts that the world in vain had tried. 
 And sorrow but more closely tied ; 
 That stood the storm when waves were rough. 
 Yet in a sunny hour fell off, 
 Like ships that have gone down at sea 
 When heaven was all tranquillity ! 
 
LOVE AND BEAUTY. 33 
 
 A something light as air — a look, 
 
 A word unkind or wrongly taken — 
 Oh ! love that tempests never shook, 
 
 A breath, a touch like this hath shaken ; 
 And iiider words will soon rush in 
 To spread the breach that words begin ; 
 And eyes foiget the gentle ray 
 They wore in courtship's smiling day ; 
 And voices lose the tone that shed 
 A tenderness round all they said ; 
 Till, fast declining, one by one. 
 The sweetnesses of love are gone ; 
 And hearts so lately mingled, seem 
 Like broken clouds, or like the stream 
 That smiling left the mountain's brow. 
 
 As though its waters ne'er could sever. 
 Yet ere it reach the plain below. 
 
 Breaks into floods that part for ever. 
 
 T. Moore. 
 
 Affection, 
 
 'T^ALK not of wasted affection — 
 
 Affection never was wasted. 
 If it enrich not the heart of another. 
 Its waters, returning back to their spring. 
 Like the rain, shall iill them full of refreshment. 
 That which the fountain sends forth 
 Returneth again to the fountain. 
 
 Patience ! accomplish thy labour ; 
 Accomplish thy work of affection ! 
 Sorrow and silence are strong, 
 And patient endurance is Godlike ; 
 
34 LOVE AND BEAUTY. 
 
 Therefore accomplish thy labour of love 
 Till the hea:t is made Godlike, 
 Purified, strengthened, perfected, 
 And rendered more worthy of heaven ! 
 
 Cheered by these words, 
 Evangeline laboured and waited. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 What I Love. 
 
 T LOVE an open countenance, 
 
 A kind and noble face. 
 The index of an honest heart. 
 
 That loves the human race ! 
 A brow on which a smile is throned. 
 
 Like sunlight on a flower, 
 As open as the regal skies, 
 
 With beams of love and power ! 
 
 I love the kind and welcome glance 
 
 That proves we're not alone ; 
 And oh ! how sweet to find at times 
 
 Some feelings like our own ! 
 A heart that beats with purest hopes, 
 
 To pity and to bless, 
 That strives to make earth's comforts more, 
 
 Its pains and follies less ! 
 
 I love the man whose generous smile 
 
 Is given with his hand. 
 Who sees his equal in all men. 
 
 And all men equal stand ! 
 
LOVE AND BEAUTY. 
 
 Who sees not the distinctions made 
 
 By human laws between 
 The man who has and who has not, 
 
 But loves from what he's seen ! 
 
 I love the man whose heart is true, 
 
 Who seldom wears a frown, 
 And loves all men, from him who toils 
 
 To him who wears a crown ! 
 With mildness ever on his lips, 
 
 A free and open mind, 
 A brow with mental grandeur spanned, 
 
 A soul supremely kind ! 
 
 QUALLON. 
 
 The Face that Ever Wears a Sfnlle. 
 
 T LOVE the man whose open brow 
 ^ Proclaims a noble mind ; 
 I love the sympathetic soul 
 
 That feels for all mankind— 
 That feels for human wrongs and woes, 
 
 And pities e'en their guile, 
 And, oh 1 I love the angel face 
 
 That ever wears a smile. 
 
 I love my little lisping child. 
 
 And her who gave it birth ; 
 I love the memory of the dead, 
 
 Whose deeds illume our earth ; 
 I love the friend of freedom's cause, 
 . Whom gold could ne'er defile, 
 And, oh ! I love the angel face 
 
 That ever wears a smile. 
 
 U 
 
36 LOVE AND BEAUTY. 
 
 The face that ever wears a smile 
 
 Hath sunshine in the heart ; 
 Its beaming rays reflect around — 
 
 A thousand joys impart ; 
 It gladdens, cheers, inspires with hope, 
 
 Far more than tongue can tell, 
 'Tis in such hearts the angels bright 
 
 For ever love to dwell. 
 
 Owen Jones. 
 
 Good Teivper, 
 
 I HERE'S not a cheaper thing on earth, 
 Nor yet a thing more dear ; 
 'Tis worth more than distinguished birth, 
 Or thousands gained a year. 
 
 It lends the day a new delight ; 
 
 'Tis virtue's finest shield. 
 And adds more beauty to the night 
 
 Than all the stars may yield. 
 
 It maketh poverty content. 
 
 To sorrow whispers peace ; 
 It is a gift from Heaven sent 
 
 For mortals to increase. 
 
 It meets you with a smile at morn ; 
 
 It lulls you to repose ; 
 A flower for peer and peasant boin ; 
 
 An everlasting rose. 
 
LOVE AND BEAUTY. 37 
 
 A charm to banish grief away, 
 
 To free the brow from care ; 
 Turns tears to smiles, makes dulness gay, 
 
 Spreads gladness everywhere. 
 
 And yet 'tis cheap as summer dew, 
 
 That gems the lily's breast ; 
 A talisman for love as true 
 
 As ever man possessed. 
 
 As smiles the rainbow through the cloud 
 
 When threat' ning storm begins. 
 As music 'mid the tempest loud 
 
 That still its sweet way wins ; 
 
 As springs an arch across the tide. 
 
 When waves conflicting foam ; 
 So comes the seraph to our side. 
 
 This angel of our home. 
 
 What may this wondrous spirit be, 
 
 With power unheard before ? 
 This charm, this bright divinity ? — 
 
 Good-nature ; nothing more ! 
 
 Good temper ; 'tis the choicest gift 
 
 That woman homeward brings, 
 And can the poorest peasant lift 
 
 To bliss — unknown to kings. 
 
 Good temper ; 'tis the sweetest charm 
 
 To man or woman given ; 
 The ills of life its powers disarm. 
 
 And makes this earth a heaven ! 
 
 Charles Swain. 
 
88 LOVE AND BEAUTY, 
 
 Where is Love Found? 
 
 "TTTHERE is Love found? The happy and tme, 
 
 Who is never weary, or dull, or lonely ; 
 Who is ever the same, yet always new ; 
 
 Who gladdens the heart, but the pure heart only ; 
 Who smiles away sorrow, and drives away strife, 
 
 Or, if the world frown, is at hand to cheer us ; 
 Who smooths both the up-hill and down-hill of life ; 
 And in age, as in youth, is ever near us — 
 
 Where is this Love ? 
 
 Shall we meet him in cities ? He is not there, 
 
 Where Art presides with her thousand lures ; 
 And Pleasure seeks, hand in hand with Care, 
 
 The hearts that she tempts, but never secures ; 
 Where mirth never gladdens, but all that's gay 
 
 Is the banquet of Dead-Sea fruits outspread ; 
 Where the revel by night, and the sleep by day, 
 
 Bring the burning pulse and the aching head — 
 
 Love is not there ! 
 
 Where is Love found ? Where the wild flowers grow. 
 
 And the birds and the breezes both are singing, 
 And heaven and earth have a healthy glow — 
 
 A blessing that each unto each is bringing ; 
 Where the fruit-trees blossom and fields are green. 
 
 At either side of some silent river ; 
 And Nature — the mother of Love — is seen. 
 
 The gentle, yet bountiful, beauty-giver — 
 
 There Love is found ! 
 
LOVE AND BEAUTY. 39 
 
 Love and Care, 
 
 T OVE sat in his bower one summer day, 
 
 And Care, with his train, came to drive him away : 
 
 " I will not depart," said Love. 
 And, seizing his lute, with silver words. 
 He ran his bright fingers along the chords, 
 And play'd so sweet, so entrancing an air, 
 That a grim smile lit up the face of Care ; 
 
 "Away, away!" said Love. 
 
 "Nay, nay, I have friends !" grim Care replied; 
 " Behold, here is one — and his name is Pride !'* 
 
 "I care not for Pride !" said Love. 
 Then touching the strings of his light guitar, 
 Pride soon forgot his lofty air, 
 And seizing the hand of a rustic queen. 
 Laugh 'd, gamboll'd, and tripp'd it o'er the green ; 
 
 "Aha — aha!" said Love. 
 
 " Away with your jeers !" cried Care, " if you please ; 
 Here's another — lank, haggard, and pale Disease V 
 
 " I care not for him !" said Love. 
 Then touched a strain so plaintive and meek, 
 That a flush passed over his pallid cheek, 
 And Disease leaped up from his couch of pain, 
 And smiled, and re-echoed the healing strain. 
 
 " Well done for Disease !" said Love. 
 
 "Pshaw, pshaw!" cried Care, "this squalid one see! 
 How lik'st thou the gaunt look of Poverty ?" 
 
 " I care not for him !" said Love. 
 Then struck such a sound from his viol's string, 
 That Poverty shouted aloud, "I am King!" 
 The jewelled wreaths round my temple shall twine — 
 For the sparkling gems of Golconda are mine !" 
 
 "Ay, ay — very true!" said Love. 
 
40 LOVE AND BEAUTY. 
 
 " Nay, boast not," said Care, " there is fretful old Age ; 
 Beware of his crutches, and tempt not his rage !" 
 
 " I care not for Age !" said Love. 
 Then swept the string of his magic lyre, 
 Till the glazed eye sparkled with youthful fire, 
 And Age dropp'd his crutches, and, light as a fay, 
 Laugh'd, caper'd, and danced like a child at play ! 
 
 "Bravo, Sir Eld !" said Love. 
 
 "A truce !" cried Wrinkled Care, " with thy glee \ 
 Now, look on this last one — 'tis Jealousy!" 
 
 " Ah, me ! ah, me !" said Love. 
 *' Her green eye burns with a quenchless fire — 
 I die ! I die !" Then dropping his lyre, 
 Love flew away from his cherished bower. 
 And never returned from that fatal hour ! 
 
 Alas for thee, blighted Love ! 
 
 Love me Little^ Love me Long, 
 (1569.) 
 
 T OVE me little, love me long. 
 
 Is the burden of my song. 
 Love that is too hot and strong 
 
 Burneth soon to waste. 
 Still I would not have thee cold, 
 Nor too backward, or too bold, 
 Love that lasteth till 'tis old 
 
 Fadeth not in haste. 
 Love me little, love me long. 
 Is the burden of my song. 
 
 If thou lovest me too much, 
 
 It will not prove as true a touch ; 
 
 Love me little — more than such, 
 
LOVE AND BEAUTY. 41 
 
 For I fear the end. 
 I am with little well content, 
 And a little from thee sent 
 Is enough, with true intent, 
 
 To be steadfast, friend, 
 Love me little, love me long, &c. 
 
 Say thou lovest me while thou live, 
 I to thee my love will give. 
 Never dreaming to deceive, 
 
 While that life endures : 
 Nay, and after death, in sooth, 
 I to thee will keep my truth. 
 As now when in my May of youth. 
 
 This my love assures. 
 Love me little, love me long, &c. 
 
 Constant love is moderate ever, 
 And it will through life persever — 
 Give me that with true endeavour, 
 
 I will it restore : 
 A suit of durance let it be. 
 For all weathers, that for me. 
 For the land, or for the sea. 
 
 Lasting evermore. 
 Love me little, love me long, &c. 
 
 Winter's cold or Summer's heat. 
 Autumn's tempest on it beat, 
 It can never know defeat, 
 
 Never can rebel : 
 Such the love that I would gain. 
 Such the love — I tell thee plain — 
 Thou must give, or woo in vain : 
 
 So to thee farewell. 
 Love me little, love me long, &c. 
 
42 LOVE AND BEAUTY. 
 
 The Love of Woman, 
 
 "XITOMAN'S love in sighs arises, 
 
 Breathes in throbs, and blooms in tears ; 
 Withers — when the one she prizes. 
 
 Wrecks the hope of future years, 
 Like the smitten rose of summer, 
 
 'Neath some angiy, biting blast ; 
 For the storms that overcome her 
 
 Leave no features of the past. 
 
 Woman's love there's no repressing. 
 
 For she loves and dotes on one; 
 One, alone, receives her blessing, 
 
 From that heart too easy won ; 
 Fortune, smiling — frowning — never 
 
 Waips the genial ray of bliss, 
 Which emits its light for ever. 
 
 Sparkling in the constant kiss. 
 
 Woman's love, to man once plighted. 
 
 In the throb — the tear — the sigh — 
 Though that pledge by man be blighted. 
 
 By the shrewd, designing lie — 
 Should all treasured hopes lie stifled, 
 
 Future visions' raptures flee — 
 Yet remains her love unrifled, 
 
 Fixed, oh ! false one, still on thee. 
 
 Woman's love, our cares dispelling, 
 
 Lights the stormy path we tread; 
 Sheds a glory on the dwelling 
 
 Where the bridal feast is spread ; 
 And averts the heart when lonely, 
 
 From the sorrows that oppress ; 
 Loves us dearly — fondly — only 
 
 Loves till death that love suppress. 
 
 Bayley. 
 
LOVE AND BEAUTY. 43 
 
 The Contrast of Loves, 
 Man's Love. 
 
 "XTy^HEN woman's eye grows dull, 
 
 And her cheek paleth, 
 When fades the beautiful, 
 
 Then man's love faileth. 
 He sits not beside her chair, 
 
 Clasps not her fingers ; 
 Twines not the damp hair 
 
 That o'er her brow lingers. 
 
 He comes but a moment in. 
 
 Though her eye lightens ; 
 Though her cheek, pale and thin, 
 
 Feverishly brightens : 
 He stays but a moment near, 
 
 When that flush fadeth. 
 Though true affection's tear 
 
 Her soft eyelid shadeth. 
 
 He goes from her chamber straight 
 
 Into life's jostle ; 
 He meets at the very gate 
 
 Business and bustle : 
 He thinks not of her within 
 
 Silently sighing ; 
 He forgets in that noisy din 
 
 That she is dying. 
 
 And when her heart is still. 
 
 What though he mourneth ; 
 Soon from his sorrow chill 
 
 Wearied he turneth. 
 
 D 2 
 
44 LOVE AND BEAUTY. 
 
 Soon o'er her buried head 
 Memory's light setteth, 
 
 And the true-hearted dead 
 Thus man forgetteth ! 
 
 Woman's Love. 
 
 TTTHEN man is waxing frail, 
 
 And his hand is thin and weak, 
 And his lips are parched and pale. 
 And wan and white his cheek ; 
 Oh, then doth woman prove 
 Her constancy and love ! 
 
 She sitteth by his chair, 
 
 And holds his feeble hand ; 
 
 She watcheth ever there. 
 His wants to understand : 
 
 His yet unspoken will 
 
 She hasteneth to fulfil. 
 
 She leads him when the moon 
 
 Is bright o'er dale and hill. 
 And all things, save the tune 
 
 Of the honey bees, are still. 
 Into the garden's bowers. 
 To sit 'midst herbs and flowers. 
 
 And when he goes not there. 
 To feed on breath and bloom, 
 
 She brings the posy rare 
 Into his darkened room : 
 
 And 'neath his weary head 
 
 The pillow smooth doth spread. 
 
LOVE AND BEAUTY. 45 
 
 Until the hour when death 
 
 His lamp of life doth dim, 
 She never wearieth, 
 
 She never leaveth him : 
 Still near him night and day, 
 She meets his eye alway. 
 
 And when his trial's o'er. 
 
 And the turf is on his breast, 
 Deep in her bosom's core 
 
 Lie sorrows unexprest : 
 Her tears, her sighs, are weak, 
 Her settled grief to speak. 
 
 And though there may arise 
 
 Balm for her spirit's pain ; 
 And though her quiet eyes 
 
 May sometimes smile again ; 
 Still, still, she must regret, 
 She never can forget ! 
 
 Anon 
 
 The Progress of Love, 
 
 TN early youth, ere thoughtful care 
 
 My brow had furrowed o'er, 
 I revelled with the young and fair, 
 That beauty's ensign bore. 
 
 At length I vowed, of wandering tired. 
 At Hymen's shrine to bend ; 
 
 Could I but find, by love inspired, 
 A mistress and a friend. 
 
46 LOVE AND BEAUTY. 
 
 On Phoebe first my eyes I cast, 
 The maid was fair and young ; 
 
 I knew her witty, thought her chaste 
 But Phcebe had a tongue. 
 
 Florella next put in her claim, 
 
 Florella young and gay ; 
 And had she fixed a constant aim. 
 
 Had stolen my heart away : 
 
 But she was lighter than the down 
 
 That sails upon the air : — 
 The fickle toast of half the town 
 
 Could not my heart ensnai'e. 
 
 Miranda, solemn, learned, and wise, 
 
 A crowd of fools admire ; 
 But Pallas' all-forbidding eyes 
 
 Ne'er light up Cupid's fire. 
 
 Selinda had a graceful mien. 
 Charms native — charms of art ; 
 
 She looked and moved like Beauty's Queen ; 
 She wanted — but a heart. 
 
 Pygmalion, who his statue wrought. 
 
 Might warm her into life ; 
 Endued with no such power, I sought 
 
 No statue for a wife. 
 
 Then Hymen I began to slight : 
 
 When, on a destined hour. 
 The bright Amanda met my sight, 
 
 I sighed, and owned her power. 
 
 No studied words, delusive smiles 
 
 She used ; but, void of art. 
 Scorning the boast of subtle wiles. 
 
 She triumphed o'er my heart. 
 
LOVE AND BEAUTY. 47 
 
 She triumphs still : no aid she takes 
 
 Of feature, shape, or air ; 
 In forms like hers 'tis virtue makes 
 
 The fairest of the fair. 
 
 Now of each wanton breath the sport, 
 
 My bark is tost no more ; 
 With her I've made the happy port, 
 
 And all my cares are o'er. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 First Love, 
 
 ''T^IS sweet to hear. 
 
 At midnight, on the blue and moonlit deep, 
 The song and oar of Adiia's gondolier. 
 
 By distance mellowed, o'er the waters creep ; 
 'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear ; 
 
 'Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep 
 From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high 
 The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. 
 
 'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark 
 
 Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near hom.e ; 
 
 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark 
 Our coming, and look brighter when we come ; 
 
 'Tis sweet to be awakened by the lark. 
 
 Or lulled by falling waters ; sweet the hum 
 
 Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds. 
 
 The lisp of children, and their earliest words. 
 
 Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes, 
 
 In bacchanal profusion, reel to earth. 
 Purple and gushing ; sweet are our escapes 
 
 From civic revelry to rural mirth ; 
 
48 LOVE AND BEAUTY. 
 
 Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps ; 
 
 Sweet to the father is his firstborn's birth ; 
 Sweet is revenge — especially to women ; 
 Pillage to soldiers — prize-money to seamen. 
 
 Sweet is a legacy ; and passing sweet 
 The unexpected death of some old lady 
 
 Or gentleman, of seventy years complete, 
 
 WhoVe made "us youth" wait too, too long already 
 
 For an estate, or cash, or country-seat. 
 Still breaking, but with stamina so steady, 
 
 That all the Israelites are fit to mob its 
 
 Next owner for their condemned post-obits. 
 
 'Tis sweet to win — no matter how — one's laurels. 
 By blood or ink ; 'tis sweet to put an end 
 
 To strife ; 'tis sometimes sweet to have one's quarrels. 
 Particularly with a tiresome friend ; 
 
 Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels ; 
 Dear is the helpless creature we defend 
 
 Against the world ; and dear the schoolboy spot 
 
 We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot. 
 
 But sweeter still than this, than these, than all, 
 Is first and passionate love. It stands alone, 
 
 Like Adam's recollection of his fall ; 
 
 The tree of knowledge has been plucked — all's known. 
 
 And life yields nothing further to recall. 
 Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown. 
 
 No doubt, in fable, as the unforgiven 
 
 Fire which Prometheus filched for us from heaven. 
 
 Byron. 
 
SECTION II. 
 
 Home and Happiness 
 
 -'-> % 
 
 "^a^fl 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION II. 
 
 Home! .... 
 
 
 • 
 
 51 
 
 Our Country and Our Home 
 
 
 . 
 
 52 
 
 A World of Love at Home 
 
 
 . 
 
 53 
 
 To A Skylark 
 
 
 • 
 
 54 
 
 The Fireside 
 
 
 . 
 
 54 
 
 Domestic Happiness 
 
 
 • 
 
 57 
 
 My Own Fireside 
 
 
 . 
 
 59 
 
 The Return 
 
 
 . 
 
 . 61 
 
 The Way to be Happy 
 
 
 . 
 
 62 
 
 Heaven on Earth 
 
 
 . 
 
 62 
 
 Duty Leads to Happiness . 
 
 
 . 
 
 63 
 
 Dulce Domum. a Fragmentary Sketch 
 
 ON Pleasuri 
 
 
 and Happiness 
 
 . 
 
 
 64 
 
HOME AND HAPPINESS 
 
 Home I 
 
 TJOME'S not merely four square walls, 
 
 Though with pictures hung and gilded ; 
 Home is where affection calls, 
 
 Filled with shrines the heart hath builded ; 
 Home 1 go watch the faithful dove. 
 
 Sailing 'neath the heaven above us— 
 Home is where there's one to love ; 
 Home is where there's one to love us. 
 
 Home's not merely roof and room. 
 
 It needs something to endear it ; 
 Home is where the heart can bloom. 
 
 Where there's some kind lip to cheer it. 
 What is home with none to meet. 
 
 None to welcome, none to greet us ? 
 Home is sweet, and only sweet. 
 
 Where there's one we love to meet us. 
 
52 HOME AND HAPPINESS. 
 
 Our Country and Our Home, 
 
 npHERE is a land, of every land the pride, 
 
 Beloved by Heaven o'er all the v/orld beside ; 
 Where brighter suns dispense serener light. 
 And milder moons emparadise the night ; 
 A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth. 
 Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth. 
 The wandering mariner, whose eye explores 
 The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores. 
 Views not a realm so beautiful and fair. 
 Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air ; 
 In every clime the magnet of his soul. 
 Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole ; 
 For in this land of Heaven's peculiar grace, 
 The heritage of Nature's noblest race, 
 There is a spot of earth supremely blest, 
 A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest. 
 Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside 
 His sword and sceptre, pageantiy and pride. 
 While in his softened looks benignly blend 
 The sire, the son, the husband, father, friend ; 
 Here woman reigns ; the mother, daughter, wife. 
 Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life ; 
 In the clear heaven of her delightful eye 
 An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ; 
 Around her knees domestic duties meet, 
 And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. 
 " Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found ?" 
 Art thou a man ? a patriot ? Look around, 
 Oh ! thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, 
 That land thy countiy, and that spot thy home. 
 
 James Montgomery. 
 
HOME AND HAPPINESS, 53 
 
 A World of Love at Home, 
 
 'T^HE earth hath treasures fair and bright 
 
 Deep buried in her caves ; 
 And ocean hideth many a gem 
 
 With his blue curHng waves ; 
 Yet not within her bosom dark, 
 
 Or 'neath the dashing foam, 
 Lives there a treasure equalHng 
 
 A world of love at home ! 
 
 True sterling happiness and joy- 
 Are not with gold allied. 
 
 Nor can it yield a pleasure like 
 A happy fireside. 
 
 I envy not the man who dwells 
 In stately hall or dome. 
 
 If 'mid his splendour he hath not 
 A world of love at home. 
 
 The friends whom time hath proved sincere, 
 
 'Tis they alone can bring 
 A sure relief to hearts that droop 
 
 'Neath sorrow's heavy wing. 
 Though care and trouble may be mine 
 
 As down life's path I roam, 
 I'll heed them not while I possess 
 
 A world of love at home ! 
 
64 HOME AND HAPPINESS. 
 
 To a Skylark, 
 
 "PTHEREAL Minstrel ! Pilgrim of the sky ! 
 
 Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound ? 
 Or while thy wings aspire, are heart and eye 
 
 Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ? 
 Thy nest, which thou canst drop into at will — 
 Those quivering wings at rest — that music still ! 
 
 To the last point of vision, and beyond, 
 
 Mount, daring warbler ! That love-prompted strain 
 ('Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond) 
 
 Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain ; 
 Yet might' St thou seem — proud priv'lege — to sing 
 All independent of the leafy spring. 
 
 Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; 
 
 A privacy of glorious light is thine. 
 Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood 
 
 Of harmony, with rapture more divine ; 
 Type of the wise who soar, but never roam, 
 True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 The Fireside, 
 
 "p\EAR Chloe, while the busy crowd. 
 
 The vain, the wealthy, and the proud, 
 
 In Folly's maze advance ; 
 Though singularity and pride 
 Be called our choice, we'll step aside, 
 
 Nor join the giddy dance. 
 
HOME AND HAPPINESS. 55 
 
 From the gay world we'll oft retire 
 To our own family and fire, 
 
 Where love our hours employs ; 
 No noisy neighbour enters here, 
 No intermeddling stranger near, 
 
 To spoil our heartfelt joys. 
 
 If solid happiness we prize, 
 Within our breast this jewel lies. 
 
 And they are fools who roam ; 
 The world hath nothing to bestow ; 
 From our own selves our bliss must flow, 
 
 And that dear place our home. 
 
 Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers. 
 We who improve his golden hours. 
 
 By sweet experience know 
 That marriage, rightly understood. 
 Gives to the affectionate and good 
 
 A paradise below. 
 
 To be resigned when ills betide. 
 Patient when favours are denied. 
 
 And pleased with favours given : 
 Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part. 
 This is that incense of the heart 
 
 Whose fragrance swells to heaven. 
 
 We'll ask no long-protracted treat, 
 Since winter life is seldom sweet, 
 
 But when our feast is o'er. 
 Grateful from table we'll arise. 
 Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes. 
 
 The relics of our store. 
 
56 HOME AND HAPPINESS. 
 
 Thus hand in hand through Hfe we'll go ; 
 Its chequered paths of joy and woe 
 
 With cautious steps we'll tread ; 
 Quit its vain scenes without a tear, 
 Without a trouble or a fear, 
 
 And mingle with the dead. 
 
 While conscience, like a faithful friend, 
 Shall through the gloomy vale attend, 
 
 And cheer our dying breath ; 
 Shall, when all other comforts cease, 
 Like a kind angel whisper peace. 
 
 And smooth the bed of death. 
 
 Our babes shall richest comforts bring ; 
 If tutored right, they prove a spring 
 
 Whence pleasures ever rise ; 
 We'll form their minds with studious care 
 To all that's manly, good, and fair, 
 
 And train them for the skies. 
 
 While they our wisest hours engage. 
 They'll joy our youth, support our age, 
 
 And crown our hoaiy hairs ; 
 They grow in virtue every day, 
 And thus our fondest love repay. 
 
 And recompense our cares. 
 
 No borrowed joys ! they're all our own. 
 While to the world we live unknown. 
 
 Or by the world forgot. 
 Monarchs ! we envy not your state. 
 We look with pity on the great, 
 
 And bless our humble lot, 
 
HOME AND HAPPINESS. 57 
 
 Our portion is not large indeed, 
 But then how little do we need ; 
 
 For Nature's calls are few ! 
 In this the art of living Hes, 
 To want no more than may suffice, 
 
 And make that little do. 
 
 Nath. Cotton (1740)- 
 
 Domestic Happiness. 
 
 r\ HAPPY they ! the happiest of their kind ! 
 Whom gentler stars unite, and, in one fate. 
 
 Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. 
 
 'Tis not the coarser tie of human laws. 
 
 Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind, 
 
 That binds their peace, but harmony itself, 
 
 Attuning all their passions into love ; 
 
 Where Friendship full, exerts her softest power, 
 
 Perfect esteem, enliven'd by desire 
 
 Ineffable, and sympathy of soul : 
 
 Thought, meeting thought, and will, preventing will, 
 
 With boundless confidence : for nought but love 
 Can answer love, and render bliss secure. 
 
 What is the world to them, 
 
 Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all, 
 Who, in each other, clasp whatever fair. 
 High fancy, forms, and lavish hearts, can wish ? 
 Something than beauty dearer, should they look, 
 Or in the mind, or mind-illumined face ; 
 Truth, goodness, honour, harmony, and love, 
 The richest bounty of indulgent Heaven. 
 
68 HOME AND HAPPINESS. 
 
 Meantime, a smiling offspring rises round, 
 And mingles both their graces. By degrees. 
 The human blossom blows ; and every day, 
 Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm ; 
 The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom. 
 Then, infant reason grows apace, and calls 
 For the kind hand of an assiduous care. 
 Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought, 
 To teach the young idea how to shoot ; 
 To pour the fresh instmction o'er the mind ; 
 To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix 
 The generous purpose in the glowing breast ! 
 O, speak the joy ! ye, whom the sudden tear 
 Surprises often, while you look around, 
 And nothing strikes your eye but sights of bliss ! 
 AH various Nature pressing on the heart ! 
 An elegant sufficiency, content, 
 Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books, 
 Ease and alternate labour, useful life, 
 Progressive Virtue^ and approving Heaven. 
 These are the matchless joys of virtuous love ; 
 And thus their moments fly. The Seasons thus, 
 As, ceaseless round a jarring world they roll, 
 Still find them happy ; and consenting Spring 
 Sheds her own rosy garland on their heads : 
 When, after the long vernal day of life, 
 Enamoured more, as more resemblance swells, 
 With many a proof of recollected love 
 Together down they sink in social sleep ; 
 Together freed, their gentle spirits fly 
 To scenes where love and bliss immortal reign. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
HOME AND HAPPINESS. 
 
 My Own Fireside, 
 
 T ET others seek for empty joys 
 
 At ball or concert, rout or play ; 
 Whilst far from Fashion's idle noise, 
 
 Her gilded domes and trappings gay — 
 I while the wintry eve away, 
 
 'Twixt book and lute the hours divide, 
 And marvel how I e'er could stray 
 
 From thee, my own Fireside ! 
 
 My own Fireside ! Those simple words 
 
 Can bid the sweetest dreams arise ; 
 Awaken Feeling's tenderest chords, 
 
 And fill with tears of joy my eyes ! 
 What is there my wild heart can prize, 
 
 That doth not in thy sphere abide. 
 Heart of my home-bred sympathies. 
 
 My own — my own Fireside \ 
 
 A gentle form is near me now ; 
 
 A small white hand is clasped in mine ; 
 I gaze upon her placid brow. 
 
 And ask, what joys can equal thine ! 
 A babe, whose beauty's half divine. 
 
 In sleep his mother's eyes doth hide ; 
 Where may love seek a fitter shrine 
 
 Than thou, my own Fireside \ 
 
 What care I for the sullen roar 
 
 Of winds without, that ravage earth ? 
 It doth but bid me prize the more 
 
 The shelter of thy hallowed hearth ; 
 To thoughts of quiet bliss give birth ; 
 
 Then let the churlish tempest chide — 
 It cannot check the blameless mirth 
 
 That glads my own Fireside ! 
 
 E 2 
 
60 HOME AND HAPPINESS. 
 
 My refuge ever from the storm 
 
 Of this world's passion, strife and care ; 
 Though thunderbolts the skies deform, 
 
 Their fury cannot reach me there. 
 There all is cheerful, calm, and fair — 
 
 Wrath, Malice, Envy, Strife, or Pride 
 Have never made their hated lair 
 
 By thee, my own Fireside ! 
 
 Thy precincts are a charmM ring 
 
 Where no harsh feeling dares intrude ; 
 Where life's vexations lose their sting — 
 
 Where even grief is half subdued ; 
 And Peace, the halcyon, loves to brood ; 
 
 Then let the pampered fool deride ; 
 I'll pay my debt of gratitude 
 
 To thee, my own Fireside ! 
 
 Shrine of my household deities ! 
 
 Fair scene of home's unsullied joys ! 
 To thee my burdened spirit flies, 
 ♦ When Fortune frowns or care annoys : 
 
 Thine is the bliss that never cloys ; 
 
 The smile whose truth hath oft been tried : 
 What, then, are this world's tinsel toys 
 
 To thee, my own Fireside ! 
 
 Oh ! may the yearnings, fond and sweet, 
 
 That bid my thoughts be all of thee, 
 Thus ever guide my wandering feet 
 
 To thy heart-soothing sanctuary ! 
 Whate'er my future years may be, 
 
 Let joy or grief my fate betide — 
 Be still an Eden bright to me, 
 
 My own — MY OWN Fireside ! 
 
 A. A. Watts. 
 
HOME AND HAPPINESS. 61 
 
 The Return, 
 
 npHE joys of " Home" have oft been told, 
 
 And sung in many a gifted strain ; 
 Yet, can the theme e'er grow so old 
 As not inspire again ? 
 
 Again — O yes ! and oft again 
 
 The hai-p shall tune so fond a lay ; 
 It is (like Love) too sweet a strain 
 
 To ever die away ! 
 
 Leave it awhile, a little while. 
 
 And from your kindred dwell apart, 
 
 From social bliss, affection's smile, 
 How lonely feels the heart 1 
 
 If in a stranger-land ye be, 
 
 And roaming 'neath a brighter sky, 
 
 What dwells so dear in memory. 
 What wakes so fond a sigh — 
 
 As absent " Home" restored to thee 1 
 Each simple object seems more dear ; 
 
 The heart then tastes felicity 
 In all we see and hear ! 
 
 To meet again the smile of Love, 
 
 And Friendship's gentle hand to press ; 
 
 The fond salute where'er we move, 
 While all things seem to bless ! 
 
 It is a theme might well prolong 
 The Poet's best and choicest lay ; 
 
 But mine can only breathe the song 
 Of joy, to hail the day. 
 
HOME Ai\D HAPPINESS. 
 
 I meet again " my own Fireside !" 
 
 In bliss or woe, or health or pain, 
 With thee I'll evermore abide, 
 
 Nor lose thy sweets again. 
 
 Mrs. Emmerson. 
 
 The Way to be Happy, 
 
 A HERMIT there was, and he lived in a grot, 
 And the way to be happy they said he had got. 
 As I wanted to learn it, I went to his cell. 
 And when I came there the old hermit said " Well, 
 Young man, by your looks you want something, I see ; 
 Now tell me the business that brings you to nie." 
 
 " The way to be happy they say you have got, 
 And as I want to learn it I've come to your grot. 
 Now I beg and entreat, if you have such a plan, 
 That you'll write it me down as plain as you can.'* 
 Upon which the old hermit went to his pen, 
 And brought me this note when he came back again :- 
 
 *' 'Tis being, and doing, and havhig, that make 
 All the pleasures and pains human beings partake. 
 To be what God pleases, to do a man's best. 
 And to have a good heart, is the way to be blest /" 
 
 Hedven on Earth, 
 
 ^npHE Heaven we pray for would be here 
 
 If each would bravely do his part 
 To crown with joy one cheerless home — 
 To crown with love one human heart. 
 
HOME AND HAPPINESS. 63 
 
 Duly Leads to Happiness, 
 
 TJIGHER, higher let us climb 
 
 Up the mount of glory, 
 That our names may live through time 
 
 In our countiy's stoiy ; 
 Happy when our Duty calls, 
 He who conquers — he who falls. 
 
 Deeper, deeper let us toil 
 
 In the mines of knowledge ; 
 Nature's wealth and Nature's spoil 
 
 Win from school and college. 
 Delve we then for richer gems 
 Than the stars of diadems. 
 
 Onward, onward let us press 
 
 Through the path of duty ; 
 Virtue is true happiness. 
 
 Excellence true beauty. 
 Minds are of celestial birth. 
 Make we then a heaven of earth. 
 
 Closer, closer let us knit 
 
 Hearts and hands together. 
 Where our fireside comforts sit 
 
 In the wildest weather. 
 Oh ! they wander wide who roam 
 For the sweets of life from home ! 
 
 Smythe. 
 
64 HOME AND HAPPINESS. 
 
 Dulce Domum, A Fragmentary Sketch on 
 Pleasure and Happiness, 
 
 A S it is impossible for the human imagination to form the 
 faintest idea of any additional sense to those which we 
 already possess, so it is impossible to conceive of any degree of 
 happiness which shall not be in connection with our present 
 feelings and faculties, and in harmony with them. Our very 
 highest ideas of happiness, in any state, are invariably and 
 inevitably associated with and restricted to our present sensa- 
 tional and emotional states, and cannot by any possibility 
 transcend those states. We cannot even wish or desire to 
 procure happiness otherwise than through the medium of our 
 present mental, moral, and physical organisms. Our highest 
 ideas of happiness are only to be realised by means of circum- 
 stances which will enable us to secure the healthy and 
 pleasurable activity of all the faculties of our nature, sensa- 
 tional and intellectual. 
 
 Health and happiness are convertible terms. Perfect health 
 is perfect happiness, and perfect happiness is perfect health. 
 No organ or faculty can be kept in perfect health without a 
 fiill measure of activity or exercise, and this full measui-e of 
 activity or exercise is the only means of obtaining the highest 
 degree of the purest and most pleasurable states of conscious- 
 ness of which each individual organ or faculty is susceptible ; 
 and this is the highest state of happiness which mankind can 
 realise, or of which they can form any conception. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Whatever the most stoical philosophy may utter to the con- 
 trary, it is nevertheless a fact that we are the creatures of 
 impulse, the puppets of our feelings. It is no objection to 
 this statement to say that we are guided by our judgment, 
 because our judgments themselves are invariably influenced by 
 
HOME AND HAPPINESS. 65 
 
 our feelings. This appears to be a law of our nature which 
 cannot be abrogated ; consequently, in all our so-called volun- 
 taiy actions we are inevitably governed by our feelings. Our 
 joys and our sorrows are precisely in proportion to the delicacy 
 or coarseness of our nervous systems, and to the careful or 
 careless training to which they have been subjected. 
 
 Those who possess the most susceptible temperaments and 
 the most acute sensibility are precisely those who experience 
 the highest degrees of happiness from amicable associations. 
 And by the same rule, the more we cultivate our feelings and 
 purify our tastes, the moi^e intensely do we participate in the 
 happiness of congenial spirits, and the more do we overflow 
 in our desires and capabilities to communicate happiness to 
 others. 
 
 But this picture unfortunately has its reverse. Just as in 
 the great external world, where the sun shines clearest and 
 brightest, there the shadows are deepest and darkest, so, in the 
 internal world of human consciousness, where the pleasures are 
 the most refined, and the happiness the most exquisite, there 
 the sorrow is the heaviest, and there the clouds of calamity 
 throw their darkest shades. 
 
 "The heart that is soonest alive to the flowers 
 Is always the first to be touched by the thorns." 
 
 That the warm and genial rays of the moral and intellectual 
 sun which vivify and brighten our universe of thought and 
 feeling should be so often intercepted by the sombre and 
 chilling mists of disappointment and adversity, is entirely 
 owing to the noxious exhalations which are incessantly arising 
 from the stagnant marshes of ignorance — that is to say (in 
 literal phrase), our pains, our griefs, and adversities are by no 
 means essential constituents of human existence ; they are 
 wholly and solely the monstrous offspring of our own ig- 
 norance. It is to the shallowness and imperfection of our 
 knowledge on the most important laws and principles of 
 
66 HOME AND HAPPINESS. 
 
 human nature, and of the proper means of obtaining true 
 happiness, that we are to attribute those injurious manners, 
 customs, and habits, which not only lessen and destroy our 
 happiness, but actually, in thousands of cases, prevent its 
 coming into existence. 
 
 In fact, our ignorance is so intense that by far the great 
 majority of both men and women have no just idea of what 
 true happiness consists. They waste their time in an eager 
 pursuit of vain and frivolous amusements, falsely called plea- 
 sures, which produce a feverish excitement for the moment, 
 and the result of which is a gradual mental degradation, and, 
 in general, an inveterate and increasing distate for all intellectual 
 and ennobling pursuits. 
 
 As long as our present loose and imperfect systems of 
 education prevail, which set up such a low standard of 
 morality and happiness, we cannot expect much amelioration 
 in our social condition. Social, and indeed every other, 
 amelioration depends entirely upon education ; not a meagre 
 pounds shillings and pence education, but a thorough education 
 of the feelings, as well as the intellect, by which a Temple of 
 Virtue shall be erected in eveiy heart, based upon the immutable 
 principles of truth and justice. 
 
 Every individual who has the desire may become a promoter 
 of this grand object, simply by an earnest endeavour to acquire 
 true and useful knowledge, as far as capabilities and circum- 
 stances will allow. By this facile and pleasant means we shall 
 infallibly diminish prejudice, and induce the formation of more 
 correct habits, both of thought and action, and at the same 
 time we shall be enabled to communicate and spread superior 
 knowledge among those with whom we associate, and set a 
 superior example to all those with whom we come in contact. 
 This is, indeed, the best and most effectual education, which 
 we ought by all means to foster and increase. It is cheering 
 to think that all (who can and w///) 7nay do this to some 
 extent, wherever they are, or however they may be situated. 
 
HOME AND HAPPINESS. 67 
 
 It is wholly by the teachings and example of the few wise and 
 good that the world does improve at all. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Knoivkdge is the groundwork of virtue, and virtue is the 
 foundation of happiness ; but this divine trinity can only be 
 blended into a perfect unity in the consecrated area of the 
 domestic circle. The purest happiness is to be obtained, and 
 the most soothing alleviations of affliction are to be experienced, 
 only in the domestic associations, where kindness and affection 
 have unrestrained sway. 
 
 A multitude (whatever name we may give it) does not 
 contain the requirements of happiness. We go to concerts, 
 theatres, balls, or lectures for amusement, excitement, or 
 pleasure, and to receive information ; and doubtless all these 
 may be very good in their proper time and place, and may 
 fiirnish the elements of happiness, just as food, and fresh air, 
 and exercise are good in their proper quantities and qualities, 
 and form the elements of health ; but as food, air, and the 
 rest are not health itself, but only the elements or means, just 
 so theatres, or lectures, or any kind of knowledge, or all kinds 
 of knowledge put together, are not happiness, but only the 
 elements of happiness, or the means by which happiness may 
 be attained. And as those who place their chief delight in 
 sensual indulgence miss their way to health in mistaking the 
 means for the end, just so those who expend their highest 
 energies in a continual round of external excitement miss their 
 way to happiness by the same lamentable mistake. 
 
 Pleasure and happiness are two terms which are very 
 generally confounded, being vaguely used indifferently to con- 
 vey the same idea. But a thoughtful consideration will show 
 that they do in reality designate two perceptibly distinct states. 
 Pleasure consists in motion, change, excitement, variety; 
 happiness consists in quietness, tranquillity, and repose. There 
 is pleasure in the sublime ; happiness in the beautiful. There 
 is pleasure in overcoming difficulties; happiness in enjoying 
 
68 HOME AND HAPPINESS. 
 
 the results. It may, however, be observed that, between the 
 two extremes of energetic action and complete repose, there 
 may be a countless variety of gradations in which pleasure may 
 be so modified by an admixture of the elements of happiness, 
 and happiness so blended with the special characteristics of 
 pleasure, that it may be extremely difficult in some cases to 
 draw the line of demarcation. 
 
 Thus — there is a very similar relation between all the 
 various systems of the human organism ; when, for instance, 
 we examine the organs and functions of the circulation we 
 are insensibly led to those of respiration ; when we study the 
 vascular system, we are unavoidably drawn to the muscular ; 
 and the muscular leads us by imperceptible gradations to the 
 nervous. 
 
 Just so it is with pleasure and happiness ; although they 
 impinge upon each other at a thousand points, they are yet 
 by no means identical ; the essentials of pleasure are variety 
 and excitement ; the essentials of happiness are tranquillity 
 and repose. Pleasure is a bold, impetuous Nymph, pre- 
 senting a myriad aspects of noise, and commotion, and mirth, 
 and may be successfully sought at all times and in all places ; 
 but Happiness is a veiled goddess, timid and reserved, and 
 the only temple where she may be worshipped is within the 
 calm and holy precincts of the domestic circle. 
 
 A small, affectionate group of intelligent and congenial 
 souls forms the only assemblage in which ti-ue happiness can 
 be found. 
 
 Our endeavours ought certainly to be, as far as our means 
 and talents will reach, to benefit mankind generally, but our 
 moral and intellectual powers will never be in a state to enable 
 us to accomplish this effectually, unless our surroundings are 
 such as to give full development and activity to the kindly 
 sympathies of a cherished home. Certain it is, that happiness 
 will never prevail until every human being has attained to the 
 full enjoyment of domestic affections. 
 
SECTION III. 
 
 Faith, Hope, and Charity, 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION III. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The Light of Stars . 
 
 
 
 
 71 
 
 Footsteps of Angels . 
 
 
 
 
 72 
 
 Better Things 
 
 
 
 
 74 
 
 Song of Hope 
 
 
 
 
 75 
 
 Weary not in Well Doing 
 
 
 
 
 77 
 
 Active Christian Benevolence the 
 
 Source oi 
 
 
 Sublime and Lasting Happiness 
 
 
 78 
 
 The Log Floats on the Tide 
 
 
 . 80 
 
 They Say that Hope is Happiness 
 
 
 81 
 
 Do the Thing Well . 
 
 
 . 82 
 
 Nothing is Lost 
 
 
 
 83 
 
 The Heart and the Tongue 
 
 
 
 85 
 
 Speak Gently 
 
 
 
 86 
 
 Revenge of Injuries 
 
 
 
 87 
 
 Deal Gently with the Erring 
 
 
 
 89 
 
 Let us Speak the Best we Can 
 
 
 
 90 
 
 Slander .... 
 
 
 
 91 
 
 Envy and Detraction . 
 
 
 
 
 91 
 
 Religion — What is it ? 
 
 
 
 
 92 
 
 Unkind Reflections 
 
 
 
 
 • 93 
 
 Smile upon the Fallen 
 
 
 
 
 94 
 
 Who is my Neighbour ? 
 
 
 
 
 95 
 
 Charity 
 
 
 
 
 96 
 
 Things Requisite 
 
 
 
 
 97 
 
 Be Kind 
 
 
 
 
 98 
 
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY, 
 
 l!he Light of Stars. 
 
 ^ \ "'HE night is come, but not too soon ; 
 
 And sinking silently, 
 All silently, the silver moon 
 Drops down behind the sky. 
 
 There is no light in earth or heaven, 
 
 But the cold light of stars ; 
 And the first watch of night is given 
 
 To the red planet Mars. 
 
 Is it the tender star of Love ? 
 
 The star of love and dreams ? 
 O no ! from that blue tent above 
 
 A hero's armour gleams. 
 
 And earnest thoughts within me rise, 
 
 When I behold afar, 
 Suspended in the evening skies, 
 
 The shield of that red star. 
 
 O star of strength ! I see thee stand 
 
 And smile upon my pain ; 
 Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, 
 
 And I am strong again. 
 
72 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY, 
 
 Within my breast there is no light, 
 But the cold light of stars ; 
 
 I give the first watch of the night 
 To the red planet Mars. 
 
 The star of the unconquered will, 
 
 He rises in my breast. 
 Serene, and resolute, and still, 
 
 And calm, and self-possessed. 
 
 And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art. 
 That readest this brief psalm. 
 
 As one by one thy hopes depart. 
 Be resolute and calm. 
 
 O fear not, in a world like this. 
 And thou shalt know, ere long. 
 
 Know how sublime a thing it is 
 To suffer and be strong. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 Footsteps of Angels, 
 
 "\T7'HEN the hours of day are numbered, 
 
 And the voices of the night 
 Wake the better soul that slumbered 
 To a holy calm delight ; 
 
 Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
 And, like phantoms grim and tall. 
 
 Shadows from the fitful firelight 
 Dance upon the parlour wall ; 
 
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 73 
 
 Then the forms of the departed 
 
 Enter at the open door — 
 The beloved, the true-hearted, 
 
 Come to visit me once more. 
 
 He, the young and strong, who cherished 
 
 Noble longings for the strife, 
 By the roadside fell and perished. 
 
 Weary with the march of life ! 
 
 They, the holy ones and weakly, 
 
 Who the cross of suffering bore, 
 Folded their pale hands so meekly — 
 
 Spoke with us on earth no more. 
 
 And with them the Being Beauteous, 
 
 Who unto my youth was given, 
 More than all things else to love me. 
 
 And is now a saint in heaven. 
 
 With a slow and noiseless footstep 
 
 Comes that messenger divine ; 
 Takes the vacant chair beside me ; 
 
 Lays her gentle hand on mine. 
 
 And she sits and gazes at me 
 
 With those deep and tender eyes. 
 Like the stars so still and saint-like, 
 
 Looking downward from the skies. 
 
 Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
 
 Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, 
 Soft rebukes in blessing ended. 
 
 Breathing from her lips of air. 
 
 O ! though oft depressed and lonely — 
 
 All my fears are laid aside, 
 If I but remember only — 
 
 Such as these have lived and died ! 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
74 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 
 
 Better Things, 
 
 T^ETTER things shall come to pass — 
 
 When the reign of pride shall cease throughout the 
 
 world, 
 When the rule of selfishness is downward hurled, 
 When the light of knowledge shines in every heart. 
 And the clouds of prejudice, thrown back, depart — 
 Then may men look up again, 
 
 And behold, as in a glass. 
 This inspiring tmth revealed, 
 Better things have come to pass. 
 
 Better things shall come to pass — 
 
 When to man his fellow-man shall kindly turn, 
 When the flame of mutual love shall brightly burn. 
 When might's fetter, by its light, shall be riven. 
 And the mind debased becomes more like heaven — 
 Then may men look up again. 
 
 And behold, as in a glass. 
 This inspiring truth revealed. 
 Better things have come to pass. 
 
 Better things shall come to pass — 
 
 When the weak become the strong— aye, strong in tmth, 
 When wisdom guides old age, and glory youth. 
 When the wilful blind shall see, each face to face, 
 A.nd the bitterest foes are clasped in fond embrace — 
 Then may men look up again, 
 
 And behold, as in a glass. 
 This inspiring truth revealed. 
 Better things have come to pass. 
 
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 1\ 
 
 Better things shall come to pass — 
 
 When the happiness of all, and not the few, 
 Shall lead the rich ones of the earth to think and do, 
 When our prisons vainly wait to strengthen crime, 
 And the last in workhouse walls has spent his time — 
 Then may men look up again, 
 
 And behold, as in a glass. 
 This inspiring truth revealed. 
 
 Better things have come to pass. 
 
 Better things shall come to pass — 
 
 When the law of love prevails o'er all the earth. 
 When justice and forbearance spring to birth. 
 When men shall strive together and contend 
 O'er power, scorn, fear, to gain life's noblest end — 
 Then may men look up again, 
 
 And behold, as in a glass. 
 This inspiring truth revealed, 
 Better things have come to pass. 
 
 G. LiNN^us Banks. 
 
 So72g of Hope, 
 
 npHE light of brighter days is dawning 
 
 O'er time's great ocean way. 
 And Love's own gentle breath is fanning 
 
 The tempests of the day. 
 Though gloomy war is now appearing 
 
 To stir oppression's blaze. 
 Good men with hopeful hearts are cheering 
 
 The light of brighter days. 
 
76 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 
 
 The days of war are in their gloaming, 
 
 And peace smiles sweetly on 
 The light of happy ages coming, 
 
 Eclipsing others gone. 
 The world's great minstrel bards are singing 
 
 Their pure progressive lays, 
 And all the living world is clinging 
 
 To hopes of brighter days. 
 
 The voice of truth is boldly speaking 
 
 In deep pathetic tones, 
 And men long tired with strife are seeking 
 
 The boon that Labour owns. 
 The hearts that have so long been slighted, 
 
 Wandering sorrow's ways. 
 With fond anticipations blighted, 
 
 Now sigh for brighter days. 
 
 The world goes onward, still progressing, 
 
 And onward still must go. 
 Till Love's own sacred balm and blessing 
 
 Have banished war and woe. 
 Let every man be up and doing. 
 
 Our fear no sorrow stays — 
 The land that dreads the grasp of ruin 
 
 Must strive for brighter days. 
 
 J. Peacock. 
 
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 77 
 
 Weary ?iot in Well-doing, 
 
 ly/TAN ! thou must not seek for rest 
 
 Until thy task be done ; 
 Thou must not lay thy burthen down 
 Till setting of the sun. 
 
 Thou must not weary of the life, 
 
 Nor scorn the lowly lot, 
 Nor cease to work, because such work 
 
 Thy neighbour prizes not. 
 
 Thou must not let thy heart grow cold, 
 Nor hush each generous tone, 
 
 Nor veil the bright love in thine eye : 
 Thou must not live alone. 
 
 When others strive, thou too must help, 
 
 And answer when they call : 
 That power to love God gave to thee 
 
 Thou must employ for all. 
 
 " Freedom and Rest" thou wouldest have 
 
 Freedom is service meet, 
 And rest of soul is but a name 
 
 For toil amid life's heat. 
 
 Unmoved to gaze upon the strife 
 
 Is not true liberty : 
 To others thou must minister, 
 
 Wouldst thou be tryilj free. 
 
 In the outward world 'tis vain to seek 
 The Eden thou wouldst win ; 
 
 That ancient paradise is gone. 
 Thine Eden is within. 
 
78 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 
 
 Active Christian Benevolence^ the Source of 
 Sublime and Lasting Happiness, 
 
 TTT'OULDST thou from sorrow find a sweet relief? 
 
 Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold ? 
 Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief? 
 Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold ? 
 'Tis when the rose is wrapt in many a fold 
 Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there 
 Its life and beauty ; not when, all unfurled. 
 Leaf after leaf, its bosom, rich and fair, 
 Breathes freely its perfumes throughout the ambient air. 
 
 Wake, thou that sleepest in enchanted bowers, 
 Lest these lost years should haunt thee on the night 
 When Death is waiting for thy numbered hours 
 To take their swift and everlasting flight ; 
 Wake, ere the earth-born charm unnerve thee quite, 
 And be thy thoughts to work divine addressed ; 
 Do something — do it soon — with all thy might: 
 An angel's wing would droop if long at rest. 
 And God Himself, inactive, were no longer blest. 
 
 Some high or humble enterprise of good 
 
 Contemplate, till it shall possess thy mind. 
 
 Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food. 
 
 And kindle in thy heart a flame refined. 
 
 Pray Heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind 
 
 To this thy purpose — to begin, pursue. 
 
 With thoughts all fixed, and feelings purely kind ; 
 
 Strength to complete, and with delight review, 
 
 And grace to give the praise where all is ever due. 
 
 No good of worth sublime will Heaven permit 
 To light on man as from the passing air ; 
 The lamp of genius though by Nature lit. 
 If not protected, pruned, and fed with care, 
 
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 79 
 
 Soon dies, or runs to waste with fitful glare ; 
 And learning is a plant that spreads and towers 
 Slow as Columbia's aloe, proudly rare, 
 That, 'mid gay thousands, with the suns and showers 
 Of half a century, grows alone before it flowers. 
 
 Has immortality of name been given 
 
 To them that idly worship hills and groves. 
 
 And burn sweet incense to the Queen of Heaven ? 
 
 Did Newton learn from Fancy, as it roves. 
 
 To measure worlds, and follow where each moves ? 
 
 Did Howard gain renown that shall not cease 
 
 By wanderings wild that Nature's pilgrim loves ? 
 
 Or did Paul gain Heaven's glory and its peace. 
 
 By musing o'er the bright and tranquil isles of Greece ? 
 
 Beware, lest thou, from sloth, that would appear 
 
 But lowliness of mind, with joy proclaim 
 
 The want of worth ; a charge thou couldst not bear 
 
 From other lips, without a blush of shame. 
 
 Or Pride indignant : then be thine the blame 
 
 And make thyself of worth ; and thus enlist 
 
 The smiles of all the good, the dear to fame ; 
 
 'Tis infamy to die and not be missed, 
 
 Or let all soon forget that thou didst e'er exist. 
 
 Rouse to some work of high and holy love. 
 
 And thou an angel's happiness shalt know — 
 
 Shalt bless the earth while in the world above ; 
 
 The good begun by thee shall onward flow 
 
 In many a branching stream, and wider grow ; 
 
 The seed that in these few and fleeting hours. 
 
 Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sow. 
 
 Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers. 
 
 And yield the fraits divine in Heaven's immortal bowers 
 
80 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 
 
 The Log Floats oti the Tide, 
 
 'npHE proverbs of our nation fitly hold 
 
 The wisdom, wit, by which the world's controlled ; 
 And happy is the man, and nation too, 
 That squares each action by their precepts true. 
 They, in their compass small, can urge the soul 
 To tread through flood and flame to glory's goal ; 
 Can win to virtue — brand the murderer's guilt 
 With dye more hideous than the blood he spilt — 
 But if there's one more potent than the rest, 
 Whose influence great the world has truly blest, 
 'Tis this — but oh, the blow it gives to pride ! — 
 " The log floats only with the rushing tide." 
 
 " The rushing tide" — why yes, dost startle thee ? 
 Look at the swimmer in an angry sea, 
 See how his arm will cleave the waters wild, 
 And breast their fuiy, though like mountains piled. 
 See how he shoots beyond the floating wreck, 
 In distance almost lost. A rising speck, 
 He mounts the wave the floating wreck will cast 
 High on the shore to whiten in the blast. 
 Away — away, across the heaving main. 
 Nor backward turns to view the wat'ry plain. 
 The swimmer speeds, and sings o'er waters wide, 
 " The log floats only with the rushing tide." 
 
 The sea is life, the swimmer strong will brave, 
 The log's the wreck, that floats a passive slave. 
 On every tide of folly, vice, and pride. 
 The world stamps " current," and its fools provide. 
 
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 81 
 
 Arise ! with Luther, Fulton, boldly fight. 
 
 The world's wide millions leagued 'gainst tnith and right. 
 
 Assert the dignity of man, and truth 
 
 Will bind the brows of hoary age, and youth 
 
 Will prove when danger, death, their courage tried. 
 
 They're " Men," not " Logs," upon life's rushing tide. 
 
 Ryhope Colliery, Excelsior. 
 
 They say that Hope is Happiness, 
 
 npHEY say that Hope is Happiness : 
 
 But genuine Love must prize the past. 
 And Memoiy wakes the thoughts that bless : 
 They rose the first — they set the last. 
 . And all that Memory loves the most 
 Was once our only hope to be ; 
 And all that Hope adored and lost 
 Hath melted into Memoiy. 
 
 Alas ! it is delusion all : 
 
 The future cheats us from afar ; 
 Nor can we be what we recall — 
 
 Nor dare we think on what we are. 
 
 Byron. 
 
82 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 
 
 Do the Thing Well 
 
 "P\0 the thing well, whatever you do ! 
 
 Or darning a stocking, or cobbling a shoe, 
 Or cleaning a drain, or sweeping the street, — 
 Do the thing well, and do it complete. 
 
 Ever remember that honour is won 
 
 Less by what is, than how it is done ; 
 
 Noble natures ennoble the homeliest toil. 
 
 Love filling their labours with sunshine the while. 
 
 Do the thing well, and do with your might, 
 Whate'er comes to hand that's useful and right ; 
 We grow up beyond what is worthily wrought, — 
 Mean labour sinks down to a meaner thought. 
 
 Shrink not from hardship ; the faint heart that cowers 
 From facing the wind, or meeting the showers. 
 Can never grow up to that sturdy strength 
 The brave-hearted win from their labours at length. 
 
 Never grudge labour ; — pains taking still, 
 In giving the finish, gaineth the skill : 
 Our future grows up from the tiniest seeds 
 Scattered around us in e very-day deeds. 
 
 The Present weaves up from the acts of to-day, 
 Habits that cleave to our life all the way ; 
 The shackles that bind us for many a year, 
 We rivet on willingly now, and here. 
 
 In the Future, the spirit may struggle in vain 
 To rend itself loos.: from the galling chain ; 
 The slothful man's lion, that lurks in our path, 
 If we flee from him now, may hunt us to death. 
 
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 83 
 
 He who Is faithful in Uttle, we know, 
 
 Up to the height of a kingdom shall grow ; 
 
 While he who stands trifling, 'mid life's little things, 
 
 All his wealth flits away upon vanity's wings. 
 
 Then, Youth in thy freedom, and Strength in thy 
 
 power, 
 Chain now to thy seiTice the swift-passing hour ; 
 Fix it a gem in thy future's fair crown, 
 By faithfulness make eveiy moment thine own. 
 
 B. H. F. 
 
 Nothing is Lost, 
 
 "VrOTHING is lost ; the drop of dew 
 
 Which trembles on the leaf or flower 
 Is but exhaled to fall anew 
 
 In summer's thunder shower ; 
 Perchance to shine within the bow 
 
 That fronts the sun at fall of day ; 
 Perchance to sparkle in the flow 
 
 Of fountains far away. 
 
 Nought lost, for e'en the tiniest seed. 
 
 By wild birds borne or breezes blown. 
 Finds something suited to its need 
 
 Where'er 'tis sown and grown ; 
 Perchance finds sustenance and soil 
 
 In some remote and desert place. 
 Or 'mid the crowded home of toil 
 
 Sheds usefulness and grace. 
 
84 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 
 
 The touching tones of minstrel art, 
 
 The breathings of the mournful flute, 
 Which we have heard with listening heart. 
 
 Are not extinct when mute ; 
 The language of some household song, 
 
 The perfume of some cherished flower. 
 Though gone from outward sense, belong 
 
 To memoiy's after hour. 
 
 So with our words, or harsh, or kind. 
 
 Uttered, they are not all forgot ; 
 They leave their influence on the mind. 
 
 Pass on, but perish not. 
 As they are spoken, so they fall 
 
 Upon the spirit spoken to. 
 Scorch it like di'ops of burning gall. 
 
 Or soothe like honey-dew. 
 
 So with our deeds — for good or ill 
 
 They have a power scarce understood ; 
 Then let us use our better will 
 
 To make them rife with good. 
 Like circles on a lake they go. 
 
 Ring within ring, and never stay ; 
 O that our deeds were fashioned so 
 
 That they might bless alway ! 
 
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 
 
 The Heart and the Tongue, 
 
 ''npIS a singular thing, said the Tongue, 
 That you must each accent delay ; 
 I think, if I utter no wrong, 
 
 Tou need not remark what I say : 
 If all things must come from the Heart, 
 
 Pray how is the Tongue to succeed ? 
 If people must speak by the chart, 
 
 They must speak veiy little indeed ! 
 
 When the Heart its chief minhter heard 
 
 Thus its rule and its counsel disclaim. 
 It throbbed, without breathing a word. 
 
 And burned with a feeling like shame ! 
 Then a spirit arose that, though mute, 
 
 Thrilled with language so truthful and plain, 
 That the Tongue could no longer dispute. 
 
 But knew that rebellion was vain ! 
 
 Far better, it sighed, not to speak ; 
 
 Far better inactive the Tongue — 
 Than to call forth a blush on the cheek. 
 
 Or the weak and the friendless to wrong ! 
 The words which the feelings suggest. 
 
 Which affection and friendship impart. 
 These come to the Tongue from the breast. 
 
 And that breast is the throne of the Heart. 
 
 Then assist — where assistance is kind ; 
 
 Protect — and thy mission be blest ; 
 Leave deceit and delusion behind. 
 
 And defend to the last the oppressed ! 
 
86 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 
 
 Guard thy honour as though 'twere a dower 
 That the Angels bestowed on thy youth ; 
 
 xVnd, oh ! matchless and great as thy power, 
 Be matchless thy kindness and truth ! 
 
 Speak Gently, 
 
 C PEAK gently ! It is better far 
 
 To rule by love than fear — 
 Speak gently — let not harsh words mar 
 The good we might do here ! 
 
 Speak gently ! Love doth whisper low 
 The vows that true hearts bind ; 
 
 And gently Friendship's accents flow ; 
 Affection's voice is kind. 
 
 Speak gently to the little child ! 
 
 Its love be sure to gain ! 
 Teach it in accents soft and mild — ■ 
 
 It may not long remain. 
 
 Speak gently to the young, for they 
 Will have enough to bear — 
 
 Pass through this life as best they may, 
 'Tis full of anxious care ! 
 
 Speak gently to the aged one, 
 Grieve not the care-worn heart ! 
 
 The sands of life are nearly run — 
 Let such in peace depart ! 
 
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 87 
 
 Speak gently, kindly, to the poor ; 
 
 Let no harsh tone be heard ; 
 They have enough they must endure, 
 
 Without an unkind word ! 
 
 Speak gently to the erring — know, 
 
 They must have toiled in vain ; 
 Perchance unkindness made them so ; 
 
 O win them back again ! 
 
 Speak gently ! He who gave His life 
 
 To bend man's stubborn will, 
 When elements were in fierce strife, 
 
 Said to them, " Peace be still." 
 
 Speak gently ! 'Tis a little thing 
 
 Dropped in the heart's deep well ; 
 The good, the joy which it may bring, 
 
 Eternity shall tell. 
 
 Revenge of Injuries, 
 
 npHE fairest action of our human life 
 Is scorning to revenge an injury ; 
 For who forgives without a further strife 
 His adversaries' heart to him doth tie. 
 And *tis a firmer conquest, truly said, 
 To win the heart, than overthrow the head. 
 
 If we a worthy enemy do find, 
 
 To yield to worth it must be nobly done ; 
 But if of baser metal be his mind, 
 
 In base revenge there is no honour won : 
 Who would a worthy courage overthrow, 
 And who would wrestle with a worthless foe ? 
 
88 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 
 
 We say our hearts are great, and cannot yield ; 
 
 Because they cannot yield, it proves them poor : 
 Great hearts are tasked beyond their power but seld : 
 
 The weakest lion will the loudest roar. 
 Truth's school for certain doth this same allow, 
 Great-heartedness doth sometimes teach to bow. 
 
 A noble heart doth teach a virtuous scorn ; 
 
 To scorn to owe a duty over long ; 
 To scorn to be for benefits forborne ; 
 
 To scorn to lie, to scorn to do a wrong ; 
 To scorn to bear an injuiy in mind ; 
 To scorn a free-born heart slave-like to bind. 
 
 But if for wrongs we needs revenge must have, 
 Then be our vengeance of the noblest kind : 
 
 Do we his body from our fury save. 
 
 And let our hate prevail against our mind. 
 
 What can against him greater vengeance be 
 
 Than make his foe more worthy far than he ? 
 
 Lady Elizabeth Carew 
 
 (Born in i6th century). 
 
 Diogenes being asked how one should be revenged of his 
 enemies, answered — " By being a virtuous and an honest 
 man." It costs more to revenge injuries than to bear them. 
 And, moreover, revenge never repairs an injury. 
 
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 81> 
 
 Deal Gently with the Erring, 
 
 TTXEAL gently with the erring! 
 Ye know not of the power 
 With which the dark temptation came 
 
 In some unguarded hour. 
 Ye may not know how earnestly 
 
 He struggled, or how well, 
 Until the hour of darkness came, 
 
 And sadly thus he fell. 
 
 Think kindly of the erring ! 
 
 Oh, do not thou forget. 
 However darkly stained by sin, 
 
 He is thy brother yet. 
 Heir of the self-same heritage. 
 
 Child of the self-same God ; 
 He hath but stumbled in the path 
 
 Thou hast in weakness trod. 
 
 Speak gently to the erring ! 
 
 For is it not enough 
 That innocence and peace have gone, 
 
 Without thy censure rough ? 
 Sure it must be a weary lot 
 
 That sin-cmshed heart to bear ; 
 And they who have a happier fate, 
 
 Their chidings well may spare. 
 
 Oh ! kindly help the erring ! 
 
 Thou yet mayest lead him back. 
 With gracious words and tones of love. 
 
 From misery's thorny track. 
 
90 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 
 
 Forget not, thou hast often sinned, 
 
 And sinful yet may be : 
 Deal gently with the erring one. 
 
 As God hath dealt with thee ! 
 
 Woodman. 
 
 Let us Speak the Best we Can, 
 
 "^TAY, speak no ill ! a kindly word 
 Can never leave a sting behind; 
 And oh ! to breathe each tale we've heard 
 
 Is far beneath a noble mind. 
 Full oft a better seed Is sown 
 
 By choosing thus the better plan : 
 For if but little good be known. 
 
 Still let us speak the best we can. 
 
 Give me the heart that fain would hide — 
 
 Would fain another's guilt efface : 
 How can it pleasure human pride 
 
 To prove humanity but base ? 
 No ; let us reach a higher mood — 
 
 A nobler estimate of man ; 
 Be earnest in the search of good. 
 
 And let us speak the best we can. 
 
 Then speak no ill, but lenient be 
 
 To others' failings as your own ; 
 If you're the first a fault to see, 
 
 Be you the last to make it known. 
 For life is but a passing day ; 
 
 No tongue may tell how brief its span : 
 Then, all the little time we stay. 
 
 Still let us speak the best we can. 
 
FAITH, UOPEy AND CHARITY. 91 
 
 Slander. 
 
 * I ^HERE Is a lust In man no charm can tame, 
 Of loudly publishing his neighbour's shame 
 On eagle's wings the Immortal slanders fly, 
 While virtuous actions are but born to die. 
 
 Envy and Detraction, 
 
 npHE following Reflections may serve to fortify our 
 minds against the malicious shafts of Envy and 
 Detraction : — 
 
 1. When any man speaks ill of us, we are to make use 
 of it as a cautiorij ivithout troubling ourselves at the 
 calumny. He is in a wretched case that values himself 
 upon other people's opinions, and depends upon their 
 judgment for the peace of his life. 
 
 2. He that values himself upon conscience never heeds re- 
 proaches. When I am ill spoken of, I take It thus : If I 
 have not deserved it, I am never the worse ; If I have 
 deserved It, I'll mend. 
 
 3. Plato, hearing that It was asserted by some persons that 
 he was a very bad man, said — " / shall take care to live 
 so that nobody tuill believe them.^' 
 
 4. // is a folly for an eminent man to think of escaping 
 censure; and a weakness to be affected by it. Fablus 
 Maximus said — "He was a greater coward that was 
 afraid of reproach than he who fled from his enemies." 
 
 5. A tuise man values himself upon the score of virtue, and 
 not of opinion ; and thinks himself neither better nor worse 
 
 for what others say of him. 
 
 G 2 
 
92 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY, 
 
 Religiofi—What Is It f 
 
 TS it to go to church to-day, 
 
 To look devout and seem to pray, 
 And ere the morrow's sun goes down 
 Be dealing slander through the town ? 
 
 Does every sanctimonious face 
 Denote the certain reign of grace ? 
 Does not a phiz that scolds at sin 
 Oft veil hypocrisy within ? 
 
 Is it to make our daily walk. 
 
 And of our own good deeds to talk, 
 
 Yet often practise secret crime. 
 
 And thus misspend our precious time ? 
 
 Is it for sect or creed to fight. 
 To call our zeal the rule of right. 
 When what we wish is at the best 
 To see our Church excel the rest ? 
 
 Is it to wear the Christian's dress. 
 And love to all mankind profess. 
 And treat with scorn the humble poor, 
 And bar against them every door ? 
 
 Oh, no, religion means not this ; 
 Its fruit more sweet and fairer is — 
 Its precept this, to others do 
 As you would have them do to you. 
 
 It grieves to hear all ill repoit. 
 And scorns with human woes to spoit— 
 Of others' deeds it speaks no ill, 
 But tells of good or keeps it still. 
 
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 93 
 
 And does religion this impart ? 
 Then may its influence fill my heart : 
 Oh ! haste that blissful, joyful day, 
 When all the earth may own its sway. 
 
 Bishop Heber. 
 
 Unkind Reflections, 
 
 ^^H ! never let us lightly fling 
 
 A barb of woe to wound another ; 
 Oh ! never let us haste to bring 
 The cup of sorrow to a brother. 
 
 Each has the power to wound ; but he 
 Who wounds that he may witness pain, 
 
 Has spumed the law of charity. 
 Which ne'er inflicts a pang in vain. 
 
 'Tis godlike to awaken joy, 
 
 Or sorrow's influence to subdue- 
 But not to wound, or to annoy. 
 Is part of virtue's lesson too. 
 
 Peace, born in fairer worlds above. 
 Shall lend her dawn to brighten this ; 
 
 Then all man's labour shall be love, 
 And all his aim his brother's bliss. 
 
 GiSBORNE. 
 
94 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 
 
 Smile upon the Fallen ! 
 
 /^H smile upon the fallen ! 
 
 It perchance may heal a smart ; 
 It may cause a ray of gladness 
 
 To warm a frozen heart ; 
 And cause a gloom to change into 
 
 A smile of other years, 
 When everything was happiness, 
 
 And all unknown were tears. 
 
 Oh smile upon the fallen ! 
 
 Think not, because *tis so. 
 That in their hearts no feelings live — 
 
 No sweet affections glow : 
 Think not, because their deeds were dark, 
 
 Guilt haunts their bosoms still ; 
 Remember thou, repentance true 
 
 The darkest heart may fill. 
 
 Oh smile upon the fallen ! 
 
 The heart that suffered scorn. 
 Though crushed, has better impulses ; 
 
 Though trampled on and torn. 
 May yet possess affections — kind 
 
 As hearts that ne'er have known 
 The pangs — the pains — the hopeless hours — 
 
 The fallen one may own. 
 
 Oh smile upon the fallen ! 
 
 Look kindly in their face : 
 There are plenty who can frown on them, 
 
 But few the smiles they trace. 
 Then why shouldst thou with frowns depress 
 
 When thou with smiles might cheer — 
 Smiles which might fill their hearts with hope. 
 
 And banish all their fear ? 
 
95 
 
 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 
 
 Oh smile upon the fallen ! 
 
 Who knows but from above 
 Bright angels may be looking on 
 
 With smiles of happy love ? 
 And then, perchance, the fallen one 
 
 May turn to wisdom's ways ; 
 His curses may be turned to prayers — 
 
 His hate be turned to praise. 
 
 Oh smile upon the fallen one ! 
 
 Remember, drooping flowers 
 Do raise their heads when suns do smile — 
 
 Are nourished by kind showers. 
 Then smile upon the fallen one. 
 
 It perchance may heal a smart ; 
 
 It may cause a ray of gladness 
 
 To warm the frozen heart. 
 
 John Allen. 
 
 Who is my Neighbour f 
 
 *T^HY Neighbour ? It is he whom thou 
 
 Hast power to aid and bless. 
 Whose aching heart, or burning brow, 
 Thy soothing hand may press. 
 
 Thy Neighbour ? 'Tis the fainting poor, 
 Whose eye with want is dim — 
 Whom hunger sends from door to door : 
 Go thou and succour him. 
 
 Thy Neighbour ? 'Tis that weary man. 
 Whose years are at their brim ; 
 
 Bent low with sickness, cares, and pain : 
 Go thou and comfort him. 
 
96 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 
 
 Thy Neighbour ? 'Tis the heart bereft 
 
 Of eveiy earthly gem ; 
 Widow and orphan, helpless left ; 
 
 Go thou and shelter them. 
 
 Thy Neighbour ? Yonder toiling slave, 
 Fettered in life and limb. 
 
 Whose hopes are all beyond the grave : 
 Go thou and ransom him. 
 
 Oh, pass not, pass not heedless by : 
 Perhaps thou canst redeem 
 
 The breaking heart from misery. 
 Oh share thy lot with him ! 
 
 Charity, 
 
 npHOU that impartest peace to the soul. 
 
 Calming the waves of strife's angry sea, 
 
 Thou that shouldst guide us. 
 
 When storms have tried us, 
 Blest be thy sweet voice, soft Charity ; 
 Though friends may fail us, and Fortune may flee. 
 Safe treads the footstep that's guided by thee. 
 
 Heaven, in thy presence, hallows the earth ; 
 From thy pure essence Hope has her birth : 
 He in whose bosom thou hast a home, 
 Teems, like the blossom, with fulness to come. 
 
 Come, thou that breathest calm o'er the soul ; 
 Stilling the waves of strife's angiy sea ; 
 
 Thou that shouldst guide us. 
 
 When storms have tried us, <* 
 
 Come, with thy sweet voice, soft Charity. 
 
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 97 
 
 Though friends may fail us, and Fortune may flee, 
 Safe treads the footstep that's guided by thee. 
 
 Thou canst beguile sorrow to smile, 
 
 Weeping thy gentle self the while. 
 
 When o'er the earth thy voice shall prevail. 
 Wars shall be ended, and faction shall fail ; 
 And hatred and pride, in that blest day, — 
 All shall be banished by thy gentle sway. 
 
 H 
 
 Things Requisite, 
 
 [AVE a tear for the wretched- 
 A smile for the glad ; 
 For the worthy, applause — 
 
 An excuse for the bad ; 
 Some help for the needy — 
 
 Some pity for those 
 Who stray from the path 
 Where true happiness flows. 
 
 Have a laugh for the child 
 
 In her play at thy feet ; 
 Have respect for the aged ; 
 
 And pleasantly greet 
 The stranger that seeketh 
 
 For shelter from thee ; 
 Have a covering to spare, 
 
 If he naked should be. 
 
 Have a hope in thy sorrow — 
 
 A calm in thy joy ; 
 Have a work that is worthy 
 
 Thy life to employ ; 
 And oh ! above all things 
 
 On this side the sod. 
 Make peace with thy conscience. 
 
 And peace with thy God. 
 
5 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 
 
 Be Kind, 
 
 "OE kind to thy Father — for when thou wert young, 
 
 Who loved thee so fondly as he ? 
 He caught the first accents that fell from thy tongue, 
 
 And joined in thy innocent glee. 
 Be kind to thy Father — for now he is old — 
 
 His locks intermingled with grey ; 
 His footsteps are feeble — once fearless and bold : 
 
 Thy Father is passing away. 
 
 Be kind to thy Mother — for deep on her brow 
 
 May traces of sorrow be seen : 
 Ah ! well mayst thou cherish and comfort her now, 
 
 For loving and kind hath she been. 
 Remember thy Mother — for thee will she pray, 
 
 As long as God giveth her breath ; 
 With accents of kindness, then, cheer her lone way, 
 
 Even to the dark valley of death. 
 
 Be kind to thy Sister — not many may know 
 
 The depth of true sisterly love ; 
 The wealth of the ocean lies fathoms below 
 
 The surface that sparkles above. 
 
 Be kind to thy Brother — wherever you are 
 
 The love of a Brother shall be 
 An ornament bright, and richer by far 
 
 Than pearls from the depths of the sea. 
 
 Be kind to thy Father — for now he is old ; 
 
 Be kind to thy Mother so near ; 
 Be kind to thy Brother — nor show thy heart cold ; 
 
 Be kind to thy Sister so dear. 
 
 I 
 
SECTION IV. 
 
 Brotherhood and Friendship, 
 
 f 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION IV. 
 
 
 page 
 
 Brothers ! we are Men ! . . . . 
 
 lOI 
 
 Brother Man ! 
 
 • 103 
 
 What Might be Done .... 
 
 . 105 
 
 Steam in the Desert; or, Good for Good . 
 
 , 106 
 
 Flattery and Friendship .... 
 
 . 107 
 
 Friendship is Love without his Wings 
 
 . 108 
 
 Humanity 
 
 . no 
 
 Friendship 
 
 112 
 
BROTHERHOOD & FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Brothers I we are Men ! 
 
 TT^E are Men — made in the image 
 ^ Of the Mighty One, 
 Who hath crowned the earth with beauty 
 
 'Neath the golden sun ; 
 Children of a common Father, 
 
 Whose prevailing love 
 Is unbounded as the day-beams 
 
 Shining from above. 
 Highest rank in God's creation 
 
 Is our station then : 
 Form divine is in our features ; 
 Rulers o'er all meaner creatures — 
 
 Brothers ! we are men ! 
 
 In our souls the lamp of reason 
 
 Streams with hallowed light ; 
 Intellectual glories round us 
 
 Shed their radiance bright : 
 Thus exalted in our being, 
 
 'Tis the will of Heaven, 
 That we still go on improving 
 
 Gifts which He hath given. 
 
102 BROTHERHOOD AND FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Filling up our brief existence — 
 
 Threescore years and ten ; 
 Loving Virtue as a mother ; 
 Doing good to one another — 
 
 Brothers ! we are men ! 
 
 We are men, but oh ! how often 
 
 Are our gifts despised, 
 And the dignity of manhood 
 
 Blindly sacrificed ! 
 Oft is Mercy's fountain frozen 
 
 In the human breast : 
 Millions sink beneath the tyrant, 
 
 Tearful and oppressed. 
 Cries of sorrow loudly echo 
 
 Over hill and glen : 
 Hapless thousands wildly grieving — 
 No kind hands their wrongs relieving : 
 
 Brothers ! we are men ! 
 
 Love's the lesson Wisdom teaches — 
 
 Gentle are her words ; 
 Sweeter than the brooklet's murmurs. 
 
 Or the song of birds : 
 As we all are fellow-pilgrims 
 
 To a brighter sphere. 
 Why should strife attend the moments 
 
 Of our sojourn here ? 
 For a higher purpose, truly. 
 
 Were we fashioned, when 
 Deity, in fairest traces, 
 Crowned our souls with heavenly graces : 
 
 Brothers ! we are men ! 
 
 Why should idle passions cheat us 
 
 Of our purest joy ? 
 Why should pride the best emotions 
 
 Of our soul destroy ? 
 
BROTHERHOOD AND FRIENDSHIP. 103 
 
 In the heart, affection's fountain 
 
 Sweetly welleth up ; 
 Seeks to mingle priceless blessings 
 
 Ever in life's cup. 
 Let its waters flow and mingle 
 
 Far as human ken ; 
 Till, with love's serene devotion, 
 Earth be covered, as the ocean — 
 
 Brothers ! we are men ! 
 
 Jas. Henderson. 
 
 Brother Man I 
 
 C^ OD is One, and we are two — 
 
 Brother man — brother man ! 
 Wherefore make so much ado ? 
 Why should differ — I and thou ? 
 God is One, and we are two — 
 Brother man — brother man ! 
 
 We are wrong, and God is right — 
 Brother man — brother man ! 
 
 Why should difference end in fight ? 
 
 Why should good be quelled by might ? 
 
 We are wrong, and God is right — 
 Brother man — brother man ! 
 
 We are beads, and God the string — 
 
 Brother man — brother man ! 
 If we do not closely cling. 
 Snapped will be the jewelled ring : 
 We are beads, and God the string — 
 Brother man — brother man ! 
 
104 BROTHERHOOD AND FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 We are parts, and God is all — 
 
 Brother man — brother man ! 
 Should our body's members brawl, 
 Would it not the brain appal ? 
 We are parts, and God is all — 
 
 Brother man — brother man ! 
 
 We are limbs, and God the Head — 
 
 Brother man — brother man ! 
 Were the arms to contest led, 
 Bruises o'er the frame would spread : 
 We are limbs, and God the Head, 
 
 Brother man — brother man ! 
 
 We are children — God our Sire — 
 
 Brother man — brother man ! 
 Let to him each heart aspire 
 As to heaven flameth fire : 
 We are children — God our Sire — 
 
 Brother man — brother man ! 
 
 God has spoke it — v/e shall see — 
 
 Brother man — brother man ! 
 All mankind shall brothers be 
 Like the stars in unity : 
 God has spoke it — we shall see — 
 
 Brother man — brother man ! 
 
 Goodwin Barmby. 
 
BROTHERHOOD AND FRIENDSHIP. 105 
 
 What Might be Done, 
 
 "^TTHAT might be done, if men were wise — 
 
 What glorious deeds ! — my suffering brother, 
 
 Would they unite 
 
 In love and might. 
 And cease their scorn of one another. 
 
 Oppression's hand might be imbued 
 With glowing drops of loving kindness, 
 
 And knowledge pour. 
 
 From shore to shore, 
 Light on the eyes of mental blindness. 
 
 All slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs. 
 All vice and crime might die together ; 
 
 And wine and corn. 
 
 To each man borne, 
 Be free as warmth in summer weather. 
 
 The meanest wretch that ever trod — 
 The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow — 
 
 Might stand erect 
 
 In self-respect. 
 And share the teeming world to-morrow. 
 
 What might be done ! This might be done ; 
 And more than this, my suffering brother : 
 
 More than the tongue 
 
 E'er said or sung 
 If men were wise and loved each other. 
 
106 BROTHERHOOD AND FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Steam in the Desert ; 07\ Good for Good, 
 
 " /'^ OD made all nations of one blood," 
 And bade the nation-v/edding flood 
 
 Bear good for good to men : 
 Lo ! interchange is happiness — 
 The mindless are the riverless 1 
 
 The shipless have no pen ! 
 
 What deed sublime by them is wrought f 
 What type have they of speech or thought ? 
 
 What soul-ennobled page ? 
 No record tells their tale of pain ! 
 The unwritten History of Cain 
 
 Is theirs from age to age. 
 
 O Steam ! if the nations grow not old 
 That see broad ocean's " back of gold," 
 
 Or hear him in the wind — 
 Why dost thou not thy banner shake 
 O'er sealess, streamless lands, and make 
 
 One nation of mankind ? 
 
 If rivers are but seeking rest, 
 
 Even when they climb from ocean's breast 
 
 To plant on earth the rose — 
 If good for good is doubly blest — 
 O bid the severed East and West 
 
 In action find repose ! 
 
 Yes, let the wilderness rejoice, 
 
 The voiceless campaign hear the voice 
 
 Of millions long estranged ; 
 That waste, and want, and war may cease. 
 And all men know that Love and Peace 
 
 Are — Good for Good exchanged ! 
 
 Ebenezer Elliott, 1781 — 1849. 
 
BROTHERHOOD AND FRIENDSHIP. 107 
 
 Flattery and Friendship, 
 
 PVERY one who flatters thee 
 
 Is no friend in misery. 
 Words are easy, hke the wind, 
 Faithful friend 'tis hard to find. 
 Every man will be thy friend 
 While thou hast wherewith to spend ; 
 But if store of crowns be scant. 
 No man will supply thy want. 
 If that one be prodigal, 
 Bountiful they will him call. 
 If he be addict to vice. 
 Quickly him they will entice. 
 But if Fortune once do frown, 
 Then farewell his great renown : 
 They that fawned on him before 
 Use his company no more. 
 
 He that is thy friend indeed, 
 He will help thee in thy need. 
 If thou sorrow, he will weep ; 
 If thou wake, he cannot sleep. 
 Thus, of every grief in heart. 
 He with thee doth take a part. 
 
 These are certain signs to know 
 Faithful Friend from Flattering Foe. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 H 2 
 
108 BROTHERHOOD AND FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Friendship is Love without his Wings. 
 
 "L'Amiti^ est 1' Amour sasa Ailes." 
 
 French Proverb. 
 
 "ITT'HY should my anxious breast repine, 
 
 Because my youth is fled ? 
 Days of dehght may still be mine ; 
 
 Affection is not dead. 
 In tracing back the years of youth, 
 One firm record, one lasting truth, 
 
 Celestial consolation brings ; 
 Bear it, ye breezes, to the seat, 
 Where first my heart responsive beat — 
 
 "Friendship is Love without his wings!'' 
 
 Through few but deeply chequered years, 
 
 What moments have been mine ! 
 I Now half obscured by clouds of tears, 
 
 Now bright in rays divine. 
 Howe'er my future doom be cast. 
 My soul, enraptured with the past, 
 
 To one idea fondly clings ; 
 Friendship ! that thought is all thine own, 
 Worth worlds of bliss, that thought alone — • 
 
 " Friendship is Love without his wings !" 
 
 Where yonder yew-trees lightly wave 
 
 Their branches on the gale. 
 Unheeded heaves a simple grave 
 
 Which tells the common tale : 
 Round this unconscious schoolboys stray, 
 Till the dull knell of childish play 
 
 From yonder studious mansion rings ; 
 But here, whene'er my footsteps move. 
 My silent tears too plainly prove, 
 
 " Friendship is Love without his wings !*' 
 
BROTHERHOOD AND FRIENDSHIP. 109 
 
 O Love ! before thy glowing shrine 
 
 My early vows were paid ; 
 My hopes, my dreams, my heart was thine, 
 
 But these are now decayed ; 
 For thine are pinions like the wind, 
 No trace of thee remains behind. 
 
 Except, alas ! thy jealous stings. 
 Away ! away ! delusive power. 
 Thou shalt not haunt my coming hour. 
 
 Unless, indeed, without thy wings. 
 
 Seat of my youth ! thy distant spire 
 
 Recalls each scene of joy ; 
 My bosom glows with former lire — 
 
 In mind again a boy. 
 Thy grove of elms, thy verdant hill. 
 Thy every path, delights me still ; 
 
 Each flower a double fragrance flings : 
 Again, as once, in converse gay. 
 Each dear associate seems to say — 
 
 " Friendship is Love without his wings I 
 
 By one and one alone deceived. 
 
 Did I my error mourn ? 
 No ! — from oppressive bonds relieved, 
 
 I left the wretch to scorn. 
 I turned to those my childhood knew. 
 With feelings warm, with bosom tine. 
 
 Twined with my heart's according strings ; 
 And till these vital chords shall break. 
 For none but these my breast shall wake 
 
 Friendship, the power deprived of wings ! 
 
no BROTHERHOOD AND FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Ye few, my soul, my life is yours, 
 
 My memory and my hope ; 
 Your worth a lasting love insures. 
 
 Unfettered in its scope. 
 From smooth deceit and terror sprung. 
 With aspect fair and honeyed tongue. 
 
 Let Adulation wait on kings ; 
 With joy elate, by snares beset. 
 We — we, my friends, can ne'er forget — 
 
 " Friendship is Love without his wings !" 
 
 Fictions and dreams inspire the bard 
 
 Who rolls the epic song ; 
 Friendship and Truth be my reward — 
 
 To me no bays belong. 
 If laurelled Fame but dwells with lies. 
 Me the enchantress ever flies, 
 
 Whose Heart and not whose Fancy sings : 
 Simple and young, I dare not feign ; 
 Mine be the rude but heartfelt strain — 
 
 " Friendship is Love without his wings !" 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Humanity, 
 
 "PAR from the cares or glories that await 
 
 The pomp of courts, the pageantry of state ; 
 Far from the bar, the senate, and the throne. 
 Where shines the scholar, and where sleeps the drone ; 
 Where wealthy dulness and unlettered pride. 
 Ambition's wiles pursue with hasty stride — 
 Dwelt, in a calm recess, sacred to truth. 
 And peace-clad virtue, in the bloom of youth. 
 Humanity — Heaven's fairest, favourite child, 
 Of manners gentle and affections mild. 
 
BROTHERHOOD AND FRIENDSHIP. Ill 
 
 Thou, gracious Maid ! Heaven's own peculiar care, 
 
 Its bright original — as good as fair, 
 
 Congenial Nature formed, then sent thee forth 
 
 In all the majesty of native worth. 
 
 *Tis thine, meek goddess of the tearful eye ! 
 
 To teach the labouring breast to heave the sigh ; 
 
 'Tis thine to teach kind Pity to express 
 
 The tenderest language when she views distress, 
 
 To touch with sympathy the rugged soul. 
 
 Melt with affection, and with love control. 
 
 The shivering beggar, with affrighted look. 
 Whose weakened senses the loud tempest shook, 
 With eyes aghast and trembling hand implores 
 The scantiest meed of kind compassion's stores. 
 Behold a wretch whom the blind Fates attend, 
 The child of anguish, and misfortune's friend! 
 In all the woe-spun garb of sorrow dressed — 
 Earth his hard couch, and Poverty his guest. 
 View him, while Hunger, with bemoaning cries, 
 And humble language pleading, courts supplies ; 
 While Want, expiring, rears her drooping head. 
 And, in despair, solicits every aid — 
 View him, while in the grasp of Death, alone. 
 Calling on Heaven, he cries — "Thy will be done." 
 
 Come, then, sweet harbinger of gratefiil ease ! 
 Queen of the expansive heart ! Come — and appease 
 The deep-felt cries of agonising grief. 
 And save a brother with thy prompt relief. 
 Grant to a wretch like this thy kindred aid — 
 A wretch, in sorrow's sable suit arrayed. 
 Impress this sentiment on every mind — 
 and feel for all mankind /" 
 
112 BROTHERHOOD AND FRIENDSHIP, 
 
 Friendship. 
 
 "CpRIENDSHIP ! mysterious cement of the soul ! 
 
 Sweetener of life, and solder of society ! 
 I owe thee much. Thou hast deserved of me 
 Far, far beyond what I can ever pay. 
 Oft have I proved the labours of thy love, 
 And the warm efforts of thy gentle heart. 
 Anxious to please. O ! when my friend and I 
 In some thick wood have wandered heedless on, 
 Hid from the vulgar eye, and sat us down 
 Upon the sloping cowslip-covered bank. 
 Where the pure limpid stream has slid along 
 In grateful errors through the underwood. 
 Sweet murmuring, methought the shrill-tongued thrush 
 Mended his song of love ; the sooty blackbird 
 Mellowed his pipe, and softened every note ; 
 The eglantine smelt sweeter, and the rose 
 Assumed a dye more deep ; whilst every flower 
 Vied with his fellow-plant in luxuiy 
 Of dress. O ! then, the longest summer's day 
 Seemed too, too much in haste : still the full hours 
 Had not imparted half: 'twas happiness 
 Too exquisite to last ! — Of joys departed. 
 Never to return, how painful the remembrance ! 
 
 RoBT. Blair, B. I699. 
 
SECTION V. 
 
 The Great and the Good 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION V. 
 
 Greatness ...... 
 
 Who are the Great of Earth ? 
 
 Human Amelioration, Man's Noblest Task 
 
 Real Nobility ..... 
 
 Not to Myself Alone .... 
 
 False Greatness ..... 
 
 The Good alone are Great 
 
 page. 
 
 116 
 117 
 118 
 119 
 121 
 122 
 
THE GREAT AND THE GOOD, 
 
 Greatness, 
 
 T 00 K now on greatness — say where greatness lies. 
 " Where, but among the heroes and the wise :" 
 Heroes are much the same — the point's agreed 
 From Macedonia's madman to the Swede : 
 The whole strange purpose of their Uves to find, 
 Or make an enemy of all mankind ! 
 Not one looks backward — onward still he goes, 
 Yet ne'er looks forward further than his nose. 
 No less ahke the politic and wise : 
 All sly slow things with circumspective eyes. 
 Men in their loose unguarded hours they take — 
 Not that themselves are wise, but others weak. 
 But grant that these can conquer — these can cheat : 
 'Tis phrase absurd to call a villain great. 
 Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave, 
 Is but the more a fool — the more a knave. 
 Who noble ends by noble means obtains. 
 Or failing, smiles in exile or in chains, 
 Like good Aurelius let him reign ; or bleed 
 Like Socrates ; that man is great indeed ! 
 
 Pope. 
 
116 THE GREAT AND THE GOOD. 
 
 Who are the Great of Earth P 
 
 "fTTHO are the mighty ? — Sing. 
 The chiefs of old renown, 
 On some red field who won the victor's crown 
 Of tears and triumphing ? 
 The Northmen bold, who first on stormy seas 
 Sent down the " Raven" banner on the breeze ? 
 Not these — O no ! — not these. 
 
 Who are the great of earth ? 
 The mighty hunters ? kings of ancient line. 
 For ages traced — half fable, half divine ; 
 Whose stone- wrought lions guard in heathen pride 
 Their tomb-like palaces ? where noiv we read. 
 They lived, and reigned, and died ! 
 Who spoke, and millions rushed to toil and bleed ? 
 Not these — not these, indeed ! 
 
 Who are the mighty ? — They ! 
 The builders of Egyptian pyramids ? 
 The unknown kings, on whose stone-coffin lids 
 Strange forms are scrolled ? — or men whose awful sway 
 Wrought the rock-temple — reared the cromlech grey. 
 Whose smoke and fire, and incense darkened day ? 
 Not they — O no ! not they ! 
 
 Who are the great of earth ? 
 Mark where yon prophet stands. 
 The loadstar needle trembles in his hands. 
 O'er western seas he finds for mind a throne ; 
 Or he on whose rapt sight new wonders shone, 
 Where heavenward turned, his glass made worlds his own — 
 Not even he — nor these alone ! 
 
TEE GREAT AND THE GOOD. 117 
 
 Who are the mighty ? — See, 
 Where Art's a wizard ; where the marble rife 
 With grace and beauty, quickens into Hfe ; 
 Or where, as danger's waves beat wild and free. 
 Some "glorious arm," like Moses', parts the sea. 
 That a vexed people yet redeemed may be — 
 The Statesman ? — Sage ? — Is't he ? 
 
 O no ! not these the noblest triumphs prove, 
 Go where forgiveness, turning, like the dove. 
 Alights, o'er life's dark flood, on some lone heart ; 
 Where men to men Truth, Justice, Peace impart, 
 As best interpreters of God-like love ; 
 Where all life's noblest charities have birth : 
 There dwell the great — the kings of peerless worth — 
 They — THEY shall subdue the earth. 
 
 Human Amelioration^ Maii^s Noblest Task. 
 
 "pALL, fall, ye mighty temples, to the ground! 
 Not in your sculptured rise 
 Is the real exercise 
 Of human nature's brightest power found. 
 
 'Tis in the lofty hope, the daily toil, 
 
 'Tis in the gifted line. 
 
 In each far thought divine 
 That brings down heaven to light our common soil. 
 
 'Tis in the great, the lovely, and the true, 
 
 'Tis in the generous thought 
 
 Of all that man has wrought. 
 Of all that yet remains for man to do. 
 
 Letitia Elizabeth Landon, 1802 — 1838. 
 
118 THE GREAT AND THE GOOD. 
 
 Real Nobility, 
 
 C EARCH we the springs, 
 
 And backward trace the principle of things — 
 There shall we find that when the world began, 
 One common mass composed the mould of man ; 
 One paste of flesh on all degrees bestowed ; 
 And kneaded up alike with moistened blood. 
 The same Almighty Power inspired the frame 
 With kindled life, and formed the souls the same ; 
 The faculties of intellect and will 
 Dispensed with equal hand, disposed with equal skill; 
 Like liberty indulged, with choice of good or ill. 
 Thus born alike, from Virtue first began 
 The difference that first distinguished man from man. 
 He claimed no title from descent of blood. 
 But that which made him noble, made him good. 
 Warmed with more particles of heavenly flame, 
 He winged his upward flight, and soared to fame : 
 The rest remained below, a tribe without a name. 
 This law — (though custom now directs the course) — 
 As Nature's institute, is yet in force, 
 Uncancelled, though diffused : and he whose mind 
 Is virtuous, is alone of virtuous kind ; 
 Though poor of fortune, of celestial race : 
 And he commits the crime, who calls him base. 
 
 John Dryden, 163 I. 
 
THE GREAT AND THE GOOD. 119 
 
 Not to Myself Alone. 
 
 " VrOT to myself alone," 
 -^^ The little opening flower transported, cries— 
 « Not to myself alone I bud and bloom : 
 With fragrant breath the breezes I perfume, 
 And gladden all things with my rainbow dyes. 
 The bee comes sipping, every eventide, 
 
 His dainty fill ; 
 The butterfly within my cup doth hide 
 From threatening ill." 
 
 " Not to myself alone," 
 The circling star with honest pride doth boast— 
 « Not to myself alone I rise and set ; 
 I write upon night's coronet of jet 
 His power and skill who formed our myriad host : 
 A friendly beacon at heaven's open gate, 
 
 I gem the sky. 
 That man might ne'er forget in every fate 
 His home on high." 
 
 " Not to myself alone," 
 The honey-laden bee doth murmuring hum— 
 « Not to myself alone from flower to flower 
 I rove the wood, the garden, and the bower, 
 And to the hive at evening weaiy come : 
 For man, for man the luscious food I pile 
 
 With busy care, 
 
 Content if he repay my conscious toil 
 
 A scanty share." 
 
120 THE GREAT AND THE GOOD. 
 
 ** Not to myself alone," 
 The soaring bird with lusty pinions sings — 
 " Not to myself alone I raise the song : 
 I cheer the di-ooping with my warbling tongue, 
 And bear the mourner on my viewless wings ; 
 I bid the hymnless churl my anthem learn. 
 
 And God adore — 
 I call the worldling from his dross to turn, 
 And sing and soar." 
 
 " Not to myself alone," 
 
 The streamlet whispers on its pebbly way — 
 
 " Not to myself alone I sparkling glide : - 
 
 I scatter life and health on every side. 
 
 And strew the fields with herb and flov«%ret gay ; 
 
 I sing unto the common bleak and bare 
 
 My gladsome tune ; 
 I sweeten and refresh the languid air 
 In droughty June." 
 
 " Not to myself alone." 
 O man, forget not thou, earth's honoured priest ! 
 Its tongue, its soul, its life, its pulse, its heart, 
 In earth's great chorus to sustain the part. 
 Chiefest of guests of Love's ungrudging feast, 
 Play not the niggard, spurn thy native clod, 
 
 And self disown ; 
 Live to thy neighbour — live unto thy God — 
 Not to thyself alone. 
 
THE GREAT AND THE GOOD. 121 
 
 False Greatness, 
 
 T ET no man call that being blest 
 
 That only boasts a large estate, 
 Should all the treasures of the West 
 
 Meet, and conspire to make him great. 
 Let a broad stream, with golden sands, 
 
 Through ail his meadows roll. 
 He's but a wretch, with all his lands, 
 
 That wears a narrow soul. 
 
 He swells amidst his wealthy store, 
 
 And proudly poising what he weighs. 
 
 In his own scale he fondly lays 
 Huge heaps of shining ore. 
 He spreads his balance wide, to hold 
 
 His manors and his farms. 
 And cheats the beam with loads of gold 
 
 He hugs between his arms. 
 So might the plough-boy climb a tree, 
 
 When Croesus mounts his throne, 
 And both stand up, and smile to see 
 
 How long their shadow's grown : 
 Alas ! how vain their fancies be. 
 
 To think that shape their own ! 
 
 Thus mingled still with wealth and state, 
 
 Croesus himself can never know ; 
 His tme dimensions and his weight 
 
 Are far inferior to their show. 
 Were I so tall to reach the pole. 
 
 Or grasp the ocean with my span, 
 I must be measured by my soul : 
 
 The mind's the standard of the man. 
 
 Watts. 
 
122 THE GREAT AND THE GOOD. 
 
 The Good alone are Great. 
 
 ^IT7"HEN winds the mountain oak assail. 
 
 And lay its glories waste, 
 Content may slumber in the vale. 
 
 Unconscious of the blast. 
 Through scenes of tumult while we roam. 
 The heart, alas ! is ne'er at home : 
 
 In hopes, in time, to roam no more. 
 The mariner, not vainly brave. 
 Combats the storm, and rides the wave, 
 
 To rest, at last, on shore. 
 
 Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe. 
 
 How vain your mark of state ! 
 The good alone have joy sincere ; 
 
 The good alone are great : 
 Great when, amid the vale of peace, 
 They bid the plaint of sorrow cease. 
 
 And hear the voice of artless praise ; 
 As when along the trophied plain 
 Sublime they lead the victor train, 
 
 While shouting nations gaze. 
 
 Beattie. 
 
SECTION VI. 
 
 Light, Life, and Progress, 
 
 I 2 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION VI. 
 
 
 
 
 
 page 
 
 Light for All 
 
 • 125 
 
 The Unh-ersal 
 
 
 
 
 127 
 
 The Bright Side 
 
 
 
 
 . 128 
 
 The Ages of Man . 
 
 
 
 
 . 129 
 
 Life is Pleasant, after all 
 
 
 
 
 • J30 
 
 God Works in All Things 
 
 
 
 
 131 
 
 Action, a Law of Nature 
 
 
 
 
 132 
 
 Emblems of Progress 
 
 
 
 
 133 
 
 Was Man made to Mourn ? 
 
 
 
 
 134 
 
 "Why Don't You Come Along ?" 
 
 
 
 136 
 
 What is Life ? 
 
 
 
 
 138 
 
LIGHT, LIFE, AND PROGRESS. 
 
 Light for All. 
 
 VOU cannot pay with money 
 The milHon sons of toil : 
 The sailor on the ocean, 
 
 The peasant on the soil, 
 The labourer in the quariy. 
 
 The hewer of the coal \ 
 Your money pays the hand, 
 
 But it cannot pay the soul. 
 
 You gaze on the cathedral 
 
 Whose turrets meet the sky — 
 Remember the foundations 
 
 That in earth and darkness lie : 
 For were not these foundations 
 
 So darkly resting there. 
 Yon towers could never soar up 
 
 So proudly in the air. 
 The workshop must be crowded 
 
 That the palace may be bright ; 
 If the ploughman did not plough. 
 Then the poet could not write. 
 Then let every toil be hallowed 
 That man performs for man, 
 And have its share of honour. 
 As part of one great plan. 
 
126 LIGHT, LIFE, AND PROGRESS. 
 
 See, light darts down from heaven, 
 
 And enters where it may ; 
 The eyes of all earth's people 
 
 Are cheered with one bright ray. 
 And let the mind's true sunshine 
 
 Be spread o'er earth as free. 
 And fill the souls of men. 
 
 As the waters fill the sea. 
 
 The man who turns the soil 
 
 Need not have an earthly mind ; 
 The digger, 'mid the coal, 
 
 Need not be in spirit bhnd : 
 The mind can shed a light 
 
 On each worthy labour done, 
 As lowliest things are bright 
 
 In the radiance of the sun. 
 
 What cheers the musing student. 
 
 The poet, the divine ? — 
 The thought that for his followers 
 
 A brighter day will shine. 
 Let every human labourer 
 
 Enjoy the vision bright — 
 Let the truth that comes from heaven 
 
 Expand like heaven's own light. 
 
 Ye men who hold the pen. 
 
 Rise, like a band inspired ! 
 And, poets, let your lyrics 
 
 With hope for man be iired — 
 Till the earth becomes a temple, 
 
 And evei-y human heart 
 Shall join in one great service. 
 
 Each happy in his part. 
 
 J. GOSTICK. 
 
LIGHT, LIFE, AND PROGRESS. 127 
 
 The Universal, 
 
 TS there an eye that looks around 
 
 O'er heavens and earth, o'er land and ocean, 
 And sees no gentle things abound 
 
 To stir the soul to sweet commotion \ 
 No voiceless song of harmonies ? 
 No music sounded through the eyes ? 
 
 Is there a soul tliat dwells within 
 
 An eye of hazel, brown, or blue| 
 That sees not 'mid the clash and din 
 
 Of changing worlds, a beauty too ? 
 Serenest sunbeams resting lightly 
 O'er the volcano, burning brightly ? 
 
 In every ray that falls on earth. 
 
 And from that earth reflected rises, 
 There is a joy, a gentle mirth. 
 
 That soon the captive soul surprises ; 
 Sweet glimpses of the lost ideal. 
 Flashing about the transient real. 
 
 The pretty flower that decks the lea. 
 
 Each day its bosom opening wider. 
 Yields choicest honey to the bee, 
 
 But poison to the bloated spider. 
 And are there hearts and eyes that see 
 This difference of philosophy ? 
 
 As with the part, so with it all ; 
 
 As with the flower, so with creation ; 
 And there's for hate as bitter gall, 
 
 As honey sweet for adoration. 
 Ah ! honey sweet, a busy bee, 
 Let's work in thy philosophy. 
 
 W. Stedman. 
 
128 LIGHT, LIFE, AND PROGRESS. 
 
 The Bright Side, 
 
 (From Les Rayons et les Ombres of Victor Hugo.) 
 
 A LL is light and all is joy. 
 
 The spider's foot doth busily 
 Unto the silken tulips tie 
 His circling silver broidery. 
 
 The dragon-fly on fluttering wings 
 Mirrors the orbs of her large eyes 
 
 In the bright pond v/here creeping things 
 Make a dark world of mysteries. 
 
 The full-blown rose, grown young again. 
 Kisses the sweet bud^s tender blush ; 
 
 The bird pours forth his tuneful strain 
 Within the sun-illumined bush. 
 
 He blesses God, who ne'er is hid 
 From the pure soul to virtue given ; 
 
 Who makes the dawn a fiery lid 
 For the azure eye of heaven. 
 
 In woods that soften every sound, 
 
 The timid fawn doth dreaming play ; 
 
 And in the green moss shining round, 
 Beetles their living gold display. 
 
 The moon, all pale in sunlit skies, 
 
 A cheerful convalescent seems ; 
 And opens soft her opal eyes. 
 
 Whence heaven's sweetness downward streams. 
 
 The wallflower with the sprightly bee 
 Plays by the crumbling ruins old ; 
 
 The furrow waketh joyfully, 
 
 Moved by the seeds that burst their fold. 
 
LIGHT, LIFE, AND PROGRESS, 12<J 
 
 All lives and sits around with grace — 
 
 The sunbeam on the threshold wide, 
 The gliding shade on the water's face, 
 
 The blue sky on the green hill's side. 
 
 On joyful plains bright sun-rays fall. 
 
 Woods murmur, fields with flowers are clad. 
 
 Fear nothing, Man ; for Nature all 
 Knows the great secret, and is glad ! 
 
 The Ages of Man, 
 
 "Y'OUTH, fond youth ! to thee, in life's gay morning, 
 
 New and wonderfiil are Heaven and Earth ; 
 Health the hills. Content the fields adorning, 
 Nature rings with melody and mirth : 
 Love, invisible, beneath, above, 
 Conquers all things : all things yield to love. 
 
 Time, swift time, from years their motion stealing, 
 Unperceived hath sober manhood brought ; 
 Truth, her pure and humble forms revealing, 
 Peoples Fancy's fairy-land with thought ; 
 Then the heart, no longer prone to roam, 
 Loves, loves best, the quiet bliss of home. 
 
 Age, old age, in sickness, pain, and sorrow, 
 Creeps, with lengthening shadow, o'er the scene ; 
 Life was yesterday, 'tis death to-morrow, 
 And to-day, the agony between ; 
 Then — how longs the weary soul for thee. 
 Bright and beautiful eternity ! 
 
 Montgomery. 
 
130 LIGHT, LIFE, AND PROGRESS. 
 
 Life is Pleasant^ after all. 
 
 'XTT'HY will they bind the willow wreath 
 Upon the brow that should be glad, 
 Until they make it bow beneath ? 
 
 Why paint Old Time with aspect sad, 
 And say his locks are scant and hoary, 
 
 And that his cup is full of sorrow ? 
 Oh ! why not tell the gladdening story, 
 
 That there shall be a brighter morrow ? 
 For until Hope's bright star is driven 
 
 Far, far away, beyond recall — 
 Though with Despair we may have striven— 
 
 Oh ! Life is pleasant, after all ! 
 
 How sweet and joyous 'tis to roam 
 
 In Nature's vast and glorious realm; 
 Though grief should hang around our home, 
 
 And carking care should overwhelm ! 
 She bids us look upon the flower 
 
 Whose pleasing colours meet our view ; 
 It needed sun, and shade, and shower. 
 
 Ere it attained its glowing hue ; 
 And who can look on earth and sky, 
 
 On upland, wood, and waterfall. 
 And not rejoice and gladly cry, 
 
 Oh ! Life is pleasant, after all ? 
 
 And, oh ! when English hand grasps hand, 
 And English hearts beat firm and true, 
 
 We bless God for our native land, 
 
 And joy's deep fount springs up anew ; 
 
 While Friendship and her sister, Love, 
 Each other hail with joyful greeting, 
 
LIGHT, LIFE, AND PROGRESS. 131 
 
 And hand-in-hand with Honour prove, 
 
 While Peace and Virtue crown the meeting. 
 
 While generous Freedom may be found 
 In peasant's hut and castle hall ; 
 
 With honest pride our hearts abound, 
 And Life is pleasant, after all. 
 
 Felicia. 
 
 God Works In All Things. 
 
 OH ! backward-looking Son of Time ! 
 The new is old— the old is new— 
 The cycle of a change sublime 
 Still sweeping through. 
 
 As idly as in that old day 
 
 Thou mournest, did thy sires repine ; 
 So, in his time, thy child, grown grey, 
 Shall sigh for thine. 
 
 Yet, not the less for them or thou, 
 
 The eternal step of progress beats 
 
 To that great anthem, calm and slow, 
 
 Which God repeats ! 
 
 Take heart ! the Master builds again— 
 
 A charmed life old goodness hath ; 
 The tares may perish— but the grain 
 Is not for death. 
 
 God works in all things : all obey 
 
 His first propulsion from the night : 
 Ho ! wake and watch ! the world is grey 
 With morning light ! 
 
 Whittier. 
 
132 LIGHT, LIFE, AND PROGRESS. 
 
 Action^ a Law of Nature, 
 
 npHE opening mom — resplendent noon 
 With heaven's bright glory graced, 
 Meek vesper and night's silent moon 
 Tell nought remains at rest. 
 
 The comet, wandering far on high, 
 
 'Midst countless planets placed. 
 Rolls ceaseless through the boundless sky — 
 
 For nought remains at rest. 
 
 The tide returns and ebbs again. 
 
 The river hies with haste, 
 With rills and springs into the main. 
 
 For nought remains at rest. 
 
 The various seasons as they rise — 
 
 Mild Spring with flowery vest, 
 Bright Summer, Autumn, Winter's skies 
 
 Tell nought remains at rest. 
 
 Thus day, and night, and star, and flood, 
 
 And seasons — all attest 
 That, through the wondrous works of God, 
 
 There's nought remains at rest. 
 
 If action, then, be Nature's law, 
 
 Be this great truth impressed : — 
 That life in deeds of love should flow. 
 
 All blessing and all blest. 
 
 D. Grant. 
 
LIGHT, LIFE, AND PROGRESS. 133 
 
 Kmblems of Progress, 
 
 npHY calm eyes smiling to my own, 
 
 Thy quiet tones more blithely sweet, 
 Dear friend, than when an hour agone 
 I watched the billows at thy feet. 
 
 Twin swallows in the April sky 
 Set inland saw you, fronting west ? 
 
 Twin stranger-birds that risk to try 
 The haven of their summer rest ? 
 
 A truer moral, and more bright. 
 
 These pilgrims showed you than I brought 
 From the green ramparts on the height 
 
 Where old-world nations earlier fought. 
 
 So veiy still 'neath any sky ! 
 
 So calm beside the unresting sea ! 
 Why nobly live, or work, or die, 
 
 If ever thus the end shall be ? 
 
 If life but hold through measured range 
 Of time and strife, self-nurturing doom. 
 
 And every mocking form of change 
 Repeat the ruin and the tomb ? 
 
 Reply that fits the question best. 
 
 All things that breathe and bloom can give 
 The earth, through round of work and rest, 
 
 Ripens, in loftier phase to live. 
 
 A blossom, or a bird on wing. 
 
 Like those swift pinions west unfurled. 
 
 Speak promise ; and each later Spring 
 Symbols a still progressive world. 
 
134 LIGHT, LIFE, AND PROGRESS. 
 
 Was Man made to Mourn P 
 
 " The sun that overhangs yon moors, 
 
 Outspreading far and wide, 
 Where hundreds labour to support 
 
 A haughty lordling's pride. 
 I've seen yon weary winter-sun 
 
 Twice forty times return. 
 And every time has added proofs 
 
 That man was made to mourn," 
 
 BUKNS. 
 
 A LAS ! man was made — 'tis a tmth we well know- 
 To feel the inflictions engendered below ; 
 The keen pang of Anguish, the chill hand of Want, 
 The sting which Remorse in the bosom can plant ; 
 And all the sad ills which in Misery's train 
 Come to sicken the heart and to madden the brain. 
 
 But say, in this world are there no joys we meet 
 
 In the pathway that leads to our final retreat ? 
 
 Is there no hope to cheer us, no prospects to charm, 
 
 No bright gleam of gladness our feelings to warm ? 
 
 Is all woe and suffering, all dark as the tomb. 
 
 No sunshine to burst through the soul-sinking gloom ? 
 
 Oh, yes ! there are times when the spirits are gay, 
 And heart-gnawing sorrows relinquish their sway ; 
 When a glance of the eye and a smile on the cheek 
 Are the tell-tales of rapture no mortal can speak ; 
 When life's heavy cares have deserted the brain, 
 And moments of bliss cancel ages of pain. 
 
 To the bright side of life let us ever then turn, 
 Man 'was made to rejoice^ as well as to mourn ! 
 
LIGHT, LIFE, AND PROGRESS. 135 
 
 For him the sun shines on his gold-burnished throne, 
 And the Seasons strew gifts as they visit each zone ; 
 While evei-y thing lovely on Earth and in sky 
 Seems formed by enchantment to ravish his eye. 
 
 Look, look on the sky — look, look on the Earth, 
 When the Spring-flowers bloom and the blossoms burst 
 
 forth ; 
 When the forest-oaks fling on their mantles of green. 
 And love-breathing Melody rolls o'er the scene. 
 Would you dream, as you gaze on the splendour 
 
 around, 
 That bliss in the world is nowhere to be found ? 
 
 There is joy — there is joy — there is exquisite bliss, 
 When we tranquilly muse on a scene such as this ; 
 There is joy — there is joy — when a deed we have 
 
 done 
 Which seraphs in glory would smiling look on ; 
 When Benevolence warms with her hallowing flame, 
 And Wretchedness, care-relieved, blesses her name. 
 
 Then blame not the world — it is pleasant and fair — 
 'Tis man upon man heaps the troubles we bear ; 
 Were the spirit of love but his actions to guide. 
 How soon would the fount of his sorrows be dried ! 
 While Virtue exulting would triumph o'er Vice, 
 And the Earth would again be a bright Paradise. 
 
 H. HfiAVYsmE. 
 
136 LIGHT, LIFE, AND PROGRESS. 
 
 " Why Bon't You Come Along P' 
 
 (From the Lexington Gazette.) 
 
 >'T^ WAS in a field— by an old field school, 
 
 Where the boys were romping wild, 
 I noted one, with a shining face, 
 
 And he was but a child : 
 And as he romped upon the green. 
 
 With mind and muscle strong. 
 Anon he'd cry to the lagging boys : 
 
 " Why don't you come along ?" 
 
 So said the boy, but when he spoke. 
 
 The man was in the boy ; 
 And now his voice round Christendom 
 
 Rings like a bell of joy ; 
 For the world has taken up his cry. 
 
 And joined him in his song, 
 Now sung by nations in their march : 
 
 " Why don't you come along ?" 
 
 Come on ! pause not ! 'tis death to stop, 
 
 The tide is at its flood ; 
 For men and things are on their march — 
 
 Halt never, if you would. 
 That cry is in the hearts of men, 
 
 Their watchword, right or wrong ; 
 And nations cry in every tongue : 
 
 " Why don't you come along ?" 
 
 The engine and the telegraph 
 
 Proclaimed it to the man — 
 The man takes up the cheering cry, 
 
 Which with the boy began. 
 
LIGHT, LIFE, AND PROGRESS. 137 
 
 O'er wood and plain — o'er sea and earth. 
 
 It rings in startling song ; 
 'Tis written on the firmament : 
 
 " Why don't you come along ?" 
 
 But yesterday it took six men 
 
 To make a pin : but now 
 That little boy will do the work ; 
 
 When done he'll scarce know how. 
 Thought follows action — then we pause 
 
 To think ; no longer strong ; 
 But still keep up the schoolboy's cry : 
 
 " Why don't you come along ?" 
 
 But yesterday the reaper's hook 
 
 Moved slowly through the grain : 
 McCormick now with a storm of hooks 
 
 The harvest sweeps amain ; 
 And as he cuts, and cleans, and bags, 
 
 He joins the world-wide song ; 
 Old-fashion reapers, tarry not : 
 
 " Why don't you come along ?" 
 
 Front ! march I halt not ! is now the word 
 
 To the regiment of man ; 
 Say what you have to say at once — 
 
 Go ! do it if you can — 
 Birds sing it — the engines shriek it ; 
 
 It's ^ung the stars among — 
 All nature breathes the world's great cry : 
 
 " Why don't you come along ?" 
 
138 LIGHT, LIFE, AND PROGRESS. 
 
 What is Life P 
 
 TpHIS Life is but an empty void, 
 
 If but on selfish deeds employed ; 
 And length of days is not a good, 
 Unless their use be understood. 
 While if good deeds one year engage. 
 That may be longer than an age. 
 But if a year in trifles go. 
 Perhaps you'd spend a thousand so. 
 Time will not stay to make us wise — 
 We must improve it as it flies. 
 
SECTION VII. 
 
 Dignity and Utility 
 
 OF 
 
 Labour. 
 
 -^ 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION VII. 
 
 
 
 
 page 
 
 The Village Blacksmith . . . . .141 
 
 To-day and To-morrow 
 
 
 
 143 
 
 No Surrender ! . . . 
 
 
 
 144 
 
 Never say Fail ! . . . . 
 
 
 
 H5 
 
 Never Give Up ! 
 
 
 
 T46 
 
 Labour and Wait 
 
 
 
 147 
 
 Go On, Go On ! . 
 
 
 
 148 
 
 No Work the Hardest Work 
 
 
 
 . 150 
 
 The Reformer .... 
 
 
 
 152 
 
 Labour 
 
 
 
 15s 
 
 All have Got their Work to Do 
 
 
 
 157 
 
DIGNITY & UTILITY OF LABOUR. 
 
 'The Village Blacksmith. 
 
 TTNDER a spreading chestnut tree 
 
 The village smithy stands : 
 The smith a mighty man is he, 
 
 With large and sinewy hands ; 
 And the muscles of his brawny arms 
 
 Are strong as iron bands. 
 
 His hair is crisp, and black, and long ; 
 
 His face is like the tan ; 
 His brow is wet with honest sweat ; 
 
 He earns whate'er he can ; 
 And looks the whole world in the face. 
 
 For he owes not any man. 
 
 Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
 You can hear his bellows blow ; 
 
 You can hear him swing his heavy sledge 
 With measured beat and slow, 
 
 Like a sexton ringing the village bell. 
 When the evening sun is low. 
 
142 DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUR. 
 
 And children coming home from school 
 
 Look in at the open door ; 
 They love to see the flaming forge, 
 
 And hear the bellows roar, 
 And catch the burning sparks that fly, 
 
 Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 
 
 He goes on Sunday to the church. 
 
 And sits among his boys ; 
 He hears the parson pray and preach ; 
 
 He hears his daughter's voice 
 Singing in the village choir ; 
 
 And it makes his heart rejoice. 
 
 It sounds to him like her mother's voice 
 
 Singing in Paradise ! 
 He needs must think of her once more, 
 
 How in the grave she lies ; 
 And with his large rough hand he wipes 
 
 The tears out of his eyes. 
 
 Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, 
 
 Onward through life he goes ; 
 Each morning sees some task begin, 
 
 Each evening sees it close : 
 Something attempted, something done, 
 
 Has earned a night's repose. 
 
 Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend. 
 For the lesson thou hast taught ! 
 
 Thus at the flaming torch of life 
 Our fortunes must be wrought ; 
 
 Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
 Each burning deed and thought ! 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUR. H3 
 
 To-day and To-morrow. 
 
 'pvON'T tell me of to-morrow : 
 ^^ Give me the man who'll say- 
 That when a good deed's to be done, 
 
 Let's do the deed to-day ! 
 We may command the present, 
 
 If we act and never wait ; 
 But repentance is the phantom 
 
 Of the past that comes too late. 
 
 Don't tell me of to-morrow : 
 
 There's much to do to-day 
 That can never be accomplished 
 
 If we throw the hours away. 
 Every moment has its duty — 
 
 Who the future can foretell ? 
 Then why leave till to-morrow 
 
 What to-day can do so well ? 
 
 Don't tell me of to-morrow : 
 
 If we look upon the past, 
 How much that we had left to do, 
 
 We could not do at last ! 
 To-day is the accepted time 
 
 For all things good and great : 
 Do your duty now to-day — 
 
 Till to-morrow never wait. 
 
144 DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUR. 
 
 No Surrender, 
 
 PPVER constant, ever true, 
 
 Let the word be. No Surrender I 
 Boldly dare and greatly do ! 
 This shall bring us bravely through ; 
 
 No Surrender, No Surrender ! 
 And though Fortune's smiles be few, 
 Hope is always springing new, 
 Still inspiring me and you 
 
 With a magic. No Surrender ! 
 
 Nail the colours to the mast. 
 
 Shouting gladly, No Surrender ! 
 Troubles near are all but past — 
 Serve them as you did the last ; 
 
 No Surrender, No Surrender! 
 Though the skies be overcast. 
 And upon the sleety blast, 
 Disappointments gather fast. 
 
 Beat them off with. No Surrender ! 
 
 Constant and courageous still. 
 
 Mind, the word is. No Surrender ! 
 
 Battle, though it be uphill, 
 
 Stagger not at seeming ill ! 
 
 No Surrender, No Surrender ! 
 
 Hope, and thus your hope fulfil — 
 
 There's a way where there's a will. 
 
 And the way all cares to kill. 
 Is to give them. No Surrender ! 
 
 Martin F. Tupper. 
 
DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUR. 145 
 
 Never say Fail ! 
 
 IT'EEP onward — 'tis wiser 
 
 Than sitting aside, 
 And dreaming and sighing, 
 
 And waiting the tide. 
 In life's earnest battle, 
 
 They only prevail, 
 Who daily march onward. 
 
 And never say fail ! 
 
 With an eye ever open, 
 
 A tongue never dumb. 
 And a heart that will never 
 
 To sorrow succumb — 
 You'll battle and conquer, 
 
 Though thousands assail : 
 How strong and how mighty. 
 
 Who never say fail ! 
 
 In life's rosy morning, 
 
 In manhood's firm pride. 
 Let this be your motto, 
 
 Your footsteps to guide : 
 In storm and in sunshine. 
 
 Whatever assail. 
 We'll onward and conquer. 
 
 And never say fail ! 
 
146 DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUR. 
 
 Never Give Up ! 
 
 "^TEVER give up ! — it is wiser and better 
 Always to hope than once to despair : 
 Fling oiF the load of doubt's cankering fetter, 
 
 And break the dark spell of tyrannical care. 
 Never give up ! or the burden may sink you — 
 
 Providence kindly has mingled the cup : 
 And in all trials or troubles bethink you, 
 
 The watchword of Hfe must be — Never give up ! 
 
 Never give up ! — there are chances and changes 
 
 Helping the hopeful a hundred to one ; 
 And through the struggle high wisdom arranges 
 
 Ever success if you only hope on. 
 Never give up — for the wisest is boldest, 
 
 Knowing that Providence mingles the cup ; 
 And of all maxims, the best, as the oldest. 
 
 Is the true watchword of — Never give up ! 
 
 Never give up ! though the grape-shot may rattle, 
 
 Or the thunder-cloud over you burst ; 
 Stand like a rock, and the storm or the battle 
 
 Little shall harm you, though doing their worst. 
 Never give up ! — if adversity presses, 
 
 Providence wisely has mingled the cup, 
 And the best counsel in all your distresses 
 
 Is the stout watchword of — Never give up ! 
 
DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUR. 147 
 
 Labour and Wait, 
 
 'T^ELL me not in mournful numbers, 
 
 Life is but an empty dream ! 
 For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
 And things are not what they seem. 
 
 Life is real ! — Life is earnest ! — 
 And the grave is not its goal ; 
 
 Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 
 Was not spoken of the soul. 
 
 Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 
 
 Is our destined end or way ; 
 But to act that each to-morrow 
 
 Finds us better than to-day. 
 
 Art is long, and time is fleeting ; 
 
 And our hearts, though stout and brave. 
 Still like muffled drums are beating 
 
 Funeral marches to the grave. 
 
 In the world's broad field of battle. 
 
 In the bivouac of life. 
 Be not like dumb diiven cattle ! 
 
 Be a hero in the strife ! 
 
 Trust no future, however pleasant ! 
 
 Let the dead past buiy its dead. 
 Act — act in the living present — 
 
 Heart within, and God o'erhead ! 
 
 Lives of great men all remind us. 
 We can make our lives sublime ; 
 
 And, departing, leave behind us 
 Footprints in the sands of time — 
 
148 DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUR. 
 
 Footprints that, perhaps, another 
 Sailing o'er Hfe's solemn main — 
 
 A forlorn and shipwrecked brother 
 Seeing shall take heart again. 
 
 Let us, then, be up and doing : 
 
 With a heart for any fate : 
 Still achieving — still pu; suing — 
 
 Learn to labour and to wait. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 Go On, Go On! 
 
 (^ O on, go on ! no moments wait 
 
 To help the right : 
 
 Be strong in faith, and emulate 
 
 The virtues of the good and great, 
 
 With all thy might. 
 
 Go on ! 
 
 Go on, go on ! the skies may lower, 
 
 The storm may burst : 
 Unshaken in the trial hour, 
 Good purposes shall give thee power 
 
 To brave the worst. 
 
 Go on ! 
 
 Go on, go on ! thou canst not tell 
 
 Thy mission here ! 
 Whate'er thou doest, labour well ; 
 Nor let a doubt within thee dwell. 
 
 Or coward fear. 
 
 Go on ! 
 
DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUR. 149 
 
 Go on, go on ! 'tis ne'er too late 
 
 To act thy part ; 
 
 Thy stern resolve shall conquer fate, 
 
 And springs of happiness create 
 
 Within thy heart. 
 
 •^ Go on ! 
 
 Go on, go on ! no guerdon seek 
 
 For thy reward ; 
 
 But while heroic, be thou meek ; 
 
 And from thy heart, and from thy cheek 
 
 Be pride debarred. 
 
 ^ Go on ! 
 
 Go on, go on ! thy Master's ear 
 
 And constant eye 
 
 Observe each groan, each struggling tear ; 
 
 He, midst the shadows dark and drear. 
 
 Is standing by. 
 
 Go on ! 
 
 Go on, go on ! thy onward way 
 
 Leads on to light : 
 
 The morning now begins to grey ; 
 
 Anon the cheering beams of day 
 
 Shall chase the night. 
 
 Go on ! 
 
 Go on, go on ! O doubt it never — 
 
 This strife with wrong 
 
 Is fated not to last for ever ; 
 
 But, if we boldly make endeavour, 
 
 Will cease ere long. 
 
 Go on ! 
 
150 DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUR. 
 
 No Work the Hardest Work, 
 
 "LTO ! ye who at the anvil toll, 
 
 And strike the sounding blow, 
 Where, from the burning iron's breast, 
 
 The sparks fly to and fro ; 
 While answering to the hammer's ring, 
 
 And fire's intenser glow : 
 O while ye feel 'tis hard to toil 
 
 And sweat the long day through, 
 Remember, it is harder still 
 
 To have no work to do. 
 
 Ho ! ye who till the stubborn soil, 
 
 Whose hard hands guide the plough, 
 Who bend beneath the summer's sun 
 
 With burning cheek and brow — 
 Ye deem the curse still clings to earth 
 
 From olden time till now ; 
 But while ye feel 'tis hard to toil 
 
 And labour all day through. 
 Remember, it is harder still 
 
 To have no work to do. 
 
 Ho ! ye who plough the sea's blue field— 
 
 Who ride the restless wave, 
 Beneath whose gallant vessel's keel 
 
 There lies a yawning grave — 
 Around whose bark the wintry winds 
 
 Like fiends of fury rave — 
 O while ye feel 'tis hard to toil. 
 
 And labour long hours through, 
 Remember, it is harder still 
 
 To have no work to do. 
 
DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUR. 151 
 
 Ho 1 ye upon whose fevered cheeks 
 
 The hectic glow is bright, 
 Whose mental toil wears out the day, 
 
 And half the weary night— 
 Who labour for the souls of men. 
 
 Champions of Truth and Right— 
 Although ye feel your toil is hard, 
 
 Even with this glorious view- 
 Remember, it is harder still 
 
 To have no work to do. 
 
 Ho ! all who labour— all who strive— 
 Ye wield a mighty power : 
 
 Do with your might-do with your strength- 
 Fill eveiy golden hour ! 
 
 The glorious privilege to do 
 Is man's most noble dower. 
 
 O to your birthright and yourselves— 
 To your own souls be true : 
 
 A weary, wretched life is theirs 
 Who have no work to do. 
 
 C. F. Orne. 
 
152 DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUK 
 
 The Reformer. 
 
 A LL grim and soiled and browned with tan, 
 I saw a Strong One, in his wrath, 
 Smiting the godless shrines of man 
 Along his path. 
 
 The Church, beneath her trembling dome, 
 Essayed in vain her ghostly charm ; 
 
 Wealth shook within his gilded home 
 With strange alarm. 
 
 Fraud from his secret chambers fled 
 
 Before the sunlight bursting in ; 
 Sloth drew her pillow o'er her head, 
 
 To drown the din. 
 
 " Spare," Art implored, " yon holy pile ; 
 
 That grand old time-worn turret spare." 
 ^NJeek Reverence, kneeling in the aisle, 
 
 Cried out, " Forbear !" 
 
 Grey-headed Use, who, deaf and blind, 
 Groped for his old accustomed stone, 
 
 Leaned on his staff and wept, to find 
 His seat o'erthrown. 
 
 Young Romance raised his dreamy eyes, 
 O'erhung with paly locks of gold ; 
 
 " Why smite," he asked, in sad surprise, 
 "The fair, the old?" 
 
 Yet louder rang the Strong One's stroke. 
 Yet nearer flashed his axe's gleam ; 
 
 Shuddering and sick of heart I woke. 
 As from a dream. 
 
DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUR. 153 
 
 I looked : aside the dust-cloud rolled — 
 The waster seemed the builder too ; 
 
 Upspringing from the ruined Old, 
 I saw the New. 
 
 'Twas but the ruin of the bad — 
 The wasting of the wrong and ill ; 
 
 Whate'er of good the old time had 
 Was living still. 
 
 Calm grew the brows of him I feared ; 
 
 The frown which awed me passed away, 
 And left behind a smile which cheered, 
 
 Like breaking day. 
 
 The grain grew green on battle-plains, 
 
 O'er swarded war-mounds grazed the cow ; 
 
 The slave stood forging from his chains 
 The spade and plough. 
 
 Where frowned the fort, pavilions gay 
 And cottage windows, flower-entwined, 
 
 Looked out upon the peaceful bay 
 And hills behind. 
 
 Through vine-wreathed cups, with wine once red, 
 The lights on brimming crystal ^qW, 
 
 Drawn, sparkling, from the rivulet-head 
 And mossy well. 
 
 Through prison walls, like Heaven-sent hope, 
 Fresh breezes blew and sunbeams strayed, 
 
 And with the idle gallows-rope 
 The young child played. 
 
 Where the doomed victim in his cell 
 
 Had counted o'er the weary hours, 
 Glad school-girls, answering to the bell, 
 
 Came crowned with flowers. 
 
154 DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUR. 
 
 Grown wiser for the lesson given, 
 I fear no longer, for I know 
 
 That where the share is deepest driven 
 The best fmits grow. 
 
 The out-worn rite, the old abuse, 
 . The pious fraud transparent grown. 
 The good held captive in the use 
 Of wrong alone. 
 
 These wait their doom, from that great law 
 Which makes the past time serve to-day ; 
 
 And fresher life the world shall draw 
 From their decay. 
 
 Oh ! backward-looking son of time ! 
 
 The new is old, the old is new ; 
 The cycle of a change sublime 
 
 Still sweeping through. 
 
 So wisely taught the Indian seer : 
 Destroying Seva, forming Brahm, 
 
 Who wake by turns earth's love and fear, 
 Are one — the same. 
 
 As idly, as in that old day 
 
 Thou mournest, did thy sires repine ; 
 
 So, in his time, thy child, grown grey, 
 Shall sigh for thine. 
 
 Yet not the less for them or thou. 
 The eternal step of progress beats. 
 
 To that great anthem, calm and slow. 
 Which God repeats ! 
 
 Take heart ! the Master builds again — 
 A charmed life old goodness hath ; 
 
 The tares may perish, but the grain 
 Is not for death. 
 
DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUR. 155 
 
 God works in all things ; all obey 
 His first propulsion from the night. 
 
 Ho, wake and watch ! — the world is grey 
 With morning light. 
 
 J. G. Whittier. 
 
 Labour. 
 
 " Laborare est orare." 
 
 TDAUSE not to dream of the future before us ; 
 
 Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er us 
 Hark ! how Creation's deep musical chorus, 
 
 Unintermitting, goes up into heaven ! 
 Never the ocean wave falters in flowing ; 
 Never the little seed stops in its growing ; 
 More and more richly the rose-heart keeps glowing, 
 
 Till from its nourishing stem it is riven. 
 
 " Labour is worship !" the robin is singing ; 
 " Labour is worship !" the wild bee is ringing ; 
 Listen ! that eloquent whisper, upspringing. 
 
 Speaks to thy soul from out Nature's heart. 
 From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower ; 
 From the rough sod comes the soft-breathing flower ; 
 From the small insect the rich coral bower : 
 
 Only man, in the plan, ever shrinks from his part. 
 
 Labour is life ! — 'Tis the still water faileth ; 
 Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth ; 
 Keep the clock wound, for the dark rust assaileth ; 
 Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon. 
 
 L 2 
 
156 DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUR. 
 
 Labour is glory ! — the flying cloud lightens ; 
 Only the waving wing changes and brightens ; 
 Idle hearts only the dark future frightens : 
 
 Play the sweet lute, wouldst thou keep it in tune. 
 
 Labour is rest — from the sorrows that greet us ; 
 
 Rest from all petty vexations that meet us ; 
 
 Rest from the sin-promptings that ever entreat us ; 
 
 Rest from world-syrens that lure us to ill. 
 Work — and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow ; 
 Work — thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow ; 
 Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping willow. 
 
 Work with a stout heart and resolute will ! 
 
 Droop not, though shame, sin, and anguish are round thee ; 
 Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee ; 
 Look on yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee ; 
 
 Rest not content in thy darkness — a clod. 
 Work for some good — be it ever so slowly ; 
 Do some kind act — ^be it ever so lowly ; 
 Labour ! — all labour is noble and holy : 
 
 Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God ! 
 
 Mrs. F. Osgood. 
 
DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUR 157 
 
 jill have Got their Work to Do, 
 
 TTTHY such murmuring and repining ? 
 
 Who can alter what is done ? 
 See the future brightly shining — 
 
 There are goals yet to be won. 
 Grieving is at best a folly — 
 
 Oftentimes it is a sin : 
 When we see a glaring error, 
 
 We should a reform begin. 
 We must all be up and doing, 
 
 With determination true ; 
 Young and old men, rich and poor men, 
 
 All have got their work to do. 
 
 Though we see, on looking round us, 
 
 Man to wickedness is prone ; 
 Though the snares of vice surround us, 
 
 Virtue's path but rarely known. 
 Well we know that in our nature 
 
 Is a spark of life divine : 
 We must free the soul from thraldom, 
 
 If we v/ish that spark to shine. 
 We must all be up and doing, 
 
 With determination true ; 
 Young and old men, rich and poor men. 
 
 All have got their work to do. 
 
 Life is one great scene of labour — 
 Eveiy one his task assigned ; 
 
 We must each assist our neighbour, 
 When we see him lag behind. 
 
158 DIGNITY AND UTILITY OF LABOUR. 
 
 We must strive by education 
 
 Man's condition to improve, 
 And bind men of every station 
 
 In a bond of mutual love. 
 We must all be up and doing, 
 
 With determination true ; 
 Young men, old men, rich men, poor men, 
 
 Ye have all your work to do. 
 
 Ernest Watmough. 
 
SECTION vm. 
 
 Riches and Poverty, 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION VIIL 
 
 An Apology for the Rich 
 
 The Complaints of the Poor . 
 
 The Contrast. Miseries of the Poor and 
 
 Luxuries of the Rich 
 The Heritage .... 
 
 Rags and Tatters .... 
 
 Gaffer Gray 
 
 The Rich Man and the Poor Man . 
 The Poorhouse .... 
 
 The Unregarded Toils of the Poor 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 i6i 
 
 163 
 
 164 
 
 166 
 168 
 
 169 
 170 
 172 
 
 174 
 
RICHES AND POVERTY. 
 
 Afi Apology for the Rich, 
 
 ■' A LL-BOUNTEOUS Heaven," Castalio cries, 
 -^ With bended knees and lifted eyes, 
 " When shall I have the power to bless. 
 And raise up merit in distress ?" 
 
 How do our hearts deceive us here ! — 
 He gets ten thousand pounds a year. 
 With this the pious youth is able 
 To build and plant, and keep a table. 
 But then the poor he cannot treat : 
 Who asks the wretch that wants to eat ? 
 
 Alas ! to ease their woes he wishes. 
 
 But cannot live without ten dishes : 
 
 Though five would serve as well 'tis true ; 
 
 But one must live as others do. 
 
 He now feels wants unknown before. 
 
 Wants still increasing with his store. 
 
 The good CastaHo must provide 
 Brocade and jewels for his bride. 
 Her toilet shines with plate embossed ; 
 What sums her lace and linen cost ! 
 
162 RICHES AND POVERTY. 
 
 The clothes that must his person grace, 
 Shine with embroidery and lace. 
 The costly pride of Persian looms 
 And Guido's paintings grace his rooms ; 
 His wealth Castalio will not waste, 
 But must have everything in taste. 
 He's an economist confessed ; 
 But what he buys must be the best. 
 For common use, a set of plate ; 
 Old china when he dines in state ; 
 A coach and six, to take the air, 
 Besides a chariot and a chair. 
 All these important calls supplied — 
 (Calls of necessity — not pride) 
 His income's regularly spent : 
 He scarcely saves to pay his rent. 
 
 No man alive would do more good. 
 Or give more freely — if he could. 
 He grieves whene'er the wretched sue ; 
 But what can poor Castalio do ? 
 
 Would Heaven but send ten thousand more, 
 He'd give just as he did before. 
 
 Mrs. Barber, 1730. 
 
RICHES AND POVERTY. 163 
 
 The Complaints of the Poor, 
 
 " A ND wherefore do the poor complain ?" 
 
 The rich man asked of me ; 
 " Come walk abroad with me," I said, 
 " And I will answer thee." 
 
 'Twas evening, and the frozen streets 
 
 Were cheerless to behold ; 
 And we were wrapped and coated well, 
 
 And yet we were a- cold. 
 
 We met an old, bare-headed man. 
 His locks were few and white ; 
 
 I asked him what he did abroad 
 In that cold winter's night. 
 
 'Twas bitter keen, indeed he said, 
 
 But at home no fire had he, 
 A.nd therefore he had come abroad 
 
 To ask for charity. 
 
 We met a young barefooted child. 
 And she begged loud and bold ; 
 
 I asked her what she did abroad 
 When the wind it blew so cold. 
 
 She said her father was at home, 
 
 And he lay sick in bed ; 
 And therefore was it she was sent 
 
 Abroad to beg for bread. 
 
 We saw a woman sitting down 
 
 Upon a stone to rest ; 
 She had a baby at her back, 
 
 And another at her breast. 
 
164 RICHES AND POVERTY. 
 
 I asked her why she loitered there, 
 When the night-wind was so chill ; 
 
 She turned her head, and bade the child 
 That screamed behind, be still. 
 
 She told us that her husband served, 
 
 A soldier, far away ; 
 And therefore to her parish she 
 
 Was begging back her way. 
 
 I turned me to the rich man then. 
 
 For silently stood he ; 
 " You asked me why the poor complain. 
 
 And these have answered thee !" 
 
 SoUTHEY. 
 
 The Contrast, 
 
 Miseries of the Poor and Luxuries of the Rich. 
 
 *\T7'HERE, then, ah ! where shall Poverty reside 
 To escape the pressure of contiguous pride ? 
 If, to some common's fenceless limits strayed. 
 He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade. 
 These fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, 
 And e'en the bare-worn common is denied. 
 
 If to the city sped — what waits him there ? 
 To see profusion which he must not share ; 
 To see ten thousand baneful arts combined 
 To pamper luxury and thin mankind ; 
 To see each joy the sons of pleasure know 
 Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. 
 
RICHES AND POVERTY. 165 
 
 Here — while the courtier gHtters in brocade, 
 
 There the pale artist plies his sickly trade ; 
 
 Here — while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, 
 
 There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. 
 
 The dome, where Pleasure holds her midnight reign, 
 Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous train : 
 Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square — 
 The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare ! 
 
 Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy ! 
 
 Sure these denote one universal joy ! 
 
 Are these thy serious thoughts ? Ah turn thine eyes 
 
 Where the poor houseless shivering female lies : 
 
 She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest. 
 
 Has wept at tales of innocence distressed : 
 
 Her modest looks the cottage might adorn — 
 
 Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn. 
 
 Now, lost to all, her friends, her virtue fled, 
 
 Near her betrayer's door she lays her head ; 
 
 And pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower, 
 
 With heavy heart deplores the luckless hour, 
 
 When, idly first, ambitious of the town. 
 
 She left her wheel and robes of country brown. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
166 RICHES AND POVERTY. 
 
 The Heritage, 
 
 * I ^HE rich man's son inherits lands 
 
 And piles of brick, and stone, and gold ; 
 
 And he inherits soft white hands, 
 
 And tender flesh that fears the cold — 
 Nor dares to wear a garment old : 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me. 
 
 One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 
 
 The rich man's son inherits cares : 
 
 The bank may break — the factoiy burn ; 
 
 A breath may burst his bubble shares ; 
 And soft white hands could hardly earn 
 A living that would serve his turn : 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me. 
 
 One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 
 
 The rich man's son inherits wants : 
 The stomach craves for dainty fare ; 
 
 With sated heart he hears the pants 
 
 Of toiling hands, with brown arms bare, 
 And wearies in his easy chair : 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me. 
 
 One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 
 
 What doth the poor man's son inherit ? 
 
 Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, 
 A hardy frame, a hardier spirit ; 
 
 Lord of all lands, he does his part 
 
 In every useful toil and art. 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 A king might wish to hold in fee. 
 
 What doth the poor man's son inherit ? 
 
 Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things ; 
 A rank adjudged by toil-won merit. 
 
RICHES AND POVERTY. 16T 
 
 Content that from employment springs, 
 
 A heart that in his labour sings. 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 A king might wish to hold in fee. 
 
 What doth the poor man's son inherit ? 
 A patience learnt of being poor, 
 
 Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it, 
 A fellow-feeling that is sure 
 To make the outcast bless his door. 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 
 A king might wish to hold in fee. 
 
 Oh ! rich man's son, there is a toil 
 That with all others level stands ; 
 
 Large charity doth never soil, 
 
 But only whiten, soft white hands — 
 This is the best crop from thy lands : 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me. 
 
 Worth being rich to hold in fee. 
 
 Oh ! poor man's son, scorn not thy state ; 
 There is worse weariness than thine 
 
 In merely being rich and great ; 
 Toil only gives the soul to shine. 
 And makes rest fragrant and benign ; 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me. 
 
 Worth being poor to hold in fee. 
 
 Both heirs to some six feet of sod, 
 
 Are equal in the earth at last ; 
 Both children of the same great God, 
 
 Prove title to your heirship vast 
 
 By record of a well-spent past : 
 A heritage, it seems to me. 
 Well worth a life to hold in fee. 
 
 Lowell. 
 
168 RICHES AND POVERTY. 
 
 Rags and 1' after s. 
 
 T^ AGS and tatters, rags and tatters, 
 
 Oh, the curse of these small matters ! 
 Woe to him who, shorn of riches. 
 Wears the cast-off coat and breeches ! 
 Though he once could keep a carriage, 
 And had " thousands" on his marriage ; 
 Though he's given fetes and dinners 
 To some scores of courtly sinners : 
 If he's now in rags and tatters. 
 Those are all forgotten matters. 
 
 Rags and tatters, rags and tatters, 
 
 Oh, the scorn of these old matters ! 
 
 If a man is brave and holy. 
 
 Armed 'gainst crime, and vice, and folly ; 
 
 If he practise self-denial. 
 
 And withstand life's fiercest trial ; 
 
 Blest with moral strength and reason, 
 
 Fitted for each work and season. 
 
 But is clad in rags and tatters, 
 
 They conceal those minor matters. 
 
 Rags and tatters, rags and tatters, 
 Oh, the curse of these poor matters ! 
 God preserve the sons of labour ; 
 Watch around our ill-clad neighbour ; 
 Bless our poorer kin by dozens, 
 Even down to second cousins : 
 But if thou, O God, forsake them, 
 Then the world must overtake them 
 With its scorn of these small matters, 
 Rags and tatters, rags and tatters. 
 
 G. L. Banks. 
 
RICHES AND POVERTY. 169 
 
 Gaffer Gray, 
 
 TTO ! why dost thou shiver and shake, 
 
 Gaffer Gray ? 
 And why does thy nose look so blue ?" 
 " 'Tis the weather that's cold, 
 'Tis I'm grown very old. 
 And my doublet is not very new, 
 WeU-a-day!" 
 
 " Then line thy worn doublet with all, 
 
 Gaffer Gray, 
 And warm thy old heart with a glass !" 
 ** Nay, but credit I've none. 
 And my money's all gone ;" 
 " Then say how may that come to pass ? 
 Well-a-day ! 
 
 " Hie away to the house on the brow. 
 
 Gaffer Gray, 
 And knock at the jolly priest's door." 
 " The priest often preaches 
 Against worldly riches. 
 But ne'er gives a mite to the poor, 
 Well-a-day!" 
 
 " The lawyer lives under the hill, 
 
 Gaffer Gray, 
 Warmly fenced both in back and in front." 
 " He will fasten his locks, • 
 
 And threaten the stocks, 
 Should he ever more find me in want, 
 Well-a-day!" 
 
 M 
 
170 RICHES AND POVERTY. 
 
 " The squire has fat beeves and brown ale, 
 
 Gaffer Gray, 
 And the season will welcome you there." 
 " His fat beeves and his beer, 
 And his merry new year, 
 Are all for the flush and the fair, 
 WelU-day!" 
 
 " My keg is but low, I confess. 
 
 Gaffer Gray ; 
 What then ? while it lasts, man, we'll live !" 
 *' The poor man alone. 
 When he hears the poor moan. 
 Of his morsel a morsel will give — 
 Well-a-day!" 
 
 HOLCROFT, 1779. 
 
 The Rich Man and the Poor Man, 
 
 CO goes the world : if wealthy, you may call 
 
 This friend, that brother — friends and brothers all. 
 Though you are worthless, witless, never mind it ; 
 You may have been a stable boy — what then ? 
 'Tis wealth, good sir, makes honourable men. 
 You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it. 
 
 But if you are poor, Heaven help you ! though your sire 
 
 Had royal blood within him, and though you 
 
 Possess the intellect of angels too, 
 
 'Tis all in vain ; the world will ne'er inquire 
 
 On such a score — why should it take the pains ? 
 
 'Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains. 
 
RICHES AND POVERTY. 171 
 
 I once saw a poor devil, keen and clever, 
 
 Witty and wise ; he paid a man a visit, 
 
 And no one noticed him, and no one ever 
 
 Gave him welcome. " Strange," cried I. " Whence is it ?" 
 
 He walked on this side, then on that ; 
 
 He tried to introduce a social chat ; 
 
 Now here, now there — in vain he tried ; 
 
 Some formally and freezingly replied, 
 
 And some said, by their silence, " Better stay at home." 
 
 A rich man burst the door— 
 As Croesus rich, I'm sure ; 
 He could not pride himself upon his wit 
 Nor wisdom, for he had not got a bit ; 
 He had what's better — he had wealth. 
 
 What a confusion ! all stand up erect. 
 These crowd around to ask him of his health ; 
 
 These bow in honest duty and respect ; 
 And these arrange a sofa or a chair, 
 And these conduct him there. 
 " Allow me, sir, the honour." Then a bow 
 Down to the earth. Is't possible to show 
 Meet gratitude for such kind condescension ? 
 
 The poor man hung his head, 
 And to himself he said, 
 " This is indeed beyond my comprehension." 
 Then, looking round. 
 One friendly face he found. 
 And said, " Pray tell me, why is wealth preferred 
 
 To wisdom ?" " That's a silly question, friend !" 
 Replied the other. " Have you never heard 
 A man may lend or give his store 
 Of shining gold or silver ore, 
 But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend ?" 
 
 Anon. 
 M ^ 
 
172 RICHES AND POVERTY. 
 
 The Poorhouse, 
 
 /^LOSE at the edge of a busy town 
 
 A huge quadrangular mansion stands ; 
 Its rooms are all filled with the parish poor ; 
 
 Its walls are all built by pauper hands ; 
 And the pauper old and the pauper young 
 
 Peer out through the grates, in sullen bands. 
 
 Behind is a patch of earth, by thorns 
 
 Fenced in from the moor's wide marshy plains ; 
 By the side is a gloomy lane that steals 
 
 To a quarry now filled with years of rains ; 
 But within, within ! there Poverty scowls, 
 
 Nursing in wrath her brood of pains. 
 
 Enter and look ! In the high-walled yards 
 Fierce men are pacing the barren ground : 
 
 Enter the long bare chambers — girls 
 
 And women are sewing, without a sound : 
 
 Sewing from dawn till the dismal eve, 
 And not a tale or song goes round. 
 
 No communion — no kind thought 
 Dwells in the pauper's breast of care : 
 
 Nothing but pain in the grievous past ; 
 Nothing to come but the black despair 
 
 Of bread in prison, bereft of friends, 
 Or hunger, out in the open air ! 
 
RICHES AND POVERTY. 173 
 
 Where Is the bright-haired girl, that once 
 With her peasant sire was used to play ? 
 
 Where is the boy whom his mother blessed. 
 Whose eyes were a light on her weary way ? 
 
 Apart — barred out (as the law ordains) — 
 Barred out from each other by night and day. 
 
 Letters they teach in their infant schools ; 
 
 But where are the lessons of great God taught ? 
 Lessons that child to the parent bind — 
 
 Habits of duty — love unbought ? 
 Alas ! small good will be learnt in schools 
 
 Where Nature is trampled and turned to nought. 
 
 Seventeen summers — and where the girl 
 Who never grew up at her father's knee ? 
 
 Twenty autumnal storms have nursed 
 
 The pauper's boyhood — and where is he ? 
 
 She earneth her bread in the midnight lanes ; 
 He toileth in chains by the Southern Sea. 
 
 O Power ! O Pnidence ! Law ! look down 
 From your heights on the pining poor below ! 
 
 O sever not hearts which God hath joined 
 Together, on earth, for weal and woe. 
 
 O senators grave ! grave tmths may be. 
 
 Which ye have not learnt or deigned to know. 
 
 O Wealth, come forth with an open hand ! 
 
 O Charity, speak with a softer sound ! 
 Yield pity to age — to tender youth — 
 
 To love, wherever its home be found ! 
 But I cease — for I hear, in the night to come, 
 The cannon's blast, and the rebel drum, 
 
 Shaking the firm-set English ground ! 
 
 Barry Cornwall. 
 
174 RICHES AND POVERTY. 
 
 The Unregarded Toils of the Poor. 
 
 N 
 
 LAS ! what secret tears are shed ; 
 What wounded spirits bleed ; 
 What loving hearts are severed, 
 And yet man takes no heed ! 
 
 He goeth in his daily course, 
 
 Made fat with oil and wine ; 
 And pitieth not the weary souls 
 
 That in his bondage pine ; 
 That turn for him the mazy wheel — 
 
 That delve for him the mine ! 
 Nor pitieth he the children small, 
 
 In noisy factories dim, 
 That all day long, lean, pale, and faint, 
 
 Do heavy work for him ! 
 
 To him they are but as the stones 
 
 Beneath his feet that lie ; 
 It entereth not his thoughts that they 
 
 From him claim sympathy ; 
 It entereth not his thoughts that God 
 
 Heareth the sufferer's groan — 
 That in His righteous eye their lives 
 
 Are precious as his own 
 
 W. HowiTT. 
 
SECTION IX. 
 
 Mammon- Worship, 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION IX. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The Vanity of Wealth . . . . .177 
 
 Important Question : What Proportion do the 
 
 Righteous bear to the Ungodly? . . 178 
 
 Important Reflection . . . . .181 
 
 All is not Gold that Glitters . . . 182 
 
MAMMON-WORSHIP. 
 
 The Vanity of Wealth. 
 
 "VrO more thus brooding o'er yon heap, 
 With Avarice painful vigils keep ; 
 Still unenjoyed the present store, 
 Still endless sighs are breathed for more. 
 Oh ! quit the shadow, catch the prize. 
 Which not all India's treasure buys! 
 To purchase Heaven has gold the power ? 
 Can gold remove the mortal hour ? 
 In life can love be bought with gold? 
 Are friendship's pleasures to be sold ? 
 
 No — all that's worth a wish, a thought, 
 Fair Virtue gives unbribed, unbought : 
 Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind, 
 Let nobler views engage thy mind. 
 
 Dr. Johnson. 
 
178 MAMMON- WORSHIP. 
 
 Important Qjiestion : What Proportion do 
 the Righteous bear to the Ungodly P 
 
 TF it could be possible to make the investigation, it would be 
 extremely interesting to ascertain the relative proportion 
 of the virtuous to the vicious — to ascertain, at least approxi- 
 mately, how many per cent, of really good and true human 
 beings there are existing in the civilised world. 
 
 We suggest to our readers, for their own special edification, 
 to undertake this important investigation ; to look round them, 
 among those with whom they may come in contact, and to 
 decide honestly, according to the best of their judgment, what 
 proportion the truly good bear to those who cannot be so 
 denominated. 
 
 In thus arranging human beings into these two distinct 
 classes, there must, of course, be a standard adopted to which 
 we must compare every individual subjected to examination. 
 The simplest, and, at the same time, the most perfect standard, 
 is that so clearly and beautifully set forth by Jesus Christ in 
 the Gospels; and, moreover, this is a standard which, with 
 very few exceptions, will be universally acknowledged. The 
 following are the essential points: — 
 
 Matthew vii. 12. — All things whatsoever ye would that 
 men should do to you, do ye even so to them, for this is the 
 law and the prophets. 
 
 Matthew xxii. 37 to 39. — Master, what is the great com- 
 mandment in the law ? Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love 
 the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, 
 and with all thy mind. This is the first and great command- 
 ment. And the second is like unto it: Thou shalt love thy 
 neighbour as thyself. 
 
 Luke vi. 27 et seq. — Love your enemies; do good to 
 
MAMMON-WORSHIP. 179 
 
 them which hate you. For if ye love them which love you, 
 what thank have you ? for sinners also love those who love 
 them. And if ye do good to them which do good to you, 
 what thank have you ? for sinners also do even the same. 
 And if ye lend to them of whom ye hope to receive, what 
 thank have you ? for sinners also lend to sinners, to receive 
 as much again. But love ye your enemies, and do good, 
 and lend, hoping for nothing again, and your reward shall be 
 great ; and ye shall be the children of the Highest ; for He 
 is kind unto the unthankful, and to the evil. Be ye there- 
 fore merciful, as your Father also is merciful. For with the 
 same measure that ye mete withal, it shall be measured to you 
 again. 
 
 Matthew vi. ig et seq — Lay not up for yourselves treasures 
 upon earth. But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven. 
 For where your treasure is there will your heart be also. 
 Ye cannot serve God and Mammon. 
 
 Matthew XX. 21. — Go and sell that thou hast, and give to 
 the poor. 
 
 There, Christian reader, that is the standard. Now con it 
 well, and apply it to all the human beings (whether private 
 individuals or public characters) of whom you have the means 
 of judging. And when you have done this candidly, and to 
 the best of your judgment, say — 
 
 In the first place — how many per cent, there are who, in 
 their business and commercial transactions, act up to this 
 standard — who are honest and truthful in the description of 
 their merchandise — who point out, to their customers, the 
 flaws and imperfections of the articles they are selling — who 
 never adulterate any of their commodities, but invariably sell 
 them pure and genuine — who never practise the arts of making 
 their goods appear better than they really are, by polishing and 
 brushing them over, in order to conceal their defects. In 
 short, how many do you know who serve others, in every 
 respect, as they would wish others to serve them ? 
 
180 MAMMON-WORSHIP. 
 
 In the second place, say, how many there are who never 
 utter slander, or speak evil of others — who never publish their 
 neighbours' shame. How many who love their neighbours as 
 themselves — who minister to their wants, and assist them in 
 their distresses. How many who spend their leisure time in 
 instructing the ignorant ; and, by kindness, winning the erring 
 and vicious back to the paths of virtue. How many do good, 
 and lend, hoping for nothing again, but the pleasure of having 
 done good. How many cleave to God and righteousness, 
 and despise Mammon and vain ostentation — who sell all they 
 have, and give to the poor. 
 
 Mammon-worshippers will boldly assert that this is im- 
 possible — quite impossible — nobody in the world ever set an 
 example of selling all they had, and giving to the poor. But 
 a well-authenticated instance will prove, not only that it is 
 possible, but quite practicable ; and will also set forth the full 
 extent and meaning of the injunction — " Go and sell that thou 
 hast, and give to the poor." These words emphatically 
 declare that all those who possess more than is sufficient for 
 their reasonable wants are absolutely required, as an act of 
 duty, to dispose of the entire surplus in ameliorating the 
 condition of those who are struggling in the midst of ignorance 
 and poverty. 
 
 This duty has been performed — this sacrifice has been made 
 — this devotion to the cause of humanity and this glorious 
 example have been exhibited to the world, fully and com- 
 pletely, by the great founder of Methodism, John Wesley. 
 And although we by no means admire his chai'acter in every 
 respect, yet in this particular it is beyond all praise. He 
 lived upon the simplest fare — he was satisfied with the most 
 ordinary accommodation, and he was clothed in the plainest 
 garments. So careful and economical was he in everything 
 that appertained to himself, that his personal expenses never 
 exceeded thirty pounds a year ; and every penny of the re- 
 mainder of his income was devoted to the great cause of 
 
MAMMON- WORSHIP. 181 
 
 raising the lowest ranks of society from privation and vice to 
 competence and virtue. 
 
 We are obliged to confess that this is a very rare case ; and, 
 indeed, we may fearlessly assert, that among the tens of 
 thousands who profess Wesleyanism, there are not one 
 hundred individuals who are following the example of John 
 Wesley in the disposal of their incomes. We are, con- 
 sequently, driven to the rather startling conclusion, that there 
 are not one hundred real Christians in the Wesleyan Society ; 
 for he who is not a Christian in this respect, whose heart is 
 not overflowing with the milk of human kindness, is not a 
 Christian at all. He is a worshipper of Mammon and not a 
 server of God — a whited sepulchre — a hypocrite, whose heart 
 is filled with pride, and ostentation, and vanity. 
 
 In the third place, say, how many ministers — professional 
 teachers of God's Law and Gospel — are there who can stand, 
 without wincing, this searching test, and say — 
 
 " Our -withers are unwrung." 
 
 In the fourth place, O reader, put these questions home to 
 thy own bosom seriously and earnestly, and say — 
 Am / a true disciple of Christ ? 
 
 Important Reflection. 
 
 "1X7" E cannot, even in this nineteenth centuiy, congratulate 
 ourselves in being much more righteous than the 
 ancient inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah. It would be 
 difficult to prove that the really good of the present day bear 
 a greater proportion to the wicked than they did when those 
 remarkable cities were destroyed for lack of five good 
 citizens. 
 
182 MAMMON-WORSHIP. 
 
 All is not Gold that Glitters, 
 
 "n ELIGION ! O thou life of life, 
 
 How worldlings that profess thee, rife, 
 
 Can wrest thee to their appetites ! 
 How princes, who thy power deny, 
 Pretend thee for their tyranny. 
 
 And people for their false delights ! 
 
 Under thy sacred name, all over. 
 The vicious all their vices cover ; 
 
 The insolent their insolence ; 
 The proud their pride ; the false their fraud ; 
 The thief his theft ; her filth the bawd ; 
 
 The impudent their impudence. 
 
 Ambition under thee aspires. 
 And Avarice under thee desires ; 
 
 Sloth under thee her ease assumes ; 
 Lux under thee all overflows ; 
 Wrath under thee outrageous grows ; 
 
 All evil under thee presumes. 
 
 Religion, erst so venerable, 
 
 What art thou now but made a fable, 
 
 A holy mark on Folly's brow. 
 Where under lies Dissimulation, 
 Lined with all abomination — 
 
 Sweet Religion ! where art thou ? 
 
MA MMON- WORSHIP. 183 
 
 Not In the Church with Simony, 
 Nor on the Bench with Bribery, 
 
 Nor in the Court with Machiavel, 
 Nor in the City with Deceit, 
 Nor in the Country with Debates : 
 
 For what has Heaven to do with Hell ? 
 
 But whatsoever show we make 
 (For Profit or Promotion's sake), 
 
 Whatever colour we put on, 
 Where Faith no other fruits affords 
 But evil works (though civil word ), 
 
 Indeed is no Religion. 
 
 Reverend Religion ! where's the heart 
 That entertains thee as thou art — 
 
 Sincerely for thine own respect ? 
 Where is the mind — where is the man. 
 May right be called a Christian, 
 
 Not formal, but in true respect ? 
 
 Who God's due hath not given 
 
 To other things in Earth or Heaven, 
 
 But bowed and vowed to Him alone ? 
 Him only served with filial awe. 
 Pleased and delighted in His law. 
 
 Discoursing day and night thereon ? 
 
 Nor — not for form or fashion's sake, 
 Or, for a time, a show to make, 
 
 Others the better to beguile ? 
 Nor from God's righteous laws depart, 
 But stamp them deeply in his heart. 
 
 And work them in his life the while ? 
 
184 MAMMON-WORSHIP. 
 
 Loving his neighbour as himself, 
 Sharing with him his power and pelf, 
 
 His councils, comforts, coats, and cates ; 
 Doing in all things to his brother 
 Just as himself would wish from other, 
 
 Nor offering others what he hates. 
 
 If but to seem good goodly seem, 
 To be good better far esteem ; 
 
 Why seem you what to be you care not ? 
 If to seem evil be amiss. 
 Sure to do evil worse it is : 
 
 Then why be what to seem you dare not ? 
 Be as you seem, or seem the same you be. 
 And thus secure your bliss to all eternity. 
 
 Joshua Sylvester, 1590. 
 
SECTION X: 
 
 Vicissitudes and Regrets 
 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION X, 
 
 
 
 
 
 page. 
 
 Human Life .187 
 
 The Treasures of the Deep 
 
 
 
 
 189 
 
 The Convict Ship . 
 
 
 
 
 190 
 
 The Acres and the Men . 
 
 
 
 
 . 192 
 
 By-past Times .... 
 
 
 
 
 • 193 
 
 Youth and Age 
 
 
 
 
 194 
 
 Long Ago .... 
 
 
 
 
 195 
 
 Heaven, a Sacred Melody 
 
 
 
 
 196 
 
 Remembrance .... 
 
 
 
 
 197 
 
VICISSITUDES AND REGRETS, 
 
 Human Life, 
 
 T IF E is the transmigration of a soul 
 
 Through various bodies, various states of being ; 
 New manners, passions, tastes, pursuits in each; 
 In nothing, save in consciousness, the same. 
 Infancy, adolescence, manhood, age, 
 Are always moving onward ; alway losing 
 Themselves in one another ; lost at length, 
 Like undulations, on the strand of death. 
 The sage of threescore years and ten looks back, 
 With many a pang of lingering tenderness. 
 And many a shuddering conscience-fit — on what 
 He hath been — is not — cannot be again ; 
 Nor trembles less with fear and hope, to think 
 What he is now, but cannot long continue, 
 And what he must be through uncounted ages ! 
 
 The Child! — We know no more of happy childhood 
 Than happy childhood knows of wretched eld ; 
 And all our dreams of its felicity 
 Are incoherent as its own crude visions. 
 We but begin to live from that fine point 
 Which memoiy dwells on, with the morning star. 
 
 The earliest note we heard the cuckoo sing. 
 
 N 2 
 
188 VICISSITUDES AND REGRETS. 
 
 Or the first daisy that we ever plucked, 
 
 When thoughts themselves were stars, and birds, and 
 
 flowers — 
 Pure brilliance, simplest music, wild perfume. 
 Thenceforward mark the metamorphosis ! 
 
 The Boy, the Girl, when all was joy, hope, promise : 
 Yet who would be a boy, a girl, again. 
 To bear the yoke, to long for liberty. 
 And dream of what will never come to pass ? 
 
 The Youth, the Maiden — living but for love. 
 Yet learning soon that life hath other cares. 
 And joys less rapturous, but more enduring. 
 
 The Woman — in her offspring multiplied ; 
 A tree of life, whose glory is her branches, 
 Beneath whose shadow she (both root and stem) 
 Delights to dwell in meek obscurity. 
 That they may be the pleasure of beholders. 
 
 The Man — as father of a progeny 
 Whose birth requires his death to make them room. 
 Yet in whose lives he feels his resurrection. 
 And grows immortal in his children's children. 
 
 Then the grey Eld — leaning on his staff. 
 And bowed beneath a weight of years, that steal 
 Upon him with the secrecy of sleep — 
 (No snow falls lighter than the snow of age. 
 None with such subtlety benumbs the frame) 
 Till he forgets sensation, and lies down 
 Dead in the lap of his primeval mother. 
 She throws a shroud of turf and flowers around him, 
 Then calls the worms, and bids them do their office : 
 
 Man giveth up the ghost, and where is he ? 
 
 J. Montgomery. 
 
VICISSITUDES AND REGRETS. 189 
 
 The Treasures of the Deep. 
 
 TT7HAT hold'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells, 
 
 Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main ? 
 Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-coloured shells, 
 Bright things which gleam unrecked of, and in vain. 
 Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea 1 
 We ask not such from thee. 
 
 Yet more — thy depths have more ! What wealth untold. 
 
 Far down and shining through their stillness, lies ! 
 Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold. 
 Won from ten thousand royal argosies. 
 
 Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main ! 
 Earth claims not these again ! 
 
 Yet more — thy depths have more ! Thy waves have rolled 
 
 Above the cities of a world gone by ! 
 Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, 
 Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of reveliy ! 
 
 Dash o'er them. Ocean ! in thy scornful play — 
 Man yields them to decay ! 
 
 Yet more — thy billows and thy depths have more ! 
 
 True hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast ! 
 They hear not now the booming waters roar ; 
 The battle thunders will not break their rest. 
 
 Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave — 
 Give back the true and brave ! 
 
 Give back the lost and lovely ! — those for whom 
 
 The place was kept at board and hearth so long ! 
 The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom. 
 And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song ! 
 Hold fast thy buried isles — thy towers o'erthrown ; 
 But all is not thine own ! 
 
190 VICISSITUDES AND REGRETS. 
 
 To thee the love of woman hath gone down ; 
 
 Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head ; 
 O'er youth's bright locks and beauty's flowery crown : 
 Yet must thou hear a voice — Restore the dead ! 
 Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee, 
 Restore the dead, thou Sea. 
 
 Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 The Convict Ship, 
 
 IVyTORN on the waters ! And purple and bright 
 
 Bursts on the billows the flushing of light. 
 O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun. 
 See the tall vessel goes gallantly on ! 
 Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail. 
 And her pennon streams onward, like hope, in the gale. 
 The winds come around her in sorrow and song. 
 And the surges rejoice as they bear her along. 
 See ! she looks up to the golden-edged clouds. 
 And the. sailor sings gaily aloft in the shrouds; 
 Onward she glides, amid ripple and spray, 
 Over the waters — away and away ! 
 Bright as the visions of youth, ere they part, 
 Passing away, like a dream of the heart ! 
 Who, as the beautiful pageant sweeps by, 
 Music around her, and sunshine on high, 
 Pauses to think, amid glitter and glow. 
 Oh ! there be hearts that are breaking below ? 
 
 Night on the waves ! And the moon is on high, 
 Hung like a gem on the brow of the sky. 
 Treading its depth in the power of her might. 
 And turning the clouds, as they pass her, to light ! 
 
VICISSITUDES AND REGRETS. 191 
 
 Look to the waters ! — asleep on their breast 
 Seems not the ship like an island of rest ? 
 Bright and alone on the shadowy main, 
 Like a heart-cherished home on some desolate plain ! 
 Who, as she smiles in the silvery light, 
 Spreading her wings on the bosom of night. 
 Alone on the deep — as the moon in the sky, 
 A phantom of beauty — could deem, with a sigh, 
 That so lovely a thing is the mansion of Sin, 
 And souls that are smitten lie bursting within ? 
 Who — as he watches her silently gliding — 
 Remembers that wave after wave is dividing 
 Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever — 
 Hearts which are parted and broken for ever ? 
 Or deems that he watches afloat on the wave 
 The deathbed of hope, or the young spirit's grave ? 
 
 'Tis thus with our life, while it passes along, 
 Like a vessel at sea, amid sunshine and song ! 
 Gaily we glide in the gaze of the world. 
 With streamers afloat, and with canvas unfurled ; 
 All gladness and glory to wandering eyes, 
 Yet chartered by sorrow and freighted with sighs : 
 Fading and false is the aspect it wears, 
 As the smiles we put on, just to cover our tears ; 
 And the withering thoughts which the world cannot 
 
 know. 
 Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below ; 
 Whilst the vessel drives on to that desolate shore 
 Where the dreams of our childhood are vanished and 
 
 o'er ! 
 
 T. K. Hervey. 
 
192 VICISSITUDES AND REGRETS. 
 
 The Acres and the Men, 
 
 A BILLION of acres of unsold land 
 
 Are lying in grievous dearth, 
 
 And millions of men in the image of God 
 
 Are starving all over the earth ! 
 O tell me, ye sons of humanity. 
 How much men's lives are worth ? 
 
 Ten hundred millions of acres good 
 That never knew spade or plough, 
 
 And a million of souls in our goodly land 
 Are pining in want, I trow, 
 
 And orphans are crying for bread this day. 
 And widows in misery bow ! 
 
 To whom do these acres of land belong ? 
 
 And why do they thriftless lie ? 
 And why is the widow's lament unheard, 
 
 And stifled the orphan's cry ? 
 And why are storehouse and prison full, 
 
 And the gallows-tree high ? 
 
 Those millions of acres belong to man, 
 And his claim is — that he needs ! 
 
 And his title is signed by the hand of God — 
 Our God, who the raven feeds ; 
 
 And the starving soul of each famishing man 
 At the throne of justice pleads. 
 
 Ye may not heed it, ye haughty men, 
 Whose hearts as rocks are cold, 
 
 But the time will come when the fiat of God 
 In the thunder shall be told ! 
 
 For the voice of the great I AM hath said 
 
 That the « land shall not be sold !" 
 
VICISSITUDES AND REGRETS. 103 
 
 By-past Times. 
 
 npHE sky is blue, the sward Is green, 
 The leaf upon the bough is seen ; 
 The wind comes from the balmy west, 
 The little songster builds its nest ; 
 The bee hums on from flower to flower, 
 Till twilight's dim and dusky hour ; 
 The joyous year returns : but when 
 Shall By-past Times come back again ? 
 
 I think on childhood's glowing years — 
 
 How soft, how bright the scene appears ! 
 
 How calm, how cloudless passed away 
 
 The long, long summer holiday ! 
 
 I may not muse — I must not di'eam — 
 
 Too beautiful these visions seem 
 
 For earth and mortal man ; but when 
 
 Shall By-past Times come back again ? 
 
 I think of sunny eyes so soft — 
 Too deeply felt, enjoyed too oft. 
 When through the balmy fields I roved 
 With her, the earliest, dearest loved ; 
 Around whose form I yet survey, 
 In thought, the bright celestial ray, 
 To present scenes denied : oh when 
 Will By-past Times come back again ? 
 
 Alas ! the world, at distance seen, 
 Appeared all blissful and serene — 
 An Eden formed to tempt the foot 
 With crystal streams and golden fruit ; 
 That world, when tried and trod, is found 
 A rocky waste — a thorny ground ! 
 We then revert to youth : ah when 
 Will By-past Times come back again ? 
 
194 VICISSITUDES AND REGRETS. 
 
 Youth and Age. 
 
 TT'ERSE, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying, 
 
 Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee — 
 Both were mine ! Life went a-maying 
 With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, 
 
 When I was young 
 
 When I was young ! Ah, woeful ivhen ! 
 O for the change 'twixt now and then ! 
 This breathing house, not built with hands, 
 
 This body, that does me grievous wrong. 
 O'er airy cliffs and glittering sands 
 
 How lightly then it dashed along I 
 Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, 
 
 On winding lakes and rivers wide. 
 That ask no aid of sail or oar. 
 
 That fear no spite of wind or tide ! 
 Nought cared this body for wind or weather, 
 When Youth and I lived in't together! 
 Flowers are lovely, Love is flower-like. 
 
 Friendship is a sheltering tree : 
 O the joys, that came down shower-like, 
 
 Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, 
 
 , Ere I was old ! 
 
 Ere I was old ! Ah, mournful ere ! 
 Which tells me Youth's no longer here ! 
 O Youth ! for years so many and sweet, 
 
 'Tis known that thou and I were one — 
 I'll think it but a fond conceit : 
 
 It cannot be that thou art gone ! 
 Thy vesper bell hath not yet tolled. 
 And thou wert aye a masker bold. 
 What strange disguise hast now put on. 
 To make believe that thou art gone ? 
 
VICISSITUDES AND REGRETS. 195 
 
 I see these locks in silvery slips, 
 
 This drooping gait, this altered size ; 
 But spring-tide blossoms on thy lips, 
 
 And tears take sunshine from thine eyes ! 
 Life is but Thought ! so think I will 
 That Youth and I are house-mates still ! 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 Long Ago, 
 
 T ONG ago ! oh, long ago ! 
 
 Do not those words recall past years. 
 And, scarcely knowing why they Mow, 
 
 Force to the eyes unbidden tears ? 
 Do ye not feel, as back they come, 
 
 These dim sweet dreams of olden days, 
 A yearning to your childhood's home, 
 Peopled with tones of love and praise — 
 
 Long, long ago I 
 
 Long ago ! when many a sound 
 
 Awoke to mirth which saddens now ; 
 And many an eye was sparkling round, 
 
 That weeps beneath a darkened brow : 
 When with our whole young happy hearts. 
 
 We loved and laughed away the time ; 
 Nor thought how quickly all departs, 
 
 So cherished in life's early prime — 
 
 Long, long ago. 
 
 Long ago ! — the hopes we nursed 
 
 Of happiness — of earthly fame. 
 Were bright as bubbles are that burst — 
 
 A glittering drop — an empty name ! 
 
196 VICISSITUDES AND REGRETS. 
 
 O but to be one hour again 
 
 (Whatever that sweet hour might cost) 
 
 Free from dim memory's torturing pain, 
 
 With those we loved — with those we lost — 
 
 Long, long ago ! 
 
 Long ago ! who breathes there here, 
 
 O'er whom the past hath no such power? 
 Young heart ! if now thy sky is clear. 
 
 Beware, beware the future hour ! 
 Perchance the notes that eclio now. 
 
 In after years thou'lt hear again. 
 And gazing on each faded brow, 
 
 Wilt sighing say, " I heard that strain 
 Mrs. Norton. Long, long ago!" 
 
 Heaven.^ a Sacred Melody, 
 
 npHIS world is all a fleeting show 
 
 For man's illusion given ; 
 The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, 
 Deceitful shine, deceitful flow: 
 There's nothing true but Heaven. 
 
 And false the light on gloiy's plume 
 
 As fading hues of even ; 
 And love, and hope, and beauty's bloom. 
 Are blossoms gathered for the tomb : 
 
 There's nothing bright but Heaven. 
 
 Poor wanderers of a stormy day. 
 From wave to wave we're driven ; 
 
 And Fancy's flash, and Reason's ray, 
 
 Serve but to light the troubled way : 
 There's nothing calm but Heaven. 
 
 MooRE. 
 
VICISSITUDES AND REGRETS. 197 
 
 Remembrance. 
 
 TVyfAN hath a weary pilgrimage 
 
 As through the world he wends ; 
 On every stage, from youth to age, 
 
 Still discontent attends; 
 With heaviness he casts his eye 
 
 Upon the road before. 
 And still remembers, with a sigh, 
 
 The days that are no more. 
 
 To school the little exile goes, 
 
 Torn from his mother's arms — 
 What then shall soothe his earliest woes, 
 
 When novelty hath lost its charms ? 
 Condemned to suffer, through the day, 
 Restraints which no rewards repay. 
 
 And cares where love had no concern, 
 Hope lengthens as she counts the hours 
 
 Before his wished return. 
 
 From hard control and tyrant rules, 
 The unfeeling discipline of schools. 
 
 In thought he loves to roam ; 
 And tears will struggle in his eye 
 While he remembers, with a sigh, 
 
 The comforts of his home. 
 
 Youth comes: the toils and cares of life 
 Torment the restless mind ; — 
 
 Where shall the tired and harassed heart 
 Its consolation find ? 
 
 Then is not Youth, as Fancy tells, 
 Life's summer prime of joy I 
 
198 VICISSITUDES AND REGRETS. 
 
 Ah no ! for hope too long delayed, 
 And feeHngs blasted or betrayed, 
 
 The fabled bliss destroy ; 
 And youth remembers, with a sigh, 
 
 The careless days of infancy. 
 
 Maturer manhood now arrives. 
 
 And other thoughts come on ; 
 But v/ith the baseless hopes of youth 
 
 Its generous warmth is gone. 
 Cold calculating cares succeed — 
 The timid thought — the wary deed, 
 
 The dull realities of truth. 
 Back on the past he turns his eye. 
 Remembering, with an envious sigh. 
 
 The happy dreams of youth. 
 
 So reaches he the latter stage 
 Of this our mortal pilgrimage, 
 
 With feeble step and slow ; 
 New ills that latter stage await, 
 And old Experience learns too late. 
 
 That all is vanity below. 
 Life's vain delusions are gone by. 
 
 Its idle hopes are o'er ; 
 Yet Age remembers, with a sigh. 
 
 The days that are no more. 
 
 SoUTHEY, 
 
 Note. — This is a sad but true picture of Life, as it almost 
 invariably presents itself at the present time, under the influence 
 of a neglected or imperfect education, based upon mere lan- 
 guage and science. But under the influence of an education 
 based upon Religion and Virtue, as well as cultivated intellect, 
 Life would present a picture beaming with joy. 
 
SECTION XI. 
 
 Independence 
 
 AND 
 
 Contentment 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION XL 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Independence . . » . . . .201 
 
 My Minde to Me a Kingdome is . . . 202 
 Conscience ....... 204 
 
 Independence , . . . . . .205 
 
 The English Peasant ..... 207 
 
INDEPENDENCE & CONTENTMENT. 
 
 Independence, 
 
 TJOW happy is he born and taught 
 
 Who serveth not another's will ; 
 Whose armour is his honest thought. 
 And truth his utmost skill. 
 
 Whose passions not his master are ; 
 
 Whose soul is still prepared for death ; 
 Not bound unto the world by care 
 
 Of public fame or private breath. 
 
 Who envies none that chance doth raise, 
 Or vice ; who never understood 
 
 How deepest wounds are given by praise ; 
 Nor rules of State — but rules of good. 
 
 Who hath his life from vices freed ; 
 
 Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; 
 Whose state can neither flatterers feed. 
 
 Nor min make oppressors great ; 
 
 Who God doth late and early pray 
 More of His grace than gifts to lend ; 
 
 And entertains the leisure day 
 
 With a well-chosen book or friend : 
 
202 INDEPENDENCE AND CONTENTMENT. 
 
 This man is freed from servile bands 
 
 Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; 
 Lord of himself, though not of lands, 
 
 And having nothing — yet hath all ! 
 
 Sir H. Wotton. 
 
 My Minde to Me a Ktngdome is, 
 
 AN OLD BALLAD. 
 
 [Extracted from the Supplement to Dodslefs Collection. 
 
 w 
 
 minde to me a kingdome is ; 
 
 Such perfect joy therein I finde 
 As farre exceeds all earthly blisse 
 
 That God or Nature hath assignde : 
 Though much I lacke that most would have, 
 Yet still my minde forbids to crave. 
 
 Content I live — this is my stay ; 
 
 I seek no more than may suffice : 
 I presse to bear no haughtie sway. 
 
 For what I lacke my minde supplies. 
 Loe ! thus I triumph like a king, 
 Content with that my minde doth bring. 
 
 I see abundance surfets oft. 
 
 And hastie climbers soonest fall ; 
 
 I see that such as sit aloft 
 
 Mishap doth threaten most of all : 
 
 These get with toil, and keep with care ; 
 
 Such care my minde could never beare. 
 
INDEPENDENCE AND CONTENTMENT. 203 
 
 No princely pompe, nor welthie store, 
 
 No force to winne a victorie ; 
 No wylie wit to salve a sore, 
 
 No shape to winne a lover's eye : 
 To none of these I yield as thrall, 
 For why ? — my minde dispiseth all. 
 
 Some have too much, yet still they crave ; 
 
 I little have, yet seek no more : 
 They are but poore, though much they have ; 
 
 And I am rich with little store : 
 They poore, I rich ; they beg, I give ; 
 They lacke, I lend ; they pine, I thrive. 
 
 I laugh not at another's losse ; 
 
 I gmdge not at another's gaine ; 
 No worldly wave my minde can tosse ; 
 
 I brooke that is another's bane : 
 I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend ; 
 I lothe not life, nor dread mine end. 
 
 My welth is health and perfect ease ; 
 
 My conscience clere my chief defence ; 
 I never seeke by brybes to please. 
 
 Nor by desert to give offence : 
 Thus do I live, thus will I die : 
 Would all might do as well as I ! 
 
 O 2 
 
204 INDEPENDENCE AND CONTENTMENT. 
 
 Conscience, 
 
 "TV/TY conscience Is my crown ; 
 
 Contented thoughts ray rest ; 
 My heart is happy in itself; 
 My bhss is in my breast. 
 
 Enough, I reckon wealth ; 
 
 A mean the surest lot ; 
 That lies too high for base contempt, 
 
 Too low for envy's shot. 
 
 My wishes are but few. 
 
 All easy to fulfil : 
 I make the limits of my power 
 
 The boundary of my will. 
 
 I have no hopes but one, 
 
 Which is of heavenly reign ; 
 
 Effects attained, or not desired, 
 All lower hopes refrain, 
 
 I feel no care of coin ; 
 
 Well-doing is my wealth. 
 My mind to me an empire is 
 
 While grace affordeth health, 
 
 I wrestle not with rage : 
 
 While fury's flame doth burn. 
 
 It Is in vain to stop the stream 
 Until the tide doth turn. 
 
 But when the flame is out, 
 And ebbing wrath doth end, 
 
 I turn a late enraged foe 
 Into a quiet friend. 
 
INDEPENDENCE AND CONIENTMENT. 205 
 
 And taught with often proof, 
 
 A tempered calm I find 
 To be best solace to itself, 
 
 Best cure for angry mind. 
 
 No change of Fortune's wheel 
 
 Can cast my comfort down ; 
 When Fortune smiles, I smile to think 
 
 How quickly she will frown. 
 
 And when in froward mood 
 
 She moved — an angry foe — 
 Small gain I found to let her come. 
 
 Less loss to let her go. 
 
 Robert Southwell, 1590. 
 
 Independence. 
 
 'T^HY spirit. Independence, let me share ! 
 Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye ; 
 Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare. 
 
 Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky. 
 Thou, guardian genius, thou didst teach my youth 
 
 Pomp and her tinsel livery to despise ; 
 My lips, by thee chastised to early tmth. 
 
 Ne'er paid that homage which the heart denies. 
 
 Those sculptured halls my feet shall never tread, 
 
 Where varnished vice and vanity, combined 
 To dazzle and seduce, their banners spread, 
 
 And forge vile shackles for the free-born mind ; 
 Where Insolence his wrinkled front uprears. 
 
 And all the flowers of spurious fancy blow ; 
 And Title his ill-woven chaplet wears. 
 
 Full often wreathed around the miscreant's brow. 
 
206 INDEPENDENCE AND CONTENTMENT. 
 
 Where ever-dimpling Falsehood, pert and vain, 
 
 Presents the cup of stale Profession's froth. 
 And pale Disease, with all his bloated train. 
 
 Torments the sons of Gluttony and Sloth. 
 In Fortune's car behold the minion ride, 
 
 With either India's glittering spoils oppressed ! 
 So moves the sumpter-mule in harnessed pride. 
 
 That bears the treasures which he cannot taste. 
 
 For him let venal bards disgrace the bay, 
 
 And hireling minstrels wake the tinkling string ; 
 Her sensual snares let faithless Pleasure lay, 
 
 And all her jingling bells fantastic Folly ring ; 
 Disquiet, doubt, and dread shall intervene, 
 
 And Nature, still to all her feelings just. 
 In vengeance hang a damp on every scene, 
 
 Shook from the baneful pinions of Disgust. 
 
 Nature I'll court in her sequestered haunts. 
 
 By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove, or cell, 
 Where the poised lark his evening ditty chaunts. 
 
 And Health, and Peace, and Contemplation dwell. 
 There Study shall with Solitude recline, 
 
 And Friendship pledge me to his fellow-swains, 
 And Toil and Temperance sedately twine 
 
 The slender cord that fluttering life sustains. 
 
 And fearless Poverty shall guard the door. 
 
 And Taste, unspoiled, the frugal table spread ; 
 And Industry supply the humble store. 
 
 And Sleep, unbribed, his dews refreshing shed. 
 White-mantled Innocence — ethereal sprite I — 
 Shall chase far off the goblins of the night ; 
 And Independence o'er the day preside : 
 Propitious power ! my patron and my pride ! 
 
 Smollett. 
 
INDEPENDENCE AND CONTENTMENT. 207 
 
 The English Peasant. 
 
 T 
 
 ^O pomp and pageantry in nought allied, 
 A noble peasant, Isaac Ashford, died. 
 Noble he was, contemning all things mean, 
 His truth unquestioned, and his soul serene. 
 Of no man's presence Isaac felt afraid. 
 At no man's question Isaac looked dismayed. 
 Shame knew him not, he dreaded no disgrace ; 
 Truth, simple truth, was written in his face. 
 Yet, while the serious thought his soul approved, 
 Cheerful he seemed and gentleness he loved. 
 To bliss domestic he his heart resigned. 
 And, with the firmest, had the fondest mind. 
 Were others joyfbl, he looked smiling on, 
 And gave allowance where he needed none ; 
 Good he refused with future ill to buy, 
 Nor knew a joy that caused reflection's sigh ; 
 A friend to virtue, his unclouded breast 
 No envy stung, no jealousy distressed 
 (Bane of the poor! it wounds their weaker mind 
 To miss one favour which their neighbours find) ; 
 Yet far was he from stoic pride removed 
 He felt humanely and he warmly loved. 
 I marked his action when his infant died. 
 And his old neighbour for offence was tried ; 
 The still tears stealing down that flirrowed cheek 
 Spoke pity plainer than the tongue can speak. 
 If pride were his, 'twas not that vulgar pride, 
 Who, in their base contempt, the great deride, 
 Nor pride in learning, though my clerk agreed. 
 If fate should call him, Ashford might succeed ; 
 Nor pride in rustic skill, although we knew 
 None his superior, and his equals few ; 
 
208 INDEPENDENCE AND CONTENTMENT. 
 
 But if that spirit in his soul had place, 
 
 It was the jealous pride that shuns disgrace — 
 
 A pride in honest fame, by virtue gained. 
 
 In sturdy boys to virtuous labours trained ; 
 
 Pride in the power that guards his country's coast, 
 
 And all that Englishmen enjoy and boast ; 
 
 Pride in a life that Slander's tongue defied — 
 
 In fact, a noble passion, misnamed pride. 
 
 He had no party rage, no sectary's whim ; 
 Christian and countryman was all with him ; 
 True to his church he came ; no Sunday shower 
 Kept him at home in that important hour. 
 Nor his firm feet could one persuading sect. 
 By the strong glare of their new light, direct. 
 " On hope in mine own solar light I gaze. 
 But should be blind, and lose it, in your blaze." 
 
 In times severe, when many a sturdy swain 
 Felt it his pride, his comfort, to complain, 
 Isaac their wants would soothe, his own would hide, 
 
 And feel in that his comfort and his pride. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 I feel his absence in the hours of prayer. 
 And view his seat, and sigh for Isaac there ; 
 I see no more those white locks, thinly spread 
 Round the bald polish of that honoured head. 
 
 No more that awful glance on playful wight, 
 Compelled to kneel and tremble at the sight ; 
 To fold his fingers all in dread the while, 
 Till Master Ashford softened to a smile ; 
 No more that meek and suppliant look in prayer, 
 Nor the pure faith, to give it force, are there. 
 But he is blessed, and I lament no more — 
 A wise, good man, contented to be poor. 
 
 George Crabbe. 
 
SECTION XII. 
 
 Temperance and Health 
 
 ^? 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION XII. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Temperance, the Best Physician . . . 211 
 Tempeeiance . . . . . . .213 
 
 The Water-Drinker . . . . .214 
 
TEMPERANCE AND HEALTH. 
 
 'Temperance^ the Best Physician, 
 
 /^ O, now, and with some daring drug 
 
 Bait thy disease ; and whilst they tug, 
 Then, to maintain their precious strife, 
 Spend the dear treasures of thy Hfe. 
 Go, take physic, dote upon 
 Some big-named composition. 
 The oraculous doctor's mystic bills — 
 Certain hard words made into pills : 
 And what, at last, shalt gain by these ? 
 Only a costlier disease. 
 
 That which makes us have no need 
 Of physic — that's physic indeed. 
 
 Hark hither, reader ! — wilt thou see 
 Nature her own physician be ? 
 Wilt see a man all his own wealth, 
 His own music, his own health — 
 A man, whose sober soul can tell 
 How to wear her garments well ; 
 Her garments, that upon her sit 
 As garments should do, close and fit ; 
 
212 TEMPERANCE AND HEALTH, 
 
 A well-clothed soul, that's not oppressed 
 
 Nor choked with what she should be dressed ; 
 
 A soul sheathed In a crystal shrine, 
 
 Through which all her bright features shine ; 
 
 As when a piece of wanton lawn, 
 
 A thin aerial veil, is drawn 
 
 O'er beauty's face, seeming to hide, 
 
 More sweetly shows the blushing bride ; 
 
 A soul whose intellectual beams 
 
 No mists do mask, no lazy steams — 
 
 A happy soul, that all the way 
 
 To heaven hath a happy day ? 
 
 Wouldst see a man whose well- warmed blood 
 
 Bathes him in a genuine flood ? 
 
 A man whose tuned humours be 
 
 A seat of rarest harmony ? 
 
 Wouldst see blithe looks, fresh cheeks, beguile 
 
 Old age ? Wouldst see December smile ? 
 
 Wouldst see nests of new roses grow 
 
 In a bed of reverend snow ? 
 
 Warm thoughts, free spirits flatteiing 
 
 Winter's self into a spring ? 
 
 In short, wouldst see a man that can 
 
 Live to be old, and still a man ? 
 
 Whose latest and most leaden hours 
 
 Fall with soft wings, decked with soft flowers. 
 
 And when life's sweet fable ends, 
 
 Soul and body part like friends ; 
 
 No quarrels, murmurs, no delay ; 
 
 A kiss, a sigh, and so away : 
 
 This rare one, reader, wouldst thou see ? 
 
 Hark hither ! and I'll whisper thee : 
 
 Let Temperance thy motto be. 
 
 And then thou wilt thyself ho: he. 
 
 Richard Crashaw, born 1615. 
 
TEMPERANCE AND HEALTH. 213 
 
 Te?npera?ice, 
 
 (^Extracted from W. Hay*s ''^ Essay on Deformity,'''*\ 
 
 T HOLD, as Articles of Faith (but which may be con- 
 demned as heresies in many a general council assembled 
 around a large table) : — 
 
 1. That the smallest liquors are the best. 
 
 2. That there never was a good bowl of punch, nor a good 
 bottle of champagne, burgundy, or claret. 
 
 3. That the best dinner is one dish. 
 
 4. That an entertainment grows worse in proportion as the 
 number of dishes increase. 
 
 5. That a fast is better than a Lord Mayor's feast. 
 
 6. That no connoisseur ever understood good eating. 
 
 7. That no minister of state or ambassador ever gave a 
 good entertainment. 
 
 8. That no king ever sat down to a good table. 
 
 9. And that the peasant fares better than the prince, &c., &c. 
 
 Being inspired with such sentiments, what wonder is it if 
 I sometimes break out into such ejaculations : — 
 
 O Temperance ! thou goddess most worthy to be adored ! 
 Thou patroness of Health ! 
 Thou protector of Beauty ! 
 Thou prolonger of Life ! 
 Thou insurer of Pleasure ! 
 Thou promoter of Business ! 
 Thou guardian of the Person ! 
 Thou preserver of the Understanding ! 
 Thou parent of eveiy Intellectual Improvement and 
 of every Moral Virtue ! 
 
214 TEMPERANCE AND HEALTH. 
 
 The Water-Drinker, 
 
 C\ WATER for me ! Bright water for me ! 
 (And wine for the tremulous debauchee !) 
 It cooleth the brow, it cooleth the brain, 
 It maketh the faint one strong again ; 
 It comes o'er the sense Hke a breeze from the sea. 
 All freshness, like infant purity. 
 O water, bright water for me, for me ! 
 Give wine, give wine to the debauchee ! 
 
 Fill to the brim ! Fill, fill to the brim ! 
 Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim ! 
 For my hand is steady, my eye is true, 
 For I, like the flowers, drink nought but dew. 
 O water ! bright water's a mine of wealth, 
 And the ores it yieldeth are vigour and health. 
 So water, pure water, for me, for me ! 
 And wine for the tremulous debauchee ! 
 
 Fill again to the brim ! again to the brim ! 
 For water strengtheneth life and limb ! 
 To the days of the aged it addeth length, 
 To the might of the strong it addeth strength. 
 It freshens the heart, it biightens the sight, 
 'Tis like quaffing a goblet of morning light. 
 So, water ! I will drink nought but thee, 
 Thou parent of health and energy ! 
 
 Edward Johnson. 
 
SECTION XIII. 
 
 Beauty and Utility 
 
 OF 
 
 Education. 
 
 (^y?Tn. ^Sk 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION XIII. 
 
 The Education of the Poor the Duty of the 
 State 
 
 Blessings of Instruction .... 
 
 Education ...... 
 
 Love, Hope, and Patience in Education 
 
 The Incomparable Pleasures of a Cultivated 
 Mind 
 
 Ode to Duty 
 
 The World is Full of Beauty 
 The March of Mind 
 
 217 
 219 
 221 
 222 
 
 223 
 225 
 
 227 
 229 
 
BEAUTY AND UTILITY 
 
 EDUCATION. 
 
 I'he Education of the Poor the Duty 
 of the State, 
 
 i 
 
 C\ FOR the coming of that glorious time 
 
 When, prizing knowledge as her noblest wealth 
 And best protection, this imperial realm, 
 While she exacts allegiance, shall admit 
 An obligation on her part to teach 
 Them who are bora to serve her and obey ; 
 Binding herself, by statute, to secure 
 To all the children whom her soil maintains. 
 The rudiments of letters, and inform 
 The mind with moral and religious truth, 
 Both understood and practised — so that none, 
 However destitute, be left to droop 
 By timely culture unsustained ; or run 
 Into a wild disorder ; or be forced 
 To dmdge through a weaiy life without the help 
 Of intellectual implements and tools ; 
 
218 BEAUTY AND UTILITY OF EDUCATION. 
 
 A savage horde among the civihsed, 
 
 A sei"vile band among the lordly free ! 
 
 This sacred right the lisping babe proclaims 
 
 To be inherent in him, by Heaven's will, 
 
 For the protection of his innocence ; 
 
 And the rude boy who, having over-past 
 
 The sinless age, by conscience is enrolled, 
 
 Yet mutinously knits his angiy brow, 
 
 And lifts his wilful hand on mischief bent ; 
 
 Or turns the godlike faculty of speech 
 
 To impious use ; by process indirect 
 
 Declares his due, while he makes known his need. 
 
 This sacred right is fmitlessly announced, 
 
 This universal plea in vain addressed 
 
 To eyes and ears of parents, who themselves 
 
 Did, in the time of their necessity, 
 
 Urge it in vain : and therefore, like a prayer 
 
 That from the humblest floor ascends to heaven. 
 
 It mounts to reach the State's parental ear ; 
 
 Who, if indeed she own a mother's heart. 
 
 And be not most unfeignedly devoid 
 
 Of gratitude to Providence, will grant 
 
 The unquestionable good, which — (England safe 
 
 From interference of external force) — 
 
 May grant at leisure ; without risk incurred. 
 
 That — ^what in wisdom for herself she doth — 
 
 Others may e'er be able to undo. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
BEAUTY AND UTILITY OF EDUCATION. 219 
 
 Blessings of histruction. 
 
 ^ I 'HE heart has tendrils like the vine 
 
 Which round another's bosom twine, 
 Out-springing from the parent tree 
 Of deeply-planted sympathy, 
 Whose flowers are hope — its fruits are bliss— 
 Beneficence its harvest is. 
 
 There are some bosoms dark and drear, 
 Which like unwatered deserts are ; 
 Yet there a curious eye may trace 
 Some smiling spot, some verdant place, 
 Where little flowers, the weeds between. 
 Spend their soft fragrance all unseen. 
 
 Despise them not — for wisdom's toil 
 Has ne'er disturbed that stubborn soil ; 
 Yet care and culture might have brought 
 The ore of truth from mines of thought ; 
 And fancy's fairest flowers had bloomed 
 Where truth and fancy lie entombed. 
 
 Insult him not — his blackest crime 
 May, in his Maker's eye sublime, 
 In spite of all thy pride, be less 
 Than e'en thy daily waywardness ; 
 Than many a sin, and many a stain 
 Forgotten, and impressed again. 
 
 There is, in every human heart. 
 Some not completely barren part. 
 Where seeds of love and truth might grow. 
 And flowers of generous virtue blow : 
 To plant — to watch — to water there — 
 This be our duty — this our care. 
 
 p 
 
220 BEAUTY AND UTILITY OF EDUCATION. 
 
 x\nd sweet it is the growth to trace 
 Of worth, of intellect, of grace, 
 In bosoms where our labours first 
 Bid the young seed of spring-time burst, 
 And lead it on from hour to hour. 
 To ripen into perfect flower. 
 
 Hast thou e'er seen a garden clad 
 
 In all the robes that Eden had ? ^ 
 
 Or vale o'erspread with streams and trees, 
 
 A paradise of mysteries ? 
 
 Plains, with green hills adorning them, 
 
 Like jewels in a diadem. 
 
 These gardens, vales, and plains, and hills, 
 Whicli beauty gilds, and music fills. 
 Were once but deserts : culture's hand 
 Has scattered verdure o'er the land ; 
 And smiles and fragrance rule serene 
 Where barren wilds usurped the scene. 
 
 And such is man ! — a soil which breeds 
 Or sweetest flowers, or vilest weeds : 
 Flowers lovely as the morning light — 
 Weeds deadly as the aconite : 
 Just as his heart is trained to bear 
 The poisonous weed, or flowret fair. 
 
 Flow, then, pure knowledge ! ever flow ! 
 Change Nature's face, in man below. 
 From ignorance to mental light — 
 From gloomy vice to virtue bright — 
 From hate, and strife, and selfishness. 
 To peace, and love, and righteousness. 
 
 John Bowring, 1 792. 
 
BEAUTY AND UTILITY OF EDUCATION. 221 
 
 Kducation. 
 
 Addressed to Queen Victoria. 
 
 r\ LADY ! — if some new-born babe should bless, 
 
 In answer to a nation's prayers, thy love, 
 When thou, beholding it, in tenderness. 
 
 The deepest, holiest joy of earth shall prove — 
 In that the likeness of all infants see, 
 And call to mind that hour what now thou hear'st from 
 me. 
 
 Thou, seeing infant man, that lord of earth, 
 Most weak and helpless of all breathing things, 
 
 Remember that, as Nature makes at birth 
 No different law for peasants or for kings. 
 
 And, at the end, no difference may befall ; 
 
 The " short parenthesis of life" is all. 
 
 But in that interval, how wide may be their doom 
 
 Of honour or dishonour — good or ill ! 
 From Nature's hand, like plastic clay, they come 
 To take from circumstance their woe or weal ; 
 And as the foiTn or pressure may be given, 
 They wither upon earth, or ripen there for heaven. 
 
 Is it then fitting that one soul should pine 
 For lack of culture in this favoured land ? 
 
 That spirits of capacity divine 
 
 Perish — like seeds upon the desert sand ? 
 
 That needful knowledge, in this age of light, 
 
 Should not, by birth, be eveiy Briton's right ? 
 
 Robert Southey. 
 
222 BE A UTY AND UTILITY OF ED UCA Tl ON. 
 
 Love^ Hope^ and Patience in Education, 
 
 /^'ER wayward childhood wouldst thou hold firm rule, 
 And sun thee in the light of happy faces, 
 
 Love, Hope, and Patience — these must be thy graces ; 
 And in thine own heart let them first keep school. 
 
 For as old Atlas on his broad neck places 
 Heaven's starry globe, and there sustains it, so 
 Do these upbear the little world below 
 
 Of Education, Patience, Love, and Hope. 
 Methinks I see them grouped in seemly show. 
 
 The straitened arms upraised, the palms aslope. 
 And robes that, touching as adown they flow, 
 Distinctly blend, like snow embossed in snow. 
 
 O part them never ! If Hope prostrate lie. 
 
 Love, too, will sink and die. 
 But Love is subtle, and doth proof derive 
 From her own life, that Hope is still alive ; 
 And bending o'er, with soul-transfusing eyes 
 
 And the soft murmurs of the mother dove, 
 Woos back the fleeting spirit, and half supplies. 
 
 Thus Love repays to Hope what Hope first gave to 
 Love. 
 Yet haply there will come a weary day. 
 
 When overtasked, at length. 
 Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way. 
 
 Then, with a statue's smile, a statue's strength, 
 Stands the mute sister. Patience, nothing loth. 
 And, both supporting, does the work of both. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
BEAUTY AND UTILITY OF EDUCATION. 223 
 
 The Incomparable Pleasures of a 
 Cultivated Mind. 
 
 C\A ! blest of Heaven, whom not the languid songs 
 
 Of Luxury, the syren ! not the bribes 
 Of sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils 
 Of pageant Honour, can seduce to leave 
 Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the store 
 Of Nature fair Imagination calls 
 To charm the enlivened soul ! What though not all 
 Of mortal offspring can attain the heights 
 Of envied life ; though only few possess 
 Patrician treasures or imperial state ; 
 Yet Nature's care, to all her children just, 
 With richer treasures and an ampler state 
 Endows at large whatever happy man 
 Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp, 
 The rural honours his. Whate'er adorns 
 The princely dome, the column, and the arch ; 
 The breathing marbles and the sculptured gold, 
 Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim 
 His tuneful breast enjoys. For him the ^Spring 
 Distils her dews, and from the silken gem 
 Its lucid leaves unfolds ; for him the hand 
 Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch 
 With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn. 
 Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings ; 
 And still new beauties meet his lonely walk. 
 And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze 
 Flies o'er the meadow ; not a cloud imbibes 
 The setting sun's refulgence ; not a strain 
 From all the tenants of the warbling shade 
 Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake 
 Fresh pleasure, unreproved. Nor thence partakes 
 
224 BE A UTY AND UTILITY OF ED UCA Tl ON. 
 
 Fresh pleasure only ; for the attentive mind, 
 
 By this harmonious action on her powers, 
 
 Becomes herself harmonious : wont so oft 
 
 In outward things to meditate the charm 
 
 Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home 
 
 To find a kindred order, to exert 
 
 Within herself this eloquence of love. 
 
 This fair inspired delight ; her tempered powers 
 
 Refine at length, and every passion wears 
 
 A chaster, milder, more attractive mien. 
 
 But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze 
 
 On Nature's form, where, negligent of all 
 
 These lesser graces, she assumes the port 
 
 Of that eternal majesty that weighed 
 
 The world's foundations — if to these the mind 
 
 Exalts her daring eye — then mightier far 
 
 Will be the change, and nobler. Would the forms 
 
 Of sei-vile customs cramp her generous powers ? 
 
 Would sordid policies, the barbarous growth 
 
 Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down 
 
 To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear ? 
 
 Lo ! she appeals to Nature, to the winds 
 
 And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course. 
 
 The elements and seasons : all declare 
 
 For what the eternal Maker has ordained 
 
 The powers of man : we feel within ourselves 
 
 His energy divine. He tells the heart, 
 
 He means, He made us to behold and love 
 
 What He beholds and loves, the general orb 
 
 Of life and being ; to be great like Him, 
 
 Beneficent and active. Thus the men 
 
 Whom Nature's works can charm, with God Himself 
 
 Hold converse ; grow familiar, day by day. 
 
 With His conceptions, act upon His plan ; 
 
 And form to His, the relish of their souls. 
 
 Akenside, 1775. 
 
BEAUTY AND UTILITY OF EDUCATION. 225 
 
 Ode to Duty. 
 
 CTERN daughter of the voice of God ! 
 
 O Duty ! if that name thou love, 
 Who art a Hght to guide — a rod 
 
 To check the erring, and reprove ; 
 Thou who art victory and law 
 When empty terrors overawe ; 
 From vain temptations dost set free, 
 And calm' St the weaiy strife of frail humanity ! 
 
 There are who ask not, if thine eye 
 
 Be on them ; who, in love and tmth 
 Where no misgiving is, rely 
 
 Upon the genial sense of youth : 
 Glad hearts ! without reproach or blot. 
 Who do thy work, and know it not : 
 Oh if, through confidence misplaced, 
 They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power, around 
 them cast. 
 
 Serene will be our days, and bright. 
 
 And happy will our nature be, 
 When love is an unerring light, 
 
 And joy its own security. 
 And they a blissful course may hold 
 Even now who, not unwisely bold, 
 Live in the spirit of this creed ; 
 Yet find that other strength, according to their need. 
 
 I, loving freedom, and untried. 
 
 No sport of every random gust ; 
 Yet, being to myself a guide, 
 
 Too blindly have reposed my tmst ; 
 
226 BEAUTY AND UTILITY 01 EDUCATION. 
 
 And oft, when in my heart was heard 
 
 Thy timely mandate, I deferred 
 
 The task, in smoother walks to stray ; 
 
 But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. 
 
 Through no disturbance of my soul. 
 
 Or strong compunction in me wrought, 
 I supplicate for thy control. 
 
 But in the quietness of thought : 
 Me this unchartered freedom tires ; 
 I feel the weight of chance desires : 
 My hopes no more must change their name — 
 I long for a repose which ever is the same. 
 
 Stem lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear 
 
 The Godhead's most benignant grace ; 
 Nor know we anything so fair 
 
 As is the smile upon thy face ; 
 Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, 
 And fragrance to thy footing treads : 
 Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong, 
 And the most ancient heavens through thee are 
 fresh and strong. 
 
 To humbler functions, awful Power ! 
 
 I call thee : I myself commend 
 Unto thy guidance from this hour. 
 
 O let my weakness have an end ! 
 Give unto me, made lowly wise. 
 The confidence of reason give ; 
 And in the light of Truth thy bondsman let me live. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
BEAUTY AND UTILITY OF EDUCATION. 227 
 
 The World is Full of Beauty 
 
 npHERE is a voice within me, 
 
 And 'tis so sweet a voice, 
 That Its soft whispers win me, 
 
 And make my heart rejoice. 
 Deep from my soul it sprlngeth. 
 
 Like hidden melody ; 
 And evermore It singeth 
 
 This song of songs to me : 
 This world is full of Beauty, 
 
 As other worlds above ; 
 And If we did our duty, 
 
 It might be full of Love. 
 
 If faith and loving-kindness 
 
 Passed coin from heart to heart. 
 And Bigoti-y's dark blindness 
 
 And Malice would depart ; 
 If men were more forgiving — 
 
 Were kind words often spoken — 
 Instead of scorn and grieving. 
 
 There would be few hearts broken. 
 With plenty round us smiling, 
 
 Why wakes this cry for bread ? 
 Why are crushed millions toiling — 
 
 Gaunt — clothed in rags — unfed ? 
 
 The sunny hills and valleys 
 
 Blush ripe with fruit and grain, 
 
 But the lordllng of the palace 
 Still robs his fellow-men. 
 
228 BEAUTY AND UTILITY OF EDUCATION. 
 
 O God ! what hosts are trampled 
 
 Amidst this press for gold ! 
 What noble hearts are sapped of life ! 
 
 What spirits lose their hold ! 
 And yet, upon this God-blest earth, 
 
 There's room for every one ; 
 Ungarnered food still ripens 
 
 To waste — rot — in the sun : 
 For the world is full of Beauty 
 
 As other worlds above ; 
 And if we did our duty, 
 
 It might be full of Love. 
 
 Let the law of bloodshed perish — 
 
 War's triumphs — goiy splendour — 
 And men will learn to cherish 
 
 Feelings more kind and tender. 
 Were we faithful to each other, 
 
 We'd banish hate and crime, 
 And clasp the hand of brother 
 
 In every land and clime ! 
 If gold were not an idol — 
 
 Were virtue only worth — 
 O there would be a bridal 
 
 Between high heaven and earth. 
 
 Were truth a spoken language. 
 
 Angels might talk with men. 
 And God-illumined earth would see 
 
 The golden age again. 
 The leaf-tongues of the forest — 
 
 The flower-lips of the sod — 
 The birds that hymn their raptures 
 
 Into the ear of God — 
 
BEAUTY AND UTILITY OF EDUCATION. 
 
 And the sweet wind that bringeth 
 
 The music of the sea — 
 Have each a voice that singeth 
 
 This song of songs to me : 
 This world is full of Beauty 
 
 As other worlds above ; 
 And if we did our duty, 
 
 It might be full of Love. 
 
 229 
 
 F 
 
 The March of Mind. 
 
 AIR Nature smiled in all her bowers ; 
 But man, the master-work of God, 
 Unconscious of his latent powers, 
 
 The tangled forest trod. 
 Without a hope, without an aim 
 
 Beyond the sloth's— the tiger's life ; 
 
 His only pleasure sleep or strife, 
 And war his only fame. 
 
 Furious alike and causeless beamed 
 His lasting hate— his transient love ; 
 
 And even the mother's fondness seemed 
 The instinct of the dove. 
 
 The mental world was wrapped in night ; ^ 
 Though some— the diamonds of the mine- 
 Burst through the shrouding gloom, to shine 
 
 With self-emitted light ! 
 
 But see the glorious dawn unfold 
 The brighter day that lurks behind ! 
 
 The march of armies may be told, 
 But not the march of mind. 
 
230 BEAUTY AND UTILITY OF EDUCATION. 
 
 Instruction ! — Child of Heaven and Earth — 
 As heat expands the vernal flower, 
 So Wisdom, Goodness, Freedom, Power, 
 
 From thee derive their birth ! 
 
 From Thee all mortal bliss we di*aw ; 
 
 From Thee, religion's blessed fruit ; 
 From Thee, the good of social law, 
 
 And man redeemed from brute ; 
 From Thee, all ties to virtue dear. 
 
 The father's, brother's, husband's name : 
 
 From Thee, the sweet and holy fame 
 That never cost a tear. 
 
 Oh ! breathe thy soul along the gale — 
 
 That Britons still, in generous strife. 
 Knowledge and freedom may inhale — 
 
 The mingled breath of life ! 
 So shall they share what they possess. 
 
 And show to distant worlds thy charms ; 
 
 Wisdom and peace their only aiins. 
 Their only aim to bless ! 
 
 Miss MiTFORD. 
 
SECTION XIV. 
 
 Truth, Science, Fact, 
 Opinion. 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION XIV. 
 
 The Nobility and Beauty of Science . . 233 
 
 The Advent of Truth . . . . .236 
 Opinion and Fact . . . . . .237 
 
TRUTH, SCIENCE, FACT, OPINION, 
 
 T^he Nobility and Beauty of Science. 
 
 CCIENCE ! thou fair effusive ray 
 
 From the great source of mental day, 
 
 Free, generous, and refined. 
 Descend with all thy treasures fraught. 
 Illumine each bewildered thought. 
 
 And bless my labouring mind. 
 
 But first, with thy resistless light. 
 Disperse these phantoms from my sight, 
 
 Those mimic shades of thee ; 
 The scholiast learning — sophist cant — 
 The visionary bigot's rant — 
 
 The monk's philosophy, 
 
 O let thy powerful charms impart 
 The patient head — the candid heart 
 
 Devoted to thy sway. 
 Which no weak passions e'er mislead. 
 Which still with dauntless steps proceed 
 
 Where Reason points the way ! 
 
 Give me to learn each secret cause; 
 Let Number's, Figure's, Motion's laws 
 
 Revealed before me stand ; 
 These to great Nature's scenes apply. 
 And round the globe, and through the sky, 
 
 Disclose her working hand. 
 
234 TRUTH, SCIENCE, FACT, OPINION. 
 
 Next to thy nobler search resigned, 
 The busy, restless, human mind 
 
 Through every maze pursue ; 
 Detect perception where it lies, 
 Catch the ideas as they rise, 
 
 And all their changes view. 
 
 Say, from what simple springs began 
 The vast ambitious thoughts of man. 
 
 Which range beyond control. 
 Which seek eternity to trace. 
 Dive through the infinity of space, 
 
 And strain to grasp the whole I 
 
 Her secret stores let Memory tell. 
 And Fancy quit her faiiy cell 
 
 In all her colours dressed. 
 While, prompt her sallies to control, 
 Reason, the judge, recalls the soul 
 
 To Truth's severest test. 
 
 Then launch through Being's wide extent ; 
 Let the fair scale with just ascent 
 
 And cautious steps be trod ; 
 And from the dead corporeal mass. 
 Through each progressive order pass 
 
 To Instinct, Reason, God. 
 
 There, Science ! veil thy daring eye, 
 Nor dive too deep, nor soar too high, 
 
 In that divine abyss. 
 To Faith content thy beams to lend. 
 Her hopes to assure, her steps befriend. 
 
 And light her way to bliss. 
 
TRUTH, SCIENCE, FACT, OPINION. 235 
 
 Then downward take thy flight again ; 
 Mix with the poHtics of men, 
 
 And social Nature's ties; 
 The plan, the genius of each state, 
 Its interests and its powers relate, 
 
 Its fortunes and its rise. 
 
 Through private life pursue thy course, 
 Trace every action to its source, 
 
 And means and motives weigh ; 
 Put tempters, passions, in the scale, 
 Mark what degi'ees in each prevail, 
 
 And fix the doubtful sway. 
 
 That last best effort of thy skill. 
 To form the life and rule the will, 
 
 Propitious Power ! impart ; 
 Teach me to cool my passion's fires, 
 Make me the judge of my desires, 
 
 The master of my heart. 
 
 Raise me above the vulgar's breath. 
 Pursuit of fortune — fear of death. 
 
 And all in life that's mean ; 
 Still true to Reason be my plan ; 
 Still let my actions speak the man. 
 
 Through every various scene. 
 
 Hail ! queen of Manners, light of Truth ; 
 Hail ! charm of age, and guide of youth ; 
 
 Sweet refuge of distress. 
 In business, thou, exact, polite ; 
 Thou giv'st retirement its delight, 
 
 Prosperity its grace. 
 
 Q 2 
 
236 TRUTH, SCIENCE, FACT, OPINION, 
 
 Of wealth, power, freedom, thou the cause ; 
 Foundress of order, cities, laws ; 
 
 Of arts inventress, thou ! 
 Without thee, what were human kind ? 
 How vast their wants, their thoughts how blind ; 
 
 Their joys, how mean, how few ! 
 
 Sun of the soul, thy beams unveil ! 
 Let others spread the daring sail 
 
 On Fortune's faithless sea ; 
 While, undeluded, happier I 
 From the vain tumult timely fly, 
 
 And sit in peace with thee. 
 
 Akenside. 
 
 Tbe Advent of Truth. 
 
 A TIME there is, though far its dawn may be, 
 
 And shadows thick are brooding on the main. 
 When, like the sun upspringing from the sea, 
 Truth shall arise, with Freedom in its train, 
 
 And Light upon its forehead, as a star 
 
 Upon the brow of heaven, to shed its rays 
 
 Among all people, wheresoe'er they are, 
 
 And shower upon them calm and happy days. 
 
 As sunshine comes with healing on its wing, 
 After long nights of sorrow and unrest. 
 
 Solace, and peace, and sympathy to bring , 
 
 To the grieved spirit and unquiet breast. 
 
 No more shall then be heard the slave's deep groan ! 
 
 Nor man man's inhumanity deplore ; 
 All strife shall cease, and war shall be unknown, 
 
 And the world's golden age return once more. 
 
TRUTH, SCIENCE, FACT, OPINION. 237 
 
 And nations now that, with oppression's hand, 
 Are to the dust of earth with sorrow bound, 
 
 Shall then erect in fearless vigour stand, 
 
 And, with recovered freedom, shout aloud. 
 
 Along with Truth, Wisdom, her sister twin, 
 Shall come ; — they two are never far apart : 
 
 At their approach — to some lone cavern, Sin 
 Shall cowering flee, as stricken to the heart. 
 
 Right shall then temper Justice, as 'tis meet 
 It should ; and Justice give to Right its own ; 
 
 Might shall its sword throw underneath its feet : 
 And Tyranny, unhinged, fall off its throne. 
 
 Then let us live in hope, and still prepare 
 Us and our children, for the end that they 
 
 May those instruct who after them shall heir. 
 To watch and wait the coming of that day. 
 
 W. Anderson, 1845. 
 
 Opinion and Fact, 
 
 CUPERFICIAL thinkers, who have no energy to investi- 
 gate, and who are content to dwell on the very surface 
 of things, settle many important questions, very much to their 
 own satisfaction, by telling us that, after all, it is a mere 
 matter of opinion ; and that one man's opinion is as good as 
 another's. 
 
 Now, what are opinions ? Opinions are founded upon 
 conjecture, and conjecture is founded upon ignorance. 
 
 There are thousands of matters of fact known only to the 
 initiated and scientific, which are held by the ignorant as mere 
 matters of opinion. And, on the other hand, the world is 
 full of wrangling — newspapers teem with zealous discussion — 
 
238 TRUTH, SCIENCE, FACT, OPINION. 
 
 and many books, by superficial writers, are sent forth simply 
 to maintain the truth of opinions which actual experiment 
 and observation have long since shown to be false. 
 
 The incipient stages of any new science are necessarily 
 accompanied by a limited range of facts ; consequently, thou- 
 sands of vague and imperfect ideas float, for a time, in th^ 
 hazy region of opinion, but which, by means of observation 
 and experiment, are gradually brought into the clear and lucid 
 atmosphere of evidence and demonstration, and are thereby 
 shown to be either facts or fiction — tme or false : if found to 
 be false, they are consigned to oblivion ; if tme, they are 
 consecrated to science. 
 
 As soon as a competent knowledge of any subject is at- 
 tained — that is to say, when we have investigated the subject 
 with diligence and attention — when we have performed ex- 
 periments and made observations — when, by a careful and 
 extensive induction of particulars, or widely-collected analo- 
 gies, we have established a conclusion upon the solid basis of 
 demonstration — then we cease to conjecture — we cease to hold 
 opinion ; we are then, in relation to that particular subject, in 
 possession of a matter of fact, upon which we can base our 
 actions with the greatest human certainty. 
 
 Synopsis. — Opinions are ideas founded on conjecture, and 
 conjecture is founded upon ignorance ; facts, on the contrary, 
 are founded upon knowledge, which is the result of investiga- 
 tion and experience : connate facts classified constitute science. 
 
SECTION XV. 
 
 War and Peace, 
 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION XV. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 War 241 
 
 The Song of the Sword . . . . ,243 
 The Drum ....... 245 
 
 The Needle, the Pen, and the Sword . . 246 
 
 Seventy-five Thousand Tons of Human Blood . 249 
 
 Address to Peace 250 
 
 Armies and Warriors . . . . .251 
 
 The Elements of Liberty . . . . 252 
 
 War 253 
 
 Expenses of the War, Moral, Social, and 
 
 Domestic (in Texas), 1855 . . . 254 
 
 Farewell to War 255 
 
 Origin of War ...... 257 
 
 War 258 
 
WAR AND PEACE. 
 
 War. 
 
 /^ WAR ! thou miscreating curse ! 
 
 Dark juggler of the universe ! 
 How hast thou marred this glorious globe I 
 Throwing round thee thy scarlet robe, 
 And masking, with the rainbow's blaze 
 Of gem-like beauty, thy fierce face, — 
 Thou hast deceived, from time's first ages, 
 Its mighty captains, lords, and sages. 
 Till they and the strong multitude 
 Thy mad, remorseless smiles have wooed ; 
 And, drunk with thy bewildering song 
 From horn, or harp, or cymbalon. 
 Done deeds which might the lion shame. 
 And make the nations pale to name. 
 For priests, their mitres are thy mirth. 
 Thy panders are the kings of earth : 
 From their high pagods dost thou come. 
 Charioted with the hideous hum 
 Of thousands, who, where'er it reels, 
 Perish beneath thy waggon wheels. 
 
242 WAR AND PEACE. 
 
 Heaven's angry angel, pour wrath on thee, War ! 
 Ambition and cruelty harness thy car. 
 And ruin, and rapine, and fell decay. 
 Herald thee on thy blasting way ; 
 Thou cancellest treaties at thy nod. 
 Crumbiest the robes of the priest of God ; 
 On the palace of kings, on the peasant's cot. 
 Thou turnest thy visage, and they are not. 
 When thy hurricane hurtles a capital burns, 
 And infancy's ashes fill innocent urns. 
 
 Wrath on thee. War ! thou hast given to the tomb 
 Tens of thousands to dread the day of doom ; 
 Thou hast fixed on the age that is rolling by 
 The terrible charm of the rattlesnake's eye ; 
 They have come to thy altar with fire and spell. 
 To people the chambers of death and hell. 
 
 Yet royalty smiles, and yet beauty vows — 
 They crown thee with laurel and myrtle boughs ; 
 And minstrels throng to their hallowed spring. 
 Their sanctioned homicides to sing ; 
 Dealing to nations a frenzied fire. 
 Sorrow to mercy, and shame to the lyre. 
 
 Jeremiah Holme Wiffen, 1820. 
 
WAR AND PEACE. 243 
 
 The Song of the Sword. 
 
 W 
 
 "EARY, and wounded, and worn, 
 Wounded and ready to die, 
 A soldier they left, all alone and forlorn, 
 
 On the field of the battle to lie. 
 The dead and the dying alone 
 
 Could their presence and pity afford, 
 Whilst with a sad and a terrible tone 
 He sang the Song of the Sword. 
 
 Fight— fight— light ! 
 Though a thousand fathers die ; 
 
 Fight— fight— fight ! 
 Though a thousand children cry ! 
 
 Fight— fight— fight ! 
 While mothers and wives lament ; 
 
 And fight — fight— fight, 
 While millions of money are spent. 
 
 Fight— fight— fight ! 
 Should the cause be foul or fair, 
 Though all that's gained is an empty name, 
 And a tax too great to bear : 
 I An empty name and a paltry fame. 
 And thousands lying dead ; 
 Whilst every glorious victoiy 
 Must raise the price of bread. 
 
 War — war — war ! 
 Fire, and famine, and sword ; 
 Desolate fields and desolate towns, 
 And thousands scattered abroad. 
 
244 WAR AND PEACE. 
 
 With never a home, and never a shed, 
 Whilst kingdoms perish and fall ; 
 
 And hundreds of thousands are lying dead, 
 And all for nothing at all. 
 
 War — war — war ! 
 
 Musket, and powder, and ball — 
 Ah ! why do we fight so for ? 
 
 Ah ! why have we battles at all ? 
 'Tis Justice must be done, they say. 
 
 The nation's honour to keep : 
 Alas ! that Justice should be so dear, 
 
 And human life so cheap ! 
 
 War — war — war ! 
 
 Misery, murder, and crime 
 Are all the blessing I've seen in thee. 
 
 From my youth to the present time. 
 Misery, murder, and crime — 
 
 Crime, misery, murder, and woe ; 
 Ah! would I had known in my younger days 
 
 Half the horrors which now I know ! 
 
 Oh ! had I but known in my happier days — 
 
 In my hours of boyish glee, 
 A tithe of the horrible scenes of war — 
 
 Its crimes and misery ! 
 I now had been joining a happy band 
 
 Of wife and children dear, 
 And I would have died in my native land, 
 
 Instead of dying here. 
 
 And many a long, long day of woe. 
 
 And sleepless nights untold. 
 And drenching rain, and drifting snow, 
 
 And weariness, famine, and cold, 
 
WAR AND PEACE. 245 
 
 And worn-out limbs, and aching heart, 
 
 And grief too great to tell, 
 And bleeding wound, and piercing smart, 
 
 I would have escaped full well. 
 
 Weary, and wounded, and worn. 
 
 Wounded and ready to die, 
 A soldier thus left, all alone and forlorn, 
 
 On the field of the battle to lie. 
 The dead and the dying alone 
 
 Could their presence and pity afford, 
 As thus with a sad and a terrible tone 
 (O would that these truths were more perfectly known!) 
 
 He sang the Song of the Sword. 
 
 The Drum. 
 
 T HATE the drum's discording sound, 
 
 Parading round, and round, and round ; 
 To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields, 
 And lures from cities and from fields. 
 To sell their liberty for charms 
 Of tawdry lace and glittering arms ! 
 And, when ambition's voice commands, 
 To march, and fight, and fall in foreign lands. 
 
 I hate the drum's discording sound, 
 Parading round, and round, and round ; 
 To me it talks of ravaged plains. 
 And burning towns, and ruined swains, 
 And mangled limbs, and dying groans, 
 And widows' tears, and oi-phans' moans ! 
 And all that misery's hand bestows 
 To fill the catalogue of human woes. 
 
 I. Scott. 
 
246 WAR AND PEACE. 
 
 The Needle^ the Pen^ and the Swo}^d, 
 
 *' TTT'HAT hast thou seen, with thy shining eye, 
 Thou Needle, so subtle and keen ?" 
 
 " I have lent to Beauty new power to reign 
 At bridal and courtly hall ; 
 Or, wedded to Fashion, have helped to bind 
 Those gossamer hnks that the strongest mind 
 Have sometimes held in thrall. 
 
 " I have drawn a drop, so round and red, 
 From the finger small and white 
 Of the startled child, as she strove with care 
 Her doll to deck with some gewgaw rare, 
 Who wept at my puncture bright. 
 
 " I have gazed on the mother's patient brow, 
 
 As my utmost speed she plied. 
 To shield from Winter her children dear. 
 And the knell of midnight smote her ear. 
 
 While they slumbered at her side. 
 
 '* I have heard, in the hut of a pining poor. 
 The shivering inmate's sigh 
 When faded the warmth of her last faint brand, 
 As slowly from her clammy hand 
 She let me drop — to dieF* 
 
 " What dost thou know, thou grey Goose Quill :' 
 And methought, with a spasm of pride. 
 
 It sprang from the inkstand, and fluttered in vain 
 
 Its nib to free from the ebon stain 
 As it fervently replied — 
 
WAR AND PEACE. 247 
 
 " IVhat do I knoiv P Let the lover tell, 
 
 When into his secret scroll 
 He poureth the breath of a magic lyre, 
 And traceth those mystical lines of lire 
 
 That move the maiden's soul. 
 
 ** What do I know ? The wife can say 
 
 As the leaden seasons move, 
 And over the ocean's wildest sway 
 A blessed missive doth wend its way 
 
 Inspired by a husband's love. 
 
 " Do ye doubt my power ? Of the statesman ask 
 Who buffets Ambition's blast ; 
 Of the convict, who shrinks in his cell of care ; 
 A flourish of mine hath sent him there, 
 And locked his fetters fast ; 
 
 *' And a flourish of mine can his prison ope — 
 
 From the gallows its victim save ; 
 Break off the treaty that kings have bound, 
 Make the oath of a nation an empty sound, 
 
 And to Liberty lead the slave. 
 
 " Say, what were Histoiy, so wise and old, 
 And Science, that reads the sky ; 
 Or how could Music its sweetness store ; 
 Or Fancy and Art their treasures pour ; 
 Or what were Poesy's heaven-taught lore, 
 Should the pen its aid deny ? 
 
 " Oh doubt, if ye will, that the rose is fair. 
 
 That the planets pursue their way ; 
 Go, question the fires of the noontide sun. 
 Or the countless streams that to ocean mn ; 
 But ask no more what the Pen hath done." 
 
 And it scornfully turned away. 
 
>A8 WAR AND PEACE. 
 
 " What are thy deeds — thou fearful thing 
 By the lordly warrior's side ?" 
 And the Sword answered, stern and slow, 
 " The hearth-stone lone and the orphan know, 
 And the pale and widowed bride. 
 
 " The shriek and the shroud of the batde crowd, 
 And the field that doth rock below. 
 The wolf that laps where the gash is red, 
 And the vulture that tears ere life hath fled, 
 And the prowling robber that strips the dead, 
 And the foul hyaena, know. 
 
 " The rusted plough, and the seed unsown, 
 And the grass that doth rankly grow 
 O'er the rotting limb, and the blood-pool dark. 
 Gaunt Famine, that quenches Life's lingering spark, 
 And the black-winged Pestilence, know. 
 
 " Death, with the rush of his harpy brood, 
 And Earth, in her pang and throe ; 
 Demons that riot in slaughter and crime. 
 And the throng of the souls sent before their time. 
 To the bar of the Judgment, know." 
 
 Then the terrible Sword to its sheath returned. 
 
 While the Needle sped on in peace ; 
 But the Pen traced out, from a Book sublime. 
 The promise and pledge of that better time 
 When the warfare of earth shall cease. 
 
 Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. 
 
WAR AND PEACE. 249 
 
 Seventy-Jive Thousand Tons of Human 
 Blood, 
 
 \ WRITER in the Jefferson county (New York) 
 •^ -^ Union, who has been making calculations relative 
 to the number of men killed in the war, gives the following 
 startling results; — "There has been enough already slain to 
 encircle our state if their dead bodies were laid in one con- 
 tinuous line. If they were placed in coffins and corded 
 they would count thirty-nine thousand cords. If laid in a 
 wall twenty-five feet thick and thirty feet high, it would be 
 over one and one-fourth mile in length. If five feet thick 
 and ten feet high, the pile would reach across the state. If 
 piled upon a ten acre lot they would be nearly two hundred 
 feet high — and if laid upon the ground, they would cover 
 eveiy foot of soil in Jefferson county. Seventy-five thousand 
 tons of human blood has been spilled on Dixie's soil — 
 enough to turn every spindle in Lowell, and if the tears 
 were added to the flood, it would turn the machinery of the 
 continent ; and the unavailing sighs would fill every ocean 
 sail. The one-half has not yet been told. The millions of 
 wounded and maimed for life must be taken into account in 
 summing up the grand total of evils incident to this bloody 
 and fanatical war. And the end is not yet. We shudder at 
 the news of the death of twenty persons killed by the acci- 
 dental breaking of a rail or the sinking of a steamboat, and if 
 two hundred are lost by any means we are fairly horror- 
 stricken, and are ready to wreak vengeance on any one who 
 has been negligent or careless in the matter. But when tens 
 of thousands are cut down in one day by the procurement of 
 designing demagogues, we shout ' Hallelujah!' and can hardly 
 contain ourselves for joy, while we thank Heaven for the 
 human slaughter." 
 
250 WAR AND PEACE. 
 
 Address to Peace. 
 
 /^ FIRST of human blessings ! and supreme ! 
 
 Fair Peace! — how lovely — how delightful thou ! 
 By whose wide tie the kindred sons of men 
 Like brothers live, in amity combined 
 And unsuspicious faith ; while honest toil 
 Gives every joy, and to those joys a right 
 Which idle, barbarous repose but usurps. 
 
 Pure is thy reign, when, unaccursed by blood, 
 Nought — save the sweetness of indulgent showers — 
 Trickling distils into the verdant globe 
 (Instead of mangled carcasses — sad scene !) — 
 When the blithe sheaves lie scattered in the field ; 
 When only shining shares — the crooked knife. 
 And hooks, imprint the vegetable wound ; 
 When the land blushes with the rose alone, 
 The falling fmitage and the bleeding vine. 
 
 O Peace ! thou source and soul of social life I 
 Beneath whose calm inspiring influence 
 Science his views enlarges, art refines, 
 And swelling commerce opens all her ports — 
 Blest be the man divine who gave us thee ! 
 Who bids the tmmpet hush its horrid clang. 
 Nor blow the giddy nations into rage ; 
 Who sheathes the murderous blade — the deadly gun 
 Into the well-piled armory returns ; 
 And every vigour, from the work of death. 
 To grateful industry converting — makes 
 The country flxourish and the city smile. 
 
WAR AND PEACE. 251 
 
 Unviolated, him the virgin sings ; 
 And him, the smiHng mother to her train ; 
 Of him, the shepherd, in the peaceful dale, 
 Chants ; and, the treasures of his labour sure, 
 The husbandman of him, as at the plough. 
 Or team, he toils. With him the sailor soothes, 
 Beneath the trembling moon, the midnight wave ; 
 And the full city, warm from street to street, 
 And shop to shop, responsive rings of him. 
 
 Nor joys one land alone ; his praise extends 
 Far as the sun rolls the diffusive day ; 
 Far as the breeze can bear the gifts of peace ; 
 Till all the happy nations catch the song. 
 
 James Thompson. 
 
 Armies and Warriors, 
 
 "\T7'ERE half the power that fills the world with terror, 
 Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and 
 courts, 
 Given to redeem the human mind from error, 
 There'd be no need of armies nor of forts. 
 
 The warrior's name would be a name abhorred ; 
 
 And every nation that should lift again 
 Its hand against a brother — on its forehead 
 
 Would wear for evermore the curse of Cain. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 R 2 
 
252 WAR AND PEACE. 
 
 The Elements of Liberty. 
 
 'VTT'E want no flag — no flaunting rag — 
 
 In Liberty's cause to fight ; 
 We want no blaze of murderous guns 
 
 To struggle for the right : 
 Our spears and swords are printed words — 
 
 The mind's our battle plain ; 
 We've won our victories thus before, 
 
 And so we shall again. 
 
 We love no triumphs gained by force — 
 
 They stain the brightest cause : 
 'Tis not in blood that Liberty 
 
 Inscribes her sacred laws ; 
 She writes them on the people's hearts, 
 
 In language clear and plain : 
 True thoughts have moved the world before, 
 
 And so they shall again. 
 
 We yield to none in earnest love 
 
 Of Freedom's cause sublime ; 
 We join the cry — *' Fraternity !" 
 
 We keep the march of Time. 
 And yet we grasp no spear nor sword 
 
 Our victories to obtain ; 
 We've won without their help before. 
 
 And so we shall again. 
 
 We want no aid of barricade 
 
 To show a front to wrong ; 
 We have a fortress in the truth 
 
 More durable and strong. 
 
WAR AND PEACE. 253 
 
 Calm words, great thoughts, unflinching faith 
 
 Have never striven in vain ; 
 They've won our victories many a time, 
 
 And so they shall again. 
 
 Peace, progress, knowledge, brotherhood. 
 
 The ignorant may sneer — 
 The bad deny ; but we rely 
 
 To see their triumph near. 
 No widow's groans shall mar our cause. 
 
 No blood of brethren slain : 
 Kindness and Love have won before, 
 
 And so they shall again. 
 
 War. 
 
 npHE hunting tribes of air and earth 
 
 Respect the brethren of their birth ; 
 Nature, who loves the claim of kind. 
 Less cruel chase to each assigned : 
 The falcon, poised on soaring wing. 
 Watches the wild duck at the spring ; 
 The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair, 
 The greyhound presses on the hare, 
 The eagle pounces on the lamb. 
 The wolf devours the fleecy dam ; 
 E'en tiger fell and sullen bear 
 Their likeness and their lineage spare ; 
 Man only mars kind Nature's plan. 
 And turns the fierce pursuit on man. 
 Plying War's desultory trade. 
 Incursion, flight, and ambuscade ; 
 Since Nimrod, Cush's mighty son. 
 At first the bloody game begun. 
 
 Walter Scott. 
 
254 WAR AND PEACE. 
 
 Expenses of the War^ Moral^ Social^ and 
 Domestic [in T'exas\ 1855. 
 
 {Neto Tork Journal of Commerce, July, 1 8 56.) 
 
 TT has been roughly estimated that the total sum expended 
 by all the belligerents during the war cannot fall short of 
 2,000,000,000 dollars (400,000,000/. ) If to this sum be added 
 the value of property sacrificed in consequence of the war, of 
 the fleets destroyed, the towns burnt, the fortresses, harbours, 
 bridges demolished, all of which cost millions on millions in their 
 construction — if the account be taken of the property of private 
 individuals utterly devastated in the course of the struggle, and 
 of the untold losses occasioned by the withdrawal of hundreds 
 of thousands of men from the ordinary industrial and pro- 
 ductive employments of peace, some idea may then be formed 
 of the deplorable expenditure of war. During the two short 
 years of the war it is estimated that upwards of three-quarters 
 of a million perished on the field in fight, on the wayside 
 from cold or want, or in the hospital from disease, who, had 
 they been left to pursue their ordinary avocations, might have 
 enriched their country and benefited their fellow-men. But 
 apart from the material considerations of pecuniary profit or 
 loss, considering the question as one affecting the cause and 
 interests of humanity, who can compute the anguish, the 
 misery, the despair which war brings in its train ? Who can 
 estimate the blighted hopes, the desolate hearths, the crushed 
 fortunes, and countless domestic miseries which war occasions ? 
 They are not remembered when the triumph of the hero is 
 celebrated ; they are not noted by the chronicler ; they are 
 not taken into account by those who engage or provoke the 
 contest to satisfy ambition, lust for power, or some other 
 unworthy passion ; and yet they are the saddest, because 
 irremediable, consequences of war. 
 
WAR AND PEACE. 255 
 
 Farewell to War, 
 
 ■pEACE to the trumpet ! no more shall my breath 
 
 Sound an alarm in the dull ear of Death, 
 Nor startle to life from the truce of the tomb 
 The relics of heroes, to combat till doom. 
 Let Marathon sleep to the sound of the sea, 
 Let Hannibal's spectre haunt Cannae for me ; 
 Let Cressy and Agin court tremble with corn. 
 And Waterloo blush with the beauty of morn ; 
 I turn not the furrow for helmets and shields, 
 Nor sow dragon's teeth in their old fallow fields ; 
 I will not, as bards have been wont since the Flood, 
 With the river of song swell the river of blood — 
 The blood of the valiant, that fell in all climes. 
 The song of the gifted, that hallowed all crimes, 
 All crimes in the war-fiend incarnate in one ; 
 War, withering the Earth — war eclipsing the Sun, 
 Despoiling, destroying, since discord began, 
 God's works and God's mercies — man's labours and 
 
 man. 
 Yet war have I loved, and of war have I sung, 
 With my heart in my hand, and my soul on my tongue ; 
 With all the affections that render life dear. 
 With the throbbings of hope, and the flutterings of fear — 
 Of hope, that the sword of the brave might prevail, 
 /Of fear, lest the arms of the righteous should fail. 
 
 But what was the war that extorted my praise ? 
 What battles were fought in my chivalrous lays ? 
 The war against darkness contending with light, 
 ^ The war against violence trampling down right ; 
 The battles of patriots, with banner unfurled, 
 To guard a child's cradle against an armed world ; 
 
256 WAR AND PEACE. 
 
 Of peasants that peopled their ancestors' graves, 
 
 Lest their ancestors' homes should be peopled by slaves. 
 
 I sei-ved, too, in wars and campaigns of the mind ; 
 
 My pen was the sword which I drew for mankind ; 
 
 In war against tyranny throned in the West, 
 
 Campaigns to enfranchise the negro oppressed ; 
 
 In war against war, on whatever pretence, 
 
 For glory, dominion, revenge, or defence, 
 
 While murder and perfidy, rapine and lust, 
 
 Laid provinces desolate, cities in dust. 
 
 Yes, war against war was ever my pride ; 
 
 My youth and my manhood in waging it died ; 
 
 And age, with its weakness, its wounds, and its scars. 
 
 Still finds my free spirit unquenched as the stars ; 
 
 And he who would bend it to war must first bind 
 
 The waves of the ocean, the wings of the wind ; 
 
 Foi- I call it not war which war's counsels o'erthrows, 
 
 I call it not war which gives nations repose ; 
 
 'Tis judgment brought down on themselves by the proud, 
 
 Like lightning, by fools, from an innocent cloud. 
 
 I war against all war ; nor, till my pulse cease, 
 
 Will I throw down my weapons because I love peace. 
 
 Because I love liberty, execrate strife. 
 
 And dread most of all deaths, that slow death called life. 
 
 Dragged on by a vassal, in purple or chains. 
 
 The breath of whose nostrils, the blood in whose veins. 
 
 He calls not his own, nor holds from his God, 
 
 While it hangs on a king's or a sycophant's nod. 
 
 Around the mute trumpet — no longer to breathe 
 War clangors — my latest war-chaplets I wreathe ; 
 Then hang them aloof on the time-stricken oak. 
 And thus, in its shadow, Heaven's blessing invoke : — 
 
WAR AND PEACE. 257 
 
 ** Lord God ! since the African bondage is o'er, 
 And war in our borders is heard of no more, 
 May never, while Britain adores Thee, again 
 The malice of fiends, or the madness of men. 
 Break the peace of our land, and by villainous wrong 
 Find a field for a hero, a hero for song." 
 
 Montgomery, 1834. 
 
 Origin of War. 
 
 THIRST Envy — eldest-bom of hell — imbrued 
 
 Her hands in blood, and taught the sons of man 
 To make a death, which Nature never made. 
 And God abhorred ; with violence rude to break 
 The thread of life, ere half its length was spun, 
 And rob a \rretched brother of his being. 
 
 With joy Ambition saw, and soon improved 
 The execrable deed. 'Twas not enough, 
 By subtle fraud, to snatch a single life. 
 Puny impiety ! Whole kingdoms fell 
 To sate the lust of power. More horrid still. 
 The foulest stain and scandal of our nature 
 Became its boast. One murder makes a villain. 
 Millions a hero. Princes were privileged 
 To kill, and numbers sanctified the crime. 
 
 Ah ! why will kings forget that they are men. 
 And men that they are brethren ? Why delight 
 In human sacrifice ? Why burst the ties 
 Of nature, that should knit their souls together 
 In one soft bond of amity and love ? 
 
 Beilby Porteus, 173 I. 
 
258 WAR AND PEACE. 
 
 War. 
 
 r\ WAR, what art thou ? 
 
 After the brightest conquest, what remains 
 Of all thy glories ? For the vanquished — chains ; 
 For the proud victor — what ? Alas ! to reign 
 O'er desolated regions — a drear waste — 
 By vile ambition, and the lust of power, 
 Unpeopled ! Naked plains and ravaged fields 
 Succeed to smiling harvests, and the fruits 
 Of peaceful olive, luscious fig, and vine ! 
 Here — rifled temples are the caverned dens 
 Of savage beasts, or haunts of birds obscene ; 
 There — populous cities blacken in the sun ; 
 And, in the general wreck, proud palaces 
 Lie undistinguished, save by the dun smoke 
 Of recent conflagration ! When the song 
 Of dear-bought joy, with many a triumph swelled, 
 Salutes the victor's ear, and soothes his pride. 
 How is the grateful harmony profaned 
 With the sad dissonance of virgins' cries. 
 Who mourn their brothers slain ! Of matrons lone, 
 Who clasp their withered hands, and fondly ask — 
 With iteration shrill — their slaughtered sons ! 
 How is the laurel's verdure stained with blood. 
 And drenched with widows' tears ! 
 
 Hannah More, 1744. 
 
SECTION XVI. 
 
 Glory and Fame, 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION XVI. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 True Valour . . . . . . .261 
 
 Glory . . . . . . . .262 
 
 Fame 263 
 
 Ambition ....... 264 
 
GLORY AND FAME. 
 
 True Valour, 
 
 npHE things true Valour's exercised about 
 
 Are poverty, restraint, captivity, 
 Banishment, loss of children, long disease : 
 The least is death. Here valour is beheld — 
 Is truly seen ; about these it is present ! 
 Not trivial things, which but require our confidence ; 
 And yet to these we must object ourselves 
 Only for honesty : if any other 
 Respects be mixed, we quite put out her light. 
 And as all knowledge, when it is removed 
 Or separate from Justice, is called craft 
 Rather than wisdom, so a mind affecting 
 Or undertaking dangers for ambition, 
 Or any self-pretext, and not for others' good, 
 Deserves the name of daring — not of Valour. 
 And over-daring is as great a vice 
 As over-fearing. 
 
 But as it is not the mere punishment, 
 But cause, that makes the martyr, so it is not 
 Fighting or dying, but the manner of it, 
 Renders a man himself. A valiant man 
 
262 GLORY AND FAME. 
 
 Ought not to undergo, or tempt a danger, 
 
 But worthily, and by selected ways : 
 
 He undertakes with reason, not by chances. 
 
 His valour is the salt to his other virtues : 
 
 They are all unseasoned without it. The waiting -maids. 
 
 Or the concomitants of it, are his Patience, 
 
 His Magnanimity, his Confidence, 
 
 His Constancy, Security, and Quiet. 
 
 He can assure himself against all rumour. 
 
 Despairs of nothing, laughs at contumelies, 
 
 As knowing himself advanced in a height 
 
 Where injury cannot reach him, nor aspersion 
 
 Touch him with soil. 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 Glory, 
 
 "^TT'HAT is glory but the blaze of fame — 
 
 The people's praise — if always praise unmixed ? 
 And what the people, but a herd confused ; 
 A miscellaneous rabble, who extol 
 
 Things vulgar, and, well weighed, not worth the praise ? 
 They praise and they admire they know not what, 
 And know not whom, but as one leads the other : 
 And what delight to be by such extolled ; 
 To live upon their tongues, and be their talk ; 
 Of whom to be dispraised were no small praise ? 
 His lot who dares be singularly good. 
 The intelligent among them, and the wise 
 Are few, and Glory scarce of few is raised. 
 They err, who count it glorious to subdue 
 By conquest far and wide ; to overrun 
 Large countries ; and in fields great battles win ; 
 
GLORY AND FAME. 
 
 Great cities by assault. What do these worthies 
 But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave 
 Peaceable nations, neighbouring or remote. 
 Made captive ; yet deserving freedom more 
 Than those their conquerors, who leave behind 
 Nothing but niin wheresoe'er they rove, 
 And all the flourishing works of Peace destroy : 
 Then swell with pride, and must be titled Gods, 
 Great benefactors of mankind, deliverers. 
 Worshipped with Temple, Priest, and Sacrifice ; 
 One is the son of Jove, of Mars the other. 
 Till conqueror Death discovers them scarce men ; 
 Rolling in brutish vices, and deformed — 
 Violent or shameful death their due reward. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 Fame, 
 
 C\P all the phantoms fleeting in the mist 
 
 Of Time, though meagre all, and ghostly thin. 
 Most unsubstantial, unessential shade. 
 Was earthly Fame. She was a voice alone, 
 And dwelt upon the noisy tongues of men. 
 She never thought, but gabbled ever on. 
 Applauding most what least deserved applause. 
 The motive, the result, was nought to her — 
 The deed alone, though dyed in human gore 
 And steeped in widows' tears, if it stood out 
 To prominent display, she talked of much, 
 And roared around it w^Ith a thousand tongues 
 As changed the wind, her organ, so she changed 
 Perpetually ; and whom she praised to-day, 
 Vexing his ear with acclamations loud. 
 To-morrow blamed, and hissed him out of sight. 
 
264 GLORY AND FAME. 
 
 Such was her nature, and her practice such — 
 But oh ! her voice was sweet to mortal ears, 
 And touched so pleasantly the strings of pride 
 And vanity, which in the heart of man 
 Were ever strung harmonious to her note. 
 That many thought to live without her song. 
 Was rather death than life. To live unknown, 
 Unnoticed, unrenowned ! To die unpraised, 
 Unepitaphed ! To go down to the pit, 
 And moulder into dust among vile worms. 
 And leave no whispering of a name on earth ! 
 Such thought was cold about the heart, and chilled 
 The blood. Who could endure it ? Who could choose. 
 Without a struggle, to be swept away 
 From all remembrance, and have part no more 
 With living men ? Philosophy failed here. 
 And self-approving Pride. Hence it became 
 The aim of most, and main pursuit, to win 
 A name, to leave some vestige as they passed. 
 That following ages might discern they once 
 Had been on earth, and acted something there. 
 
 POLLOK. 
 
 Ambition, 
 
 npO be ambitious of a mere name is a paltry feeling unworthy 
 of a great mind ; and as this is most frequently its 
 object, the term ambition >is generally used in a bad sense. 
 But ambition may be prompted by any object — good, bad, or 
 indifferent ; and a good object dignifies any degree of ambition. 
 The most laudable ambition is to be wise ; and the greatest 
 wisdom is to be good and to do good. We may be as ambitious 
 as we please, if we only aspire to the best things. 
 
SECTION XVII. 
 
 Vanity of Human Life, 
 
 •^^ 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION XVII. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 What is Life ? , . . 
 
 . 267 
 
 The Soul's Errand 
 
 . 269 
 
 Life . 
 
 . 272 
 
 Farewell to the Vanities of the World . 
 
 . 273 
 
 On the Vanities of Human Life 
 
 . 275 
 
 A Colloquy with Myself 
 
 276 
 
VANITY OF HUMAN LIFE, 
 
 What is LifeP 
 
 /^H! what is Life ? is it to dwell 
 
 A few short years on this fair earth ? 
 To nurse the darHng hopes that swell 
 Our anxious bosoms from our birth ? 
 
 Say, is it Life to sleep — to wake — 
 
 To eat — to drink — to draw our breath — 
 
 Of all earth's pleasures to partake ? — 
 No — this is but a "living death !" 
 
 'Tis death to waste our time and thought 
 On shadows — for our hopes are such — 
 
 To see what we have built and wrought 
 Destroyed with e'en the slightest touch: — 
 
 And worse than death the senseless feast 
 
 The dance — the song — the mirthful game: — 
 
 Man ! does not every bird, and beast, 
 And hated reptile, love the same? 
 
 S 2 
 
268 VANITY OF HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 Who with a soul could feast and laugh, 
 While thousands starve for lack of food. 
 
 And the full cup of misery quaff. 
 And weep the very tears of blood ? 
 
 Who that has sense would waste that breath 
 In songs, which might assuage the grief 
 
 Of mortals in the pangs of death — 
 Or give the struggling soul relief? 
 
 I'd rather be the vilest thing 
 
 That crawls the earth — the loathsome toad- 
 The scorpion, with its venomed sting — 
 
 Than bear within my breast the load 
 
 Of an unfeeling, hardened heart, 
 
 Which knows no good — no pure desire — 
 
 To which God will not grace impart ; 
 Fit fuel for eternal fire ! 
 
 Hearts void of Love are void of Life ; 
 
 Though beauty may be his or hers, 
 Their bodies, with corruption rife. 
 
 Are nought but " whited sepulchres !" 
 
 *Tis Life to live to Him who made 
 Man in His image, fair and good — 
 
 In Mercy, Love, and Truth arrayed — 
 "Oh! that this Life was understood!" 
 
VANITY OF HUMAN LIFE. 269 
 
 The SouPs Errand. 
 
 This remarkable poem was written in the early part of 
 Queen Elizabeth's reign. Although written anonymously, it 
 is a burst of genuine poetry. It is supposed to have been 
 written by Sir Walter Raleigh. In speaking of this poem, 
 the poet Campbell says — " It carries to my imagination an 
 appeal which I cannot easily account for from a few simple 
 rhymes. It places the last and inexpressibly awful hour of 
 existence before my view, and sounds like a sentence of vanity 
 on the things of this world, by a dying man, whose eye glares 
 on Eternity, and whose voice is raised by strength from 
 another world." 
 
 /^^ O, Soul, thou body's guest. 
 Upon a thankless errand ; 
 Fear not to touch the best — 
 
 The truth shall be thy warrant : 
 Go — since I needs must die. 
 And give the world the lie. 
 
 Go — tell the Court it glows 
 
 And shines like rotten wood ; 
 Go — tell the Church it shows 
 
 What's good, and doth no good : 
 If Church and Court reply, 
 Then give them both the lie. 
 
 Tell Potentates they live. 
 
 Acting by others' actions ; 
 Not loved, unless they give ; 
 
 Not strong, but by their factions : 
 If Potentates reply, 
 Give Potentates the lie. 
 
270 VANITY OF HUAIAN LIFE. 
 
 Tell men of high condition, 
 That rule affairs of state, 
 
 Their motive is ambition. 
 Their practice only hate : 
 
 And if they once reply, 
 
 Then give them all the lie. 
 
 Tell them that flaunt it most, 
 They beg for more by spending ; 
 
 And, in their greatest cost. 
 
 Seek nothing but commending : 
 
 And if they make reply, 
 
 Then give them all the lie. 
 
 Tell Zeal it lacks devotion — 
 Tell Love it is but lust — 
 
 Tell Time it is but motion — 
 Tell Flesh it is but dust : 
 
 And wish them not reply. 
 
 For thou must give the lie. 
 
 Tell Age it daily wasteth — 
 
 Tell Honour hov/ it alters — 
 Tell Beauty how she blasteth — 
 Tell Favour how she falters : 
 And as they shall reply. 
 Give every one the lie. 
 
 Tell Wit how much it wrangles 
 In treble points of niceness ; 
 
 Tell Wisdom she entangles 
 Herself in over-wiseness ; 
 
 And when they do reply. 
 
 Straight give them both the lie. 
 
VANITY OF HUMAN LIFE. 271 
 
 Tell Physic of her boldness — 
 
 Tell Skill it is pretension — 
 Tell Charity of coldness — 
 
 Tell Law it is contention : 
 And as they do reply, 
 So give them all the lie. 
 
 Tell Fortune of her blindness — 
 
 Tell Nature of decay — 
 Tell Friendship of unkindness — 
 
 Tell Justice of delay : 
 And if they shall reply, 
 Then give them all the lie. 
 
 Tell Arts they have no soundness. 
 
 But vaiy by esteeming ; 
 Tell Schools they lack profoundness, 
 
 And stand too much on seeming : 
 If Arts and Schools reply. 
 Give Arts and Schools the lie. 
 
 Then, when thou hast, as I 
 
 Command thee, done thy blabbing — 
 
 Although to give the lie 
 
 Deserves no less than stabbing : 
 
 Yet stab at thee who will. 
 
 No stab the Soul can kill. 
 
272 VANITY OF HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 Life. 
 
 'ITT'HAT is the existence of man's life 
 
 But open war, or slumbered strife, 
 Where sickness to his sense presents 
 The combat of the elements ; 
 And never feels a perfect peace 
 Till Death's cold hand signs his release I 
 
 It is a storm — where the hot blood 
 Outvies in rage the boiling flood ; 
 And each loud passion of the mind 
 Is like a furious gust of wind. 
 Which beats the bark with many a wave 
 Till he casts anchor in the grave. 
 
 // is ajloiver — which buds and grows. 
 And withers as the leaves disclose ; 
 Whose Spring and Fall faint seasons keep. 
 Like fits of waking before sleep ; 
 Then shrinks into that fatal mould 
 Where its first being was unrolled. 
 
 // is a dream — whose seeming tmth 
 Is moralised in age and youth ; 
 Where all the comforts he can share 
 As wandering as his fancies are ; 
 Till in a mist of dark decay 
 The dreamer vanish quite away. 
 
 // is a dial — whieh points out 
 The sunset as it moves about, 
 And shadows out in lines of night 
 The subtle stages of Time's flight ; 
 Till all-obscuring earth hath laid 
 His body in perpetual shade. 
 
VANITY OF HUMAN LIFE. 273 
 
 // is" a lueary interlude — 
 Which does short joys, long woes, include ; 
 The world the stage, the prologue tears, 
 The acts vain hopes and varied fears ; 
 The scene shuts up with loss of breath. 
 And leaves no epilogue but Death. 
 
 Dr. Henry King, 1640. 
 
 Farewell to the Vanities of the World. 
 
 ■pAREWELL, ye gilded follies ! pleasing troubles ! 
 Farewell, ye honoured rags, ye glorious bubbles ! 
 Fame's bat a hollow echo, gold pure clay. 
 Honour the darling but of one short day. 
 Beauty, the eye's idol, but a damasked skin. 
 State but a golden prison to live in. 
 And torture free-born minds ; embroidered trains 
 Merely but pageants for proud swelling veins ; 
 And blood, allied to greatness, is alone 
 Inherited, not purchased, nor our own. 
 Fame, honour, beauty, state, train, blood, and birth 
 Are but the fading blossoms of this earth. 
 
 I would be great, but that the sun doth still 
 Level his rays against the rising hill ; 
 I would be high, but see the proudest oak 
 Most salient to the rending thunder-stroke ; 
 I would be rich, but see men, too unkind. 
 Dig in the bowels of the richest mind ; 
 I would be wise, but that I often see 
 The fox suspected while the ass goes free ; 
 I would be fair, but see the fair and proud. 
 Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud ; 
 
274 VANITY OF HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 I would be poor, but know the humble grass 
 
 Still trampled on by each successive ass ; 
 
 Rich, hated ; wise, suspected ; scorned, if poor ; 
 
 Great, feared ; fair, tempted ; high, still envied more. 
 
 I have wished all, but now I wish for neither, 
 
 Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair — poor I'd be rather. 
 
 Would the world now adopt me for her heir ; 
 Would beauty's queen entitle me " the fair ;" 
 Fame speak me Fortune's minion, could I vie 
 Ingots with India ; with a speaking eye 
 Command bare heads, bowed knees, make justice dumb 
 As well as blind and lame, or give a tongue 
 To stones by epitaphs ; be called great master 
 In the loose rhymes of every poetaster ; 
 Could I be more than any man that lives — 
 Great, fair, rich, wise, all in superlatives- 
 Yet I more freely would these gifts resign. 
 Than ever Fortune would have made them mine, 
 And hold one minute of this holy leisure 
 Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure. 
 
 Welcome, pure thoughts ! Welcome, ye silent groves ! 
 These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves. 
 Now the winged creatures of the sky shall sing 
 My cheerful anthems to the gladsome spring ; 
 A prayer-book now shall be my looking-glass, 
 In which I will adore sweet Virtue's face : 
 Here dwell no hateful looks, no palace cares — 
 No broken views dwell here, nor pale-faced fears ; 
 Then here I'll sit, and sigh my hot love's folly, 
 And learn to affect a holy melancholy ; 
 And if Contentment be a stranger then, 
 I'll ne'er look for it but in Heaven again. 
 
 Sir H. Wotton, 1600. 
 
VANITY OF HUMAN LIFE. 211 
 
 On the Vanities of Human Life. 
 
 "IVTISER ! — who in fleeting treasure 
 Blindly, fondly dost confide — 
 Nature's riches have no measure, 
 
 But their blessings ne'er abide. 
 Pangs of doiiht at times assail thee, 
 
 Seasons and their change are sure ; 
 Gold will dim, and nought avail thee — 
 
 Nature's beauties aye endure. 
 
 Aspirant ! whom Fame doth beckon, 
 
 Through much strife, to prospects fair — 
 Higher than thy hopes, we reckon. 
 
 Such as Wisdom whisp'reth are. 
 Reputation is a bubble ; 
 
 Reason bringeth solid good ; 
 With a name comes toil and trouble ; 
 
 Peace seeks humble sisterhood. 
 
 Idler ! who — firm purpose wanting 
 
 'Gainst the ills which have annoyed thee- 
 Still, on misery descanting, 
 
 Criest, " No man hath employed me !" 
 They must weep who will not labour, 
 
 Toilers have not time for tears ; 
 Joy attends not " pipe and tabor," 
 
 Industry can banish fears. 
 
 Mourner ! who, by adverse waters, 
 Hang'st thy harp upon the willows. 
 
 Lone, and sad, as Judah's daughters. 
 When they wept by Babel's billows. 
 
276 VANITY OF HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 Scenes deformed, thou, pensive, viewest 
 In a stream of troubled gloom ; 
 
 While all softest, fairest, truest. 
 
 Brightest things around thee bloom. 
 
 Oh ! shall Folly still enchain ye, 
 
 Children of immortal birth ? 
 She doth cherish thoughts which pain ye- 
 
 Wisdom makes a heaven of earth. 
 War with passions, work for blessings, 
 
 Wait in hope till life shall cease ; 
 Then, forgiven your transgressings, 
 
 Ye may rest in endless peace ! 
 
 ^ Colloquy with Myself. 
 
 A S I walked by myself, I talked to myself, 
 And myself replied to me ; 
 And the questions myself then put to myself. 
 
 With their answers, I give to thee. 
 Put them home to thyself, and if unto thyself 
 
 The responses the same should be — 
 O look well to thyself, and beware of thyself, 
 Or so much the worse for thee. 
 
 What are Riches ? Hoarded treasures 
 
 May, indeed, thy coffers fill ; 
 Yet, like earth's most fleeting pleasures. 
 
 Leave thee poor and heartless still. 
 
 What are Pleasures ? When afforded 
 
 But by gauds which pass away, 
 Read their fate in lines recorded 
 
 On the sea-sands yesterday. 
 
VANITY OF HUMAN LIFE. 277 
 
 What is Fashion ? Ask of Folly — 
 
 She her worth can best express. 
 What is moping Melancholy ? 
 
 Go and ask of Idleness. 
 
 What is Truth ? Too stern a preacher 
 
 For the prosperous and the gay ; 
 But a safe and wholesome teacher 
 
 In Adversity's dark day. 
 
 What is Friendship ? If well founded, 
 Like some beacon's heavenward glow ; 
 
 If on false pretences grounded, 
 Like the treacherous sand below. 
 
 What is Love ? If earthly only — 
 
 Like a meteor of the night. 
 Shining but to leave more lonely 
 
 Hearts that hailed its transient light ; 
 
 But when calm, refined, and tender — 
 
 Purified from passion's stain — 
 Like the moon in gentle splendour 
 
 Beaming o'er the peaceful main. 
 
 What are Hopes, but gleams of brightness 
 
 Glancing darkest clouds between ? 
 Or foam- crested waves, whose whiteness 
 
 Gladdens ocean's darksome green ? 
 
 What are Fears ? Grim phantoms, throwing 
 
 Shadows o'er the pilgrim's way ; 
 Every moment darker growing. 
 
 If we yield unto their sway. 
 
 What is Mirth ? A flash of lightning, 
 
 Followed but by deeper gloom. 
 Patience ? More than sunshine brightening 
 
 Sorrow's path, and labour's doom. 
 
278 VANITY OF HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 What is Time ? A river flowing 
 
 To Eternity's vast sea, 
 Forward, whither all are going, 
 
 On its bosom bearing thee. 
 
 What is Life ? A bubble bursting 
 
 On that silent, rapid stream ; 
 Few, too few, its progress noting. 
 
 Till it bursts and ends the dream. 
 
 What is Death, asunder rending 
 
 Every tie we love so well, 
 But the gate to life unending — 
 
 Joy in heaven, or woe in hell ? 
 
 Can these truths, by repetition. 
 
 Lose their magnitude and weight ? 
 
 Estimate thy own condition 
 Ere thou pass that fearful gate. 
 
 Hast thou heard them oft repeated ? 
 
 Much may still be left to do : 
 Be not by profession cheated ; 
 
 Live — as if thou knewest them true. 
 
 As I walked by myself, I talked to myself. 
 
 And myself replied to me ; 
 And the questions myself then put to myself, 
 
 With their answers, I've given to thee. 
 Put them home to thyself, and if unto thyself 
 
 Their responses the same should be, 
 O look well to thyself, and beware of thyself, 
 
 Or so much the worse for thee. 
 
 Bernard Barton. 
 
SECTION xvm. 
 
 Time and Death, 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION XVIII. 
 
 The Common Lot. A Birthday Contemplation 
 
 Answer to "The Common Lot" 
 
 Time ...... 
 
 The Image of Death 
 
 Thanatopsis ..... 
 
 Reflections on the Death of Friends, and on 
 THE Fear of Death . 
 
 The Eternal Circle of Life and Death 
 
 The Shadow ..... 
 
 Time ...... 
 
 Death's Final Conquest 
 Weep Not for the Dead 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 281 
 283 
 285 
 286 
 287 
 
 290 
 
 293 
 294 
 296 
 297 
 298 
 

 TIME AND DEATH. 
 
 The Common Lot, 
 
 A Birthday Contemplation. 
 
 /^NCE in the flight of ages past 
 
 There lived a man : and who was he ? 
 Mortal ! howe'er thy lot be cast, 
 That man resembled thee. 
 
 Unknown the region of his birth, 
 
 The land in which he died unknown ; 
 
 His name hath perished from the earth, 
 This truth survives alone : — 
 
 That joy and grief, and hope and fear. 
 Alternate triumphed in his breast ; 
 
 His bliss and woe— a smile, a tear ! 
 Oblivion hides the rest. 
 
 The bounding pulse, the languid limb. 
 The changing spirits' rise and fall ; 
 
 We know that these were felt by him, 
 For these are felt by all. 
 
282 TIME AND DEATH. 
 
 He suffered — but his pangs are o'er ; 
 
 Enjoyed — but his deHghts are fled ; 
 Had friends — his friends are now no more ; 
 
 And foes— his foes are dead. 
 
 He loved — but whom he loved, the grave 
 Hath lost in its unconscious womb : 
 
 O she was fair! — but nought could save 
 Her beauty from the tomb. 
 
 The rolling seasons, day and night, 
 
 Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main, 
 
 Erewhile his portion, life and light, 
 To him exist in vain. 
 
 He saw whatever thou hast seen, 
 Encountered all that troubles thee ; 
 
 He was — whatever thou hast been ; 
 He is — what thou shalt be. 
 
 The clouds and sunbeams o'er his eye 
 That once their shade and glory threw. 
 
 Have left in yonder silent sky 
 No vestige where they iiew. 
 
 The annals of the human race, 
 
 Their ruins since the world began. 
 
 Of HIM afford no other trace 
 Than this — there lived a man ! 
 
 Sheffield, Nov., 1805. Jas. Montgomery. 
 
TIME AND DEATH. 
 
 Ansiver to " The Common Lot^ 
 
 (Written by J. Montgomery.) 
 
 A/TONTGOMERY ! tme, the common lot 
 
 Of mortals lies in Lethe's wave ; 
 Yet some shall never be forgot — 
 Some shall exist beyond the grave. 
 
 *' Unknown the region of his birth," 
 The hero rolls the tide of war ; 
 
 Yet not unknown his martial woith, 
 Which glares a meteor from afar. 
 
 His joy or grief, his weal or woe. 
 
 Perchance may 'scape the page of fame ; 
 
 Yet nations now unborn will know 
 The record of his deathless name. 
 
 The patriot's and the poet's frame 
 Must share the common tomb of all ; 
 
 Their glory will not sleep the same — 
 That will arise, though empires fall. 
 
 The lustre of a beauty's eye 
 
 Assumes the ghastly stare of death ; 
 
 The fair, the brave, the good must die. 
 And sink the yawning grave beneath. 
 
 Once more the speaking eye revives, 
 
 Still beaming through the lover's strain ; 
 
 For Petrarch's Laura still survives — 
 She died, but ne'er will die again. 
 
 T 2 
 
284 TIME AND DEATH. 
 
 The rolling seasons pass away, 
 
 And Time, untiring, waves his wing ; 
 
 Whilst honour's laurels ne'er decay. 
 But bloom in fresh, unfading Spring. 
 
 All, all must sleep in grim repose, 
 
 Collected in the silent tomb ; 
 The old and young, with friends and foes, 
 
 Festering alike in shrouds, consume. 
 
 The mouldering marble lasts its day, 
 Yet falls at length a useless fane ; 
 
 To ruin's ruthless fangs a prey. 
 
 The wrecks of pillared pride remain. 
 
 What though the sculpture be destroyed. 
 From dark oblivion meant to guard ; 
 
 A bright renown shall be enjoyed 
 
 By those whose virtues claim reward. 
 
 Then do not say the Common Lot 
 Of all lies deep in Lethe's wave ; 
 
 Some few who ne'er will be forgot 
 Shall burst the bondage of the grave. 
 
 Lord Byron, 1806. 
 
TIME AND DEATH, 286 
 
 Time. 
 
 * I ^IME speeds away — away, away ! 
 Another hour — another day — 
 Another month — another year, 
 Drop from us, Uke the leaflets sere, 
 Drop like the life-blood from our hearts ; 
 The rose-bloom from the cheek departs, 
 The tresses from the temples fall, 
 The eye grows dim and strange to all. 
 
 Time speeds away — away, away ! 
 
 Like torrent in a stormy day, 
 
 He undermines the stately tower, 
 
 Uproots the tree, and snaps the flower. 
 
 And sweeps from our distracted breast 
 
 The friends that loved — the friends that blessed- 
 
 And leaves us weeping on the shore. 
 
 To which they can return no more. 
 
 Time speeds away, away, away — 
 No eagle through the skies of day, 
 No wind along the hills can flee, 
 So swiftly or so smooth as he. 
 Like fiery steed, fiom stage to stage, 
 He bears us on from youth to age ; 
 Then plunges in the fearful sea 
 Of fathomless eternity. 
 
TIME AND DEATH. 
 
 The Image of Death. 
 
 "DEFORE my face the picture hangs 
 That daily should put me in mind 
 Of those cold names and bitter pangs 
 
 That shortly I am Hke to find ; 
 But yet, alas ! full little I 
 Do think hereon that I must die. 
 
 I often look upon a face 
 
 Most ugly, grisly, bare, and thin ; 
 I often view the hollow place 
 
 Where eyes and nose had sometime been 
 I see the bones across that lie, 
 Yet little think that I must die. 
 
 I read the label underneath, 
 
 That telleth me whereto I must ; 
 
 I see the sentence, too, that saith, 
 
 " Remember, man, thou art but dust." 
 
 But yet, alas ! how seldom I 
 
 Do think indeed that I must die ! 
 
 Continually at my bed's head 
 
 A hearse doth hang, which doth me tell 
 That I ere morning may be dead. 
 
 Though now I feel myself full well ; 
 But yet, alas ! for all this, I 
 Have little mind that I must die. 
 
 The gown which I am used to wear, 
 The knife wherewith I cut my meat. 
 
 And eke that old and ancient chair, 
 Which is my only usual seat — 
 
 All these do tell me I must die. 
 
 And yet my life amend not L 
 
TIM 3 AND DEATH. 287 
 
 My ancestors are turned to clay, 
 
 And many of my mates are gone ; 
 My youngers daily drop away, 
 
 And can I think to 'scape alone ? 
 Ah no ! I know that I must die, 
 And yet my life amend not I. 
 ***** 
 
 If none can 'scape Death's dreadful dart, 
 
 If rich and poor his beck obey, 
 If strong, if wise, if all do smart, 
 
 Then I to 'scape shall have no way. 
 Then grant me grace, O God ! that I 
 My life may mend, since I must die. 
 
 R. Southwell, 1590. 
 
 Thanatopsis, 
 
 'T^O him who, in the love of Nature, holds 
 
 Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
 A various language. For his gayer hours 
 She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
 And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides 
 Into his darker musings with a mild 
 And gentle sympathy that steals away 
 Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts 
 Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
 Over thy spirit, and sad images 
 Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
 And breathless darkness, and the narrow house 
 Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart. 
 Go forth unto the open sky and list 
 To Nature's teachings, while from all around 
 
288 TIME AND DEATH. 
 
 Earth and her waters, and the depth of air 
 
 Comes a still voice — Yet a few days, and thee 
 
 The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
 
 In all his course. Nor yet in the cold ground, 
 
 Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, 
 
 Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
 
 Thy image. Earth that nourished thee shall claim 
 
 Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ; 
 
 And lost each human trace, surrendering up 
 
 Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
 
 To mix for ever with the elements, 
 
 To be a brother to the insensible rock 
 
 And to the sluggish clod which the rude swain 
 
 Turns with his share and ti'eads upon. The oak 
 
 Shall send his roots abroad and pierce thy mould. 
 
 Yet not to thy eternal resting-place 
 Shalt thou retire alone ; nor couldst thou wish 
 Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
 With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, 
 The powerful of the earth — the wise — the good ; 
 Fair forms and hoary seers of ages past. 
 All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills. 
 Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun ; the vales 
 Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 
 The venerable woods, rivers that move 
 In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
 That make the meadow green, and poured round all 
 Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste, 
 Are but the solemn decorations all 
 Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun. 
 The planets, all the infinite host of heaven. 
 Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
 Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
 The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
 
TIME AND DEATH. 289 
 
 That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 
 Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce ; 
 Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
 Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sounds 
 Save his own dashings ; yet the dead are there; 
 And millions in those solitudes, since first 
 The flight of years began, have laid them down 
 In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. 
 
 So shalt thou rest ; and what if thou shalt fall 
 Unnoticed by the living, and no friend 
 Take note of thy departure ? All that breathes 
 Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
 When thou art gone ; the solemn brood of Care 
 Plod on ; and each one, as before, will chase 
 His favourite phantom : yet all these shall leave 
 Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 
 And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
 Of ages glide away, the sons of men, 
 The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes, 
 In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 
 The bowed with age, the infant in the smiles 
 And beauty of its innocent age cut off — 
 Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side 
 By those who, in their turn, shall follow them. 
 
 So live that, when thy summons comes to join 
 The innumerable caravan that moves 
 To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take 
 His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
 Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night, 
 Scourged to his dungeon ; but sustained and soothed 
 By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 
 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
 About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 
 
 Bryant. 
 
TIME AND DEATH. 
 
 Reflections on the Death of Friends^ and 
 on the Fear of Death. 
 
 pERHAPS the two greatest afflictions which mankind 
 have to struggle against are — first, the anguish which is 
 caused by the loss of dear friends by death ; and secondly, the 
 horror of death, which is almost universally experienced by 
 individuals on its near approaches. 
 
 Death is the inevitable lot of all. But although it is a 
 stern fact that death cannot possibly be avoided, nevertheless 
 both the evils just alluded to may be gradually mitigated, and 
 at length entirely removed. 
 
 And first, with respect to the mental agony arising from 
 the death of those to whom we are fondly attached — that evil 
 is exactly in proportion to the early, and consequently prema- 
 ture, bereavement. We loved them because of their affec- 
 tionate attention to us, and because their society gave us 
 pleasure : their amiable qualities and kind ministrations endeared 
 them to us in proportion as their physical and mental qualifi- 
 cations enabled them to exhibit their congenial and affec- 
 tionate feelings by their words and actions. In short, we 
 loved them because they contributed, in a great degree, to our 
 enjoyment, and, in some cases, actually constituted our entire 
 happiness. It is not wonderful, therefore, that on our bereave- 
 ment we should feel the most intense and long-continued 
 anguish. 
 
 When our friends are in the prime of life, and in the full 
 enjoyment of health and strength, their frequent and kind 
 services are of the greatest importance. They do a thousand 
 things for our benefit and pleasure, and the happiness and 
 improvement we derive from their conversation is incalculable. 
 Their loss under such circumstances is peculiarly afflicting. 
 
TIME AND DEATH. 291 
 
 But when those we love so dearly attain to mature age, 
 their mental faculties gradually decrease ; their strength and 
 activity subside ; they cease to be in our company so fre- 
 quently ; they are unable to render so many kind attentions ; 
 their conversation loses its former charms, and is restricted to 
 commonplace brevities ; consequently its interest and zest are 
 gone. As age advances, their various attractions gradually 
 diminish, and thus they no longer give us pleasure by those 
 endearing services which were formerly so delightful. Under 
 such circumstances our sorrow at their death loses more than 
 half its poignancy. 
 
 With regard to those who attain to a second childhood, 
 they cease entirely to be interesting, and their existence is only 
 known by the trouble which is experienced in attending to 
 their wants. They become altogether unable either to impart 
 or receive pleasure. They are thus gradually reduced to be a 
 burthen to themselves, and the source of anxiety and pity to 
 those around them ; so that when they die, the event is 
 regarded as a relief rather than a bereavement, and sorrow is 
 entirely out of the question. 
 
 The same remarks, slightly modified, may be made in 
 speaking of the fear of death. This feeling is strong in pro- 
 portion to the youth, health, strength, and mental faculties of 
 the individual — of his powers to impart happiness to others, 
 and of his own susceptibilities of being rendered happy by the 
 efforts of kindred minds ; those who are keenly alive to the 
 endearments of friendship and love being more affected by the 
 fear of death than those of a cold, harsh, or sluggish nature. 
 
 As people advance in years their love of life becomes less 
 ardent, and consequently their fear of death relaxes its grasp, 
 and they can look forward to the event with somewhat less 
 regret. As they verge towards extreme old age, their sight 
 grows dim, their hearing obtuse, their memory fails, their loco- 
 motive powers are arrested, and their various sources of enjoy- 
 ment are, one by one, gradually withdi-awn. In the same 
 
202 TIME AND DEATH. 
 
 ratio, their love of life diminishes ; until at last they insensibly 
 lose all relish for existence, and all desire to live. A longing 
 to depart and be at rest succeeds, and the fear of death is felt 
 no more. 
 
 Thus it is quite obvious that the two afflictions which 
 produce the greatest amount of sorrow in the world are both 
 the result of one and the same cause, namely, premature death. 
 The sorrow for the death of friends arises from their being 
 snatched away from us at a period of life when they are so 
 eminently qualified to contribute to our happiness. The fear 
 of death arises from the prospect of our being taken away 
 from the pleasures of life at an age when we are so eminently 
 susceptible of enjoying those pleasures. 
 
 As the cause of these two engrossing evils is premature 
 death, so the remedy must be sought in those means which 
 will prolong life to a healthy old age — a period of the natural, 
 imperceptible, and painless decay of all the vital powers. 
 
 These means are only to be secured by leading a virtuous 
 and temperate life ; by paying a proper attention to the four 
 grand essentials of health — Diet, Air, Cleanliness, and Exer- 
 cise. Ignorance of the proper qualities and quantities of these 
 elements of health, and the neglect of the duties of a virtuous 
 life, are the sole causes of all our diseases and premature 
 deaths. (We must, of course, make an exception of all 
 deaths from accidental causes.) Just in proportion as we 
 attain to a correct knowledge on these points, so shall we 
 cease to have occasion to sorrow for the premature loss of our 
 friends ; and, in like manner, all fear of death will be banished 
 from our minds : our lives will become, not only longer, but 
 healthier, happier, and more useful. 
 
TIME AND DEATH, 293 
 
 Tbe Eternal Circle of Life and Death. 
 
 T IFE and Death are links of one unbroken chain — 
 
 Heirs to each other interchangeably : 
 
 All things now dead have lived — will live again ; 
 
 And all that lives was dead — again will die. 
 
 Earth has been sown with generations — grass 
 Is but past life, of present life the prop ; 
 
 We eat, drink, sleep, into our graves we pass, 
 And form, for those unborn, a future crop. 
 
 Our ancestors are in the corn and trees ; 
 
 The living fields are fertilised by death ; 
 The dust was human once, and every breeze 
 
 That blows around us has been human breath. 
 
 O ye departed beauties, turned to clay. 
 
 Who wept and smiled in long-forgotten hours, 
 
 Methinks your tears and smiles and bright array 
 Live in the dewy and the sunny flowers. 
 
 'Tis this Promethean thought that vivifies 
 
 And humanises all the forms we see ; 
 Bidding them wake new sympathies, and rise 
 
 Above their dull materiality. 
 
 Things human, vegetable, animal, 
 
 Exchange their forms as death renews their birth ; 
 Let us then own and love as brethren all 
 
 The product of our common mother — Earth. 
 
 Association makes the whole world kin, 
 
 O'erleaping time and space ; its magic power 
 
 Can bring the future and the past within 
 The scope and feeling of the present hour. 
 
294 TIME AND DEATH. 
 
 O sun, and moon, and stars, and radiant skies ! 
 
 O sea and earth, with your enchanting sights ! 
 How much more deeply do I sympathise 
 
 With your resplendent glories and delights 
 
 When I reflect that all within the tomb 
 Once shared the raptures ye awake in me, 
 
 And that ye still shall gladden and illume 
 Myriads of human creatures yet to be ! 
 
 Since, then, in Nature, eveiy changeful form 
 Its consanguinity with man can prove, 
 
 Let the whole world to our affection warm, 
 Be one united family of love — 
 
 Of love sublimed and hallowed by the thought 
 That all created things, from star to sod, 
 
 Are brooded over by that Power which wrought 
 Light, life, and love — our common Father, God ! 
 
 The Shadow, 
 
 T TPON yon dial-stone 
 
 Behold the shade of Time, 
 For ever circling on and on, 
 
 In silence more sublime 
 Than if the thunders of the spheres 
 Pealed forth its march to mortal ears. 
 
 It meets us hour by hour, 
 
 Doles out our little span, 
 Reveals a Presence and a Power 
 
 Felt and confessed by man : 
 The drop of moments day by day 
 That rocks of ages wears away. 
 
TIME AND DEATH. 295 
 
 Woven by a hand unseen, 
 
 Upon that stone survey 
 A robe of dark sepulchral green, 
 
 The mantle of decay — 
 The fold of chill Oblivion's pall, 
 That falleth with yon shadow's fall. 
 
 Day is the time for toil ; 
 
 Night balms the weary breast ; 
 Stars have their vigils, seas awhile 
 
 Will sink to peaceful rest : 
 But round and round the shadow creeps 
 Of that which slumbers not — nor sleeps ! 
 
 Effacing all that's fair — 
 
 Hushing the voice of mirth 
 Into the silence of despair 
 
 Around the lonesome hearth — 
 And training ivy garlands green 
 O'er the once gay and social scene. 
 
 In beauty fading fast 
 
 Its silent trace appears ; 
 And where — a phantom of the past, 
 
 Dim in the mists of years. 
 Gleams Tadmor o'er Oblivion's waves, 
 Like wrecks above their ocean-graves. 
 
 Before the ceaseless shade 
 
 That round the world doth sail — 
 
 Its towers and temples bow the head — 
 The pyramids look pale : 
 
 The festal halls grow hushed and cold ; 
 
 The everlasting hills wax old. 
 
296 TIME AND DEATH. 
 
 Coeval with the sun 
 Its silent course began, 
 
 And still its phantom race shall run 
 Till worlds with age grow wan ; 
 
 Till Darkness spread her funeral pall, 
 
 And one vast shadow circles all. 
 
 Malcolm. 
 
 1 ime. 
 
 (From The Antiquary.) 
 
 TTTHY sittest thou by that ruined wall, 
 Thou aged carle so stern and grey ? 
 Dost thou its former pride recall, 
 Or ponder how it passed away ? 
 
 " Knowest thou not me ?" the Deep Voice cried, 
 " So long enjoyed, so oft misused — 
 Alternate, in thy fickle pride, 
 
 Desired, neglected, and accused ? 
 
 " Before my breath, like blazing flax, 
 Man and his marvels pass away ; 
 And changing empires wane and wax, 
 Are founded, flourish, and decay. 
 
 " Redeem thine hours — the space is brief — 
 While in my glass the sand-grains shiver ; 
 And measureless thy joy or grief. 
 
 When Time and thou shalt part for ever !" 
 
 Sir W. Scott. 
 
TIME AND DEATH. 297 
 
 Death^s Final Conquest. 
 
 'TpHE glories of our birth and state 
 
 Are shadows, not substantial things ; 
 There is no armour against Fate ; 
 Death lays his icy hands on kings ; 
 Sceptre and crown 
 Must tumble down, 
 And in the dust be equal made 
 With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 
 
 Some men with swords may reap the field, 
 And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; 
 But their strong nerves at last must yield, 
 They tame but one another still. 
 Early or late 
 They stoop to fate, 
 And must give up their murm'ring breath. 
 When they, pale captives, creep to death. 
 
 The garlands wither on your brow. 
 
 Then boast no more your mighty deeds. 
 Upon Death's purple altar now 
 
 See where the victor victim bleeds ; 
 All heads must come 
 To the cold tomb : 
 Only the actions of the just 
 Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust. 
 
 Shirley. 
 
298 TIME AND DEATH. 
 
 Weep Not for the Dead. 
 
 '\T7'EEP not for the Dead ! — We know that their slumbers 
 
 Can be broken no more by the world's heavy woes: 
 No thought of the future their bosom encumbers — 
 
 No deep-rooted son-ows disturb their repose ! 
 We tremble to think that the moments of gladness 
 
 Are fleeting as even the Spring's fairest flower — 
 That the young joyous heart may be blighted by sadness, 
 
 As o'er Summer's bright sunshine the heaviest storms lour ! 
 
 Hath the friend that in youth ye most honoured and cherished 
 
 Gone first to the land whence no travellers return ? 
 Hath the child of your love in its infancy perished ? 
 
 Doth thy soul for the loved and the lost vainly yearn ? 
 Oh ! grieve not ! the Dead are in quiet reposing, 
 
 They fret not — they heed not the sorrows of earth ; 
 Whilst round thee the dark clouds of sadness are closing, 
 
 And a pang or a sigh checks the gay laugh of mirth ! 
 
 Then why o'er the grave bend in silence and weeping — 
 
 Rejoice that the loved ones are free from life's chain ; 
 Like a child on the breast of a fond mother sleeping. 
 
 They slumber — and why would ye wake them again ? 
 All false joys — falser friends — and vain hopes forsaking. 
 
 No longer a prey to the stem fiend despair — 
 I would that my soul, from the world's fetters breaking, 
 
 The peace of their cold couch for ever could share ! 
 
SECTION XIX. 
 
 Figures of Rhetoric 
 
 u 2 
 
CONTENTS OF SECTION XIX. 
 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Figures of Rhetoric 
 
 . • . 301 
 
 The Symbolical .... 
 
 • 303 
 
 The Declamatory .... 
 
 • 304 
 
 The Superlative . , . . , 
 
 . C506 
 
 The Dramatic .... 
 
 . 307 
 
FIGURES OF RHETORIC. 
 
 The following group of the Figures of Rhetoric constitutes 
 a brilliant and interesting Recitation, and exhibits and illus- 
 trates a choice variety of the highest styles of Reading and 
 Speaking, expressly adapted to advanced Pupils as a Test 
 Recitation. 
 
 Test Recitation, 
 
 [This Recitation contains Definitions and Examples of the 
 most interesting and important Figures of Speech used in 
 Poetry and Rhetoric, the direct and inevitable tendency of 
 which is to develop the Judgment and refine the Taste.] 
 
 T ADIES AND GENTLEMEN,*— In all literary com- 
 positions, and, indeed, in every ordinary conversation, 
 we very frequently introduce words and expressions in a sense 
 differing from their original sense. Such words and expres- 
 sions are called Figures of Speech, or Tropes, or Symbols. 
 
 In general. Figures of Speech imply some departure from 
 simplicity of expression ; the idea which we mean to convey 
 
 * This vocative may be omitted, or some other used in its stead, 
 according to circumstances. 
 
302 FIGURES OF RHETORIC. 
 
 is expressed In a particular manner, and with some circum- 
 stance added which is designed to render the impression more 
 strong and vivid. 
 
 When I say, for instance, that " A good man enjoys com- 
 fort In the midst of adversity," I just express my thoughts in 
 the simplest manner possible. But when I say, " To the 
 upright there ariseth light In the midst of darkness," the same 
 sentiment Is expressed in a figurative style ; a new circumstance 
 is Introduced ; light Is put In the place of comfort^ and darkness 
 is used to suggest the idea of adversity. 
 
 There are few sentences in which there does not occur 
 some expression that may be termed a figure, or some word 
 that is used In a sense differing from its original sense. Thus, 
 in ordinary conversation, we speak of a piercing judgment and 
 a clear head ; a soft or a hard heart ; a rough or a smooth 
 behaviour. We say inflamed by anger ; ivarmed by love ; 
 snvelled with pride ; melted with grief. And these are almost 
 the only significant words which we have for such ideas. 
 
 A Symbol is the sign or representation of any moral thing 
 by the images or properties of material things. Thus, a lion 
 is the symbol of courage or ferocity ; a lamb the symbol of 
 patience or meekness. 
 
 The chief Figures of Speech — or, as they are sometimes 
 called. Figures of Rhetoric — maybe conveniently divided Into 
 four groups, namely — 
 
 Symbolical, Declamatory^ Superlative, and Dramatic, 
 
 The Symbolical are — Simile, Metaphor, and Allegory, The 
 Declamatory are — Personification, Apostrophe, Antithesis, and 
 Climax. The Superlative are — Hyperbole, Irony, Interro- 
 gation, and Exclamation, The Dramatic are — Metonymy, 
 Synecdoche, Repetition, and Vision, 
 
FIGURES OF RHETORIC. 305 
 
 The Symbolical, 
 
 A Simile, or Comparison, is a figure by which we compare 
 one thing with another, the resemblance between the two 
 objects being expressed in form. Thus we use a Simile or 
 Comparison when we say of some great minister, that " He 
 upholds the State like a pillar which supports the weight of 
 the whole edifice." Thus Homer compares the race of man 
 to the leaves of trees : — 
 
 " Like leaves on trees the race of man is found — 
 Now green in youth, now withering on the ground. 
 Another race the following spring supplies — 
 They fall successive and successive rise : 
 So generations in their course decay — 
 So flourish these when those are passed away." 
 
 A Metaphor is a comparison expressed in an abridged form, 
 without any of the words which denote comparison. Thus 
 we use a Metaphor when we say of a great minister that " He 
 is the pillar of the State ;" or of Charles XII. that " He 
 w^j- the Lion of the North." Also when we say "Thou 
 art my Rock and my Fortress ;" or, " Thy Word is a Lamp 
 to my path, and a Light to my feet." 
 
 An Allegory may be regarded as a continuation of one or 
 more Metaphors ; the representation of one thing by another 
 that resembles it, and which is made to stand for it, as when 
 Life is described or figured as representing a Voyage, with its 
 various incidents. 
 
 What we call Fables or Parables are no other than 
 Allegories. By words and actions attributed to animals and 
 inanimate objects the dispositions of men are figured or repre- 
 sented ; and what we call the Moral is the wwfigured or 
 literal meaning of the Allegory. 
 
304 FIGURES OF RHETORIC, 
 
 The Declamatory, 
 
 Personification or Prosopopaia Is a figure by which we 
 attribute life, action, and the use of reason to inanimate objects 
 and irrational creatures. There is a wonderful proneness in 
 human nature to the use of this figure. The propensity to 
 Personification manifests itself at an early age in most chil- 
 dren. The impatience of Adam to know his origin is 
 supposed to prompt the Personification of all the objects he 
 beheld, in order to procure information — 
 
 Pi 
 
 " Thou Sun, fair light ! 
 And thou enlightened Earth so fresh and gay ! 
 Ye hills and dales — ye rivers, woods and plains — 
 And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell — 
 Tell — if you saw — how came I thus — how here ?" 
 
 " The ground thirsts for rain" — 
 ** The Earth smiles with plenty" 
 
 Are examples of Personification. 
 
 The figure called Apostrophe is a turning off from the 
 regular course of the subject to address some person or thing, 
 for example — 
 
 " Death is swallowed up in victory. O Death ! where is 
 thy sting ? O Grave ! where is thy victory ?" 
 
 King Henry thus apostrophises Sleep — 
 
 *' O gentle Sleep ! 
 Nature's soft nurse — how have I frighted thee. 
 That thou no more wilt weigh mine eyelids down, 
 And steep my senses in forgetfulness ?" 
 
 Antithesis is the contrast or opposition of two objects, for 
 example — 
 
FIGURES OF RHETORIC. 305 
 
 " If you seek to make a man truly rich, study not so much 
 to increase his stores as to diminish his desires." 
 
 Again — 
 
 " If you regulate your desires according to the standard of 
 Nature, you will never be poor; if according to the standard 
 of opinion, you will never be richJ^ 
 
 Buike has exhibited a line specimen of this figure in his 
 eulogium of the philanthropic Howard : — 
 
 "He has visited all Europe — not to survey the sumptuous- 
 ness of palaces or the stateliness of temples ; not to make 
 accurate measurements of the remains of ancient grandeur, 
 nor to form a scale of the curiosities of modern art, nor to 
 collect medals or to collate manuscripts — but to dive into the 
 depths of dungeons, to plunge into the infection of hospitals, 
 to survey the mansions of sorrow and pain, to take the gauge 
 and dimensions of misery, depression, and contempt, to 
 remember the forgotten, to attend to the neglected, to visit 
 the forsaken, and to compare and collate the distresses of all 
 men in all countries." 
 
 Climax, Gradation, or Amplification is a figure which consists 
 in gradually heightening all the circumstances of an object or 
 action which we desire to place in a strong light. Arch- 
 bishop Tillotson uses this figure very happily to recommend 
 good and virtuous actions : — 
 
 " After we have practised good actions awhile, they become 
 easy ; and when they are easy we begin to take pleasure in 
 them ; and when they please us we do them frequently ; and 
 by frequency of acts a thing grows into a habit ; and confirmed 
 habit is a kind of second nature ; and so far as anything is 
 natural, so far it is necessary, and we can hardly do otherwise; 
 nay, we do it many times when we do not think of it." 
 
306 FIGURES OF RHETORIC. 
 
 The Superlative, 
 
 Hyperbole, or Exaggeration^ is a figure which suggests to us 
 the very highest possible idea of an object, by magnifying its 
 qualities beyond their true bounds. For example — 
 
 " Her complexion was fairer than snow, and her hair was 
 blacker than a raven." 
 
 The poems of Ossian contain much hyperbole. The Scout's 
 description of the enemy's leader is a good example — 
 
 " I saw their chief," says the Scout, "tall as a rock of ice: 
 his spear the blasted fir — his shield the rising moon. He sat 
 on the shore like a cloud of mist on the hill." 
 
 Irony is expressing ourselves in a manner contrary to our 
 thoughts — not with a view to deceive, but to add foice to our 
 observations. Persons may be reproved for their negligence 
 by saying, '' You have taken great care indeed." 
 
 The Prophet Elijah, when he challenged the priests of 
 Baal to prove the truth of their deity, mocked them, saying — 
 " Cry aloud — for he is a god : either he is talking, or he is 
 pursuing, or he is on a journey; or, peradventure, he sleepeth, 
 and must be awaked." 
 
 Interrogation — (as a figure) — we use to give ardour and 
 energy to our discourse, and to express the strongest confidence 
 in the truth of our sentiment. 
 
 Thus Balaam expressed himself to Balak — 
 
 "The Lord is not a man that He should lie; 
 Nor the son of man that He should repent. 
 Hath He said it ? and shall He not do it ? 
 Hath He spoken it ? and shall He not make it good ?" 
 
 Exclamations are the effects of strong emotions of the mind, 
 such as surprise, admiration, joy, grief, and the like ; for 
 example — 
 
FIGURES OF RHETORIC. 307 
 
 " O that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of 
 tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the 
 daughters of my people ! O that I had in the wilderness a 
 lodging-place of wayfaring men V 
 
 The Dramatic. 
 
 Metonymy Is a figure by which we substitute one word for 
 another, where a near relation subsists between them, as of 
 cause and effect, container and contained, sign and thing 
 signified. 
 
 When we say, " We read Milton," the cause is put instead 
 of the effect — meaning Milton's works. 
 
 When we say, " The kettle boils," we substitute the name 
 of the container for that of the thing contained. 
 
 When we say, " To assume the sceptre," we speak of 
 entering on royal authority, the sign being put for the thing 
 signified. 
 
 Synecdoche, or Comprehension^ is a figure by which the 
 whole is put for a part, or a part for the whole ; a genus for a 
 species, or a species for a genus ; In general, when anything 
 more or anything less Is put for the precise object meant. 
 
 For Instance, we say, "A fleet of twenty sail" instead of 
 ships. We use the " head" for the " person," the " waves" 
 for the " sea." 
 
 In like manner, an attribute may be put for a subject, as 
 " youth" for the <' young," the " deep" for the " sea," and 
 so on. 
 
 The figure termed Repetition selects some emphatic word or 
 phrase, and. In order to mark Its Importance, makes it occur 
 twice, thrice, or even a greater number of times, in the same 
 sentence or paragraph. It expresses contrast and great energy. 
 
308 FIGURES OF RHETORIC. 
 
 Pope, in order to increase the sympathy of his reader for 
 the fate of an unfortunate lady, reiterates the circumstance of 
 her being deprived of the consolation of her friends at the 
 hour of death : — 
 
 " By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed ; 
 By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed ; 
 By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned ; 
 By strangers honoured, and by strangers mourned." 
 
 Vision is a figure of speech proper only in animated and 
 warm compositions, and is exhibited when we use the present 
 tense of the verb to relate something that is past, and describe 
 an action or event as actually passing before our eyes. 
 
 Thus Cicero, in his Fourth Oration against Catiline, 
 pictures to his mind the execution of the conspiracy : — 
 
 " I seem to myself to behold this city — the ornament of 
 the earth, and the capital of all nations — suddenly involved 
 in one vast conflagration. I see before me the slaughtered 
 heaps of citizens lying unburied in the midst of their ruined 
 country. The furious countenance of Cethegus* rises to my 
 view, while, with a savage joy, he is triumphing in your 
 miseries." 
 
 There are many other Figures used in Poetry and Rhetoric, 
 and even in ordinary conversation, but these are the most inte- 
 resting and important. 
 
 * A Tribune of Eome, of the most corrupted morals, who joined CatUine 
 in his conspiracy against the State, and was commiasioued to assassinate 
 Cicero. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed by Jas. Wade, 18, Tavistock-sUeet, Covent-garden, W.C, 
 

University of 
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