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'Tis said when Schiller's death drew nigh,

The wish possessed his mighty mind,
To wander forth wherever lie

The bones and haunts of human kind.
Then strayed the poet in his dreams,

By Rome and Egypt's ancient graves ;
Went up the new world's forest streams,

Stood in the Hindoo's temple caves ;
Walked with the Pawnee fierce and stark,

The sallow Tartar midst his herds,
The peering Chinese, and the dark,

False Malay, uttering gentle words.
How could he rest ? even then he trod

The threshold of the world unknown ;
Already from the seat of God,

A ray upon his garment shone;
Shone and increased his strong desire

For love and light-but clouded here,
Till freed by death, his soul of fire

Sprang to a fairer, ampler sphere !
Then-who shall tell how deep, how bright

The abyss of glory opened round?
How thought and feeling flowed like light

Through ranks of being without bound ?


Almost everything that is great has been done by youth. The greatest captains of ancient and modern times, both conquered Italy at five-and-twenty! Alexander was very young when he overthrew the Persian empire. Don John of Austria won Lepanto at twenty-five. Gaston-de-Foix was only twenty-two when he stood a victor on the plain of Ravenna. Gustavus Adolphus died at thirty-eight. Look at his captains: that wonderful duke of Weimar, only thirty-six when he died; Bamir himself, after all his miracles, died at forty-five; Cortes was little more than thirty when he gazed upon the golden cupolas of Mexico. When Maurice of Saxony died at thirty-two, all Europe acknowledged the loss of the greatest captain and the profoundest statesman of the there are Nelson, Clive, Bonaparte ;—but these are warriors, and perhaps you may think there are greater things than war. Then take the most illustrious achievements of civil polity. Innocent III., one

age. Then of the greatest of the popes, was the despot of Christendom at thirty-seven. John de Medici was a cardinal at fifteen, andGuicciardini tells us-baffled with his statecraft Ferdinand of Arragon himself. John also was pope, as Leo X., at thirty-seven. Luther robbed even him of his richest province at thirty-five. Take Ignatius Loyola and John Wesley they worked with young brains. Pascel wrote a great work at sixteen, and died at thirtyseven. Was it experience that guided the pencil of Raphael when he painted the palaces of Rome? He died at thirty-seven. Richelieu was Secretary of State at thirty-one. Then there are Boling broke and Pitt, both ministers of state before other men leave cricket. Grotius was in great practice at seventeen, and attorney-general at twenty-four. It is needless to multiply instances. The history of heroes is the history of youth.

D'ISRAELI. The longer I live, the more am I certain that the great difference between men,-between the feeble and the powerful, the great and the insignificant,-is energy,-invincible determination,-a purpose once fixed, and then death or victory. That talent can do anything that can be done in this world, and no one can be a man without it.-SIR T. F. BUXTON.


He prayeth well who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.—The Ancient Mariner.

Sweetly a blackbird, perched on a frail spray,
Piped « Pretty maid, coming forth this way?"

“What's your name?” piped hem
“What's your name? Oh! stop and straight unfold,
Pretty maid, with showery curls of gold ?"*

Little Bell,” said she.
Then the blackbird sang,-you never heard
Half so gay a strain from any bird-

Full of quips and wiles,
Now so round and rich, now soft and slow,
All for love of that sweet face below,

Dimpled o'er with smiles.
And thus—while that bonny bird did pour
His full heart out, freely, o'er and o'er,

Neath the morning skies,
In the little childish heart below,
All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow,
And shine forth in happy overflow

From the blue, bright eyes.

Down the dell she tripped; and through the glade
Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade,

And, from out the tree,
Swung and leaped and frolicked, void of fear-
While bold blackbird piped, that all might hear-

“ Little Bell !"-piped' he.

Little Bell sat down amid the fern-
Squirrel, squirrel, to your task return-

Bring me nuts!"-quoth she.
Up, away! the frisky squirrel hies-
Golden wood lights glancing in his eyes-

And adown the tree,

Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun,
In the little lap, drop, one by one-
Hark! how blackbird pipes to see the fun!

"Happy Bell !" pipes he.

Little Bell looked up and down the glade-
“Squirrel, squirrel, from the nut-tree shade,
Bonny blackbird, if you're not afraid,

Come and share with me!”

Down came squirrel, eager for his fare-
Down came bonny blackbird, I declare;
Little Bell gave each his honest share:

Ah! the merry three !

By her snow-white cot, at close of day,
Knelt sweet Bell, with 'folded palms to pray-

Very calm and clear
Rose the praying voice to where, unseen
In blue heaven, an angel shape serene

Paused awhile to hear.

“What good child is this,” the angel said,
“That with happy heart, beside her bed,

Prays so lovingly?"
Low and soft, oh! very low and soft,
The blackbird crooned in the orchard croft,

'Bell, dear Bell !” crooned he.

“Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair
Murmured,“ God doth bless with angels' care;-

Child, thy bed shall be
Folded safe from harm-love, deep and kind,
Shall watch around and leave good gifts behind,
Little Bell, for thee.”

Adapted from T. WESTWOOD. 144


The Roman sentinel stood helm'd and tall
Beside the gate of Nain. The busy tread
Of comers to the city mart was done,
For it was almost noon, and a dead heat
Quivered upon the fine and sleeping dust.

A silent train came on,
Bearing a body heavily on its bier ;-
And-by the crowd that in the burning sun
Walk'd with forgetful sadness—'twas of one
Mourn’d with uncommon sorrow. The broad gate
Swung on its hinges, and the Roman bent
His spear-point downwards as the bearers pass’d,
Bending beneath their burden. There was one-
Only one mourner. Close behind the bier,
Crumpling the pall up in her withered hands,
Follow'd an aged woman. Her short steps
Paltered with weakness, and a broken moan
Fell from her lips, thicken'd convulsively
As her heart bled' afresh. The pitying crowd
Followed apart, but no one spoke to her.
She had no kinsman. He was her all-
The only tie she had in the wide world-
He who was dead. They could not comfort her.
Jesus drew near to Nain, as from the gate
The funeral came forth. He had travelled
Since sunrise from Capernaum; staying not
To wet his lips by green Bethsaida’s pool,
Nor wash his feet in Kishon's silver springs.

Forth from the city gate the pitying crowd
Follow'd the stricken mourner. They came near
The place of burial, and—with straining hands
Closer upon her breast clasping the pall,-
She came where Jesus stood beside the way.
He look'd upon her, and his heart was moved.
“ Weep not!” he said; then as they stay'd the bier
And at his bidding laiú it at his feet,
He gently drew the pall from out her grasp,
And turn'd it o'er, in silence, from the dead.
With troubled wonder the mute throng drew near,
And gazed on his calm looks. A minute's space
He stood and pray'd. Then taking the cold hand,
He said, “ Arise !” Instantly the boy's breast
Heav'd in its cerements, and a sudden flush
Ran through the lines of his divided lips;
Then with a murmur of his mother's name
He trembled and sat upright in his shroud;
And-while the mourner hung upon his neck,
Jesus went calmly on his way to Nain.

N. P. WILLIS.-Adap.



ANALOGY OF NATURE AND THE BIBLE. In the miscellaneousness of the Bible we may trace the Hand of God,-his wonted method of teaching,--the publication of the word that reaches to the ends of the world. Not with square and compasses of man's device has God built the earth and meted out the heavens. His creation is broken at every point,-here a sheltered valley, there a profound abyss on one side of a mountain, whose summit is in the clouds, whilst on the other there is a leaping cataract;--off in the distance the waves lift up their voice, while in the depths above, the stars move in separate paths, and shine with different degrees of glory. And when I look into the Bible, I behold there the same sublime diversity ;-on one leaf there are as it were, pastures clothed with flocks, and valleys covered over with luxuriant corn ;--on the next leaf, heights and depths, in which are such hidings of God's purposes, that the loftiest faculties of successive generations are baffled. I follow the Saviour into quiet home scenes where kind and familiar words flow from his holy lips ;-go up with him to the mountain where the brightness of heaven glows from his face, and then look at the dread mystery of Gethsemane – the fearful agony and angelic succour. For this blending in the record the genially human with the ineffably divine —the unapproachably awful—I am the more ready to trace the image of the God whom in part we know as we do a brother, and yet who dwells in light inaccessible, and full of glory too dazzling for mortal eyes.

ISAIAH, CHAPTER XL." Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God : Speak ye animating words to Jerusalem, and declare unto her That her warfare is fulfilled; that the expiation of her iniquity is

accepted; That she shall receive at the hand of Jehovah (Blessings) double to the punishment of all her sins. A voice crieth : In the wilderness prepare ye the way Make straight in the desert a highway for our God!" Every valley shall be exalted, every mountain and hill The crooked shall become straight, and the rough plain :

* Bishop Lowth's translation.

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