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when it entered into us, and how it is retained, and where it is seated, and how it operates, are all matters of mere specu lation, and contradictory theories. If then, we are thus ignorant of this spiritual essence, even while it forms a part of ourselves, and is continually present to our consciousness, how can we pretend to ascertain or deny its powers and operations, when released from its fleshly prison house?

Every thing connected with our spiritual nature is full of doubt and difficulty. "We are fearfully and wonderfully made:" we are surrounded by mysteries; and we are mysteries even to ourselves. It is more the manner in which this superstition has been degraded, than its intrinsic absurdity, that has brought it into contempt. Raise it above the frivolous purposes to which it has been applied, strip it of the gloom and horror with which it has been enveloped; and there is none, in the whole circle of visionary creeds, that could more delightfully elevate the imagination, or more tenderly affect the heart. It would become a sovereign comfort at the bed of death, soothing the bitter tear wrung from us by the agony of mortal separation.

What could be more consoling than the idea, that the souls of those we once loved were permitted to return, and watch over our welfare?-that affectionate and guardian spirits sat by our pillows when we slept, keeping a vigil over our most helpless hours?-that beauty and innocence, which had languished into the tomb, yet smiled unseen around us, revealing themselves in those blest dreams wherein we live over again the hours of past endearments? A belief of this kind would, I should think, be a new incentive to virtue, rendering us circumspect, even in our most secret moments, from the idea that those we once loved and honored, were invisible witnesses of all our actions.

It would take away, too, from that loneliness and destitution, which we are apt to feel more and more as we get on in our pilgrimage through the wilderness of this world, and find that those who set forward with us lovingly, and cheerily, on the journey, have, one by one, dropped away from our side. Place the superstition in this light, and I confess I should like to be a believer in it. I see nothing in it that is incompatible with the tender and merciful nature of our religion, or revolting to the wishes and affections of the heart.

There are departed beings that I have loved as I never again shall love in this world; that have loved me as I never again shall be loved. If such beings do even retain, in their

blessed spheres, the attachments which they felt on earth; if they take an interest in the poor concerns of transient mortality, and are permitted to hold communion with those whom they have loved on earth, I feel as if now, at this deep hour of night, in this silence and solitude, I could receive their visitation with the most solemn but unalloyed delight.

In truth, such visitations would be too happy for this world: they would take away from the bounds and barriers that hem us in, and keep us from each other. Our existence is doomed to be made up of transient embraces and long separations. The most intimate friendship-of what brief and scattered portions of time does it consist? We take each other by the hand; and we exchange a few words and looks of kindness; and we rejoice together, for a few short moments; and then days, months, years intervene, and we have no intercourse with each other. Or if we dwell together for a season, the grave soon closes its gates, and cuts off all further communion; and our spirits must remain in separation and widowhood, until they meet again in that more perfect state of being, where soul shall dwell with soul, and there shall be no such thing as death, or absence, or any other interruption of our union.

Ex. CLXXXVL-EPITAPH ON THE LATE KING OF THE SANDWICH ISLANDS.

W. M PRAED.

BENEATH the marble, mud or moss,
Whiche'er his subjects shall determine,
Entombed in eulogies and dross,

The island king is food for vermin;
Preserved by scribblers and by salt,
From Lethe and sepulchral vapors,
His body fills his father's vault,

His character the daily papers.

Well was he framed for royal seat;

Kind to the meanest of his creatures;

With tender heart and tender feet,
And open purse and open features;

The ladies say, who laid him out,

And earned thereby the usual pensions,
They never wreathed a shroud about

A

corpse of more genteel dimensions.

He warred with half a score of foes,
And shone-by proxy-in the quarrel;
Enjoyed hard fights and soft repose,

And deathless death and deathless laurel; His enemies were scalped and flayed,

Whene'er his soldiers were victorious;
And widows wept, and paupers paid,
To make their sovereign ruler glorious.

And days were set apart for thanks,
And prayers were said by pious readers;
And laurel lavished on the ranks,

And land was lavished on their leaders; Events are writ by History's pen ;

Though causes are too much to care for,Fame talks about the where and when, While Folly asks the why and wherefore.

In peace he was intensely gay,
And indefatigably busy;
Preparing gewgaws every day,

And shows to make his subjects dizzy;
And hearing the report of guns,
And signing the report of jailers,
And making up receipts for buns,
And patterns for the army tailors.

And building carriages and boats,
And streets and chapels and pavilions,
And regulating all the coats,

And all the principles of millions;
And drinking homilies and gin,

And chewing pork and adulation, And looking backwards upon sin, And looking forwards to salvation.

The people, in his happy reign,

Were blest beyond all other nations;
Unharmed by foreign axe or chain,
Unhealed by civil innovations;
They served the usual logs and stones,
With all the usual rites and terrors;
And swallowed all their fathers' bones,

And swallowed all their fathers' errors.

When the fierce mob, with clubs and knives,
All vowed that nothing should content them,
But that their representatives

Should actually represent them;

IIe interposed the proper checks,

By sending troops with drums and banners,

To cut their speeches short, and necks,

And break their heads to mend their manners.

And when Dissension flung her stain

Upon the light of Hymen's altar,
And Destiny made Cupid's chain
As galling as the hangman's halter;
He passed a most domestic life,
By many mistresses befriended,
And did not put away his wife,

For fear the priest should be offended.

And thus, at last, he sunk to rest,
Amid the blessings of his people;

And sighs were heard from every breast,
And bells were tolled from every steeple;

And loud was every public throng

His brilliant character adorning,

And poets raised a mourning song,

And clothiers raised the price of mourning.

His funeral was very grand,

Followed by many robes and maces,

And all the great ones of the land,

Struggling, as heretofore, for places ;

And every loyal minister

Was there, with signs of purse-felt sorrow,

Save Pozzy, his lord chancellor,

Who promised to attend to-morrow.

Peace to his dust! His fostering care

By grateful hearts shall long be cherished;

And all his subjects shall declare

They lost a grinder when he perished.
They who shall look upon the lead,

In which a people's love hath shrined him,
Shall say, when all the worst is said,
Perhaps he leaves a worse behind him!

Ex. CLXXXVII.—THE ABOLITION OF WAR.

CHARLES SUMNER.

FAR be from us, fellow-citizens, on this anniversary, the illusions of national freedom in which we are too prone to indulge. We have but half done, when we have made ourselves free. Let not the scornful taunt be directed at us: 66 They wish to be free; but know not how to be just." Freedom is not an end in itself; but a means only; a means of securing justice and happiness, the real end and aim of States, as of every human heart. It becomes us to inquire earnestly if there is not much to be done by which these can be promoted. If I have succeeded in impressing on your minds the truths which I have upheld to-day, you will be ready to join in efforts for the abolition of war, and all preparation for war, as the true and only means of national grandeur.

To this great work let me summon you. That future which filled the lofty visions of the sages and bards of Greece and Rome, which was foretold by the prophets, and heralded by the evangelists, when man in happy isles, or in a new paradise, shall confess the loveliness of peace, may be secured by your care, if not for yourselves,-at least, for your children. Believe that you can do it, and you can do it. The true golden age is before you, not behind you. If man has been driven once from paradise, while an angel with a flaming sword forbade his return, there is another paradise, even on earth, which he may form for himself, by the cultivation of the kindly virtues of life, where the confusion of tongues shall be dissolved in the union of hearts, where there shall be a perpetual jocund spring, and sweet strains borne on "the odoriferous wings of gentle gales," more pleasant than the vale of Tempe, richer than the garden of the Hesperides,-with no dragon to guard its golden iruit.

Let it not be said that the age does not demand this work. The mighty conquerors of the past, from their fiery sepulchers, demand it; the blood of millions unjustly shed in war, crying from the ground, demands it; the voices of all good men demand it; the conscience, even of the soldier, whispers "Peace!" These are considerations, springing from our situation and condition, which fervently invite us to take the lead in this great work. To this should bend the patriotic ardor of the land; the ambition of the statesman; the efforts of the scholar; the pervasive influence of the press; the mild persuasion of the sanctuary; the early teachings of the school. Here, in ampler

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