men who are too old to learn new truths, who have got through the world very well with such ideas, or apologies for ideas, as they may chance to have had, who dread all new-fangled notions, comfortably seated in snug arm-chairs by blazing fires, rail, as they smoke and sip their grog, as they did before the Reform Bill was carried and the constitution destroyed, at what they are pleased to term "the cant of the present age."

"The cant of the present age!" Is not the term more correctly applied not to the ideas that are just developing themselves, and are waiting for a genial future under whose influence they will go forth to bless and humanize the world, but to those ideas that have been held and believed in days gone by and that are now receding before the increasing intelligence of the present? The old watch-words of the past which stirred up men's blood, for which many girded themselves to combat in the field of battle or the hall of debate, have now, alas! many of them come to be cant; Tempora mutantur et mutamur." To a man not blind, the attempt to use the language of a man who is, would be cant. For an enlightened age to employ the language of an age when men could neither read nor write, when personal and political corruption unblushingly prevailed, when the rights of one class and the duties of another were disregarded and trampled under foot, must of necessity be cant. For a man to repeat like a parrot an old worn-out creed is cant-cant of the worst kind, inasmuch as by it truth is retarded, and error retained a little while longer. We blame not the men who used the language first it was their theory of, perhaps, whatever they deemed dearest and best, obtained with tedious toil and fostered with tender love, but it no more suits times of increased knowledge than would the old far-famed double-bodied Norwich coaches suit these days of railway locomotion. Not in vain has this world of ours nourished and matured its great men, its poets, its martyrs, its prophets, and its priests. With labour the earth has been conquered, and her soil now bears the fruits by which man lives. With equal labour has moral and political truth, the truth by which men socially and intellectually live, been won. But the truth is here, our fathers have laboured, and we have entered into their labours. Physically, even intellectually, we may be their inferiors, yet we are wiser than our athers were. Experience reveals to us truths they but dimly saw, and from the past we shape our conduct and build our hopes for the future. Change has come: old things have passed away, all things have become new. If we speak, we cannot speak as our fathers did, for they spoke ignorant of revelations that have come to us. In their truth to us is visible much that is false; in their knowledge we see much of ignorance; in their wisdom much of folly. The man who obstinately repeats their language, excommunicates those who do not believe their creed or swear by their God, does

little more than cant. From the failings of our common humanity we can claim no exemption even from the "wisdom of our ancestors." We see the loftiest intellects warped by the vulgarest prejudices of their day,-Hall believing in witchcraft, Hobbes fearing to be alone in the dark, Shakespeare writing of men whose heads were in their breasts, and Sir Walter Raleigh stirring up English enthusiasm, as he wrote of El Dorado and its mountains of glittering gold. In knowledge and experience we feel superior to them, though we do homage to the genius that has shed lustre on their name. Where before all was dark the light of truth has shone. The dwarf on the giant's back, must see further than the giant himself. If I strut about in the worn-out clothes of my grandfather, I am ridiculous; am I not equally so, if I am forced to get my ideas and their very mode of utterance from the same venerable individual? Life is progress, and time but watches its development. As the jacket of the boy is too small for the mature man, so are the lights and learning of an age insufficient for the next. It is not Disraeli alone, but universal conservatism, that cannot find rest in the oft repeated and monotonous watch-words of the past. In like manner, whiggism finds its idols to be but clay, and stands spectral-like, mourning the memory of Sir Robert Walpole, Professor Malthus, and Adam Smith. Even now there is a falling off of enthusiasm ; amongst political clubs, and dinners, there are indications, showing that the English people of the year 1847, have begun thinking that war is a curse, that party and principle are not synonymous terms,— that zeal for the church is by no means to be confounded with zeal for God. There are indications even, that the old toasts, and sentiments, "The Glorious Revolution of 1688," "Church and State," the "Army and Navy," and such like, though we hear them repeated in the high places of the land-though they be drunk in bumpers, though they be given with "three times three and one cheer more," holding up as they do, distinctions,. on account of religious belief,-perpetuating as they do, brute force and war,are opposed to the growing spirit of the times-are being banished from men's lips, as they have been from men's hearts, and though they have been significant of much, have now come to be "the cant of the present age."

MORNING.

FROM THE GERMAN OF F. VON SALLET.

The first pure ray of eastern sky,
Like a light spear doth glancing fly,
The darkness to destroy;

To heaven the lark's song doth aspire,
Rising from the unseen choir,

A prayer of heartfelt joy.

The flower awakens from fair dreams,
Towards heaven it stilly, sweetly gleams-
Its eye doth weep and smile;
Quicker doth ev'ry pulse-beat strive,
All is joyous and alive,

With fresh air wreathed the while.

Piercing all the pure ray glances,
Through silent valley cheerly dances;
What it looks on, smiles again.

On the humble roof it shines,
Where a true heart breaking pines,

That long has wept in vain.

M. T.

THE DEATH BELL.

ONE of the many ancient omens, still fondly cherished and repeated in the far west of England, is the "Warning chime of the death bell;" that is, if you are separated from the being most dear to you on earth, in the event of his or her death, the fatal intelligence reaches you immediately, if you have faith, conveyed by the chiming sound of unearthly silver bells, sounding far, far off,-heard by your ears alone, in the still evening time, amongst the busy haunts of men, during the garish light of day, or at the solemn, lonely midnight hour (or they may be heard by two individuals at

the same moment, if the departed was dear to both). Never can they be confounded with the sound of earthly bells. Once heard, never forgotten. It is a blessed omen; a sign the departed is happy the bells of the celestial city ringing the welcome, on the glorified spirits rejoicing entrance there.

During my sojourn in the west, I became acquainted with a sweet, interesting young woman, named Melony. She was born and bred near the Land's-end, in a lonely, antique mansion, nearly lost amidst the wild and dreary hills. She had never left her native county, and she loved it with the fervent spirit peculiar to her people.

I was first struck by the plaintive expression of touching heartsadness, on her pale face; patient and resigned in its general expression; and by the voice of softest music, whenever she opened her lips to speak. Her spirits were wild and wayward, but ever feminine and soft. No touch of forwardness or vulgarity to mar the tender interest she excited in me.

We first met at the house of a mutual friend, who was anxious we should know each other; it was in the summer time, and we used to ramble in the woods surrounding the house, for long, idle hours, resting on the mossy banks; and such precious, old-world tales, such quaint relics of long-buried superstitions, I learnt from sweet Melony, that her own strange romantic story is but the least in the catalogue.

It would need her voice to tell it, her sad eyes to express it; her hand clasped in mine so confidingly, and my faith to receive it.

She had heard the death bell.

Oh! truly, faithfully did I receive the record of her buried affections, and the awful but blessed warning vouchsafed. Few and simple were her words-would that I could distinctly remember them-as nearly as I can, these they were,

"I shall never love again; this will tell you, dear friend, that I have loved once. Words cannot tell of the heart's sinful devotion, but the Bible does, and that forbids idols. The Melony of those days was not like the Melony you know. No shadow had crossed her pathway. The earth was gay and full of sunshine, not the whist and woful world it seemeth now.

"He was the younger son of the great and powerful family, so well known by name in this county. The sea was his portion,— to carve his way to fame, as his ancestors had done before him. His youngest and favourite sister was my dear chosen companion, and became my guest for a while, during her brother's absence. O! that absence, how much has been said and written about it! Let it once be felt as I have felt it, and tears and words are de

* Cornish word.

nied. It is the heart's silent agony-smiles on the face, folly on the tongue; and the sacred sepulchre of the one-worshipped image -beneath and hidden.

"On an Autumn evening we walked on the cliffs-the sea was hushed and still for that stormy coast. It was a gorgeous golden sunset, and we both intensely felt the sublimity of the scene.

"The silver chime of that blessed unearthly music first was heard by me; not suddenly-it did not even startle me: so stealingly, holily, gently, it fell on my listening ear. It came over the sea, the beautiful sea, and I knew the sunshine of my existence had departed-that he was dead-dead!

"I can relate this to you, and seem calm and cold as my words, but it is the especial privilege of that celestial warning to cause a lull and sleep-as it were a numbness of the faculties-to deaden the agony it inflicts; to prevent, mayhap, madness or despair.

She, my friend, the sister, heard the chime more faintly: we looked on each other-our eyes met long and fearfully; we spoke not, breathed not a sigh, as the thrilling music sank and died on the evening breeze. I pass over the days and weeks that followed, -accounts came at length-his grave was countless fathoms deep. "My darling friend, the gentle sister Annie, to all outward appearance, changed not-mourned not, as earthly mourners are wont to do. A few months afterwards she slept the long sleep of peace and rest, in the family vault, banners waving o'er her, in her own ancestral church, and a marble tablet marking the spot where the young beloved reposes.

"Now you marvel not that I love my native county, and my fa. ther's ancient, sombre-looking dwelling; that the cliffs and the seabeat shore, in all their savage grandeur, are more in accordance, and attuned to my struck heart, than aught of gentler beauty I have heard fair England boasts.

"I know that he is happy, that he is waiting for Melony. I shall go to him-my loved, adored-he cannot return to me."

C. A. M. W.