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passing cloud over the bright hour of gaiety, or spread a deeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet who would exchange it even for the song of pleasure or the burst of revelry ?

Who can look down upon the grave even of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb, that ever he should have warred with the poor handful of earth that lies mouldering before him! But the grave of those we loved-what a place for meditation! There it is that we call up in long review the whole history of virtue and gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished upon us almost unheeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy; there it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful tenderness of the parting scene; the bed of death, with all its stifled griefs; its noiseless attendance; its mute, watchful assiduities; the last testimonies of expiring love; the feeble, fluttering, thrilling, oh, how thrilling! pressure of the hand; the last fond look of the glaring eye, turning upon us even from the threshold of existence; the faint, faltering accents struggling in death to give one more assurance of affection! Ay, go to the grave of buried love and meditate! There settle the account with thy conscience for every past benefit unrequited, every past endearment unregarded, of that departed being who can never, never, never return to be soothed by thy contrition!

If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate parent; if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms, to doubt one momen of thy kindness or thy truth; if thou art a friend, and hast ever wronged in thought or word or deed, the spirit that generously confided in thee; if thou art a lover, and hast ever given one unmerited pang to that true heart which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet; then be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come thronging back upon thy memory, and knocking dolefully at thy soul: then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and utter the unheard groan, and pour the unavailing tear, more deep, more bitter, because unheard and unavailing. Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew the beauties of nature about the grave; console thy broken spirit if thou canst with these tender, yet futile tributes of regret, but take warning by the bitterness of this thy contrite affliction over the dead, and be henceforth more faithful and affectionate in the discharge of thy duties to the living.-WASHINGTON IRVING.

360 IMAGINATION AND SYMPATHETIC AFFECTIONS.

REMINISCENCE.

REMEMBRANCE of the dead revives
The slain of time, at will;

Those who were lovely in their lives,
In death are lovelier still.
Unburdened with infirmity,
Unplagued like mortal men,
O with what pure delight we see
The heart's old friends again!
Not as they sunk into the tomb,
With sickness-wasted powers;
But in the beauty and the bloom
Of their best days and ours.
The troubles of departed years
Bring joys unknown before;
And soul-refreshing are the tears

O'er wounds that bleed no more.

Remembrance of the dead is sweet;
Yet how imperfect this,

Unless past, present, future meet,
A threefold cord of bliss!

Companions of our youth, our age,
With whom through life we walked,
And, in our house of pilgrimage,
Of home beyond it talked :

Grief on their urn may fix her eyes,
They spring not from the ground;
Love may invoke them from the skies,-
There is no voice nor sound.

Fond memory marks them as they were,
Stars in our horoscope;

But, soon to see them as they are

That is our dearest hope.

Not through the darkness of the night,

To waking thought unsealed,

But in the uncreated light

Of Deity revealed.

They cannot come to us, but we

Ere long to them may go;

That glimpse of immortality
Is heaven begun below.

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

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Tangible.

Accomplishment.

Confusion

Analyse.
Chaos.
Magnificent.

TAKE care to obtain information that may guide you to the right use of your senses, for they may be as acute as those of a wild man of the woods, all alive to the impressions of nature, and yet you may give no more attention to them than would suffice to satisfy the faculties of a baboon, instead of affording your reason any perception of the true meaning of things around you. "With all your gettings, get understanding," says Solomon; that is, learn to observe, for without this accomplishment, the five avenues of wisdom might as well have been closed, since they will only serve to enslave the soul, and bind it with fetters, to be loosed, if at all, only by death. When you gaze up into heaven, on a starlight night, what do you see? Stars, stars, stars. Yes; but is that all? He who has learned to employ his eyesight, sees order where you see confusion: his mind enters into his organs of vision, and enables them to detect differences which the uncultivated eye entirely overlooks; and, moreover, a man with this mental eyesight, where another observes only gleaming sparkles of light, beholds worlds moving together in mutual harmony, and visibly regulated by laws, which prove that the same mind which rules the elements of earth, and distributes the rays of the sun in such a manner that each small sphere of water in the descending shower shall analyse its given portion of light, so that the rainbow shall embrace the hills, and bring to man's memory his Maker's covenant.2

Thus, by attentively applying our senses, we learn analogy, and understand that Omnipotence is ever present, reigning alike in the minute and the magnificent of his infinite universe, and as easily managing worlds as he does the dewdrops, each strung upon its shred of morning light. Now, reader, what have you

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learned of order and beauty, so that they may rest in your soul as part and parcel of its consciousness for ever? What have "birds, and butterflies, and flowers" conveyed to your mind concerning Him who arrayed them in their surpassing glory? Do you think your Heavenly Father careth not for you? Then look a little more closely into the meek and tender beauties about you, lest you should be no more of a philosopher than Peter Bell:

"A primrose by the water's brim,

A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more."

And yet it is a keen preacher, and quietly upbraids us all with want of faith in our Maker and Preserver. What of the harmony of heaven do you realize by listening to the "linked sweetness "4 of nature's music? Perhaps you are too happy to deliberateyou neither look to the past nor the future, being satisfied with the present. Enviable state! If indeed you are innocent, you may go on thoughtlessly enjoying the ceaseless bounties of Providence like an unreflecting child; you are safe. But you are not holy, and therefore your instincts will not conduct you for ever onwards to new happiness, as surely as the intuition of an angel fits him for the enjoyment of all heaven. You are depraved, and therefore you must reflect, and gather instruction from the past, to lead your understanding onwards to the future. But if you do not earnestly attend, what will be your past, but a mere chaos?

You must pause upon impression, and compare, and judge, and not be satisfied with the knowledge that may happen to be forced upon you; but as the works of God are sought out by those who delight in them, so you, in order to be permanently wise, are required to use your senses with a full purpose always in view; expecting to find objects so exquisitely adapted to each of them, that you may dwell on the confines of a spiritual world through all and either of them. But know, the time is near when you shall have no pleasure in sense, and when the truths of indwelling knowledge, the mental wealth derived only from industrious attention, can alone furnish you with objects to sustain your spirits by reminding you of the attributes of Him who will never forsake you; therefore, even if you have but one sense left, you may yet learn to use it aright; and you will find that through it you may become intimate at length by association, suggestion, imagination, and sympathy, with all the wonders of creation; since there is not a tint, nor form, nor scent, nor sound, nor tangible beauty in universal nature, but must find some correspondent condition or quality in your soul, which shall

be awakened through that one sense, by your properly and wisely employing it. If, then, you have ears, listen: if eyes, look; and if, like Laura Bridgman," you have only feeling left, still live at large through that, and, like her, exist lovingly, trustfully, hopefully, happily, because every kind of knowledge brings the soul into fellowship with humanity and with God.-MOORE'S 'Use of the Body in Relation to the Mind'

1. What are "the five avenues of wisdom," and why are they called so? 2. What covenant?

3. Peter Bell' is the name of one of Wordsworth's poems; and though it has often been turned into ridicule, it contains some passages of exquisite beauty.

4. From what famous writer are these words quoted?

5. An account of Laura Bridgman's case will be found in one of Knight's Shilling Volumes, The Lost Senses,' II. Series.

CONFIDENCE IN GOD.

THINK not, when all your scanty stores afford
Is spread at once upon the sparing board;
Think not, when worn the homely robe appears,
While on the roof the howling tempest bears,
What further shall this feeble life sustain,
And what shall clothe these shivering limbs again.
Say, does not life its nourishment exceed?
And the fair body its investing weed?
Behold! and look away your low despair-
See the light tenants of the barren air!
To them, nor stores nor granaries belong,
Nought but the woodland and the pleasing song;
Yet your kind heavenly Father bends his eye
On the least wing that flits along the sky.
To Him they sing when spring renews the plain;
To Him they cry in winter's piercing reign;
Nor is their music nor their plaint in vain.
He hears the gay and the distressful call,
And with unsparing bounty fills them all.
Observe the rising lily's snowy grace;
Observe the various vegetable race;

They neither toil nor spin, but careless grow,

Yet see how warm they blush, how bright they glow!
What regal vestments can with them compare!
What king so shining! or what queen so fair!
If ceaseless thus the fowls of heaven He feeds,
If o'er the fields such lucid robes he spreads,
Will he not care for you, ye faithless, say?
Is He unwise? or are ye less than they ?-THOMSON.

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