_-

POETRY.

~_ OOP OE

THE DUCHESS v: From the Times,

EIN HBewual. March 16

LITERATURE.

Rk tA

ADA ICELAND GIRL

se

’ rr i fae |

Star of the North.all hall, fair opening flow- | PINE O'SPLAY OF FEMININE BARK-BACK RIDING

er Whe com'st among us

Fill \hine high place, av

take

Thr husband's people fo. thyhusband’s sake

Am teach us all thy gracious name to biess, Ma ing us happy im thy happiness

Mey i! propitious Power combine to shed

7" ai

1 auspicious hour, to thy young heart

head

{fr che'cest blessings ou thy favoured

Av‘ Make the name of Marie long to stand

A anouselold word through Enzlish land, Awl young and old shali eachday more and

more

Biess the ¢ a1 breeze that bore thee to our | instance of native kindness and

s )

mv’

‘

Acad when

lids thy voung beg

Where higher ties shal

And hall the with a Mot

Ahep may ench virgin y glow

With added luster on t

nm Hew career, holier duties claim

race,

y matron brow;

> comes, that most eveutfal year

her's blessed name, each beauty

blessings on thy much- | river very deep?’

May every thought, where’er thy francies Toam.

Tarn back, and nestle tn thine Island Home.

Mavevery jear, as Tinw’s long course is sped

Bring down fresh loved head,

And flidth est! | of every good possess’d— Ab appy Wife, str Viessiug aud still blest. D

a

PLOUGH AND PEN

THE A CHANT OF THE GRANGERS.

BY MICHAEL SCANLON

From the West le aps outa thunder shout That thiills the nations heart?!

The plotting chief and the legal thief Grow white in the pubic mart;

Alid sbatnecless fraud, that walks abroad,

And rules with an from hand, Whose pets are thrown

Over ail the tortured lend :— All the legion ry of Mouojyoly

That urapple the peopic’s life,

Things foul that fe: d,with Insatiate greed, And fatier on peace of strife,

Now blanch ard cower at this mighty power Which comes to judge and smite—

Hurrah forthe m n of the Plow and Pen, Who lead in the Granger's fight!

When war's fierce froy bod swept away

: shoe oy Our sons at the cannons mouth, [waves, | She had es much courage as ever we could

And their countless graves, like Red sea Had billowed the flelds of the South,

That traffic in men should cease, Fut we are seld ara bartered for gold In the devits marts of peace: The slaves of slaves, of huckstering knaves Whose cunning devours our toii!\8 rength By Heaven, at length, they shall feel the Of the tillers of the soil Hurrah for the men of the Plow and Pen, Whose limbs no giv scan bind— Thit was the fiabt of thew and might But fAis is the fight of mind.

We've bearded the wood's grim solitudes, We ve buried the waste in flowers,

Woo d the wild earth into fruittul birth, And ‘couched her iu fairy bowers,

Till the young winds rolled over seas of gold And died in the fragrant hay,

Till the wanton rilis, by clatt ring milis, Ran ausical through the day.

The songs of the virds, the rattle of words Fron iidren romping about,

The women within, with their househeld din

eur ci

God's bexut’ and bounty without! Till the very air scemed palpable prayer, And our -plilts rose refreshed;

Till when the day lad died away Te agieam ia the mellow West, We said. ** Nu lord vor robber horde, (an desecrate our toil, Aid we blessed the land vy

Was master of the svi!

But ai! ou: Brigit phantons ¢ fe piewed and

But wlen our work was

e Npower Caine

And sWept us

Hike wt sls aw in his da

whose brood never tilled a rood,

y in his vuluar pride,

"hile Lis lordiy train, bed zened and vain,

imeric slue

*ho ve woven the heurs

} | iove and care,

Can only nope, wi ur stars of hope Are setting iv black despair

Piow ad sow! harrow and mow!

And gath: if

That cunwig and traud may Aud fatten upon your tol

What ava Is democrat, net lord?

It’s sweeter to be in slavery To Cunning than the sword

When every right is crashed by All manhood beaten down,

What victim cures if the despot A bounet or a crown?

1 the speech the masters teach

(hand vere the toiling

dreams were mirage gleams, fthe sun! erie

4

in freeds S name of all but land

f, with a high belief, uty jana

ad i he.

tite ple

abo eurs '

tee le BOW, at Sige ¢ '

v soil,

revel abroad

ri ve clos ¢ ul

Pr

« that he who assalls

°

might,

wears

Not all | Can save the slave from sheme }

Away wth cant! we, freemen, want | The substance, not the name,

Oi! Liberty. thou soon shalt be Redeemed from city mate,

Aud proudiy crowded, when girded round | With leyal Granger heasrts!

j

And now, at length, our giant strength Shall smite the plotting knaves,

Our deep Reform, lasled by the storm, Shall ‘gulf them in iis wares

Can erent per cent brave our discontent, Or range lis puny crew

To meet the shock, the wild Siroc,

Of our men of mind and thew? Hurrah for the Men of the Plow and Pen, Stroud bearts and brain combined; What foe can st the headlong sway Uf our mighty march of mind? Hand clasped in hard we firmly stand, Secure in our myrard might, Our battle cry ts ** Victory Aud God defend the rignt!

from zone to cone | her heeis into his sides and galloped off down

We fondly thought they had fil en aad fought |

~~THK PARTING KISS IN THE RIVER.

Mr. S. E. Waller started for a trip in Ice- land in June, 1872. He gives an account of * Six Weeks in the Saddle,’ in a little vol- ume from which we get an idea of the cus- toms of the people there. The Icelanders ‘are almost inconveniently hospitable. It is | dfBcult to get a farmer, who keeps you a day | Or two, to accept pay. Our author seems to have done his best to requite his hosts by | making himself amusing. Here we have an fewinine courage in the morning I made a smali study, and | after a very tolerable mea! and many good | wishes, we rode off. All went well until we | came to the river Markafijot, which happened | to be very much flooded. Net liking to at- tempt to swim under the circumstances, we | rode on down the bank for some mules, end | fortunately found a house Knocking at the door, we asked, ‘Isthe ‘Very,’ said a voice from

| the inside.

‘Is there a man who will show us a ford?’ |

| we ssked again

‘No,’ was the reply, ‘ both Jon and Olavr | are up in the mountains, but one of the girls | will do quite as well. Here, Thora, go and show the Englishmen the way.’

Immediately an exceedingly | young woman ran out, and nodding kindly | to me, went around to the back of the house, | caught @ pony, puta brifle on it, and not taking the trouble to fetch a saddle, vaulted fon his bare back, and sitting astride, drove

handseme

| the river bank as hard as she could go, shout- ing for us to foilow

We became naturally rather excited at such a display of dash on the partof such « | pretty girl, and started off immediately in But though we did our utmost to she increased her distance hand There was no doubt about it;

| chase.

i

| caten her, | over hand.

THE ECONOMY OF HUMAN LIFE.

| OF THE AFFECTIONS OF MAN WHICH ARE BURT> FUL TO HIMSELF AND OTHERS. COVETOUSNESS.

Riches are not worthy a strong attention ; an earnest care of obtainiug them is there- | fore unjustifiable. | he desire of that which a man calleth | good, and the joy he taketh in possessing it, | are grounded only ia opinion; form not thy | opinion from the vulgar, examine the worth

j |

| of thiags thyselfaad thou shal! not be covet- |

ous

An immoderate desire afler riches is a}

poison lodged in the soul; it contaminates | and destroys every thing that was good in it | it no sooner takes root there, than all virtue,

| all honesty, all natural affection, fly before |

the face of it. } gol; his parent would die before he would lopen his coffer; nay, he considereth not | himselfin respect of it; in the search after | happiness be maketh himself unhappy.

As the man who selleth his home to purs chase ornaments for the embellishment of it, even so is he who giveth up peace in the search of riches, in hope that he may be happy in enjoying them

Where covetousness reigneth, know that the soulis poor, Whoso accounteth riches the principal good of man, wi'l throw away all other goods in pursuit of them

Whoso feareth poverty as the greatest evil of his nature, will purcnase to himself ail other evils in the avoiding of it

Thou fool, is not virtue more worth than

riches? Is not guilt more base than poverty ? Euough for his necessities isin every man ; | be coutent with it, and thy happiness shall | smile at the sorcgws of Lim why heapeth up more.

Covetousness burieth under ground mil- lions of wretches; th se dig for their hard masters what returneth the injury, what maketh them mvre miserable thao their slaves.

The earth is barren of good things where she hoardeth up treasure; where gold is in Ler bowles, here uv herb growe:b

Riches are servants to the wise;

|

but they

| are tyrants over the soul of the fool.

Hath not geld destroyed the virtue of mil- lious? Did it ever aud to the goodness of any?

Is it not most abundant with the worst o! men? Wherefore then shourdst thou desire to be distinguished by possessing it ?

Have not the wisest been those who have had least of it? and is not wisdom happiness?

| boast of, and in point of horsemanship, was | a hundred yards ahead of either of us.

i For about hatf a mile we rattled along, | |

| when suddenly she pulled up short on a sand bank,

‘You can cross here, she said, ‘ but you | must be careful. Make straight for that} rock right over there, and when you have |

reached it, you will be able to see the cairn |

| wastwenty yardsinto the river

i sowed. we reaped and mowed | only by lifting their heads very high that

| she was gone, and a few minutes after we ) her, @ mere speck in the distance, galloping

; shaking haads here.

| to please everybody pleases nobody | but not into cur hearts

| good name evdureth for ever. | to thy name.

|

|

f stones that we built te show the landing | lace ‘Ail right,’ said. ‘Good by.’ She looked puzzled for a moment, and | then said, ‘ {ll come through with you; | will be safer ‘Good grecions, Bjarni, don't let her come,’ I said; ‘ she is sure to he

; i

drowned, and || get her out with all those wet clothes | tell her to go back.’ |

But before J was haif through the sentence | she had urged her horse into the water, and

cant

on,

Of course we followed as quiek as possible, and after a good deal of splashing reached the middle of the flood

e “y

‘Now,’ she said, bringing her horse up | abreast of mine, and pointing with her whip, | ‘there's the mark.’ The water was running level with the horses’ withers, and it

was) i

they could keep their noses clear

Good hy,’ she said, + God bless you,’ and |

before | was awere of it, kissed me on the |

cheek i was about to return the compliment, but |

| over the plain.

t I had thought of it in|

ordinary situations, but a kiss in the midst of |

Kissing in Iceland is a custom similar to

boundless waters was, to say the least of it. | | strange. It was certainly the wettest one I | | ever had ia my life.

_—-or

GEMS OF THOUGHT.

Never be afraid to do right: he that strives |

Riches should be admitted into our houses,

A good life hath but a few days, but a Have regard |

Do not brave the opinion of the world. You | nay as well say that you care not for the light of the sun.

if you have been tempted into evil, fly from it; it is not falling imto the water, but iving in it, that Jrowns.

Slow yourself to be a great jover of truth, that the greatast cradit may be given to | your simple word, }

They declaim most against the world who |

s

| have most sinned against it; as people gen- | | erally abuse those whom they have injured.

The tirst qualities wanted in ail who deals with the education ofcnildren are—patience, s+lt-contro!, and a youthful heart that remem- | bers its own early days |

We are of the number who look upon sym- | pathy asa cardinal virtue Whoever lacks the glorious trait in his character we care not to form his acquaintance.

ee - | j RANDOM READINGS {| What are thy crosses to thy comforts, thy | Ae 3 f AW miseries to thy mercies, thy days of sickness en rremmrmnene | to thy days of health, thy days of weakness | What isthe difference between a farmer } to thy days of strength, thy days of scarcity | and a bottel of whiskey? One busbar ds! to thy days of plenty ? the corn, and the other corns the husband. | Don't he discouraged if on the outset of life The expressicn, “John Ball,” commonly | things do not go on smovthiy. It seldum | ased to signify au Englishroan. is taken pane er ~— al an of a from Dean Swifts ludicious History of Eu- . pane ¢ path of ile in the} ; rope,” whereiu the people are personified | Prospect @ppears smooth and ievei, but when | Ve under that appeiation We come to travel it wa tind it ail up hili, and i ie When you repeat the prover, *' Frai'ty, geacrally rough. | thy uame is Woman!” you must except Economy is the parent of integrity, of liber- | hereafter Mrs Caloe Jones, colored of Ra_} ty, and of ease; the sister of temperance, of | leigh, whos: waist, at ity sf — point, eee and bealth. —-. on measures seven feet io circomference. 1 contrary. 13 4 cruel and crafty demon, , - . i } “Hi!’ where did yoz get them trowsers ?” eon oe her sonlowers = ée asked an [visite ofa man who happened a ra ae ent: that is, feiters them | ty be p Te whha oo ka ily a trows “ so j om awe oa their souls. | ers on. te wot them where they grew, y 19 hard to Say just OW &@ man or woman | was the ia lignint reply ~~ Tbleu by wy con- | May be thoroughly pleasing to others. There cience said Piddy, “you've pulled them | are a thousand engaging ways which every | 8 year too soun!” | person may puton without running the risk | How mich better It would have been | “{Peing deewed either affected or foppish. | to have shiascu hands and allow it was all a | The swee8 smile ; the quiet, cordial bow , the eletake.” said 4D jude. “ Then the | C@Pnest movement in addresting a friend, or | liom snd the lam woald have laid down to- | ote especially a stranger Who may be re-| gether, and wiite-robed peace have fanned | O%mMended to ns; the gracefui attention | ¥G With her wings aud eevate you with her | Which is so captivating when these are uni- smile of approba ion. Butuo; you went to} ed with sell-possession, these will ensure | clawing aud »i ingand rolling in the mud, | ‘4 good regard of ali aud here youate. [t's $5. apiece.” eae nem se eremnan rent Of planting trees, Johnson observed Suatrenines.—Learn everything you can. «Ties 4 foghtfal interval between the | It will come in play. Don't be frightened seed and tm Again ? ivs He that away from an vursuit. bece vo h caletiiaies th tof trees has the remem. | 7 . Fs eer oa —_ eae ess of life driven baru | O@ly @ little time to devote to it. Ifyou wpor bint cant have anything more, a smattering is The man who is shut out of the sunshine | better than nothing. Even a slight know- ef |i © may foie Gamgelf in the feeling, | ledge of the arts. sciences, languages, open | hat the Shacte nore ¢ uciye Cc . ; t - = t : to con up @ whole world of thought before us. We | - sho ero tppreciate a fine painting better because we | You scite the Gower, its bloom is shed: | bave taken a few strokes of the pencil and | ke the «enow—falls in the river, know something of the difficulties of the task. | A moment white—then mets forever ignorance is restricted to a very few pieas- | —Burns. ures. it is only intelligence which delights | A es ofe nae = wyer in mil-} a}] things. A limited knowiladge of the na- | waukee Was defending a hacdsome young} a el x1 ' woman accus a of stealing froma large — et — GFE 0008 Ees-tong coerce | anoccupied building In the night time, and | of happiness. We stand at the portal of | thus be «poke ia conciision these puro joys afraid to enter as we look at Gentiewen of the jury. 1am dpe. When | tbe long. long vista beyond: but the moment I gaze with eoraptured eyes on the match- | we have crossed the threshold b jeue Deeuty of this peerless virgin, on whose FERAAIS we Degia to revplendent charms suspicion never dared | experience a pleasure. We bave not to wait . e , } : to breathe ; « hen Ibelold her radiant fm the | until we reach the end; there is « compen. girrious bioom of her lustrous loveliness sation given us at once for / which angelic Sweetn: ss might- envy: be- 6 — every effort we i

fore whica the star en the prow of night grows pole, aud the diamonds of Brazil are @im; and then refi-ct upon the utter @ad- Bees and fo ly of supposing that so mach besu y Would expowe itself to the terrors o @n ewpty building ju the coll damp of the wigh', when lanocence like hers fs

ite lfanioug tue suowy pillows of repose; gentlemen of tuc jury, my feelings are too overpowering foreszpression, and J throw ber into your arme for protection sgainst

thls foul charge, a charge which the one j rageou. ma.ice of a disappolited sooundn | 3 bag invented to biaet the fair name of this

lovely muiden, wLose smiles shall be the reward of Le verdict which [ know you will ve! .

Tae jary acqitked Ler withow: lecving thede @sats.

put forth. A little systematic endeavor—one hour, or even half hour a day—and a man | may be considered learned before he dies. | Learn thoroughly what you do learn, be it | ever so little, and you may speak of it with | eonSdence. A few clearly detined facts and itoas are worth 8 whole library of uncertain | ee = ats we change sbout emong a | continually ‘ing people we are frequently | piseed in positions where we may learn wish ly an effort, aud yet we hang back be- | Cause it takes 80 long to acquire a mastery of anything. Let tbeendalone! Begin! leern !| do what you can to-day, to-morrow; and | though after ali it prove to be but @ mere | smattering. you havo gathered some intelli-. gence on One point more than you had be-

fore, and you have found happigess in steeks tag i. —nilearth and Meme

| Nature giveth him a right unto

| himself the practice of virtues whose

| hot to the soul of the great, but waste them-

| it: if he succeeds, he repenteth of it.

| estore thy peace.

| fence, conquer him and spare him: in death

| himself, he that disdaineth to fel an injury,

Have not the worst of thy species possessed the greatest portions of it? and hath not their end been miserabie

Poverty wanteth many things ousness denieth itself all,

but covet-

The covetous would seli his children for |

OF LORD BACON AT HOME.

sil ee ; The history of Lord Bacon would le | of the intellectual faculties, and @ theme $0

worthy of the philosophical biographer fe- | mains yet to be written. The personal ner- | rative of this master-genius or inventor must | for ever be separated from the scala intellec- | tus he was perpetually ascending; and the | domestic history of this creative mind must be consigned to the most humiliating chap- ter in the volume of human life; a chapter | already sufficiently enlarged, and which has refulably proved how the greatest minds are

{

|

i

‘not freed from the infirmities of the most}

| vulgar.

The parent of our philosphy is now to be |

considered in a new light, one which others |

do not appear to have observed. My re- searches into contempc | have often convinced me that his philosophi- cal works, in his own days and among his own countrymen, were not only not compre- | hended, but often ridiculed, and sometimes | reprobated ; that they were the occasion of many slights and mortifications which this | depreciated man endured; but that from a very early period in his life, to that last res cord of his feelings which appears in his will, this ‘servant of posterity,’ as he propheti- cally called himself, sustained his mighty spirit with the confidence of his own posthu- mous greatness. Bacon cast his views through the maturity of ages, and perhaps | amidst the sceptics and rejectors of his plans, may have felt at times all that idolatry of which has now consecrated his philso-

fam ., phical works.

At college, Bacon discovered how “ that scrap of Grecian knowledge, the peripatetic philosophy,’ and the scholastic babble, could not serve the ends and purposes of know- ledge; that svilogisms were not things, and that a new Jogic might teach us to invent and judge by induction. He found that theories were to be built upon experiments When a young man, abroad, he began to make those observations on nature, which afterwards led on the foundations of the new philosophy. At sixteen he philosophized at twenty-six, he had framed his system into some form : and after forty years of continued jabors, untimshed to bis last hour, he left behind sufficient to found the great philosophical reformation.

On his entrance into active life, study was not however his prime object. With his for-

him

The covetous can be good to no man; but he isto none so cruel as himself

if thou art industrious to procure gold, be gene: ous in the disposal of it; man never is so happy as when he giveth happiness unio another.

} i | |

\ | If there be a vice greater than the hoard. |

ing up of riches, it is the employing them to | useless purpuses

PROFUSION

He that prodigally iavishes that which he | hath to spare, robneth the poor of what

He who squandereth away his treasure | refuseth the means to do good; he denieth | res ward is in their hand, whose end is ne ether than his own happiness.

It is more difficult to be happy with riches, than to be at ease under the want of them man governeth himself much easier in poverty than in abundance.

The poor hath only the good of himself committed unto him; the rich is entrusted with the welfare of thousands

rit

He that giveth away his treasure wisely, | giveth away his plagues; he that retaineth their increase, heapeth up sorrows

Refuse not unto the stranger that which | he wanteth ; deny not untotny brother even | that which thou wanteth thy self.

Know there is more delight in being with- out what thou hast rightly bestowed, than in possessing miilions which thou knowesi not the use of,

KEVENGE

The root of revenge is in the weakness of the soul; the abject and timorous are the | most addicted to it.

Who torture those they hate but cowards? Who murder those they rob but women?

The feeling an injury must forerun the re- venging it; but the nuble mind disdaineth to say, lt hurts me

If the injury itself is not beiow thy notice, | he that doth it maketh himself so; Wouidst thou enter the lists with thine inferior ?

Disdain the man who altempteth to wrong thee; contemn him who would give thee disquiet.

As the tempest and the thunder affect not the sun or the stars, but spend their fury on Stones and trees below ; so injuries ascend

selves on such a8 are those who offer them.

Poorness of spirit wii actuate revenge greatness of soul despiseth the offence ; nay, it doth good unto him who intended to have disturbed it,

Why seekest thou vengence,0 man? With

} what purpose is it that thou pursueth it? |

Thinkesh thou to pain thine adversary by it? Know that thyseif feelest its greatest tors | ment

Revenge gnaweth the heart of him who | 1s infected with it; while he against whom it | iS aimed remaineth easy,

It is unjest in the anguish it inflicteth; therefore nature intended it not for thee.

The man who meditateth revenge, is not

| content with the mischief he hath received.

He addeth to his anguish the punishment due unto another; while he whom he seeketh to | hurt, gooth his way laughing; he maketh himself merry at this addition to his misery. Revenge is painful in the intent, and it 1s dangerous in the execution ; seldom doth the axe fall where he who iifted it up intended ; aud lo! he remembereth not that it must |

| Pecoil against himself.

Whilst the revengeful see¢keth his enemy's | hurt, he oftentimes procureth his own de- struction ; while heaimeth at one of the eyes, of his adversary, lo! he putteth out both his | own

his end, he jamenteth The fear of justice taketh away the peace of his own suul; the cire to hide him, from it des stroyeth that of his friend.

Can the death of thine adversary satiate thy hatred? Can the setting him at rest

if he athkaia not

Wouldst thou make him sorry for his of

he owneth not thy superiority ; nor feeleth he more the power of thy wrath

In revenge there snould be a triumph of the aveuger, and he who hath injured him should feel his displeasure; he should suffer pain | from it, and should repent him cf the cause. }

This is the revenge inspired from anger’ but that which maketh thee great, is con- tempt

Murder from an injury eriseth only from cowardice ; he who inflicteth it, feareth thal the enemy may live, and avenge himself.

Death endeth the quarrel, but restoreth | not the reputation ; killing is au act of caution not of courage, it may be safe, but it is not | honourable

Nothing is so easy as to revenge an offence: nothing is so honorable as to pardon it

i

The greatest victory man can obtain is over

}

i }

retorteth itupon him who offereth

When thou me fitatest revenge, thou con- | fesseth that thou feelest the wrong: when thou complaineth, acknowlegest thyself burt by it: meanst thou toadd triumph pride of thy enemy?

That cannot be an injury when its not felt, how then can he who depiseth it, revenge it.

If thou think it dishonorable to bear anef- | fence, taore is in thy power ; thou mayest con- | quer it.

Good offices will makes a man ashamed to be thine enemy ; greatness of sou! wil! terrify him from the thought of hurting thee. : The greater the wrong, the more glory is im partoning it; and by how much more justifianle would be revenge, by so much the more honour ie in clemyncy.

Hast thou a right to be « judge in thine own cause; to be @ party in the act, vet to pronounce sentence on it? Before | thou condemnest, let another say it is just. |

The revengeful is feared, and therefore he | ie betet: but he that is endowed with | ne adored. The praise of his actions |

aineth forever; and the love of the w &itendeth bim. I eee

An old lady, hearing some one readin @bout a Congressman at larg ; the kitchen door shouting, Sarah Jane, don't you leave ai) olgbt, mind | tel! you, Gengressman at large.”

to the}

|

|

and |

'

e. rushed to | “Sarah Jane, the clothes out | for there is @)

i

| and

| queen

| dicted to more genera) pursuits than law, {known to have read confirmed the accusa-

| post of Solicitor General should not be con-

|} tated on a retreat to a foreign country

| ing what was intended for the sixth part of

|} to the work, which | as @ hundred years’ time; for he add,, «J iam persuaded the work will gain upon men’s | minds in ages.”

| legacy of fame:

tune to make, bis court convections and bis father’s example opened a path for ambition. He chose the practice of common law as his

|

RANDOM READINGS.

MAXIMS OF CARDINAL DE RETZ,

Some of the most celebrated aphorisms yen to the world are those of Cardinal

ever 6: ; i De Retz, Asa writer the fame of De Retz | rests upon the ‘ Memoirs,” @ most striking |

and brilliant work, But his maxims have | their value, as the reflections which a great) and able man formed from long experience and practice in great business. This was | Lord Chesterfield’s opinion, and he adds, | ‘ They ere true conclusions, drawn from facts, not from speculation.” We subjoin a few of them

Weak men never yield at the proper time.

There are no small steps in great affairs.

1 am persuaded that greater qualities are required to form a good party leader than to form an emperer of the universe, and that

lin the order of the qualities which compose

rary notices of Bacon | | with judgment—I mean heroic judgment, the

|

| ing of it bas requited it.'--Cicero.

|

|

means, while his inclinations were looking |

upwards to political affairs as his end. passion for study, however, had strongly marked him; he had read much more than

Al

was required in his professional character: |

this circumstance excited the mean jealousies of the Minister Cecil, and the At- torney General Coke. Both were mere prac-

tical men of business, whose narrow con- |

ceptions and whose stubborn habit- assume ) that whenever a2 man acquires m know ledge fureign to his profession, he will know

less of professional knowledge than he ought

| These men of strong minds, yet limited capa | citi | their habits

hold in contempt all studies airen to

es,

Bacon early aspired to the situation of! t

factions;

Solicitor General; the court

div nied

interests

of Elizabeth was | adoptec the which were The queen,

into Jacou i

of the generous Essex, of

inimical to the party Cecil

from his boyhood, was delighted by convers- | ing with her ‘young lord-keeper,’ as she early distinguished the precocious gravity

and the ingenious turn of mind of the future philosopher. It was unquestionabiy to ats tract her favor that Bacon presented to the his ‘Maxims and Elements of the Common Law,’ not published till after his |

deatt Elizabeth suffered her minister to

| form her opinions on the legal character of

Bacon. It was alleged that Bacon was ad-

and the miscellaneous books which he was

tion. This was urged as a reason why the ferred on aman of speculation, more likely to distract than direct heraffairs. Elizabeth, in the height of that political prudence which marked her character, was swayed hy the vulgar notion of Cecil, and believed that Bacon, who afterwards filled the situation both of Solicitor General and Lord Chancel- lor, was ‘a man rather of show than depth.’ | We have recently been told by a great law- | yer that ‘ Bacon was & master.’

On the accession of James the First, when Bacon still found the same party obstructing his political advancement, he appears, in some momentary fit of disgust, to bave medi- A

circumstance which has happenedto several of

our men of genius, during a fever of solitary indignation. He was for some time thrown | out of the sunshine of life, but be found its | shade more fitted for contemplation; and, | unquestionably, philosophy was benefitted | by his solitude at Gray's Inn. His hand was | always on his work, and better thoughts |

| parents is | collections to

| hopes

| of the obligee rarely

him, resolution should walk hand in hand

principal use of which is to distinguish the | extraordinary from the impossihle.

Upon men of small understanding nothing | makes so deep an impression as what they do not understand,

When fear rises to a certain height it pro- duces the same effect as temerity. Fear never applies the proper remedy.

We should never play with favor; we can not too closely embrace it when it is real, por fly (oo far from it when it is false.

A man whe mistrusts himself never truly confides in any one. Men never believe others can do what they cannot do thems selves

The effects of weakness are inconceivable, and | maintain that they are far yaster than those of the most violent passions.

I have remarked that ill-founded enmeties are ever the worst. The reason of this is clear. As offences of that kind exist only in the imagination, they never fail te grow and swell in that receptacle, too fruittul in evil fancies.

To common-place people the extraordinary appears possible only after it has been ex- ecuted.

GRATITUDE.

To the generous mind the heaviest debt ts that of gratitude, when it is not in our power to repay it.—Frrnklin

Now it was well said, whoever said it, ‘That he who hith the loan of money has not repaid it, and ke who has repaid has not the loan; but be who has acknowledged a | kindness has it still, and he who has a feels

He that preaches gratitude pleads the cause both of God and men; for without it ; we can neither be sociable nor religious.— | Seneca

We seldom find people ungrateful so long | as we are in a condition to render them service — Rochefoucauld.

Cicero calls gratitude the mother of virtue ; reckons it the most capital of all duties ; and words ‘grateful’ and ‘good’ synonymous terms, inseparably united the same character.—Joln Bate

He remembers thea b mu upied

rememb thet

as

in

uses the

enetits of hi with hig re- faults —Be-

who s ‘00 h oc ar 1

ranger j

The law of the pleasure in having done | anvthing for another is, that the one almost | immediately forgets baving given, and the | other remembers eternally having received —Seneca

He who receives 4 good turn should never forget it; he who does one shonid never ra member it.—Charron

There are minds so impatient of inferiority that their gratitude is a species of revenge and they return benefits, n because recom pense is A pleasure, Dul because Obligation is a pain.—Jo/nson

Ihe feeling of gratitude has all the ardor of a passion in nobie hearts fehilles Poins celot

It is another's fauh if he be ungrateful, but itis mine if 1 do not give. To lind one

| thankful man 1 will oblige a great many

that are not so.— Seneca

Epicurus says* grititude is a virtue that

}has commonly proit annexed to it And where is the virtue, say I, that has not? But still the virtue is to be valued for itself, and not forthe protit that attends it.—Sen- eca

Gratitude 1s a duty which ought to he

paid, but which none have a right to expect — Rousseau.

Gratitude is the fairest blossom which spings from the soul; and the heart of man knoweth none more fragrant. While its |