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upon the pure spirit of knowledge, or upon the foul dregs of polluting passions.

7. Therefore, when I say, in conducting your understanding love knowledge with a great love, with a vehement love, with a love coë'val with life, what do I say, but love innocence; love virtue; love purity of conduct; love that which, if you are rich and great, will sanctify the blind fortune which has made you so, and make men call it justice; love that which, if you are poor, will render your poverty respectable, and make the proudest feel it unjust to laugh at the meanness of your fortunes; love that which will comfort you, adorn you, and never quit you,which will open to you the kingdom of thought, and all the boundless regions of conception, as an asylum against the cruelty, the injustice, and the pain, that may be your lot in the outer world, that which will make your motives habitually great and honorable, and light up in an instant a thousand noble disdains at the very thought of meanness and of fraud!

8. Therefore, if any young man here have embarked his life in pursuit of knowledge, let him go on without doubting or fearing the event; let him not be intimidated by the cheerless beginnings of knowledge, by the darkness from which she springs, by the difficulties which hover around her, by the wretched habitations in which she dwells, by the want and sorrow which sometimes journey in her train; but let him ever follow her as the Angel that guards him, and as the Genius of his life. She will bring him out at last into the light of day, and exhibit him to the world comprehensive in acquirements, fertile in resources, rich in imagination, strong in reasoning, prudent and powerful above his fellows in all the relations and in all the offices of life.

REV. SYDNEY SMITH.

XCIX.

PERMANENCE OF THE USEFUL.

1. THE tomb of Moses is unknown; but the traveller still slakes his thirst at the well of Jacob. The gorgeous palace of the wisest and wealthiest of monarchs, with its cedar, and gold, and ivory, even the great temple of Jerusalem, hallowed by

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are gone; but Solomon's Of the ancient architecture

the visible glory of the Deity himself, reservoirs are as perfect as ever. of the Holy City not one stone is left upon another; but the pool of Bethesda commands the pilgrim's reverence at the present day.

2. The columns of Persepolis are mouldering into dust; but its cisterns and aqueducts remain to challenge our admiration.

The golden house of Nero is a mass of ruins; but the Aqua Claudia still pours into Rome its limpid stream. The temple of the sun, at Tadmor in the wilderness, has fallen, but its fountain sparkles as freshly in his rays as when thousands of worshippers thronged the lofty colonnades.

3. It may be that London will share the fate of Babylon, and nothing be left to mark its site save confused mounds of crumbling brick-work. But the works of Nature are imperishable. The Thames will continue to flow as it does now; and if any work of art should still rise over the deep ocean of Time, we may well believe that it will be neither a palace nor a temple, but some vast aqueduct or reservoir; and if any name should still flash through the mist of antiquity, it will probably be that of the man who, in his day, sought the happiness of his fellow-men rather than their glory, and linked his memory to some great work of national utility and benevolence. QUARTERLY REVIEW.

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3. O, Virtue! when thy clime I seek.
Let not my spirit's flight be weak:
Let me not, like this feeble thing,
With brine still dropping from its wing

Just sparkle in the solar glow,
And plunge again to depths below;
But, when I leave the grosser throng
With whom my soul hath dwelt so long;
Let me, in that aspiring day,
Cast every lingering stain away,
And, panting for thy purer air,
Fly up at once, and fix me there!

MOORE

CI. THE VILLAGE PREACHER.

1. NEAR yonder copse, where once the garden smiled,
And still where many a garden-flower grows wild,
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.

A man he was to all the country dear,

And passing rich with forty pounds a year:
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,

Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place,
Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power,
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour,-
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise

2. His house was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain,
The long-remembered beggar was his guest,
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast;
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed;
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sat by his fire, and talked the night away;

Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done,

Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won.

Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe:

Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.

8 Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side;
But, in his duty prompt at every call,

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all,
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed,

The reverend champion stood. At his control,
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise
And his last faltering accents whispered praise.

4. At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorned the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,
With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran;
E'en children followed, with endearing wile,
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed;
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven.
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

GOLDSMITH.

CII. THE TWO PALACES: AN ALLEGORY.EI

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1. Ar a period in the world's history so distant that it may called fabulous, on a beautiful day in summer, a certain blind traveller was groping his way through a thick forest. Suddenly he was accosted by a stranger, who said, in a bland but commanding voice, "Give me your hand, and I will lead you out of this wood to the Palace of Probation, whither every one must go who is found here." Thus saying, the stranger seized the blind man's hand, and conducted him some distance to an immense palace, the portal of which opened at their approach, and closed as they entered.

2. No sooner had the blind man crossed the threshold than a flash of light smote his eyes, and the sense of vision was imparted as if by miracle. At first he drew back, fearing that objects would fall on him; but he soon accustomed himself to measure distances by sight, and then it was with admiration and pleasure that he gazed about him. He stood in an immense rotunda or circular hall, the ceiling of which, of incalculable height, was of solid crystal, and lighted by a luminous clock, which indicated the time with a precision that no chronometer could equal. He looked around for his conductor, but the latter had disappeared. 3. Although no host appeared to give the new-comer welcome,

it was evident that every preparation for his arrival had been made. Servants were in attendance to minister to every want. He was thirsty, and, as if by enchantment, a fountain leaped up close at hand. He was hungry, and fruit seemed to stoop from the boughs of trees in the hanging gardens which variegated the splendid and immeasurable interior. He was sleepy, and a sable curtain was let down before his eyes, shutting out the gărish light, and inviting to repose.

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4. He slept long and serenely, and when he awoke, lo! the curtain had been lifted, and the great dome of the palace was lighted up with a crimson radiance which gradually became more golden and intense. E A man of venerable aspect was seated by his side, who said, "I am the stranger who guided you through the forest; and my name is Experience.". -"And who," asked the traveller, "is the owner of this grand palace? I would like to pay my respects to him."

5. "There are men, whom I have guided here as I have you," replied Experience, "who say that the palace is the mere work of chance, and that it has no other owner than the guests who enter it." "But who built and furnished it?" returned the traveller. "Who provided all those servants, so mate and yet so attentive? The order, the grandeur, the punctuality of all the arrangements for the reception and comfort of guests, show that some great and good sovereign must be the proprietor."

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6. "There are some who do not agree with you," said the old man. Listen to me, my son! This day you shall go forth among the guests, and take your lot with them. I leave you to your own resources henceforth. You will learn that, as a certain amount of physical labor is essential to health, the sovereign owner has made it a general condition of the entertainment of all, that food and raiment shall be supplied only at the price of labor. The distribution of this labor among the guests he has left to their justice.”—“ And do they not distribute it aright?" inquired the new guest.

7. "Alas, no!" was the reply. "It has been estimated that, if all would give three hours out of the twenty-four to manual labor, an abundance for all would be secured, and ample time left for study and wholesome diversion. But you will find the guests quarrelling, many of them, among themselves, and trying to overreach one another. Almost every one tries to shift his task upon his neighbor, or to accumulate more than his share of the bounties which the good sovereign has supplied."

8. "Why do people stay here?" asked the inexperienced guest.. -"Because," replied the old man, "the least favored inmate cannot but see that the capabilities of happiness are placed

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