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be acquired by acts, not indeed criminal in the eye of the law, but which are really hard and oppressive, and which a sound and healthful Christian morality condemns. The fruit of such acts, or a portion of them, at least, may be given in ostentatious charity, and the deed may be trumpeted to the four winds, as proof of extraordinary benevolence. But true benevolence is consistent and uniform. It does not extort in one way, to give in another, with one hand casting gifts into the treasury, while the other is extended to wring from an unfortunate fellow being the price of his last morsel, or take, it may be, the widow's only mite, which was all her living. This is a very spurious sort of benevolence.

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In regard to the appropriation of wealth to objects of beneficence, it is sufficient simply to remark, that the great moral ends of existence, intelligent, spiritual existence, are not to be lost sight of. That is the noblest beneficence, which takes into view not solely man's physical condition, but the faculties and wants of his higher nature, and provides for their gratification and relief; which regards him not merely as an animal of the more perfect sort, but as containing in himself the germ of a celestial life, an immortal element, a sentiment of duty, a sensibility to the beauty and worth of truth, and particularly moral and religious truth in all its manifestations, the capacity especially of goodness, of undying growth and improvement. Whoever does not so view him, sees him but superficially, sees but the shell, the outer integument, the visible representative of the man; he discerns not the mysteries of his inner being, the diviner part, and consequently recognises only half his wants. The highest benevolence is that, which labors to accomplish the greatest good for man, viewed in his whole nature, his intellectual, moral, and religious, as well as in his physical nature and capacities; in his relation to eternity as well as in his relation to time; his relation to his fellow-beings, his God, and the invisible world of spirits. There is no more legitimate use and application of wealth, or more correspondent to the spirit of the Gospel, than the appropriation of a liberal portion of it to the accomplishment of the objects of this benevolence. As an instrument capable of being wielded with effect, as involving eminent power and ability to do good, it should be brought to bear on the great practical interests of humanity; the interests of truth, of holiness, and a sound morality, on whatever is con3D S. VOL. IV. NO. II.



nected with the welfare and happiness of man in the mortal and immortal part of his nature.

"Go and do good," is the great precept addressed to all of us. Engage in benevolent exertion; engage in it as matter of self-discipline, as well as for other and more obvious reasons. Engage in benevolent exertion; strive to relieve suffering and promote enjoyment. You are thus not only performing a duty; you are strengthening a disposition. You are not only lighting up a smile on the faded cheek of suffering, but you are confirming habits, and invigorating principles in yourselves. You are doing something for the improvement of your own characters. This circumstance, we apprehend, is one not sufficiently attended to; it is too often overlooked. True, this should not be our principal motive in performing acts of benevolence. We should perform them, whether benefit accrued to ourselves or not, otherwise they would not be acts of benevolence. But it is one of the innumerable evidences of the beautiful arrangements of Providence, worthy of notice, that while we are relieving the distresses of a fellow-being, and as often as we relieve them, we are using the most efficacious means of self-improvement. While we most forget ourselves, we most promote our virtue and happiness.

We are placed amid suffering and imperfection as in a school of benevolence, and the relief of suffering not only supplies a new tie, connecting us with the individual who suffers, but quickens generally our human sympathy, strengthens the chain which unites us, as by a feeling of universal brotherhood, with the whole great family of man. Were we asked to point out the process by which the benevolent character may be acquired; were we to address those who are conscious that their affections are too cold, their sympathy too feeble, who are wrapped up, it may be, in the hard panoply of selfishness, devoted to selfish aims and selfish enjoyments, who yet acknowledge the voice of duty, and authority of conscience, who in their souls love not darkness, nor would voluntarily cherish one hurtful delusion,-if such there be, we would say to them, go, perform some work of benevolence; go witness and alleviate the misery you have so much power to mitigate or remove ; — your slumbering affections will soon be awakened, and your frozen hearts warmed; a new field of labor will reveal itself to your eye, you will see new purposes in life, and discover objects of excitement more salutary than the pursuit of mere

wealth affords; the mind will be subjected to a wholesome influence; and the whole character will gradually assume a softened, a more affectionate, and more elevated tone. So true is it that we never do a good deed to others, without, by a sort of reflex influence of such act, essentially benefiting ourselves. We relieve a pang of the body, and we acquire a treasure of the soul, of inestimable worth.

The times call for effort, benevolent effort; general and simultaneous, but judicious and well-directed effort. With ultra measures, extravagancies, and fanaticism, of any sort, we have no sympathy. We would have those who contend, contend lawfully, wisely, and well, remembering that most questions are mixed, and looking rather at practical results than theoretic abstractions. But we would have all strive in the right way; all should lend a hand at the work of improvement. The field is already white unto harvest, only laborers are needed. And we should all be laborers, laborers in the field of the world, the great field of human society, that so fruit may abound to the Lord of the harvest.

A. L.

ART. VI.-1. Song of the Bell. Translated for the Boston
Academy of Music. By S. A. ELIOT. Boston: 1837.
2. Song of the Bell. From SCHILLER. American Monthly
Magazine for January, 1837.

THE Song of the Bell has had great fortune in the world. It has been cast into music by Romberg, and exhibited scenically in the speaking outlines of Retzsch. It is a perpetual requiem to its departed author in the ears of his revering countrymen. It sounds in many of the languages of the continent of Modern Europe, and a Liege professor has within no long time made it discourse with a Greek and a Roman tongue. In Great Britain it has been several times taken in hand. Among others, Lord Francis Leveson Gower has attempted by an English version to extend its reputation, without, however, adding anything to his own. And here, in these ends of the earth, appear at the same moment two metrical versions, executed with distinguished ability by townsmen of our own,

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without any concert, or knowledge of each other's design. Arcadians both. One translating it in order that it might be sung, and the other singing it till he could not forbear to translate.

It is pleasant to see poetry thus united with its kindred arts of music and pictorial design. It is pleasant to see how a man may thus live on vocally and to the eye, in the creations of his genius; presenting, in a single piece, a combination of all that is beautiful; reaching the sympathies of the whole world through the avenues that lead most directly to its heart; and attended and helped by the various talents of harmonizing minds, that dwell apart by the breadth of nations and seas, but yet swell in like the orchestral accompaniments of a charming melody.

The extraordinary success of this composition of Schiller is owing, we think, to its affecting pictures of human life. It appeals to feelings that are universal. It describes with distinctness and fervor the stages of our being, and the vicissitudes of mortal things. Its scenes glow. Its figures are alive. The whole is filled with a strong dramatic interest.

We are tempted to lay before our readers an account of the plan of the poem. They are, doubtless, too familiar with it to receive any new information. But the review shall be made in so few words, that we may allow ourselves the gratification of retracing the perfect symmetry of this celebrated production, without owing them any apology for so doing, either as wasting their time, or sparing our own invention. It seems to us to be composed of three trains of representation, each always clear, yet skilfully intertwined with the other two. These are, -the casting of the bell, the moral reflections that naturally arise from that manual process, and the historical associations connected with the finished instrument, when swinging in its church tower. A careful perusal,-such as every ingenious work of art requires, will show that such is the method of construction. We shall exhibit it best, not by taking the parts separately, but by considering each in its place in the poet's own beautiful order.

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The piece opens with the suddenness and clear vision of a stage scene. The master-founder and his men are surrounding the mould, into which the melted metal is to be poured, and preparing the furnace for fusion. He exhorts them to go earnestly to work, and to distinguish themselves from vulgar laborers, by mixing their handicraft with thoughtfulness and obser

vation. The fires are then kindled; the copper and tin having been suitably proportioned, and the purifying salts not forgotten. At the same time, the object of their toil in the finished bell is suitably described.

While the melting proceeds, the first historiette is introduced. The bell is supposed to ring merrily for the birth of a child. He reposes in his first sleep. Anon the nurseling becomes a grown boy, and the boy an impetuous young man ; for the years fly "pfeilgeschwind," arrow-swift. He returns. to his home after long wanderings, and becomes enamored of a beautiful maiden. "Love's young dream" is now so exquisitely pictured, that our younger translator cannot quit it till he has given us twenty-five lines for Schiller's sixteen, confining himself faithfully, however, to the sentiments of the original.

The mixture is now proved by inserting a small rod, which becomes instantly encrusted with the shining metal, and it is pronounced time for the casting. As the different ingredients, strong and soft, combine in the seething cauldron; so, it is moralized, should the hearts of a youthful pair be united in concord;

"For passion's brief, repentance long."

Again is heard the sound of the clear bells ringing for the marriage festival. In a few exquisite lines are now depicted the wedding, the transition from the magic of romance to the soberness of domestic realities, the industry of the kind, faithful mother, surrounded with her children, and the successful labors of the father, who sees his house enlarged, and bis barns filled, and his substance increased on every side. He is elated by his prosperity, and the warning voice of the song alludes to the uncertainty of all human fortunes.

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The casting is next finely described. The red-hot fluid is let loose, after the divine blessing has been invoked, and pours its fiery torrent into the mould that had been strongly imbedded in the ground for its reception. The uses of fire as a servant, and its terrors when it gains the mastery, are now brought into view. There is a night storm. The lightning strikes. The horrors of a great conflagration are set before our eyes, with the succeeding desolation, when

Through bare walls the clouds look down."

The father of the family, stripped of all the possessions he

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