usually so gentle in his convivialities, has actually broken forth into a song, such as these walls never heard; our respected senior sits trying to preserve his solemn look, but unconsciously smiling; and Mr. B-1, the founder of the banquet, is sedulously doing the honours with only intenser civility, and calling out for fresh store of ham-sandwiches and broiled mushrooms, to enable us to do justice to the liquid delicacies before us. The usual order of wines is disregarded; no affected climax, no squeamish assortment of tastes for us here; we despise all rules, and yield a sentimental indulgence to the aberrations of the bottle. "Riches fineless" are piled around us; we are below the laws and their ministers; and just lo! in the furthest glimmer of the torches lies outstretched our black Mercury, made happy by our leavings, and seeming to rejoice that in the cellar, as in the grave, all men are equal. How the soul expands from this narrow cell and bids defiance to the massive walls! What Elysian scenes begin to dawn amidst the darkness! Now do I understand the glorious tale of Alladin and the subterranean gardens. It is plain that the visionary boy had discovered just such a cellar as this, and there eagerly learned to gather amaranthine fruits, and range in celestial groves, till the Genius of the Ring, who has sobered many a youth, took him in charge, and restored him to the common air. Here is the true temple, the inner shrine of Bacchus. Feebly have they understood the attributes of the benignant god who have represented him as delighting in a garish bower with clustering grapes; here he rejoices to sit, in his true citadel, amidst his mightier treasures. Methinks we could now, in prophetic mood, trace the gay histories of these his embodied inspirations, among those who shall feel them hereafter; live at once along a thousand lines of sympathy and thought which they shall kindle, reverse the melancholy musing of Hamlet, and trace that which the bung-hole stopper confines to "the noble dust of an Alexander," which it shall quicken, and, peeping into the studies of our brother contributors, see how that vintage which flushed the hills of France with purple, shall mantle afresh in the choice articles of the New Monthly Magazine. But it is time to stop, or my readers will suspect me of a more recent visit to the cellar. They will be mistaken. One such descent is enough for a life; and I stand too much in awe of the Powers of the Grave to venture again so near to their precincts. CONCORD AND DISCORD. ISAAC BARROW, How good and pleasant a thing it is, as David saith, for brethren--and so we are all at least by nature-to live together in unity. How that, as Solomon saith, better is a dry morsel, and quietness therewith, than a house full of sacrifices, with strife. How delicious that conversation is which is accompanied with mutual confidence, freedom, courtesy, and complaisance! how calm the mind, how com. posed the affections, how serene the countenance, how melodious the voice, how sweet the sleep, how contentful the whole life is of him that neither deviseth mischief against others, nor suspects any to be contrived against himself! And contraiwise, how ungrateful and loathsome a thing it is to abide in a state of enmity, wrath, dissension: having the thoughts distracted with solicitous care, anxious suspicion, envious regret; the heart boiling with choler, the face over-clouded with discontent, the tongue jarring and out of tune, the ears filled with discordant noises of contradiction, clamor and reproach; the whole frame of body and soul distempered and disturbed with the worst of passions! How much more comfortable it is to walk in smooth and even paths, than to wander in rugged ways overgrown with briers, obstructed with rubs, and beset with snares; to sail steadily in a quiet, than to be tossed in a tempestuous sea; to behold the lovely face of heaven smiling with a cheerful serenity, than to see it frowning with clouds, or raging with storms; to hear harmonious consents, than dissonant janglings; to see objects correspondent in graceful symmetry, than lying disorderly in confused heaps; to be in health; and have the natural humors consent in moderate temper, than—as it happens in diseases—agitated with tumultuous commotions: how all senses and faculties of man unanimously rejoice in those emblems of peace, order, harmony, and proportion. Yea, how nature universally delights in a quiet stability or undisturbed progress of motion; the beauty, strength, and vigor of everything requires a concurrence of force, co-operation, and contribution of help; all things thrive and flourish by communicating reciprocal aid; and the world subsists by a friendly conspiracy of its parts; and especially that political society of men chiefly aims at peace as its end, depends on it as its cause, relies on it for its support. How much a peaceful state resembles heaven, into which neither complaint, pain, nor clamor do ever enter; but blessed souls converse together in perfect love, and in perpetual concord; and how a condition of enmity represents the state of hell, that black and dismal region of dark hatred, fiery wrath, and horrible tumult. How like a par adise the world would be, flourishing in joy and rest, if men would cheerfully conspire in affection, and helpfully contribute to each other's content; and how like a savae wilderness now it is, when, like wild beasts, they vex and persecute, worry and devour each other. How not only philosophy hath placed the supreme pitch of happiness in a calmness of mind and tranquility of life, void of care and trouble, of irregular passions and perturbations; but that Holy Scripture itself, in that one term of peace, most usually comprehends all joy and content, all felicity and prosperity: so that the heavenly We must not, by any means, admit or imagine that all nature, and this great universe, was made only for the sake of man, the meanest of all intelligent creatures that we know of; nor that this little planet where we sojourn for a few days, is the only habit. able part of the universe: these are thoughts so groundless and unreasonable in themselves, and also so derogatory to the infinite power, wisdom, and goodness of the First Cause, that as they are absurd in reason, so they deserve far better to be marked and censured for heresies in religion, than many opinions that have been censured for such in former ages. How is it possible that it should enter into the thoughts of vain man to believe himself to be the principal part of God's creation; or that all the rest was ordained for him, for his service or pleasure? Man, whose follies we laugh at every day, or else complain of them; whose pleasures are vanity, and his passions stronger than his reason; who sees himself every way weak and impotent; hath no power over external nature, little over himself; can not execute so much as his own good resolutions; mutable, irregular, prone to evil. Surely, if we made the least reflection upon ourselves with impartiality, we should be ashamed of such an arrogant thought. How few of these sons of men, for whom, they say, all things were made, are the sons of wisdom; how few find the paths of life! They spend a few days in folly and sin, and then go down to the regions of death and misery. And is it possible to believe that all Nature, and all Providence, are only, or principally, for their sake? Is it not a more reasonable character or conclusion which the prophet hath made, Surely every man is vanity? Man that comes Into the world at the pleasure of another, and goes out by a hundred accidents; his birth and education generally determine his fate here, and neither of those are in his own power; his wit, also, is as uncertain as his fortune; he hath not the moulding of his own brain, however a knock on the head makes him a fool, stupid as the beasts of the field; and a little excess of passion or melancholy makes nim worse, mad and frantic. In his best senses he is shallow, and of little understanding; and in nothing more blind and ignorant than in things sacred or divine; he falls down before a stock or a stone, and says, thou art my God: he can believe nonsense and contradictions, and make it his religion to do so. And this is the great creature which God hath made by the might of his power, and for the honour of his majesty? upon whom all things must wait, to whom all things must be subservient? Methinks we have noted weaknesses and follies enough in the nature of man; this need not be added as the top and accomplishment, that with all these he is so vain as to think that all the rest of the world was made for his sake. HUMAN CHARACTER. RICHARD BAXTER. I now see more good and more evil in all men than heretofore I did. I see that good men are not so good as I once thought they were, but have more imperfections; and that nearer approach and fuller trial doth make the best appear more weak and faulty than their admirers at a distance think. And I find that few are so bad as either malicious enemies or censorious separating professors do imagine. In some, indeed, I find that human nature is corrupted into a greater likeness to devils than I once thought any on earth had been. But even in the wicked, usually there is more for grace to make advantage of, and more to testify for God and holiness, than I once believed there had been. I less admire gifts of utterance, and bare profession of religion, than I once did; and have much more charity for many who, by the want of gifts, do make an obscurer profession than they. I once thought that almost all that could pray movingly and fluently, and talk well of religion, had been saints. But experience hath opened to me what odious crimes may consist with high profession; and I have met with divers obscure persons, not noted for any extraordinary profession, or forwardness in religion, but only to live a quiet blameless life, whom I have after found to have long lived, as far as I could discern, a truly godly and sanctified life; only, their prayers and duties were by accident kept secret from other men's observation. Yet he that upon this pretence would confound the godly and ungodly, may as well go about to lay heaven and hell together. IMPOSSIBILITIES. It is idleness that creates impossibilities; and where men care not to do a thing, they shelter themselves under a persuasion that it cannot be done. The shortest and the surest way to prove a work possible, is strenuously to set about it; and no wonder if that proves it possible that for the most par makes it so. O JOYFUL HOUR. But there stood one whose heart could entertain ROBERT SOUTHEY. joyful hour, when to our longing home The long-expected wheels at length drew nigh! When the first sound went forth, "They come! they come!" And hope's impatience quickened every eye! "Never had man, whom Heaven would heap with bliss, More glad return, more happy hour than this." Aloft on yonder bench, with arms dispread, My boy stood shouting there his father's name, Waving his hat around his happy head; And there, a younger group, his sisters came: Smiling they stood, with looks of pleased surprise, While tears of joy were seen in elder eyes. Soon each and all came crowding round to share Here silently between her parents stood The younger twain in wonder lost were they, It had been their delight to hear and tell; For in the infant mind, as in the old, When to its second childhood life declines, A dim and troubled power doth memory hold: But soon the light of young remembrance shines Renewed, and influences of dormant love Wakened within, with quickening influence move. O happy season theirs, when absence brings As night closed flowers at morn expand again! oon they grew blithe, as they were wont to be; Her old endearments each began to seek: And Isabel drew near to climb my keee, And pat with fondling hand her father's cheek; With voice, and touch, and look, reviving thus The feelings w nich had slept in long disuse. And comprehend the fulness of the joy; It was a group which Richter, had he viewed, Who in their pleasure finds her own delight; Scoff ye who will! but let me, gracious Heaven, Shall still direct and cheer me on my way; TO-MORROW. PALLADAS. Drink and be glad; to-morrow what may be, TIME. BENJAMIN MARSDEN. I ask'd an Aged Man, a man of cares, Wrinkled, and curved, and white with hoary hairs: I ask'd the aged Venerable Dead, I asked a dying Sinner, ere the tide I asked the Seasons in their annual round, Of things Inanimate my dial I HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star O dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee, Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven! Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks and secret ecstacy. Awake, Voice of sweet song! awake, my heart, awake! Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn. Thou first and chief, scle sovran of the vale! Oh, struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink! Companions of the morning star at dawn, Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn Co-herald! wake, O wake, and utter praise! Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad! And who commanded-and the science came- Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! Ye signs and wonders of the element! Utter forth God,' and fill the hills with praise! Thou too, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointed peaks. To rise before me-Rise, oh, ever rise; THE SONG OF THE BELL. SCHILLER. WALL'D Securely in the ground, Stands the mould of well-bak'd clay: Comrades, at your task be found! We must cast the bell to-day! From the burning brow Sweat must run, I trow, Would we have our work commended- A solemn word may well befit What thro' deficient strength escapes, Heap ye up the pinewood first, Yet full dry it needs must be, The Bell that in the dam's deep hole On many an ear its sounds will dwell, And through the nations echoing go. Bubbles white I see ascend; Good! the heap dissolves at last; Let the potash with it blend, Urging on the fusion fast. Foam and bubble-free Must the mixture be, That from metal void of stain The cherish'd child it loves to greet, His golden morning guard with love: The world on pilgrim's-staff roams through- Like to some heavenly image fair, And fills his heart; alone he strays, His eyes are ever moist with tears, He shuns his brother's noisy plays; Her steps he blushingly pursues, And by her greeting is made blest, Gathers the flowers of fairest hues, With which to deck his true love's breast. Oh, tender yearning, blissful hope, Thou golden time of love's young day! Heav'n seems before the eye to ope, The heart in rapture melts away. Let me plunge this rod in here: Where joins the gentle with the strong Needs must end life's happy May; Those sweet visions fade away. Though passion may fly, Yet love must remain; Must wager and dare, Would he reach fortune e'er. Then wealth without ending upon him soon pours, |