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POOR Southey's state is most pitiable: his mind is quite gone. There is something very touching in this end of so much mental activity; but there is no painful feeling of morbid restlessness in his former activity. He worked quietly though contantly, and his faculties seem gently to have sunk asleep, his body having outlived them. Wordsworth is in body and mind still sound and vigorous; it is beautiful to see and hear him.-549.

IN person Niebuhr is short, not above five feet six or seven, I should think, at the outside; his face is thin, and his features rather pointed, his eyes remarkably lively and benevolent. His manner is.frank, sensible, and kind; and what Bunsen calls the Teutonic character of benevolence is very predominant about him, yet with nothing of what Jeffrey called, on the other hand, the beer-drinking heaviness of a mere Saxon. He received me very kindly, and we talked in English, which he speaks very well, on a great number of subjects. I was struck with his minute knowledge of the text and MSS. of Thucydides, and with his earnest hope, several times repeated, that we might never do away with the system of classical education in England. Niebuhr spoke with great admiration of our former great men, Pitt and.Fox, &c., and thought that we were degenerated; and he mentioned as a very absurd thing a speech of who visited him at Bonn, that if those men were now to come to life, they would be thought nothing of with our present lights in political economy. Bunsen, he said, was going to publish a collection of German hymns for the church service. Their literature is very rich in hymns in point of quantity, no fewer than 36,000; and out of these Bunsen is going to collect the best. Niebuhr's tone in these matters quite satisfied me, and made me feel sure that all was right. He spoke with great admiration of Wordsworth's poetry. He often protested that he was no revolutionist, but he said, though he would have given a portion of his fortune that Charles X. should have governed constitutionally, and so remained on the throne, "Yet," said he, "after what took place, I would myself have joined the people in Paris, that is to say, I would have given them my advice and direction, for I do not know that I should have done much good with a musket." Niebuhr spoke of Mr. Pitt, that to his positive knowledge, from unpublished State papers which he had seen, Pitt had remonstrated most warmly against the coalition at Pilnitz, and had been unwillingly drawn into the war to gratify George III. He said that he once owed his life to Louis Buonaparte, who

interceded with Napoleon when he was going to have Niebuhr shot; and promised Niebuhr that, if he could not persuade his brother, he would get him twenty-four hours' notice, and furnish him with the means of escaping to England. He asked me into the drawing-room to drink tea, and introduced me to his wife. Niebuhr's children also were in the room, four girls and a boy, with a young lady who, I believe, was their governess. They struck me as very nice-mannered children, and it was very delightful to see Niebuhr's affectionate manner to them and to his wife. While we were at tea, there came in a young man with the intelligence that the Duke of Orleans had been proclaimed king, and Niebuhr's joy at the news was quite enthusiastic. He had said before, that in the present state of society, a Republic was not to his taste, and that he earnestly hoped that there would be no attempt to revive it in France. He expressed repeatedly his great affection for England, saying that his father had accustomed him from a boy to read the English newspapers, in order that he might early learn the opinions and feelings of Englishmen. On the whole, I was most delighted with my visit, and thought it altogether a great contrast to the fever and excitement of The moral

superiority of the German character in this instance was very striking; at the same time I owe it to the French to say, that now that I have learnt the whole story of the late revolution, I am quite satisfied of the justice of their cause, and delighted with the heroic and admirable manner.in which they have conducted themselves (August, 1830).-665.

THE Epicureans did not meddle with politics, that they might be as quiet as possible from the strife of tongues. There are good people who do this now, remaining in willing ignorance of what is going on. But the mischief is, they cannot set their passions to sleep as they can their understanding; and when they do come to interfere, they are violent and prejudiced in proportion to their ignorance. Such men, to be consistent, should live like Simon Stylites.-672.

years

Now of Bourges a little more. In the crypt is a Calvary, and figures as large as life representing the burying of our Lord. The woman who showed us the crypt, had her little girl with her; and she lifted up the child, about three old, to kiss the feet of our Lord. Is this idolatry? Nay, verily, it may be so, but it need not be, and assuredly is in itself right and natural. I confess I rather envied the child. -682.

Now there are some, Englishmen unhappily, but most un

worthy to be so, who affect to talk of freedom and a citizen's rights and duties, as things about which a Christian should not care. Like all their other doctrines, this comes out of the shallowness of their little minds, " understanding neither what they say, nor whereof they affirm." A great part of the virtues of human nature can scarcely be developed in a state of slavery, whether personal or political. The passive virtues may exist, the active ones suffer. Truth, too, suffers especially: if a man may not declare his convictions when he wishes to do so, he learns to conceal them also for his own convenience; from being obliged to play the hypocrite for others, he learns to lie on his own account.-705.

"His compassions fail not. They are new every morning."Lament. iii. 22, 23.

HUES of the rich unfolding morn,
That ere the glorious sun be born,
By some soft touch invisible

Around his path are taught to swell;
Thou, rustling breeze, so fresh and gay,
That dancest forth at opening day,
And brushing by with joyous wing,
Wakenest each little leaf to sing;
Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam,
By which deep grove and tangled stream
Pay, for soft rains in season given,
Their tribute to the genial heaven;

Why waste your treasures of delight
Upon our thankless, joyless sight;
Who, day by day to sin awake,
Seldom of heaven and you partake?

Oh! timely happy, timely wise,
Hearts that with rising morn arise!
Eyes that the beam celestial view,
Which evermore makes all things new

New every morning is the love
Our wakening and uprising prove;
Through sleep and darkness safely brought,
Restored to life, and power, and thought.

New mercies, each returning day,
Hover around us while we pray;

New perils past, new sins forgiven,

New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.

If on our daily course our mind

Be set to hallow all we find,

New treasures still, of countless price,
God will provide for sacrifice.

Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,
As more of heaven in each we see:
Some softening gleam of love and prayer
Shall dawn on every cross and care.

As for some dear familiar strain
Untir'd we ask, and ask again,
Ever, in its melodious store,
Finding a spell unheard before;

Such is the bliss of souls serene,
When they have sworn, and stedfast mean,
Counting the cost, in all t' espy
Their God, in all themselves deny.

Oh, could we learn that sacrifice,
What lights would all around us rise!
How would our hearts with wisdom talk
Along life's dullest, dreariest walk!

We need not bid, for cloister'd cell,
Our neighbour and our work farewell,
Nor strive to wind ourselves too high
For sinful man beneath the sky.

The trivial round, the common task,
Would furnish all we ought to ask;
Room to deny ourselves; a road
To bring us daily nearer God.

Seek we no more; content with these,
Let present rapture, comfort, ease,
As heaven shall bid them, come and go:-
The secret this of rest below.

Only, O Lord, in Thy dear love
Fit us for perfect rest above;
And help us, this and every day,
To live more nearly as we pray.

-Keble. Christian Year. Morning.

"Abide with us: for it is towards evening, and the day is far spent."-St. Luke, xxiv. 29.

"T IS gone, that bright and orbéd blaze,
Fast fading from our wistful gaze;
Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight
The last faint pulse of quivering light.

In darkness and in weariness
The traveller on his way must press;
No gleam to watch on tree or tower,
Whiling away the lonesome hour.

Sun of my soul! Thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if Thou be near;
Oh! may no earth-born cloud arise
To hide Thee from Thy servant's eyes.
When round Thy wondrous works below
My searching rapturous glance I throw,
Tracing out Wisdom, Power and Love,
In earth or sky, in stream or grove;
Or by the light Thy words disclose
Watch Time's full river as it flows,
Scanning Thy gracious Providence,
Where not too deep for mortal sense;

When with dear friends sweet talk I hold,
And all the flowers of life unfold;
Let not my heart within me burn,
Except in all I Thee discern.

When the soft dews of kindly sleep
My wearied eyelids gently steep,
Be my last thought, how sweet to rest
For ever on my Saviour's breast.

Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live;
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without Thee I dare not die.

Thou framer of the light and dark,
Steer through the tempest Thine own ark;

Amid the howling wint'ry sea

We are in port if we have Thee.

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