h then less willing (nor the choice condemn)

ive with others than to think on them!

nd now behold him up the hill ascending, nory and Hope like evening-stars attending; ained, excited, till his course is run,

leeds of virtue done or to be done.

n on his couch he sinks at length to rest, se by his counsel saved, his power redressed, se by the World shunned ever as unblest, whom the rich man's dog growls from the gate, whom he sought out, sitting desolate,

e and stand round-the widow with her child, vhen she first forgot her tears and smiled! , who watch by him, see not; but he sees, and exults-Were ever dreams like these? y, who watch by him, hear not; but he hears, Earth recedes, and Heaven itself appears! is past! That hand we grasped, alas, in vain! shall we look upon his face again!

to his closing eyes, for all were there, hing was wanting; and, through many a year shall remember with a fond delight

words so precious which we heard to-night;

His parting, though awhile our sorrow flows,
Like setting suns or music at the close!

Then was the drama ended. Not till then,
So full of chance and change the lives of men,
Could we pronounce him happy. Then secure
From pain, from grief, and all that we endure,
He slept in peace—say rather soared to Heaven,
Upborne from Earth by Him to whom 'tis given
In his right hand to hold the golden key
That opes the portals of Eternity.

-When by a good man's grave I muse alone,
Methinks an Angel sits upon the stone;

Like those of old, on that thrice-hallowed night,
Who sate and watched in raiment heavenly bright;

And, with a voice inspiring joy not fear,

Says, pointing upward, "Know, He is not here!"

But now 'tis time to go; the day is spent ;

And stars are kindling in the firmament,
To us how silent-though like ours perchance
Busy and full of life and circumstance;

Where some the paths of Wealth and Power pursue,
Of Pleasure some, of Happiness a few;

And, as the sun goes round-a sun not ours-
While from her lap another Nature showers
Gifts of her own, some from the crowd retire,
Think on themselves, within, without inquire;
At distance dwell on all that passes there,
All that their world reveals of good and fair
And, as they wander, picturing things, like me,
Not as they are but as they ought to be,
Trace out the Journey through their little Day,
And fondly dream an idle hour away.

;

NOTES.

Page 64, line 16.

"Stand still to gaze.

See the Iliad, 1. xviii. v. 496.

Page 66, line 22.

Our pathway leads but to a precipice;

See Bossuet, Sermon sur la Résurrection.

Page 67, line 8.

We fly; no resting for the foot we find;

“I have considered,” says Solomon, “all the work that are under the sun; and behold, all is vanity an vexation of spirit." But who believes it, till Deat tells it us? It is Death alone that can suddenly mak man to know himself. He tells the proud and insolent that they are but abjects, and humbles them at th instant. He takes the account of the rich man, an proves him a beggar, a naked beggar. He holds glass before the eyes of the most beautiful, and make them see therein their deformity; and they acknow ledge it.

O eloquent, just, and mighty Death! whom non could advise, thou hast persuaded; what none have dared, thou hast done; and whom all the world have

flattered, thou only hast cast out and despised: thou hast drawn together all the far-stretched greatness, all the pride, cruelty and ambition of man, and covered it all over with these two narrow words, Hic jacet.— RALEIGH.

Page 67, line 17.

Now, seraph-winged, among the stars we soar ; Inconceivable are the limits to our progress in Science. A point, that yesterday was invisible, is our goal to-day, and will be our starting-post to-morrow.'

Page 67, line 23.

Through the dim curtains of Futurity.

Fancy can hardly forbear to conjecture with what temper Milton surveyed the silent progress of his work, and marked his reputation stealing its way in a kind of subterraneous current through fear and silence. I cannot but conceive him calm and confident, little disappointed, not at all dejected, relying on his own merit with steady consciousness, and waiting, without impatience, the vicissitudes of opinion, and the impartiality of a future generation.-JOHNSON.

After line 23, in the MS.

O'er place and time we triumph; on we go,
Ranging at will the realms above, below;
Yet, ah, how little of ourselves we know!
And why the heart beats on, or how the brain
Says to the foot, "Now move, now rest again."
From age to age we search and search in vain.