confidently showing himself without hiding, | God's ordinance upon him, even so the vehe ment persuasion of his friends could nothing avail to divert him from his wilful resolution of going in his frigate; and when he was en well-wishers in the Hinde, not to venture, this was his answer-I will not forsake my little company going homewards, with whom I have passed so many storms and perils.'” notwithstanding that we presented ourselves in open view and gesture to amaze him. Thus he passed along, turning his head to and fro, yawning and gaping wide, with ougly demon-treated by the captain, master, and others, his stration of long teeth and glaring eyes; and to bidde us farewell, coming right against the Hinde, he sent forth a horrible voice, roaring and bellowing as doth a lion, which spectacle we all beheld, so far as we were able to discern the same, as men prone to wonder at every strange thing. What opinion others had thereof, and chiefly the general himself, I forbear to deliver. But he took it for Bonum Omen, rejoicing that he was to war against such an enemy, if it were the devil." Two-thirds of the way home they met foul weather and terrible seas, "breaking short and pyramid-wise." Men who had all their lives "occupied the sea" had never seen it more outrageous. "We had also upon our main. yard an apparition of a little fier by night, which seamen do call Castor and Pollux." "Monday the ninth of September, in the afternoon, the frigate was near cast away, oppressed by waves, but at that time recovered, and giving forth signs of joy, the general, sitting abaft with a book in his hand, cried out unto us in the Hinde so often as we did approach within hearing, 'We are as near to heaven by sea as by land,' reiterating the same speech, well beseeming a soldier resolute in Jesus Christ, as I can testify that he was. The same Monday night, about twelve of the clock, or not long after, the frigate being ahead of us in the Golden Hinde, suddenly her lights were out, whereof as it were in a moment we lost the sight; and withal our watch cried, 'The general was cast away,' which was too true. We have no doubt that he did think it was the devil, men in those days believing really that evil was more than a principle or a necessary accident, and that in all their labour for God and for right they must make their account to have to fight with the devil in his proper person. But if we are to call it superstition, and if this were no devil in the form of a roaring lion, but a mere great seal or sea-lion, it is a more innocent superstition to impersonate so real a power, and it requires a bolder heart to rise up against it and defy it in its living terror, than to sublimate it away into a philosophical principle, and to forget to battle with it in speculating on its origin and nature. But to follow the brave Sir Humfrey, whose work of fighting with the devil was now over, and who was passing to his reward. The 2d of Sep- "Thus faithfully," concludes Mr. Hayes, tember the general came on board the Golden in some degree rising above himself, "I have Hinde "to make merry with us." He greatly related this story, wherein some spark of the deplored the loss of his books and papers, but knight's virtues, though he be extinguished, he was full of confidence from what he had may happily appear, he remaining resolute to seen, and talked with eagerness and warmth a purpose honest and godly as was this, to disof the new expedition for the following spring. cover, possess, and reduce unto the service of Apocryphal gold-mines still occupying the God and Christian piety those remote and heaminds of Mr. Hayes and others, they were per- then countries of America. Such is the infinite suaded that Sir Humfrey was keeping to him- bounty of God, who from every evil deriveth self some such discovery which he had secretly good, that fruit may grow in time of our tramade, and they tried hard to extract it from velling in these north-western lands (as has it him. They could make nothing, however, of not grown?), and the crosses, turmoils, and his odd, ironical answers, and their sorrow at afflictions, both in the preparation and executhe catastrophe which followed is sadly blended tion of the voyage, did correct the intemperate with disappointment that such a secret should humours which before we noted to be in this have perished. Sir Humfrey doubtless saw gentleman, and made unsavoury and less deAmerica with other eyes than theirs, and gold-lightful his other manifold virtues. mines richer than California in its huge rivers and savannahs. "Leaving the issue of this good hope (about the gold)," continues Mr. Hayes, "to God, who only knoweth the truth thereof, I will hasten to the end of this tragedy, which must be knit up in the person of our general, and as it was "Thus as he was refined and made nearer unto the image of God, so it pleased the divine will to resume him unto himself, whither both his and every other high and noble mind have always aspired.” Such was Sir Humfrey Gilbert, still in the prime of his years when the Atlantic swallowed NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA. him. Like the gleam of a landscape lit suddenly for a moment by the lightning, these few scenes flash down to us across the centuries: but what a life must that have been of which this was the conclusion! We have glimpses of him a few years earlier, when he won his spurs in Ireland-won them by deeds which to us seem terrible in their ruthlessness, but which won the applause of Sir Henry Sidney as too high for praise or even reward. Chequered like all of us with lines of light and darkness, he was, nevertheless, one of a race which has ceased to be. We look round for them, and we can hardly believe that the same blood is flowing in our veins. Brave we may still be, and strong perhaps as they, but the high moral grace which made bravery and strength so beautiful is departed from us for ever. THE CORAL GROVE. Deep in the wave is a Coral Grove, And the pearl shells spangle the flinty snow; Their boughs where the tides and billows flow; The water is calm and still below, For the winds and waves are absent there, To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter; Are bending like corn on the upland lea: Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, The purple mullet and gold-fish rove, VOL. VIII. 97 NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA. [EMMANUEL AUGUSTIN DIEUDONNÉ MARIE JOSEPH, MARQUIS DE LAS CASAS, was born at Las Casas, in Languedoc, in 1766. He published a Historical Atlas (1803), but is chiefly remembered through his Memorias de Ste. Hélène, by which he became the Boswell of Napo leon. He died in 1842.] November 4, 1816. To-day the Emperor would not receive any one during the whole morning. He sent for me at the hour hè had appointed for taking the bath, during which, and for some time after, he conversed on the knowledge of the ancients, and the historians by which it has been transmitted to modern times. His reflec tions on the subject, all led to the con clusion, that the world was yet in its infan cy. We then took a view of thị structure of the globe. I calculated that Europe contained 170,000,000 of in habitants. The Emperor remarked that he himself had governed 80,000,000; and 1 added that, after the alliance with Prussia, he had marched at the head of more than 100,000,000. Afterwards, when speaking of the won ders of his life, and the vicissitudes of his fortune, the Emperor remarked that he ought to have died at Moscow; because, at that time, his military glory had experi. enced no reverse, and his political career was unexampled in the history of the world. He then drew one of those rapid and ani mating pictures which he sketched off with so much facility. Observing that the countenance of one of the individuals who happened to be present, was not exactly expressive of approbation, he said, "This is not your opinion? You do not think I ought to have closed my career at Moscow ?" No, Sire," was the reply; "for in that case, history would have been deprived of the return from Elba; of the most generous and most heroic act that ever man performed; of the grandest and most sublime event that the world ever witnessed." "Well," returned the Emperor, "there may be some truth in that; but what say you to Waterloo? Ought I not to have perished there?" "Sire," said the person whom he ad dressed, "if I have obtained pardon for Moscow, I do not see why I should not ask it for Waterloo also. The future is beyond the will and the power of man; it is in the hands of God alone." 176 and all the innocency of mutual intercourse; THE THREE GREAT TIES OF HU- and which, attacking religion in the heart, MAN SOCIETY. [JEAN BAPTISTE MASSILLON, one of the most eloquent of French preachers, was born at Hyères, Provence, France, June 24th, 1663; died September 18th, 1742. His works, mainly sermons, are models of elegant rhetoric.] us nevertheless, present themselves to under appearances of equity which justify them in our eyes and strengthen us in them. PET PORCUPINES. [REV. JOHN GEORGE WOOD, F. L. 8., the well known naturalist, was born in London, England, 1827. As writer of many popular books, and as editor of The Boys' Own Magazine, he has done much to diffuse, especi kingdom. He died in 1889.] The three principles which usually bind men to each other, and by which are formed all human friendships, are fancy, cupidity and vanity. Fancy:-We follow a certain propensity of nature, which, be-ally among the young, a knowledge of the animal ing the cause of our finding in some persons a greater similarity to our own inclinations, perhaps also greater allowances for our faults, binds us to them, and occasions us to find in their society a comfort which becomes weariness in that of the rest of men. Cupidity:-We seek out useful friends; from the moment that they are necessary to our pleasure or to our fortune, they become worthy of our friendship. Interest is a grand charm to the majority of hearts; the titles which render us powerful are quickly transmuted into qualities which render us apparently amiable, and friends are never wanting when we can pay the friendship of those who love us. Lastly, Vanity:-Friends who do us honor are always dear to us. It would seem that, in loving them, we enter, as it were, into partnership with them in that distinction which they enjoy in the world; we seek to deck ourselves, as I may say, with their reputation; and, being unable to reach their merit, we pride ourselves in their society, in order to have it supposed that, at least, there is not much between us, and that like loves like. I have been told by a gentleman who has had a wonderfully large experience, that the most unpleasant quadrupedal pet is a porcupine. It is such a restless being that it cannot be induced to remain quiet, and it is as inquisitive as any cat. It is an interesting animal enough, but tetchy and shorttempered, and ever too ready to present the serried ranks of its particoloured bayonets at anyone who happens to displease it. Two of these creatures were kept for some time by a gentleman resident in India, and were notable for their continual bickering with the dogs. They were extremely fond of their master, but they entertained the strongest objection to the dogs. The dogs, on their part, naturally felt hurt that any interloper should come between them and their master, and were deeply aggrieved because the porcupines had contrived to oust them from their accustomed places at dinner. Both dogs and porcupines were fond of the good things served at their master's table, and when it came to a struggle, the porcupines had the best of the contest. If, for example, some delicacies were put on a plate and placed on the floor for the dogs, the porcupines at once must needs push their noses into the plate and begin nibbling. The dogs would snarl and growl futilely while watching the provisions disappear, and at last would lose all patience and rush to the rescue. The porcupines troubled themselves very little about the assault, but simply spread their quills, and allowed the dogs to prick their noses until they howled with the pain. These are the three great ties of human society. Religion and charity unite almost nobody; and from thence it is that, from the moment that men offend our fancy, that they are unfavorable to our interests, or that they wound our reputation and our vanity, the human and brittle ties which united us to them are broken asunder; Our heart withdraws from them, and no longer finds in itself, with respect to them, but animosity and bitterness. And behold the three most general sources of It so happened that their owner was obliged those hatreds which men nourish against to change his residence, and of course he each other; which change all the sweets of society into endless inveteracies; which empoison all the delight of conversations, took his pet porcupines with him. When evening drew on, he bethought himself that his bristly pets had no bed-room; and being TAINE ON MILTON. afraid of their straying, he searched the house Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night CELIA THAXTER. TAINE ON MILTON. [HIPPOLYTE ADOLPHE TAINE, born at Vouziers, France, April 21, 1828. His early writings had a poAmong them may be named, French Philosophers of the Nineteenth Century (1856), lemical character. But the porcupines, being naturally nocturnal in their habits, and extremely curious, wished to learn something of their new house. So they tried to push away the stone, and not being able to stir it, began to burrow, dug a passage under the stone, and emerged into the kitchen. They then began to sniff about, and at last came on the traces of their master. They followed him up like two bloodhounds, until they reached the room where he was lying in bed. One of them raised itself on its hind legs, and finding a bare foot projecting from the bed-professor of æsthetics in the School of Fine Arts, Paris. clothes, began to caress it. The owner of the foot, feeling himself disturbed in such a manner, naturally thought that thieves were trying to hold his legs, and instinctively lashed out furiously at the supposed intruder, bringing his unfortunate foot against the quills of the porcupine. THE SANDPIPER.1 Across the narrow beach we flit, And fast I gather, bit by bit, The scattered driftwood bleached and dry. The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, Above our heads the sullen clouds Scud black and swift across the sky: Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds Stand out the white lighthouses high. Almost as far as eye can reach I see the close-reefed vessels fly, As fast we flit along the beach,One little sandpiper and I. I watch him as he skims along, He has no thought of any wrong, He scans me with a fearless eye. 1 Publishers: Houghton, Mifflin & Co.. Boston. and Essays in Criticism and History. In 1864 he became treatises on art, a History of English Literature (1864), and The Origins of Contemporary France (1875). His writings show an original mind, and are distinguished by their strong and graphic style. Our extracts are from his English Literature.] Since then he has published a number of valuable MILTON'S GENius. He John Milton was not one of those fevered souls, void of self-command, whose rapture takes them by fits; whom a sickly sensibility drives forever to the extreme of sorrow or joy; whose pliability prepares them to produce a variety of characters; whose inquietude condemns them to paint the insanity and contradictions of passion. Vast knowledge, close logic, and grand passion-these were his marks. His mind was lucid, his imagination limited. was incapable of disturbed emotion or of transformation. He conceived the loftiest of ideal beauties, but he conceived only one. He was not born for the drama, but for the ode. He does not create souls, but constructs arguments and experiences emotions. Emotions and arguments, all the forces of his soul, assemble and are arranged beneath a unique sentiment-that of the sublime. And the broad river of lyric poetry streams from him, impetuous, with even flow, splendid as a cloth of gold. MILTON'S HABITS. Milton lived in a small house in London, or in the country, in Buckinghamshire. at the foot of a high green hill. ... Every morning he had a chapter of the Bible read to him in Hebrew, and remained for some 266463B time in silence, grave, in order to meditate on what he had heard. He never went to a place of worship. Independent in religion as in all else, he was sufficient to himself. Finding in no sect the marks of the true Church, he prayed to God alone, without needing others' help. He studied till midday; then, after an hour's exercise, he played the organ or the bass-viol; then he resumed his studies till six, and in the evening enjoyed the society of his friends. When anyone came to visit him, he was usually found in a room hung with old green hangings, seated in an arm-chair, and dressed quietly in black. His complexion was pale, says one of his visitors, but not sallow; his hands and feet were gouty; his hair, of a light brown, was parted in the midst, and fell in long curls; his eyes, grey and clear, showed no sign of blindness. He had been very beautiful in his youth, and his English cheeks, once delicate as a young girl's, retained their color almost to the end. His face, we are told, was pleasing; his straight and manly gait bore witness to intrepidity and cour age. Something great and proud breathes out from all his portraits; and certainly few men have done such honor to their kind. Thus expired this noble life, like a setting sun, bright and calm. Amid so many trials, a pure and lofty joy, altogether worthy of him, had been granted to him the poet, buried under the Puritan, had reappeared, more sublime than ever, to give to Christianity its second Homer. The dazzling dreams of his youth and the reminiscences of his ripe age were found in him, side by side with Calvinistic dogmas and visions of John, to create the Protestant epic of damnation and grace; and the vastness of primitive horizons, the flames of the infernal dungeon, the splendors of the celestial court, opened to the inner eye of the soul unknown regions beyond the sights which the eyes of flesh had lost. JOHN WESLEY'S OLD AGE. [JOHN WESLEY, the founder of Methodism, was born at Epworth, Lincolnshire, England, June 28, 1703. Died March 2, 1791. We make the following extract from his Journal :] June 28, 1788. I this day enter on my eighty-fifth year: and what cause have I to praise God; as for a thousand spiritual blessings, so for bodily blessings also! How little have I suffered yet by "the rush of numerous years!" It is true, I am not so agile as I was in times past. I do not run or walk so fast as I did; my sight is a little decayed; my left eye is grown dim, and hardly serves me to read; I have daily some pain in the ball of my right eye, as also in my right temple (occasioned by a blow received some months since), and in my right shoulder and arm, which I impute partly to a sprain, and partly to the rheumatism. I find likewise some decay in my memory, with regard to names and things lately past; but not at all with regard to what I have read or heard twenty, forty, or sixty years ago; neither do I find any decay in my hearing, smell, taste or appetite (though I want but a third part of the food I did once); nor do I feel any such thing as weariness, either in traveling or preaching; and I am not conscious of any decay in writing sermons, which I do as readily, and I believe as correctly, as ever. To what cause can I impute this, that I am as I am? First, doubtless, to the power of God, fitting me for the work to which I am called, as long as he pleases to continue me therein; and, next, subordinately to this, to the prayers of his children. May we not impute it as inferior means.— 1. To my constant exercise and change of air? 2. To my never having lost a night's sleep, sick or well, at land or at sea, since I was born? 3. To my having sleep at command; so that whenever I feel myself worn out, I call it, and it comes, day or night? 4. To my having constantly, for above sixty years, risen at four in the morning? 5. To my constant preaching at five in the morning, for above fifty years? 6. To my having had so little pain in my life; and so little sorrow, or anxious care? Even now, though I find pain daily in my eye or temple, or arm, yet it is never violent, and seldom lasts many minutes at a time. Whether or not this is sent to give me nacle, I do not know; but be it one way or warning that I am shortly to quit this taberthe other, I have only to say, "My remnant of days I spend to his praise Who died the whole world to redeem : Be they many or few, |