me he talks wonderfully concerning somewhat called free grace; and that it is to be had without money and without price.” "That would answer us, husband," said Ursula. "They say this doctor will preach next Sunday in Eisenach, and as our good elector has forbidden all search after heretics, let us go and try to hear him." ness you showed my youth. Were it not for the charity of those who bear my charges, I might want in this war. The Lord repay them and you also." "He has repayed us a hundredfold," said Ursula, "and his ways are wonderful; for we divided to you the bread of this world, but you have broken this day the bread of life to us." So the three parted: Luther went his way only to be shut up in the castle of Wartburg, where he translated the Bible; Conrad and Ursula returned to the cottage, where their neighbors said they never grieved after, nor came to want-for somehow Luther's friend, the elector, heard of them. The bread given to the singingboy of Eisenach was returned a hundredfold. Luther broke to them the bread of life-his princely friend the bread that perisheth. GOOD LISTENERS. So the pair went a weary journey, and sat them down on the steps of the pulpit. They had occupied higher places, and been saluted by many a non-forgetful neighbor; but these things were forgotten in the wondrous tidings unfolded by the preacher. He told them of the worthlessness of mass, penance, and pilgrimage, and of one mighty to save, who said, "Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest." That sermon was like dew on the dry ground to their souls. Each thought, "Surely this is truth; we will go home and grieve no more, but trust in the only Saviour, and seek for the city that hath foundations." Their memories had grown faint and confused over many losses, and the name which floated highest on the grand controversy had not been recognized; but when the preacher's voice rose in the psalm, old scenes and days came back upon Ursula, and she knew that the miner's son who had sung long ago in the streets was the same Martin Luther whom the Pope excommunicated and the people blessed. It was the psalm too that she had heard through the misty evening. He had sung it with his friends before setting out to meet the threatening Diet;vidual ingenuity can sift and examine a and now, through all the desolations of their latter days, it came to the aged pair like a voice of faith and comfort-"God is our refuge!" The multitude departed, wondering and talking of what they had heard. Conrad and his wife also turned homeward; but in the porch of the church a hand was laid on. Ursula's worn cloak, and turning they saw the preacher. "Friends," said Luther, "your faces seem familiar, and yet changed to my remembrance. Tell me, if it be not too bold to ask, what are your names?" "We are the Cottas," said Conrad," who lived, long ago, where yonder tavern now stands, in the good house of our fathers. We have become poor, and our neighbors have forgotten us. "Alas, friends!" said Luther, "that I have nothing wherewith to return the kind ! THE HERE are few good listeners in the world who make all the use they might make of the understandings of others, in the conduct of their own. The use made of the great instrument of conversation is the display of superiority, not the gaining of those materials on which superiority may rightly and justly be founded. Every man takes a different view of a question as he is influenced by constitution, circumstances, age, and a thousand other peculiarities; and no indi subject with as much variety and success, as the minds of many men, put in motion by many causes, and affected by an endless variety of accidents. Nothing, in my humble opinion, would bring an understanding so forward as this habit of ascertaining and weighing the opinions of others; a point in which almost all men of abilities are deficient, whose first impulse, if they are young, is too often to contradict; or, if the manners of the world have cured them of that, to listen only with attentive ears, but with most obdurate and unconquerable entrails. I may be very wrong, and probably am so; but, in the whole course of my life, I do not know that I ever saw a man of considerable understanding respect the understandings of others as much as he might have done for his own improvement, and as it was just that he should do.-Sydney Smith. AN UNEXPECTED INTERVIEW WITH induced me to search with increased dili THE ROYALTY. I immediately gence throughout the caricatures in the HE queen and princesses were very fond of sea-bathing, and also sailing about in the yacht, so that, excepting during very boisterous or rainy weather, they daily indulged in one or even both of those diversions. The royal family were called from their beds every morning at five o'clock, in order that they might be out by six. It will be readily imagined that such early hours at Gloucester Lodge produced equally early movements throughout the population of Weymouth, and the shops were opened very regularly at halfpast five o'clock; for by six the streets were as thronged with all the fashionables at court, and also by those who were anxious to be thought so, as Regent-street is at present from three till six in the after-woman, with a small black silk bonnet, noon. The great attraction was to see the queen and princesses walking from Gloucester Lodge to their bathing-machines, or to cheer them on their embarkation with the king and a select party on board of the royal yacht. These water-excursions occurred generally three or four days in every week; and the king in particular was so much attached to them that the royal family, when embarked, usually passed the whole of the day in sailing about at sea, sometimes at a distance of eight or ten miles from the land, but always within a chain of frigates to protect the yacht from being surprised by the enemy's cruisers. Although I had not been hitherto in the constant habit of being set out at six o'clock, yet here I immediately fell into a practice so general, and out I went accordingly, with all the fashionables of Weymouth. Thus, on the second morning, after a whole night of heavy rain, I sallied forth to walk on the esplanade, in the hope of seeing the queen and princesses on their way to bathe. In proceeding along a cross street, my steps were for a few moments arrested to look into the window of a caricature shop, where among those prints were several of the royal family, but particularly some of the king, and others of the queen (Charlotte). I had not been standing there many minutes, intermixed with several other persons, when I heard from behind me a voice repeating, "The queen, the queen!" which exactly similar to those now commonly worn by poor and aged females, and the remainder of her person was covered by a short, plain, scarlet cloth cloak, I exclaimed, "Halloo, old lady, I very nearly had you down." In an instant I felt the old lady push me from her with energy and indignation, and I was seized by a great number of persons, who grasped me tightly by the arms and shoulders, while a tall stout fellow, in a scarlet livery, stood close before my face, sharply striking the pavement with the heavy ferule of a long golden-headed cane, his eyes flashing fire, and loudly repeating: "The queen-the queen—the queen, sir!” "Where ?-where ?-where ?"—I loudly retorted, greatly perplexed and even irritated, as I anxiously cast an inquisitive look about me, among the thirty or forty persons by whom I was surrounded. "I am the queen!" sharply exclaimed the old lady. I instantly perceived the voice proceeded from the little old lady whom I had so unceremoniously embraced, and had addressed with such impertinent familiarity. On this discovery, I did not totally lose my presence of mind; for without the delay of a moment I fell on my knee, and seizing the hem of the queen's dress, was about to apply it to my lips, after the German fashion, stammering out at the same time the best apology I was able to put together on so short a notice; when the queen, although I believe much offended, and certainly not without cause, softened her irritated features, and said, as she held out to me the back of her right hand:: "No, no, no, you may kiss my hant. We forgiff; you must pee more careful: fery rute-fery rute, inteet; we forgiff; there, you may go."-Recollections of Col. Landmann. [For the National Magazine.] THE INDIAN SPIRIT GATHERING. BY MRS. H. C. GARDNER. DARKLY, darkly in the valley, Village maidens pass undaunted Through the forest thickly haunted, Haunted by the gloomy spirits Of a nation known no more; And the young heart gaily dances, All unconscious in its fancies, That it meets the spectral glances Of the "mighty dead of yore." Phantom forms, forever changing, Scan the vista spread before; Doth the wooded, sloping mountain, Gushing rill, or sparkling fountain, Wear the wild exquisite beauty That so long ago it wore? Forest groves are rent and broken, Where the warrior's love was spoken And their glorious primal beauty Human art can ne'er restore. When the dusky twilight falleth, As they pass from shore to shore. When the pallid moon is waning, Of the "mighty dead of yore." ELEMENTS OF THE SUCCESS OF METHODISM. UNDER INDER the title of "the Substance of Methodism," Mr. Taylor attempts to analyze the elements of its success. The first was the awakening of the souls of men to a consciousness of their personal relation to the Almighty. The same religious truths had been preached dogmatically, sentimentally, æsthetically. The hearers had been convinced, but not impressed. Their sensibilities had been pleasurably excited; but their consciences had not been made active. Their tastes had been gratified; but the introspective faculty had not been set at work. Previous religious teaching had dealt mainly with the comprehensive aspects and relations of Christianity; Methodism shut up the individual soul to a heart-probing interview with the Author of its being. The contrast is happily drawn in the following extract : "Taking an ordinary instance as sufficient for our purpose, let it be asked what it is that a Christian minister may believe that he sees before him on a Sunday? He may be sure that there is always much of the diffused and salutary influence of Christian doctrine within the compass of his stated congregation. With a few exceptions (probably) he addresses those who, whether in the way of a passive acquiescence, or, as the result of reading and reflection, have come sincerely to accept Christianity as true: they do unfeignedly believe the holy gospel.' They do look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come.' In this pulpit-prospect there is therefore a wide range for charitable hope, and ground enough on which the pastor's consolation may rest, that he has not altogether labored in vain.' "Or, to vary the instance, we can many of us recall the recollection of those over-crowding times when a preacher of unmatched power and grace-a perfect orator-used to fix every eye upon himself, through his hour of fluent and affluent sublimities. How did all faces gleam with an intensity of intellectual enjoyment, longing to vent itself in loud acclamations at every pause! And when that hour of fascination was over, what looks of gratulation were exchanged among friends from pew to pew! what shaking of hands, and how many smiles and nods passed to and fro, among the delighted people! "But now all these pleasurable indications must be dismissed, for it is a Methodist of Wesley's or of Whitefield's order that is in this same pulpit. As a preacher, he is not more sincere or right-minded than the last; and as an orator, he is far less highly gifted; he is not so accomplished a theologian, nor in any sense is he rather to be chosen than the other, as to his dispositions, or endowments, or as to his creed: but he is a Methodist, and his words sink into the hearts of those that hear. While he speaks a suppressed anxiety rules the spirits of the crowd, and this feeling breaks forth into sighs on every side: the preacher's style is not, in itself, oratorically affecting, and yet many weep, and an expression, not to be simulated, of anguish and of dread, marks many faces. What is it, then, that has taken place? It is this, that a sense, deep-seated in the structure of human nature, but which hitherto has slumbered, has suddenly woke up. There is a tumult in the soul, while a power irresistible is claiming its rights over both body and soul. Instead of that interchange of smiles which lately had pervaded the congregation, while the orator was doing his part, now every man feels himself, for the hour, alone in that crowd. Even the preacher is almost forgotten; for an immortal and guilty spirit has come into the presence of Eternal Justice. Within the dismayed heart it is as if the moral condition, hitherto unheeded, were spread abroad for strictest scrutiny. Quite gone from the thoughts are all those accessories of religious feeling which so often in times past had been the source of agreeable devout excitement. It is a dread of the supreme rectitude that now holds the mind and heart."-Pp. 142, 143. Methodism, in the second place, carried the individualizing process into every department of the spiritual life. Not only in its thunder-tones of alarm, but in its persuasive, pathetic appeals, it addressed, not multitudes, but every soul in the multitude. Its Saviour was not the benefactor of the race, but the personal friend of the isolated sinner, bearing his name engraven on the palms of his hands and on his heart," making atonement for him on Calvary, ever living to intercede for him-sure to have done and suffered all in his behalf, even had he been the only lost sheep to be borne back to the fold. A third element in the success of Methodism was its proclamation of entire and immediate salvation as the result of an effort of the will, an unreserved self-surrender to the divine mercy. In one aspect, indeed, the formation of the religious character is gradual and slow. Only step by step, and by prolonged and reiterated self-discipline, can the distance between a selfish, worldly life and entire self-consecration be overpassed. Yet there must be an epoch of choice and resolution-a moment when the soul, in the omnipotence of a God-strengthened will, says, "I am henceforth not my own, but Christ's." This epoch must be reached in order to render spiritual growth possible. The preaching which dwells mainly on the necessity and means of improvement, will leave a large proportion of the better class of its hearers under the control of those moral influences which involve no power of progressive goodness-respectably undevout and decently non-religious. The preaching that shuts up its hearers to a day, a moment, of conversion, can hardly fail so to concentrate the forces of evangelical truth as to multiply converts; and, though it may multiply apostates also, there will be a large residuum of spiritual life, too vivid, too earnest, not to abide, and grow, and culminate. Then, too, the idea of entire salvation, of full pardon, acts at once on every noble and generous element of the soul, and makes obedience and purity the dictate of honor and gratitude to infinite mercy. The sentence, "Thy sins be forgiven thee," alone can give speed and power to the mandate, "Go, and sin no more." But, under all these conditions, Methodism owed its success mainly to its having been, in its inception, and at every stage of its progress, an enterprise of pure evangelical philanthropy. Its vital principle was diffusion, propagation. Its pervading spirit was the missionary spirit. Its apostles attested their sincerity by every possible form of self-sacrifice. They spoke that language of sacrifice, which alone can convey the assurance and accomplish the work of love-the language which the mother perpetually utters to her child, the patriot to his country, the reformer to the objects of his benevolent interpositionsnay, which God in Christ uttered upon Calvary to the whole human race. GENIUS AND MEDIOCRITY.-Corneille did not speak correctly the language of which he was such a master. Descartes was silent in mixed society. Themistocles, when asked to play on a lute, said-"I cannot fiddle, but I can make a little village into a great city." Addison was unable to converse in company. Virgil was heavy colloquially. La Fontaine was coarse and stupid when surrounded by men. The Countess of Pembroke had been often heard to say of Chaucer, that his silence was more agreeable to her than his conversation. Socrates, celebrated for his written orations, was so timid that he never ventured to speak in public. Dryden said that he was unfit for company. Hence it has been remarked, 'Mediocrity can talk; it is for genius to observe." THE SIGN-PAINTER-THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. A BSORBED in the contemplation of the picture that he was on the point of completing, Ribera, the painter, stood before his easel. Once more he seemed intent on scrutinizing its every line; then, suddenly stepping back a few paces, "Yes," he exclaimed, in the self-complacent pride of the artist-" yes, indeed, it is a master-piece; it beats Caravaggio himself, and not a touch more will I add to it!" So saying, he dashed aside both pencil and palette with such thoughtless vehemence as to throw down the halffinished portrait of a lady that stood in the corner of his studio. Ribera, however, was too deeply engaged in the contemplation of his work to notice the unfortunate result of his rashness. With folded arms he continued standing before the picture, recapitulating with a well-satisfied air, and the most off-hand humor, the several beauties that his self-love discovered. Scarcely ever have the creations of Raphael's pencil been so richly rewarded with encomium, and a cicerone, showing some lover of art a master-piece that had been the admiration of centuries, however voluble he might be of tongue, would scarcely have chanced upon a strain of commendation equal to that which our painter now lavished so profusely on himself. At moments he would stay the course of his criticism, but only for the purpose of favoring himself with eulogiums that told of anything but modesty. "I knew well enough," said he, with his hand upon his brow, "that there was no lack of genius here. I might now lay me down at once and die, and my name would be rescued forever from oblivion. But I hope God will still lengthen the span of my days. It surely cannot be his will that the secret of painting well, which he revealed to me in the cradle, should be prematurely buried with me in the grave; but he will rather let me gladden myself with my fame. Bitter enough has been the struggle for it; for, ere attaining to it, I have had to conquer self-distrust, and misery, and pain. How often have I had no other place of refuge in which to lay my head than the porch of the church, or the cavern in the mountain! How often have I been without the morsel of bread that would have satisfied hunger; or, des titute even of a shred of canvas, have traced my pictures with my finger in the sand upon the shore, for the wind to sweep them away! or, when I have shaped forth my budding fancies on the city walls or the palaces of the great, how often have the servants come, at the behest of their masters, to blur them out, without one of them understanding that they were the work of an artist-of an artist, too, in the need of alms! But I murmur not at these hard trials before thee, my God. Thou hast granted me, in the fairest period of my life, to reach the goal of my aspirations. Thou hast given me strength for the struggle, and faith to sustain me; for all those who are destined by thee to soar above the vulgar throng, must first, like thine own Son, our Saviour, wear the crown of thorns." He was still in the full glow of enthusiasm, when the door of his studio opened, and a little wrinkle-faced old dame shuffled in; it was the venerable Beatrix. She brought in a wooden trencher, with a very spare meal upon it, and laid it down on one side; but finding that the painter took no sort of notice of her, she at last endeavored to make him conscious of her presence. "When I heard you talking so loud, as I came up-stairs," she said, “I thought I should find the real old gentleman himself with you, that you are so familiar with. What were you screaming about in that manner? You must either have been dreaming aloud or been talking to the Wicked One in bodily form. A fine acquaintance that, forsooth! It was he, I trow, that gave you the idea of that horrible picture there, that makes my hair stand on end every time I look at it; a thing you have been laboring at, and nothing else, for three whole months. How can you wonder at our good viceroy, the Count of Monterei, giving you no employment, if you waste your time on such unsightly things as these? How can you expect any one to take up with such a hideous picture? Why, the very women would be before their time at the sight of it!" "It is truly lamentable, good Beatrix, that it does not please thee," said Ribera, patting her gently on the shoulder. "It is much more lamentable to think that you are minded to die of hunger," replied the old dame; "and, scanty as your dinner is to-day, I only wish you |