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ful mood, according with his outcast and unsocial life; but inditing praises to the God of mercy, and songs which soar into the thirdheavens of the soul-not indeed without the burst of sorrow and the complaint of solitariness, and prophetic warnings to his bloodthirsty foes, but ever closing in sweet preludes of good to come, and desire of present contentment. Find us such a one in the annals of men, and we yield the argument of this controversy. Men there have been driven before the wrath of kings to wander outlaws and exiles, whose musings and actings have been recorded to us in the minstrelsy of our native land. Draw these songs of the exile into comparison with the Psalms of David, and know the spirit of the man after God's own heart; the stern defiance of the one, with the tranquil acquiescence of the other; the deep despair of the one, with the rooted trust of the other; the vindictive imprecations of the one, with the tender regret and forgiveness of the other. Show us an outlaw who never spoiled the country which had forsaken him, nor turned his hand in self-defence or revenge upon his persecutors who used the vigor of his arm only against the enemies of his country-yea, lifted up his arm in behalf of that mother, which had cast her son, crowned with salvation, away from her bosom, and held him at a distance from her love, and raised the rest of her family to hunt him to the death; in the defence of that thankless unnatural mother country, find us such a repudiated son lifting up his arm, and spending its vigor in smiting and utterly discomfiting her enemies, whose spoils he kept not to enrich himself and his ruthless followers, but dispensed to comfort her and her happier children. Find us, among the Themistocles and Coriolani, and Cromwells and Napoleons of the earth, such a man, and we will yield the argument of this controversy which we maintain for the peerless son of Jesse.

But we fear that not such another man is to be found in the recorded annals of men. Though he rose from the peasantry to fill the throne, and enlarge the borders of his native land, he gave himself neither to ambition nor to glory: though more basely treated than the sons of men, he gave not place to despondency or revenge: though of the highest genius in poetry, he gave it not license to sing his own deeds, nor to depict loose and licentious life, nor to ennoble any worldly sentiment or attachment of the human heart, however virtuous or honorable, but constrained it to sing the praises of God, and the victories of the right hand of the Lord of hosts, and his admirable works which are of old from everlasting. And he hath dressed out religion in such a rich and beautiful garment of divine poesy as beseemeth her majesty, in which, being arrayed, she can stand up, before the eyes even of her enemies, in more royal state than any personification of love, or glory, or pleasure, to which highly gifted mortals have devoted their genius.

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The force of his character was vast, and the scope of his life was immense. His harp was full stringed, and every angel of joy and of sorrow swept over the chords as he passed; but the melody always breathed of heaven. And such oceans of affection lay within his breast as could not always slumber in their calmness. For the hearts of a hundred men strove and struggled together within the narrow continent of his single heart. And will the scornful men have no sympathy for one so conditioned, but scorn him because he ruled not with constant quietness the unruly host of divers natures which dwelt within his single soul? Of self-command surely he will not be held deficient who endured Saul's javelin to be so often launched at him, while the people without were willing to hail him king; who endured all bodily hardships and taunts of his enemies when revenge was in his hand, and ruled his desperate band like a company of saints, and restrained them from their country's injury. But that he should not be able to enact all characters without a fault, the simple shepherd, the conquering hero, and the romantic lover; the perfect friend, the innocent outlaw, and the royal monarch; the poet, the prophet, and the regenerator of the church; and withal the man, the man of vast soul, who played not these parts by turns, but was the original of them all, and wholly present in them all-oh! that he should have fulfilled this high priesthood of humanity, this universal ministry of manhood without an error, were more than human! With the defence of his backslidings, which he hath himself more keenly scrutinized, more clearly discerned against, and more bitterly lamented than any of his censors, we do not charge ourselves; but if, when of these acts he became convinced, he be found less true to God and to righteousness; indisposed to repentance and sorrow and anguish; exculpatory of himself; stout-hearted in his courses; a formalist in his penitence, or in any way less worthy of a spiritual man in those than in the rest of his infinite moods, then, verily, strike him from the canon, and let his Psalms become monkish legends, or what you please. But if these penitential Psalms discover the soul's deepest hell of agony, and lay bare the iron ribs of misery, whereon the very heart dissolveth; and if they, expressing the same in words, which melt the soul that conceiveth, and bow the head that uttereth them-then, we say, let us keep these records of the psalmist's grief and despondency as the most precious of his utterances, and sure to be needed in the case of every man who essayeth to live a spiritual life.

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CHARLES LAMB, 1775-1834.

CHARLES LAMB, the distinguished essayist and critic, was born in London on the 11th of February, 1775. At the age of seven, he entered the school of Christ Hospital, where he remained till he was fourteen, when he was employed by his brother for a short time in the South Sea House, of which he, in after years, gave a most graphic and humorous account, in one of his inimitable essays. he obtained an appointment in the accountants' department in the India House, In 1793, where he remained till 1825, when he was allowed to retire on a handsome pension. The events of his life, of a domestic nature, are of little moment. He resided in London, at first with his parents, and enjoyed the society occasionally of such men as Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey, and his biographer, Sergeant Talfourd. "On the death of his parents," says Talfourd, "he felt himself called upon by duty to repay to his sister the solicitude with which she had watched over his infancy,-and well, indeed, he performed it. To her, from the age of twenty-one, he devoted his existence, seeking thenceforth no connection which could interfere with her supremacy in his affections, or impair his ability to sustain or to comfort her." His first appearance as an author was in a small volume of poetry, published by his friend Coleridge in 1797, to which he contributed various pieces. A few years afterward appeared "Old Blind Margaret and Rosamond Gray," a tale of great simplicity, sweetness, and pathos. In 1802, he published "John Woodvil, a Tragedy;" but it had no success. his "Specimens of English Dramatic Poets, who lived about the time of ShakIn 1808, appeared speare, with Notes," chiefly critical. This work showed a thorough appreciation of the old dramatists, and a fine critical taste in analyzing their genius. But the most celebrated of all Lamb's works were his essays signed which were published in various periodicals, chiefly the "London Magazine," Elia," between the years 1820 and 1833. These are, in their kind, unique and incomparable, displaying his extensive and curious reading, his nice observation, his delicate poctical conceptions, and a genial humor which, in some respects, quite rivals that of Addison. "All these essays," says his biographer, "are carefully elaborated; yet never were works written in a higher defiance to the conventional pomp of style. A sly hit, a happy pun, a humorous combination, lets the light into the intricacies of the subject, and supplies the place of ponderous sentences. Seeking his materials for the most part in the common paths of life-often in the humblest he gives an importance to every thing, and sheds a grace over all." In 1830, appeared his small volume of poems called "Album Verses." In conjunction with his sister, he also compiled three very popular books for children, namely, "Mrs. Leicester's School, or the History of several Young Ladies, related by themselves;" "Tales from Shakspeare;" and "The Adventures of Ulysses." His volume bearing the title of "The Last Essays of Elia" appeared in 1833, but he did not long survive its publication, as he died on the 27th of December, 1834.

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As a poet, Lamb does not take a very high rank; but in his own walks in prose, few have surpassed him. In depth of thought and splendor of genius he was

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LAMB.

surpassed by several of his contemporaries; but as an essayist he is entitled to a He has refined wit, place beside Rabelais, Montaigne, Sir Thomas Browne, Steele, and Addison. He unites many of the characteristics of these several writers. exquisite humor, a genuine and cordial vein of pleasantry, and heart-touching pathos. His fancy as an essayist is distinguished by great delicacy and tenderness; and even his conceits are imbued with human feeling and passion. A confirmed habit of studying the early English writers had made their style, as it were, natural to him; and while he had their manner, he had likewise much of their spirit. As a critic, he displays exquisite powers of discrimination in his brief comments on the specimens of the early English dramatic writers. discerns, at once, the true meaning of the writer, and seizes with unerring precision upon the proper point of view from which the piece ought to be seen.!

Не

THE HOUSEKEEPER.

The frugal snail, with forecast of repose,
Carries his house with him where'er he goes;
Peeps out-and if there comes a shower of rain,
Retreats to his small domicile amain.
Touch but a tip of him, a horn, 'tis well-
He curls up in his sanctuary shell.

He's his own landlord, his own tenant; stay
Long as he will, he dreads no Quarter Day.
Himself he boards and lodges; both invites
And feasts himself; sleeps with himself o' nights.
He spares the upholsterer trouble to procure
Chattels; himself is his own furniture,

And his sole riches.

Wheresoe'er he roam,
Knock when you will, he's sure to be at home.

ON THE FAMILY NAME.

What reason first imposed thee, gentle name-
Name that my father bore, and his sire's sire,
Without reproach? we trace our stream no higher;

And I, a childless man, may end the same.
Perchance some shepherd on Lincolnian plains,
In manners guileless as his own sweet flocks,
Received thee first amid the merry mocks
And arch allusions of his fellow swains.
Perchance from Salem's holier fields return'd,
With glory gotten on the heads abhorr'd
Of faithless Saracens, some martial lord
Took HIS meek title, in whose zeal he burn'd.
Whate'er the fount whence thy beginnings came,
No deed of mine shall shame thee, gentle name.

Read "Biography," by Talfourd: also articles in the "Edinburgh Review," lxvi. 1; "Quarterly," liv. 58; and "Encyclopedia Britannica." Also, "London Athenæum" of 1848, page 741; "Gentleman's Magazine," Nov. 1848, p. 451; "American Quarterly," xix. 185, and Charles Lamb and his Friends," in the "North British

Also, an article entid

THE SABBATH BELLS.

The cheerful Sabbath bells, wherever heard,
Strike pleasant on the sense, most like the voice
Of one who from the far-off hills proclaims
Tidings of good to Zion: chiefly when
Their piercing tones fall sudden on the ear
Of the contemplant, solitary man,

Whom thoughts abstruse or high have chanced to lure
Forth from the walks of men, revolving oft,

And oft again, hard matter, which eludes

And baffles his pursuit-thought-sick, and tired
Of controversy, where no end appears,
No clue to his research, the lonely man
Half wishes for society again.

Him, thus engaged, the Sabbath bells salute
Sudden his heart awakes, his ears drink in
The cheering music; his relenting soul
Yearns after all the joys of social life,
And softens with the love of human kind.

SHAKSPEARE CANNOT BE ACTED.

The characters of Shakspeare are so much the objects of meditation rather than of interest or curiosity, as to their actions, that while we are reading any of his great criminal characters—Macbeth, Richard, even Iago-we think not so much of the crimes which they commit, as of the ambition, the aspiring spirit, the intellectual activity, which prompts them to overleap those moral fences. In Shakspeare, so little do the actions comparatively affect us, that while the impulses, the inner mind, in all its perverted greatness, solely seems real and is exclusively attended to, the crime is comparatively nothing. But when we see these things represented, the acts which they do are comparatively every thing, their impulses nothing. The state of sublime emotion into which we are elevated by those images of fright and horror which Macbeth is made to utter that solemn prelude with which he entertains the time till the bell shall strike which is to call him to murder Duncan-when we no longer read it in a book-when we have given up that vantage-ground of abstraction which reading possesses over seeing, and come to see a man, in his bodily shape before our eyes, actually preparing to commit a murder-the painful anxiety about the act, the natural longing to prevent it while it yet seems unperpetrated, the too close-pressing semblance of reality, gives a pain and an uneasiness which totally destroy all the delight which the words in the book convey, where the deed-doing never presses upon us with the painful sense of presence; it rather seems to belong to historyto something past and inevitable-if it has any thing to do with

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