THE TWO STUDENTS. strong; but he pursued the right course in such a case- -flattering me with his "There is a special providence in the fall of a friendship and reliance so far as his policy sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come: if it be not to come, it will be now: if it be not now, yet it will come.'-Hamlet. An excellent old man was Roger Inkleby. As full of wisdom as experience, experience as age, age as temperance and regularity, could command by the will of God. It was my good fortune to know him in the prime of his silvery locks. With a smile pleasant as sunlight; a heart crowded with good intentions and kind thoughts; with a will to execute strong as life; with advice sincere as valuable; with sympathy warm as his friendship, was Roger Inkleby. He was called Sir Roger, to perpetuate his universal benevolence. An evening passed with him became one better than the enjoyment of the evaporating frivolities of gayer life. But he is now entombed with the worm of the grave, yet his face is painted upon, and his virtues framed for, my memory. 'Come to-morrow evening,' said Sir Roger, and I will tell you a story.' My story is a life-fact,' commenced Sir Roger. To you it may be instructive, and still more, you may remember it to benefit others; for you know,' turning his pleasant eyes full upon me, we love to do good, at least we should. No one lives without power. No matter the rank, condition, or place-each has his influence upon the other. It is in action, conduct, and speech; in the home, the warehouse, the desk, the field, upon deck; it is in the eye, the walk, the dress-for the latter is as much characteristic of the man as his face is the index prefacing the life. Brutes recognise the fact. A mild cur you see with a gentle master; a savage bull-dog with a wretch. And yet, incontrovertible as this is, it is little regarded -too little by the parent, less by the guardian. 'Philip Marlowe was my intimate class-mate in college-a young man possessing peculiar and noticeable traits. He was a good scholar, a gentleman in his manners, and apparently easily read. He was ambitious, cool in design, shrewd, cunning, and rashly bold. He played deep without suspicion or failure. Yet in all things he lacked one essential principle. This was effectually covered by his master tact; and he always passed as the model student. I fancied he suspected my confidence in him was not dictated. Unexceptionable in his easy conversations, princely in his ideas, he charmed me, and although I loved him, yet there was something fearful in my suspicions, that the evidences of friendship were clever advances to convert me. I have shuddered as I caught unawares his eye upon me. I never could relieve myself from the idea that he suspected I knew him better than he desired. The sequel demonstrated it. It is a fearful thing, my young friend, to live under a disguise one's life-time. But there are those who do it. It may be the first you meet in the street. It may be the father, the counsellor, the elder, the preacher, the merchant in high esteem, your friend. Did you ever think of it? In order to know, you must observe. Pass not blindly through life. Live to learn. Watch the lip, the brow, the eye. Study the semblance between the utterance and the action. Mark the gift and the subject, the favour and the granter. The politician takes you warmly by the hand, he speaks warmly, protests warmly, promises warmly, despises you warmly. The speculator of friendship whispers a golden word to you, and bites off a damning point against you. He effects his object, triumphs; you suffer. The man clamorously zealous in advocating moral and divine precepts, imploring, with streaming eyes, 'Our Father,' is a consummate hypocrite. After the fire the still small voice. That was of God. It was God. The merchant, rich in his crowning suppers, is a bankrupt and a villain. All this and these may be successfully veiled for years, but not for all time. Just retribution will develop, will scorch, will incinerate. You can readily suspect that man who declares the most for your interest. The cat needs but to watch to catch her prey. 'Through the period of four years Marlowe and myself were mostly together. By this singular friendship I gained character; for my class-mate was highly esteemed by the Faculty, and loved by all. The young ladies smiled more sweetly when Marlowe addressed them; but he looked upon women as ornaments merely, that would not bear handling without losing lustre. 'It is instructive as well as pleasant to follow the movements of good chess players. The pieces are before each, and the same opportunity to win offers itself, if the one is as practised as the other. But there is a wide difference resting upon the same talent developed in a cheating game of cards, where the sleeve or other covert hides the ace that gives to and takes from. I contend human nature is more easily studied where there is the more to occupy the minds of the many: for instance, a city. The pressure of obligations is esteemed security from detection, but to the accurate observer it is the very signal of distress. 'So successfully did Marlowe play his part at our graduation, I almost denied my suspicions. Indeed, the jury of my conscience stood ten for acquittal, and two for conviction; still these two were very tenacious of their opinions. The usual result took place-a discharge; for we pursued different avocations. Before we separated, I received much good counsel and many excellent suggestions from Marlowe, such as could exist only where there was actual belief in the same. 'Disgusted with all professions, my friend chose merchandise, and soon after gave me his reasons for so doing, the chief of which hung upon being known as the first in the world of traffic. I remember his words. "Surprised you no doubt may be; yet, Roger, I can make more of a sensation in this sphere than in the professions. Note the margin I have; and you know, ambition that is tempered with godly incentives should never tremble with doubt. 'Could this Napoleon of ambition have buried the hypocrite twin of his nature, what a prince would have lived, and what a blaze of glory would have been extinguished at his exit! 'Life instructions are varied as they are numerous: some pleasant, more bitter, neither continuous, though by far the longer not the sweeter. It is holy will that all should be taught from the same great page; likening mankind in this wise to the world of infants, for we all read our A B Cs. If the bitter be not now, yet it will come. 'With a mind peculiarly adapted to grasp at difficulties, and with sanguine confidence of eventual success, my classmate worked on. The younger world began to buzz his name. His affable manner and eloquent tongue won admiration. With his usual coolness he selected his partner, and the business world chronicled the birth of another house, Marlowe & Muldonald, names which since have passed east, west, north, south, and beyond oceans. Rich in experience, tried in wisdom, the elder world now began to buzz the name of Marlowe. He was first on 'Change, and first in the estimation of the business community. His drafts were gold, his words like so much silver, his name everything. He had won, with a character beyond impeachment. When we met he was the same, grown slightly subdued with the massive weight of cares and an enviable name. His counsel was sought to promote great enterprises, and documents with his autograph were synonymous with success. With this hold upon the world, I almost fancied that he would continue to merit his proud epithet. But beyond our own ideas of recompense must we acknowledge that which belongs to the Creator. He has assured us the sinner shall not go unpunished. Regardless of his position, there is no rank in the scales of God's justice whereby the greater can be weighed with less fairness than the smaller. Like merchandise for market, each one's net is scored upon the tally-book, and if he had previously passed for worth beyond his value, the honest reduction will come finally. This doctrine has been blown by the Preacher into all quarters, substantiated by aggravated cases; and yet, temptation before, and a clever covert beside, have proved the more powerful of the twain. this is it. Could the errorist know the last act of his drama, his courage would quail to perform what hope for concealment has encouraged him to do. But grasping ambition, intolerable pride, ungovernable selfishness without principle, are subtle spirits to nourish. They prove themselves mutineers that need only circumstances to develop destruction. Every one has a desperate spirit. The best heart that ever dictated wholesome truths, has the alchemy of revolt against all statutes, divine and legislative. It is not golden ease that furnishes the proof of such existing property, but poverty or ambition will fairly elucidate it, blotting from the argument the natural wretcha coin of crime. And Imagine yourself positioned in the velvet chair of unquestionable estimation, with a name echoed for pattern, a credit limitless, attended on each hand, supported by, encircled with the bodyguard of imposed trust, and you have the case of Philip Marlowe. At this peroration of life had my class-mate arrived. A slight silver upon his hair showed the mental and physical struggle by which he had attained this acme. He had passed into middle life, overcoming obstacles, creating business, aiding enterprises, bestowing charity, gathering a name. 'I found upon my table one evening a note. It was from Marlowe, requesting me to call upon him punctually at ten the following morning. I fulfilled his wish, and found him in his morning-wrapper. But he was much changed. The pallor of sadness, a hopeless expression, was upon his face. Yet he took me kindly by the hand, and told me with peculiar earnestness that he had sent for me to confess one life-deception. Roger! I have known since we were class-mates that you suspected my honesty. By my uniform life I have, no doubt, blinded and confounded you. But before night, not only you, but the world, will know I have played my part devilishly clever. I shuffled the pack to win, but have finally lost;" and leaning forward with a look of terrible bitterness, in a hoarse whisper he added, "It is all ambition without principle!" For an instant his eyes glared upon me, his lip quivered, he essayed again to speak, but fell heavily back. His head dropped upon his chest. He was dead! He had swallowed poison. He had been concealing and carrying on a series of forgeries, by which means he had entered into private speculations of great magnitude. But a severe reverse had fallen upon him, and he saw no other method of avoiding the damning results but suicide. Toward me he had shown a uniform kindness, but to the world at large, while feeding it with the supposed pabulum of deference, he was merely using this as the saccharine to surface the deposit of gall. 'The melancholy case stunned the world. Public confidence was staggered. Capitalists were dumb. Every one shuddered. Mutual reliance lost one trusted pillar of its base; temptation had proved a Samson, and pulled it down amid the mangled pile of expectation, hope, and dependence. The tree that bore the delicious fruit was but of ingrafted growth in the commoner orchard of humanity. Had principle guided the man, his ambition would have been righteous. He would have erected a mausoleum that would have withstood the gnawing tooth of obloquy and sapping jealousy. His name would have passed down to posterity polished by age, the prince of merchants, the man of worth. 'Let existence be guarded by principle, and life, with all its phases of sunbeams and night, will gather honey from every petal, that will sweeten and nourish the "slippered pantaloon" of age: and when Death, with his skeleton chariot, makes his imperious call, you bid the last farcwell to accompany the relentless driver upon that return less ride 'mid the sincerest sorrow of following hearts. "This is my story of a life-fact. It has a moral; and he is wise who will profit thereby: "READ ye the lesson-hced it well." PLANTS USEFUL TO MAN. TIME OF THEIR APPEARANCE. apple, the strawberry, and many of our The Rosacea, to which the pear, the most cherished flowers, belong, have not been found in any strata older than those of the tertiary period. The grasses are labiates are also peculiarly plants of the equally modern. The perfume-bearing human period. The most ancient inwhich we took with disgust; while the sects are chiefly members of families on flower-sucking butterflies did not appear is found in a coffin of translucent amber before the Oolitic age, and the first bee which distilled from the trees of the Eocene. There is exquisite poetry in Wordsworth's reference to the soft murmur of the vagrant bee A slender sound, yet hoary Time Doth to the soul exalt it with the chimo Of ages coming, ages gone, Nations from before them sweeping.' And yet, mayhap, the naked scientific facts of the history of this busy insect are scarcely less poetic than the pleasing imagination of the poet regarding it. They tell that man's world, with all its griefs and troubles, is more emphatically a world of flowers than any of the creations that preceded it.—Hugh Miller. HAPPINESS. Quaint old Andrew Fuller writes truly that contentment consisted not in adding more fuel, but in taking away some fire; not in multiplying wealth, but in subtracting men's desires. Worldly riches, like nuts, tear men's clothing in getting them, spoil men's teeth in cracking them, but fill no belly in eating them. THE OWL. A great deal has from time to time been said, sung, and written about birds, and innumerable quills, plucked from the wings of geese by the thousand, have been worn out in this prolific theme. In spite of that, however, we shall attempt another flight. Another flight most naturally brings us to another storey, and for getting upstairs, commend us to the owl. The owl, most sedate of birds, emblem of wisdom, solemn Solomon! In all other languages than ours, his name is most respectable, and in some even beautiful. Nothing could be more charming, for instance, than his classic cognomen, ulula. But owl!-what kind of a term is that with which to designate a dignified and respectable bird? Even that name was intended probably for 'howl;' but the indignant Cockney who first 'eard 'im 'oot left off the H, although himself somewhat ex-hasperated. No bird is so belied as is the owl, Most people consider his wisdom an assumption, and his solemnity a sham, and some even look upon him as an out-and-out fool. Poets have painted him a moping misanthrope, sitting up in some old tower, towering up in some old city, or else, hermit-like, hiding himself away far from the busy haunts of men in some wild wood. Let us say, rather, he is a retiring individual, who has an eye for the picturesque, and is a lover of the rural. He is both noble and devotional-a night bird, and a bird of prey. His food, like poor Tom's, is 'rats and mice, and such small deer,' varying his regular habits with an occasional 'bat. You may catch him napping in the daytime, when he is simple, sleepy, and almost stupid; but when declining day gives place to dusk, then he has his eyes about him, and is wide-awake. Then it is that he flies forth to forage for his food, or to make astronomical and other observations, such as 'too-whit, too-whoo,' and, rejoicing in the clearness of his vision, 'With obscure wing, Scouts far and wide into the realms of night, Scorning surprise.' In this it is—his power of perfect vision in the densest darkness-that he is emblem of that wisdom and that watchfulness which never sleep, and, moreover, has a pair of eyes that can throw light on the darkest subjects, were they those of Faustin I. himself. At all events, our own tame owl, Dr Samuel Johnson-sitting at this moment on his perch-so serious, and yet so sensible, not exactly in a brown study, but in our study, seems a very wise bird. He never disturbs our meditations with his 'too-whit' or 'too-whoo.' To speak often seems derogatory to his dignity; and yet sometimes he will unbend, become almost facetious, and seem to open his mouth only to give utterance to wit. Sometimes for hours he watches us with his great staring eyes, as we sit smoking in our solitary sanctum, wrapped in reverie and clouds of smoke, and thronged with thoughts of other days, or dreaming of the days to come. But the doctor knows that even at such times, when we are under the soul-seducing and sense-stealing influence of our meerschaum, we are sensible enough to keep within the bounds of reason. Ours are not ecstatic, castle-building dreams, that only form fictitious futures; our reveries are retrospections of realities. Our first acquaintance with the doctor bird of wisdom-was on this wise: the interview was somewhat striking, for we knocked the doctor over with a club. Not long ago, there stood, in the outskirts of the village, an old brown house, venerable with years. It was a poor affair, yet rich in associations; for it was whilom the domicile where dwelt old Josey. Ah, there have been some great times in that mansion; for there, in days gone by, once a-week at least, used to meet a crowd of wits. They used to gather in the long winter evenings, and sit around the old-fashioned fireplace, smoking pipes and cracking jokes, till the old chimney even roared in unison. Merry is the memory of those meetings; pleasant the recollection of those hours. But it is long ago since the old domicile has been cheerful at night with light and life. For many months it was untenanted, save by a colony of chimney-swallows, and a few bats. Josey was dead. The old house stood, a monument of departed glory, yet desolate in decay. The owner thereof talked occasionally of pulling it down, or of moving it away; for in his eyes the old brown house, like the barren fig-tree, cumbered the ground, and the old garden cucumbered it. To us, sacred as was the domicile by a thousand dear associations, its destruction would have been a desecration, and to have taken it away from that sweet spot, beneath those trees, would have been a moving sight. Fate gave to it at least a grander destiny in destruction; for one night, not long ago, it was burned to the ground. As with Josey, so with his somewhile domicile-peace to its ashes! It was on one of those soft and sweet, yet sad, days of the last autumn, that Felix and I, after sitting all day sedate and studious, as usual, late in the afternoon started out on a sauntering stroll. We walked straight through the village, ambo arm-in-arm, and turned neither to the right hand nor the left. As we passed by, the females rushed to the windows (to shut the blinds), and one or two grave citizens looked out from their shopdoors, shook their heads solemnly, and wondered, 'What now?' Near the old church we stopped awhile to rest, to watch the crowds of swallows sailing in and out, circling through the air, and to listen to their incessant twitterings from the tower, not inaptly termed by Felix since, on one occasion, as peeps from a belfry.' And then on to the woods. Go into the forest in an afternoon of the autumn-time, when the last long rays of sunlight are glinting through the many coloured leaves, and the vast wood becomes a grand cathedral, rich in illuminated windows, glorious in stained glass, and gorgeous in frescoed walls. We lingered long, and conversed the while, saying many pretty, and, as we conceived, poetical, things. Our summer friends, the birds, were very scarce indeed. It was late in the season, and almost all had winged their way already to the south. Only a few remained, and they were busy packing up, preparatory to packing off. Silent are the woods, and silent are the birds, when leaving us; for they are too sad to sing. A few disjointed notes are heard at intervals, but how different from the full, outgushing, overflowing flood of melody with which they make the forest vocal in the spring! Wending our way homeward in a meditative mood, we stopped to see the solitude, and mourn over the decadence of the ancient domicile of Josey. The old deserted house, once so radiant with joy and life, was now desolate in decay. How many tender thoughts and fragrant memories clung, like the moss and ivy, about those time-tinged walls, while all that they rested on was mouldering away! Where were those warmhearted friends who used to make the old house shake with their uproarious mirth? Gone! all gone! and with them gone for ever all those bright and blissful hours of youth that were so full of life and health, so rich in hope! We are sure that, as we sat on the fence by Josey's, we said many touching things to Felix. Certain are we also that we made a great impression on him; for, in the midst of our pathetic peroration, the rail whereon we sat broke down, and there was something of a descent about that time. When we recovered our equilibrium, we concluded to explore the mansion, and so climbed through a window. We went into the club-room; it was sadly silent; sombre with solemn shadows, and we thought we smelled a rat. All of a sudden we were startled at the sight of two great, golden, fiery, staring eyes, peering at us through the dusk, over the top of a half-open door, as if a demon stood behind. Quick as thought we threw our stick, and the head disappeared. Then we heard a scratching and tremendous fluttering on the floor, and, rushing to the spot, found that our demon's head was only an owl, with one wing badly broken. We took him home with us, his wing was set, we tamed and christened him, and from that time forward he has been our companion and our friend. And he is happy, far happier and better off than in the dull old domicile of Josey, where, had he remained, he might have been with it but ashes now, If he were not so sensible as he is, no doubt he would pine for freedom; but he knows the pleasures of civilisation, and in the sanctum feels as free as does the eagle in his mountain eyrie. Is not that so?-Doctor (loq.). Too-whit! TRUE POLITENESS DEFINED. Now, as to politeness, many have attempted its definition. I believe it is best to be known by description; definition not being able to com prise it. I would, however, venture to call it benevolence in trifles, or the preference of others to ourselves, in little, daily, hourly occurrences in the commerce of life. A better place, a more commodious seat, priority in being helped at table: what is it but sacrificing ourselves in such trifles to the convenience and pleasure of others? And this constitutes true politeness. It is a perpetual attention (by habit it grows easy and natural to us) to the little wants of those we are with, by which we either prevent or remove them. Bowing, ceremonies, formal compliments, stiff And civilities, will never be politeness-that must be easy, natural, unstudied, manly, noble. what will give this but a mind benevolent, and perpetually attentive to exert that amiable disposition in trifles towards all you converse and live with. Benevolence in great matters takes a higher name, and is the Queen of Virtue.--Lord Chatham. |