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heart, other and sterner excitements than those of either sensual and enervating pleasure, or of placid and serene enjoyment. From his own personal maladies, and from a strong but well-governed sympathy with the fiery trials of his fellow-creatures of all kinds and conditions, he may derive, if not positive happiness, the means at least of infinitely increasing his happiness, by learning to suffer with resignation, by loosening his affections from the world, and by having his heart and his treasure in heaven. The famous lines of Lucretius, at the opening of his second book, De Rerum Natura, have been so often quoted and criticised, that I shall merely allude to them as beautifully bearing on the subject before us.

Let us take a signal instance to illustrate the general argument. It is twice seven years, or nearly so, since the death of the Princess Charlotte of Wales, and her new-born offspring; the former, the most beloved person in the realm; the latter, the heir of the greatest throne in the world, though it lived not long enough to receive even a name to be inscribed upon its coffin; so uncertain are the destinies of man, when most absolutely decreed by himself or his fellow-mortals. On that occasion the

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grief of the public was deep, sincere, and lasting; but who can doubt that the interest word in its favourite sentimental sense doubt that the interest, excited by these events, was transcendantly more sublime and affecting than would have been awakened by the loss of the same personages under circumstances less excruciating to

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the common feelings of humanity, or less fatal to the fond expectations of a generous people? In proportion to the agony was the interest, and in proportion to the interest was the enjoyment, by those who bore a part in the universal affliction. There was enjoyment in remembering and repeating, in tones of regret, the virtues and graces of the Daughter of England, there was enjoyment in making a Sabbath of the day of her burial, — enjoyment in listening to pious improvements from the pulpit of the sovereign dispensation of Providence, — enjoyment in mingling tears and lamentations with the whole British people, at the hour when her relics were laid in the grave, enjoyment in composing and perusing the strains of eloquence and poesy, that celebrated her glory and her fall, and there was enjoyment in every recollection of her name, after the bitterness of death had passed away, and her memory had been silently enshrined in hearts, where it had been fondly hoped that she would one day be enthroned.

Thus from the greatest felt calamity, which this country had suffered for ages, there was communicated the greatest benefit of the kind on record, to the minds of millions, by means of a chastening but benignant excitement, which produced a happier influence on the moral character of the people than all the victories of ten years' war had done, or the victories of ten more could now accomplish; for it quickened into expression, if not into immediate existence, more loyal, patriotic, compassionate, and devotional feelings than any national event, either prosperous or adverse, had done since Britain was a

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kingdom. When the mighty are put down from their seats, we gaze at the eminence whence they are fallen, as we should upon the cliff where an eagle at rest had been struck dead by lightning in our sight, the very void being then more conspicuous than was the living presence. When death brings down such noble marks in the highest places, his power is felt by re-action upon the fears and forebodings of all classes downward in gradation. We are so accustomed to read, and speak, and think of death as a real personage, with his darts striking down, indiscriminately, persons of all ages, ranks, and conditions- one of whom is said to be pierced every moment, his shafts flying incessantly, and in all directions that, without any violent effort of mind, we may consider him as an "archer," indefatigable as well as "insatiate," who, in the course of nature, has never once missed a victim against whom he drew his bow, nor among tens of thousands of millions, which, since the creation, have been appointed to him for his prey, has he ever forgotten one; those whom he might seem to have left behind in his march of destruction, being from his lengthened forbearance most obviously exposed to his next aim; since the further they have escaped, the nearer have they been running into that danger which in the issue must be met.

Death is the chief hero of poetry, though life be its perpetual theme; and taking advantage of the strange affinity between pain and pleasure, to which reference has been made, the main subjects of verse have been selected from the sufferings of man in

every stage of his earthly existence, under every aspect of external circumstances, and through every form of society. The noblest lessons are taught in the school of adversity, and communicated by the examples of those who have learnt them there, to those who have not been so disciplined, in song rather than in history. Cowley says:

"So when the wisest poets seek,

In all their liveliest colours, to set forth
A picture of heroic worth,

The pious Trojan, or the prudent Greek ;

They feed him, not with nectar, nor the meat

That cannot, without joy, be eat;

But, in the cold of want, and storms of adverse

chance,

They harden his young virtue by degrees;

The beauteous drop first into ice doth freeze,

And into solid crystal doth advance.

"His murder'd friends and kindred he does see, And from his flaming country flee;

Much is he tost by sea and land,

Does long the force of angry gods withstand;
He does long troubles and long wars sustain,
Ere he his fatal birthright gain :

With not less toil and labour can

Destiny build up a great man,

Who 's with sufficient virtue fill'd
His ruin'd country to rebuild."

If it be the business of tragedy, as Aristotle allows, to purify the soul by pity and terror, then out of the ills of the universe, may poetry of every kind extract balm to heal, or comfort to allay them. Thus, in a new and admirable sense, is the riddle of Samson

illustrated. In the carcase of the young lion, which roared against him, and which he rent as he would tear a kid, when he turned aside to see it, behold a swarm of bees and honey in it! "Out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweetness." Out of grief, misfortune, bereavement, the poet brings gladness, profit, consolation. There is no romance, no poetry in any of these things themselves to those who suffer (whatever there be to witnesses of them) till they are past. Sickness and death are cruel and fearful visitations; it is sickness removed, death averted, which makes health enjoyment, and escape renovation. The return to this lovely world, of him who has "shrieked and hovered o'er the dread abyss," that divides time and eternity, is more than life, it is life from the dead. Then; then, the romance and the poetry begin, where the awful realities end.

When Hezekiah was sick unto death, and a message from the prophet said, "Set thine house in order, for thou shalt die, and not live:" then Hezekiah turned his face to the wall, and prayed unto the Lord, and pleaded hard, and wrestled in agony of supplication for a reprieve. "And Hezekiah wept sore." But when his prayer had been heard, his tears seen, and fifteen years were added to his life, then was his mourning changed into minstrelsy, and the fear and anguish which had previously overwhelmed his spirit gave way to transport. Then, likewise, he could expatiate with delighted reminiscence, and in the most delicate and touching strains, on those incidents of his extremity, which had been

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