The sides of some huge animal; so did
They buzz about the illustrious man, and fain
With his immortal honor, down the stream
of fame would have descended; but alas!
The hand of Time drove them away: they were,
Indeed a simple race of men, who had

One only art, which taught them still to say-
Whate'er was done, might have been better done-
And with this art, not ill to learn, they made

A shift to live: but sometimes too, beneath
The dust they raised, was worth awhile obscured:
And then did Envy prophesy and laugh.

O Envy! hide thy bosom! hide it deep:

A thousand snakes, with black envenomed mouths,
Nest there, and hiss, and feed thro' all thy heart!"

The manner in which cynical censors of artistic and moral worth proceed is the same in every place and age. In Pope's time, "coxcombs" attempted to "vanquish Berkely with a grin," and they would fain do the same to-day. "Is not this common?" exclaimed a renowned musician, "The least little critic, in reviewing some work of art, will say, 'Pity this, and pity that; this should have been altered, that omitted.' Yea, with his wiry fiddle-string will he creak out his accursed variations. But let him sit down and compose himself. He sees no improvement in variations then!"

The industrious honey-bee is armed with a sting as well as the wasp; but the former delights in collecting rich treasures from every field, and wounds only in self-defence, while the useless and malignant wasp buzzes about perpetually but to no profit, and darts at the most delicious fruits only to pierce them to the core. "It was not only in the Roman customs," said Burke, kindled to indignation under the wrongs that had been heaped upon him, "it was not only in the Roman customs, but it is in the nature and constitution of things, that calumny and abuse are essential parts of triumph." But however disagreeable such inflictions may be to a rugged and noble sufferer, he will never succumb to them. Ungenerous

detraction serves only to exasperate the passionate, and substantiate the energies of the intrinsically strong. It renders the firm firmer, and prompts him to yet higher deeds. A true man is not to be intimidated by hyper-criticism, as if, in the words of Byron,

"The sublime etherial particle

Could be extinguished by an article."

Let us learn, under all circumstances of irritating abuse to be mercifully and calmly self-possessed. An old proverb says truly, "If thou art vexed, thou wilt have two troubles." Cheerful looks, kind words and a speedy pardon are the best revenge we can inflict on the ungenerous and unjust.

"What's honor?

Not to be captious; nor unjustly fight;

"Tis to confess what's wrong and do what's right."

In the fourth place, we remark that, since the censorious man is never impelled by generosity, his bickerings can do no permanent good. Voltaire said that "the character of the Frenchman is made up of the tiger and the ape;" but even such a composition may be turned to some useful account, while the inveterate fault-finder neutralizes, as far as possible, every attempt made by others to do good. To perform any task perfectly to his liking, would be as impossible as to "make a portrait of Proteus, or fix the figure of the fleeting air." To speak favorably of any body or any thing is a trait of generosity entirely foreign to his nature; from temperament and confirmed habit, he "must be cruel only to be kind." The only benefit he occasions, is achieved contrary to his intent; in his efforts to impede rising merit, he fortifies the energies he would destroy. Said Haydon, "Look down upon genius and he will rise to a giant-attempt to crush him and he will soar to a god."

While the censorious man is most severe in judging others,

he is invariably the most ready to repel any animadversions made upon himself; upon the principle well understood in medical circles, that the feeblest bodies are always the most sensitive. No man will so speedily and violently resent a supposed wrong, as he who is most accustomed to inflict injuries upon his associates. Not unfrequently is a fool as dangerous to deal with as a knave, and forever is he more incorrigible. "When Christian saw that the man was wise in his own conceit, he said to Hopeful, whisperingly, 'there is more hope of a fool than of him;' and said, moreover, 'When he that is a fool walketh by the way, his wisdom faileth him, and he saith to every one that he is a fool.'"

The Pilgrim might have quoted further from Proverbs, to wit, "There is that speaketh like the piercings of a sword: but the tongue of the wise is health." Many know well enough how to speak daggers, though they are too cowardly in character to use any weapon more dignified than a slanderous tongue. It is indeed a great calamity, one almost incredible, that man, created in the likeness of the Infinite, and lord of all lesser things, should have become so corrupted, that no savage beast can exceed him in malignant ferocity. But "The wicked is snared by the transgression of his lips." On this Scripture, Henry says, "Many have felt the lash upon their backs for the want of a bridle upon their tongues." Solomon tells us that "A fool's wrath is presently known." You may easily learn how soon it was revealed in Saul's violent attacks upon David and Jonathan; Jezebel's fury against Elijah; and Nebuchadnezzar's passionate decree to kill the wise men, because they could not interpret his vision. Such men are always as unreasonable in their demands, as they are unrelenting in their prejudice. But the most painful exhibition of the fool's wrath is seen in those who profess to be the children of God. Nothing so much excites the contempt of the undevout, as those gross ebullitions of hatred and crimination, which it would seem divine grace ought to restrain.

"To wilful men,

The injuries, that they themselves procure,
Must be their schoolmasters."

3

But, unfortunately, experience is lost upon the confirmed fault-finder; he is not to be corrected by the blunders he has committed, and the lessons he has been taught. We learn from the highest source that “A reproof entereth more into a wise man, than an hundred stripes into a fool." A single word was sufficient to correct David. A look entered more into Peter's heart than an hundred stripes into Pharaoh. But the censorious man is, in his own estimation, above being taught, and therefore remains stubbornly a fool in spite of every kind of instruction. "Though thou shouldst bray him in a mortar among wheat in a pestle, yet shall not his foolishness depart from him."

Illustrious examples teach us how to demean ourselves while suffering under oppressive wrongs. When Demosthenes was unjustly accused, he replied, "I will not strive with thee in this kind of fighting, in which he that is overcome is the better man." Xenophon, under like circumstances, said to his ungenerous foe, "You have learned how to reproach, and I have learned how to bear reproach.” But the most pertinent and valuable lesson for us on this subject, is presented in the conduct and instruction of Jesus Christ. The Pharisees, who had just been poisoning the minds of the people with bitter animosity against the Redeemer, had now come to profess themselves his disciples. "But Jesus did not com

mit himself unto them, because he knew all men." He knew that the censorious hypocrite is the most treacherous creature one can deal with, since under the mask of professed esteem, he conceals the most envenomed weapons, and is ready to conduct his victim to the most cruel death.

One of the finest expressions in the world, is in the seventeenth chapter of Proverbs. "He that covereth a transgression seeketh love; but he that repeateth a matter separateth

very friends." In what a delightful communion with God does that man live who habitually seeketh love! With the same mantle thrown over him from the cross-with the same act of amnesty, by which he hopes to be saved-injuries the most unprovoked, and transgressions the most aggravated, are covered in eternal forgetfulness.

On the contrary, the censorious man often separates intimate friends by repeating a matter and digging up forgotten quarrels. The charity which is most divine is that which hides a multitude of faults. It is pure in itself, and labors to promote the peace and happiness of all. If one would be noble, he must be habitual in the cultivation of lofty principle and generous love. Instead of perpetually satirizing, let him sometimes deign to inquire; in the place of sardonic derision, let the pusillanimous blockhead have the magnanimity, for once at least, to examine. This, it is true, would not be in keeping with his character; for the moment the cynical fault-finder performs a dignified and beneficent deed of his own, he thereby elevates himself above his native degradation and destroys his moral identity. Such persons always seek more to baffle the good, than to adore the truth; they can never consent to exemplify the divinity of peaceful virtue, but, like salamanders, are in a congenial element only while they are in the fire.