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which Goldsmith was not inclined to ac ments, when we consider the condition of cept in its literal sense. Garrick, still poor Collins! I knew him a few years maintaining his mock-seriousness, pretend- ago, full of hopes and full of projects, ed to compliment Goldsmith's person at versed in many languages, high in fancy, the expense of his dress, adding, “ Nay, and strong in retention. This busy and you will always look like a gentleman; forcible mind is now under the governbut I was talking of being well or ill ment of those who lately would not have dressed.” Well, let me tell you," an been able to comprehend the least and swered Goldsmith, with the utmost sim- most narrow of its designs." Again, the plicity, “ when my tailor brought home next year, Johnson wrote : “Poor, dear my bloom-colored coat, he said, “Sir, I Collins ! Let me know whether you think have a favor to beg of you ; when anybody it would give him pleasure if I should asks you who made your clothes, be pleased write to him. I have often been near his to mention John Filby, at the Harrow, in state, and therefore have it in great comWater-lane.'" This aroused Johnson, miseration.” Of the nature of that conwho had been a silent spectator of the dition to which Johnson supposed himself whole affair, and he now thundered out, to “ have often been near," he informs us “Why, sir, that was because he knew the in this sketch of his friend : “He lanstrange color would attract crowds to gaze guished under that depression of mind at it, and thus they might hear of him, which enchains the faculties without deand see how well he could make a coat, stroying them, and leaves

reason the even of so absurd a color.” Though Mr. knowledge of right without the power of Filby received no other payment for his pursuing it.” And as to the origin of services and wares, he certainly in this these morbid tendencies he adds : “ His case purchased immortality at a cheaper disorder was not alienation of mind, but rate than most are willing to pay for it. general laxity and feebleness—a deficiency For the next period of ten years, the name

of vital rather than of intellectual powers." of Dr. Goldsmith will frequently occur in Such remarks, which are found frequently the history of his illustrious cotemporary occurring in his writings, indicate both and associate.

his interest in the general subject of menThe only production of any permanent tal disorders, and his extensive and accuinterest from the pen of Johnson, bearing rate knowledge of their nature. date in 1763, is a sketch of the poet Col A kindly feeling toward the mad poet, lins, furnished by him to the “ Poetical as a fellow author for bread, clearly maniCalendar," and afterward inserted, slightly fests itself in this brief sketch ; and the enlarged, among the “Lives of the English author is constantly prepared to explain Poets.” That brief production bears strong away, or extenuate any of his seeming indications of the author's peculiar style faults or foibles by references to the peand method of writing, being liberally load culiarities of his circumstances. Truth ed with reflections and sententious maxims required that it should be written, that of life. But it is chiefly remarkable for Collins “ designed many works, but accomits tender sympathy toward the late suffer- plished very little ;” but this declaration is ing object of his memoirs. The writer, modified by the consideration immediately no doubt, saw much in Collins's case to subjoined : “A man doubtful of his dinremind him of his own mental history; ner, or trembling at his creditor, is not and probably while setting forth the influ- much disposed to abstract meditation or ence of bodily languor in enervating, and remote inquiries.” In sketching his moral at length dethroning, a noble intellect, he character, its imperfection is conceded ; felt more than a speculative interest in the but this suggestive reflection is annexed : subject.

“In a long continuance of poverty, and Johnson had known Collins personally long habits of dissipation, it cannot be for a few years previous to his last and ir- expected that any character should be recoverable mental prostration ; and when exactly uniform ; there is a degree of that sad event occurred, he deeply sympa- want by which the freedom of agency is thized with his suffering friend. Writing almost destroyed; and long associations to Dr. Warton soon after, he remarked : with fortuitous companions will at last “ How little can we venture to exult in relax the strictness of truth, and abate the any intellectual powers or literary attain- ' fervor of sincerity.” It can hardly be

supposed that this was written without a

And there he stands, lively recollection of the scenes of former That meek and holy man.

A hundred years times, when these things, in their most Their summers in his heart. Wisdom and love

And more have laid their winters on his brow, painful forms, were the circumstances in Kept pace in that great soul. Communing oft which Johnson was living, suffering, and With God, he bore to Israel's waiting host faintly hoping for changes that now had The bread of Heaven, and in his own heart occurred. Nor let our reader think that

brought

An ever-deeper fount of love for them ; the time has passed when literature is so

And now within his aged breast that heart, poorly rewarded. The history of some of A human heart, is yearning o'er its kind, our own cotemporaries will unfold a chap- With deep, undying, human love. The wail ter as full of anxiety and privation as any If but this cup might pass!" His head is

Of Israel is echoed there. “O God! of the times of Johnson. When will a

bow'd better day dawn? When true merit will Upon his heaving breast, where love and grief be appreciated and its labors rewarded, Hold fearful strife with Faith and dreaded Fate. although fame may not have heralded its

The past, with all its weary years, comes back; approach.

Its years of wandering, and toil, and strife,
Of sinning and repentance, rise before him-

Years that have bound him close and closer still [For the National Magazine.]

Unto this wayward race, until his love

Is such as tender parents feel :-a love THE DEATH OF MOSES. That found it ever easy to forgive;

A love that oft has stood between their God, A GRAY and chilling morn of early spring Their angry God, and them. Who now can Creeps feebly up the east. Its somber light

lead? Reveals the thousand tents of Israel's host,

Who now can love and bear with them as he ? Flecking the wide-spread plain like folds of

O that this cup might pass! O that e'en now sheep,

He might return, and be their leader still ! As tribe by tribe they lay encamp'd. The dawn,

The strife is done, and faith has conquer'd grief. With darkness feebly struggling now, shall Again his upturn'd eye is clear and bright, bring

Again his step is firm as erst. For Faith Unto that slumb'ring host a day of woe,

Is holding high converse, where late the strife A pall of sorrow, 'neath whose heavy folds Wax'd high. She tells him now that God shall The sto utest heart shall quail, and bearded lips

love Shall quiver, and stern eyes grow dim with His people, and shall lead them into rest ; tears.

That though they wander from the way and long

Are straying, they shall be brought back at last. The day has come; and now the stir of life

“Though they should fall, they 'll rise again : Runs through that mighty host with quiet hum, His hand As 't were a Sabbath morn. The incense fire

Supports them still." Though other human Sends up its curling perfume to the skies ;

hands The offering for sin is made ; and now

Shall lead, yet God shall still direct and guard. A band of Israel's elders, and the priest And Levite, gather round the holy place, Upward he mounts, and not with lagging step And he, their leader, the meek man of God, Or drooping form, but with elastic tread Comes forth and takes his way toward Nebo's And still increasing vigor, till at length mount,

He passes on the mountain's brow. The mists They follow him, with slow and funeral step,

That veil the vision of mortality Beyond the camp. And there his trembling

Are dissipated now. The clear, pure air hands

Laving his care-worn brow, so soothes his sense, Are laid in parting blessing on their heads, As 'twere the very breath of Heaven. The past As solemnly they bend in grief and awe.

Seems now but as a " vision of the night,"

A weary dream, before this dawning day. His upward path he treads, O! not alone! For yearning hearts are with him, and straining The voice of God breaks on his ear, “ Behold!" eyes

And like a map outspread, beneath him lay Do follow from afar. In sackcloth robed,

The Promised Land, the fair and fertile fields In ashes bow'd, a nation mourns the day;

So long awaiting Israel's wand'ring host. And men of war, six hundred thousand there,

From north to south, and to the utmost sea, Are weak as women. Aged men, and maids

From Gilead's borders even unto Zoar, Of laughing eyes, weep now; and e'en young

His eyes behold its wealth and loveliness, babes

And he is satisfied. Not one regret Join in the wailing. Still that form erect,

O'ershadows now its beauty. Not one pang With undiminish'd vigor, passes on

Tells now of selfish thought. His soul outflows Alone, and none may follow where he treads.

In liquid love, and o'er that smiling land Their wail is wafted on the breeze. But he, - Sheds a last blessing for his nation child. Can aught of human love or human woe

Slow fades the vision. Brighter grows the day, Bedim his prospect now? retard his step?

More pure the air, and fairer scenes appear! Slowly he turns to where a beetling cliff

At length he rests—in Heaven. Commands the tented plain.

M. H. L. JERVIS.

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What shall I liken thee to, Susie ?
What shall I liken thee to?
What rings out so free, as thy laugh full of glee ?

What shall I liken thee to ?
Shall I call thee a bird, whose warble is heard,

From the bough of the blossoming tree, Susie ?
No; the bird's song is still, when November blows chill,

Never wind shall blow coldly on thee, Susie !

What shall I liken thee to, Susie ?

What shall I liken thee to?
What so precious and bright as thy face of delight ?

What shall I liken thee to?
To brilliants that shine, like stars from the mine,

Or pearls from the depths of the sea, Susie ?
No; the gem has been sold for silver and gold,

But what price could ever buy thee, Susie ?

There's naught I can liken thee to, Susie ;

There's naught I can liken thee to :
Bird, flow'ret, and gem, alike I condemn;

There's naught I can liken thee to.
Thou’rt a gift from above, of the Father of love,

Sent to call our hearts upward to him, Susie :
His smile we see now in the light of thy brow;

God grant it may never grow dim, Susie!

THE HISTORY OF SERMONS.

W

CHEN shall the world be favored with your funeral sermon for her.” “Well,

a history of the pulpit, and who will sir, I am very sorry, but I had entirely write it? Such a work is a great desider- forgotten it; ask Mr. to introduce atum, and, well executed, might prove of the service, and I will sit down in the incalculable value. The world is full of vestry, and endeavor to think of somematerial, which only needs to be collected, thing to say.” The substance of the sersifted, and arranged. Let some one of mon on the topic, which appears in the our men of might gird himself for the first volume of his works, was the result task.

of half an hour's reflections; the sermon One chapter in such a work, or perhaps was afterward written, published, and more, should be given to the origin and produced great effects. The widowed history of sermons, and curious indeed prince described it as the best of all the would be its developments ; especially if sermons sent him on the occasion; and all their secret history could be made another eminent man thought that the known. Let us give two or three facts, production of such a sermon went far to which may go to show somewhat of what account for the mysterious removal of we mean.

the princess. One of the most beautiful and popular Much smaller events than the removal of the sermons of Robert Hall is the one of the great have suggested good sermons. occasioned by the death of the amiable The admirable discourse on “Walking Princess Charlotte, who died in 1817—a on Faith," the first sermon printed by sermon which he had not even thought of Andrew Fuller, owed its origin to a small delivering an hour before its commence matter. It was delivered at an annual ment.

meeting of the Northamptonshire AssociaDevoted to his duty, this eminent tion, at whose request it was printed. man seldom looked at a newspaper, and Like the sermon of his friend Hall, not a was supremely ignorant of passing events, word of it was written till after its delivso that he was not aware of the time when ery. On his way to the Association the the princess was to be buried. The fu- roads in several places were flooded, arisneral ceremony took place on a Wednes-ing from recent rains, which had made day evening, just at the time of Mr. Hall's the rivers overflow. Mr. Fuller came to weekly lecture. Royal bereavements gen one place where the water was very deep, erally have attention paid them from the and he, being a stranger to its exact depth, pulpit, especially at the hour of interment, was unwilling to go on. A plain countrybut the thought never occurred to Mr. man residing in the neighborhood, better Hall that anything more than an ordinary acquainted with the water than the preachservice would take place at Harvey er, cried out, “Go on, sir, you are quite Lane.

safe." On his arrival there, as usual, behold the Fuller urged on his horse, but the whole house was lighted up and crowded. water soon touched his saddle, and he “How is this, sir ?" asked Mr. Hall of stopped to think. “Go on, sir, all is one of his deacons. “What does this right,” shouted the man. Taking the crowd mean?" “Why, sir, the Princess man at his word, Fuller proceeded, and Charlotte, you know, is buried this eve the text was suggested, “We walk by ning, and the people are come to hear faith, not by sight.”

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BENEZER ELLIOTT was born at school-fellow, who used to do for him his

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on the 17th of March, 1781. His father ing addition, he somehow got into the Rule was a clerk in the Iron Works of that of Three, and without understanding the place, with a salary of £70 a year. On Rule of Three, (but that of course,) he got this small pittance he supported a family into Decimals, where he stuck fast. At of eight children. In his youth, Ebenezer this period of his studies he was examwas remarkable for good nature—a fault ined by his father, and “ found wanting." got bravely over in The Corn - Law He scarcely knew that two and two made Rhymes - and for a certain dullness of four. Clearly, he will never make the mind that long prevented him from mas clerk that his father is never have that tering the easiest rudiments of a common fortune of £70 a year! English education. And his original stu He was set to work in the foundry to pidity is said to have been confirmed by see whether sifting sand would not imthe help which he received from a clever prove his arithmetic, and make him as

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