But himself is chief among the fools, if he look for admi

ration from them.

A heresy is an evil thing, for its shame is its pride:

Its necessary difference of error is the character it most esteemeth:

Give a man all things short of liberty, thou shalt have no thanks,

And little wilt thou speed with thine opponent, by proving points he will concede.

The tost sand darkeneth the waves; and clear had been the pages of truth,

Had not the glosses of men obscured the simplicity of faith In all things consider thine own ignorance, and gladly take occasion to be taught;

But suffer not excess of liberality to neutralize thy mental independence.

The faults and follies of most men make their deaths a gain; But thou also art a man, full of faults and follies;

Therefore sorrow for the dead, or none shall weep for thee, For the measure of charity thou dealest, shall be poured into thine own bosom.

That which vexeth thee now, provoking thee to hate thy brother,

Bear with it; the annoyance passeth, and may not return for ever:

The same combinations and results which aggravate thy soul to-day,

May not meet again for centuries in the kaleidoscope of circumstance;

For men and matters change, new elements mixing in continually,

And, as with chemical magic, the sour is transmuted into sweetness,

A little explained, a little endured, a little passed over as a foible,

And, lo, the jagged atoms fit like smooth mosaic.

Thou canst not shape another's mind to suit thine own body, Think not, then, to be furnishing his brain with thy special

notions.

Charity walketh with a high step, and stumbleth not at a trifle :

Charity hath keen eyes, but the lashes half conceal them:
Charity is praised of all and fear not thou that praise,
God will not love thee less because men love thee more.(29)

OF SORROW.

I SAID, I will seek out sorrow, and minister the balm of pity: So I sought her in the house of mourning; but peace followed in her train.

Then I marked her brooding silently in the gloomy caverns of Regret ;

But a sunbeam of heavenly hope gleamed on her folded

wing.

So I turned to the cabin of the poor, where famine dwelt with

disease;

But the bed of the sick was smoothed, and the ploughman whistled at his labor.

So I stopped and mused within myself, to remember where sorrow dwelt,

For I sought to see her alone, uncomforted, uncompanioned. I went to the prison, but penitence was there, and promise of

better times;

I listened at the madmar.'s cell, but it echoed with deluded

laughter.

Then I turned me to the rich and noble; I noted the sons of

fashion:

A smile was on the languid cheek, that had no commerce with the heart

Unhallowed thoughts, like fires, gleamed from the window of the eye,

And sorrow lived with those whose pleasures add unto their

sins.

His infancy wanted not guilt; his life was continued evil; He drew in pride with his mother's milk, and a father's lips taught him cursing.

I marked him as the wayward boy; I traced the dissolute youth:

I saw him betray the innocent, and sacrifice affection to his

I saw him the companion of knaves, and a squanderer of ill

I heard him curse his own miserv, while he hugged the chains that galled him:

For well had experience declared the bitterness of guilty pleasure,

But habit, with its iron net, involved him in its folds.

Behind him lowered the thunder-storm, which the caldron of his wickedness had brewed;

Before him was the smooth steep cliff, whose base is ruin and despair.

So he rushed madly on, and tried to forget his being:

The noisy revel and the low debauch, and fierce excitement

of play,

With dreary interchange of palling pleasures, filled the dull round of existence;

Memory was to him as a foe, so he flew for false solace to the wine cup,

And stunned his enemy at even, but she rent him as a giant in the morning.

I TURNED aside to weep; I lost him a little while:

I looked, years had past: he was hoar with the winter of

his age.

And what was now his hope? where was the balin for his sadness?

1

The memory of the past was guilt; the feeling of the present, remorse.

Then he set his affections on gold, he worshipped the shrine of Mammon,

And to lay richer gifts before his idol, he starved his own

bowels;

So, the youth spent in profligacy ended in the gripings of

want.

The miser grudged himself husks to take deeper vengeance of the prodigal.

And I said, this is sorrow; but pity cannot reach it.

This is to be wretched indeed, to be guilty without repent

ance.

OF JOY.

My soul was sickened within me, so I sought the dwellingplace of Joy:

And I met it not in laughter; I found it not in wealth or

power;

But I saw it in the pleasant home, where religion smiled

upon content,

And the satisfied ambition of the heart rejoiced in the favor of its God.

Behold the happy man, his face is rayed with pleasure,

His thoughts are of calm delight, and none can know his

blessedness:

I have watched him from his infancy, and seen him in the grasp of death,

Yet never have I noted on his brow the cloud of desponding

sorrow.

He hath knelt beside his cradle; his mother's hymn lulled him to sleep:

In childhood he hath loved holiness, and drank from that fo intain-head of peace.

Wisdom took him for her scholar, guiding his steps in purity:

He lived unpolluted by the world; and his young heart hated

sin.

But he owned not the spurious religion engendered of faction and moroseness,

Neither were the sproutings of his soul seared by the brand of superstition.

His love is pure and single, sincere, and knoweth rot change: For his manhood has been blessed with the pleasant choice

of his youth:

Behold his one beloved, she leaneth on his arm,

And he looketh on the years that are past, to review the dawn of her affection.

Memory is sweet unto him as a perfect landscape to the sight; Each object is lovely in itself, but the whole is the harmony of nature.

Behold his little ones around him, they bask in the warmth of his smile;

And infant innocence and joy lighten their happy faces; He is holy, and they honor him; he is loving, and they love him

He is consistent, and they esteem him; he is firm, and they fear him.

His friends are the excellent among men; and the bands of

their friendship are strong;

His house is the palace of peace: for the Prince of Peace is there.

As the wearied man to his couch, as the thoughtful man to his musings,

Even so, from the bustle of life, he goeth to his well-ordered

home.

And though he often sin, he returneth with weeping eyes: For he feeleth the mercies of forgiveness, and gloweth with warmer gratitude.

THUS did he walk in happiness, and sorrow was a stranger to his soul;