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hand but abandoned luxury and wantonness, or on the other but extreme madness and despair!
In short, all projects for growing rich by sudden and extraordinary methods, as they operate violently on the passions of men, and encourage · them to despise the slow moderate gains that are to be made by an honest industry, must be ruinous to the public, and even the winners themselver will at length be involved in the public ruin. ...
God grant the time be not near when men shall say, “This island was once inhabited by a religious, brave, sincere people, of plain, uncorrupt manners, respecting inbred worth rather than titles and appearances, assertors of liberty, lovers of their country, jealous of their own rights, and unwilling to infringe the rights of others; improvers of learning and useful arts, enemies to luxury, tender of other men's lives, and prodigal of their own; inferior in nothing to the old Greeks or Romans, and superior to each of those people in the perfections of the other. Such were our ancestors during their rise and greatness; but they degenerated, grew servile flatterers of men in power, adopted Epicurean notions, became venal, corrupt, injurious, which drew upon them the hatred of God and man, and occasioned their final ruin.”
"A LION'S HEAD."
PON the wall it hung where all might | And then your thoughts took further ground,
I and ran
The lion caged seemed but the type of man
In his best strength; majesty,
Mantégrand, majestic in both word and deod, “A lion's head.”
A giant in both intellect and will,
Yet trammeled by some force he can but Leed Yet, if you gazed awhile, you seemed to see
. And cannot still ; The eyes grow strangely sad, that should have raged;
Man in his highest attributes, but bound And, lo! your thoughts took shape uncon By chains of circumstance around him casi sciously
Yet nobly living out life's daily round, “A lion caged.”
Till work be past. You saw the living type behind his bars, So musing, shadows fall all silently His eyes so sad with mute reproach, but And swift recall the thoughts that wan. still
dering fled: A very King, as when beneath the stars The dream has ended, and you can but see He roved at will.
"A lion's head."
182 THE PURITANS.
LO VE LIGHTENS LABOR.
& GOOD wife rose from her bed one It was this,” he said, and coming near
morn, He smiled, and stooping down, And thought with a nervous Kissed her cheek—"'twas this: that yor dread were the best
Of the piles of clothes to be And the dearest wife in town " washed, and more
Than a dozen mouths to be fed. The farmer went back to the field, and thy There's the meals to get for the men in the wife field,
In a similing, absent way - - Sang snatches of tender little songs To school, and the milk to be skimmed and She'd not sung for many a day.
churned; And the pain in her head was gone, and the And all to be done this day. clothes Were white as the foam of the sea; Her bread was light, and her butter was sweet And as golden as it could be.
And the children to fix away
It had rained in the night, and all the wood
Throbbed wearily as she said, breath,
t As happy a home as we.” “Jennie, what do you think I told Ben The night came down, and the good wife
Brown 2" smiled Called the farmer from the well; To herself, as she softly said: And a flush crept up to his bronzed brow, “'Tis so sweet to labor for those we love, And his eyes half bashfully fell; It's not strange that maids will wed/ "
T. B. MACAULAY.
The Puritans were men whose minds had derived a peculiar character S. from the daily contemplation of superior beings and eternal interi. ests. Not content with acknowledging, in general terms, an overruling Providence, they habitually ascribed every event to J the will of the Great Being for whose power nothing was too f vast, for whose inspection nothing was too minute. To know him, to serve him, to enjoy him was with them the great end of existence. They rejected with contempt the ceremonious homage which other sects
THE PURITANS. 183
substituted for the pure worship of the soul. Instead of catching occasional glimpses of the Deity through an obscuring veil, they aspired . to gaze full on his intolerable brightness, and to commune with him face to face. Hence originated their contempt for terrestrial distinctions. The difference between the greatest and the meanest of mankind seemed to vanish, when compared with the boundless interval which separated the whole race from him on whom their own eyes were constantly fixed. They recognized no title to superiority but his favor; and, confident of that favor, they despised all the accomplishments and all the dignities of the world. If they were unacquainted with the works of philosophers and poets, they were deeply read in the oracles of God. If their names were not found in the registers of heralds, they were recorded in the Book of Life. If their steps were not accompanied by a splendid train of menials, legions of ministering angels had charge of them. Their palaces were houses not made with hands; their diadems crowns of glory which should never fade away. On the rich and the eloquent, on nobles and priests, they looked down with contempt: for they esteemed themselves rich in a more precious treasure, and eloquent in a more sublime language—nobles by the right of an earlier creation, and priests by the imposition of a mightier hand. The very meanest of them was a being to whose fate a mysterious and terrible importance belonged, on whose slightest action the spirits of light and darkness looked with anxious interest, who had been destined, before heaven and earth were created, to enjoy a felicity which should continue when heaven and earth should have passed away. Events which short-sighted politicians ascribed to earthly causes, had been ordained on his account. For his sake empires had risen, and flourished, and decayed. For his sake the Almighty had proclaimed his will by the pen of the evangelist and the harp of the prophet. He had been wrested by no common deliverer from the grasp of no common foe. He had been ransomed by the sweat of no vulgar agony, by the blood of no earthly sacrifice. It was for him that the sun had been darkened, that the rocks had been rent, that the dead had risen, that all nature had shuddered at the sufferings of her expiring God. Thus the Puritan was made up of two different men, the one all self-abasement, penitence, gratitude, passion; the other proud, calm, inflexible, sagacious. He prostrated himself in the dust before his Maker; but he set his foot on the neck of his king. In his devotional retirement he prayed with convulsions and groans and tears. He was half-maddened by glorious or terrible illusions. He heard the lyres of angels or the tempting whispers of fiends. He caught a gleam of the Beatific Vision,