as, if given only fortiter, that is, brutally, they will rather, as Tacitus says, be interpreted, than executed. For my own part, if I bade my footman bring me a glass of wine, in a rough, insulting manner; I should expect, that, in obeying me, he would contrive to spill some of it upon me: and, I am sure, I should deserve it. A cool, steady resolution should show, that, where you have a right to command, you will be obeyed; but, at the same time, a gentleness in the manner of enforcing that obedience, should make it a cheerful one, and soften, as much as possible, the mortifying consciousness of inferiority. If you are to ask a favour, or even to solicit your due, you must do it suaviter in modo, or you will give those, who have a mind to refuse you either, a pretence to do it, by resenting the manner; but, on the other hand, you must, by a steady perseverance, and decent tenaciousness, show the fortiter in re. In short, this precept is the only way I know in the world, of being loved, without being despised; and feared, without being hated. It constitutes that dignity of character, which every wise man must endeavour to establish. If, therefore, you find, that you have a hastiness in your temper, which unguardedly breaks out into indiscreet sallies, or rough expressions, to either your superiors, your equals, or your inferiors; watch it narrowly, check it carefully, and call the suaviter in modo to your assistance: at the first impulse of passion, be silent, till you can be soft. Labour even to get the command of your countenance so well, that those emotions may not be read in it—a most unspeakable advantage in business! On the other hand, let no complaisance, no gentleness of temper, no weak desire of pleasing, on your part; no wheedling, coaxing, nor flattery, on other people's; make you recede one jot from any point, that reason and prudence have bid you pursue: but, return to the charge, persist, persevere; and you will find most things attainable, that are possible. A yield-' ing, timid meekness, is always abused and insulted, by the unjust and the unfeeling; but, meekness, when sustained by the fortiter in re, is always respected, commonly successful. In your friendships and connections, as well as in your enmities, this rule is particularly useful-let your firmness and vigour preserve and invite attachments to you; but, at the same time, let your manner prevent the enemies of your friends and dependants from becoming yours: let your enemies be disarmed by the gentleness of your manner; but, let them feel, at the same time, the steadiness of your just resentment; for, there is a great difference between bearing malice-which is always ungenerous and a resolute self-defence-which is always prudent and justifiable. I conclude with this observation, That gentleness of manners, with firmness of mind, is a short, but full, description of human perfection, on this side of religious and moral duties. Chesterfield. The Elder's Death-bed. "JAMIE, thy own father has forgotten thee in thy infancy, and me in my old age; but, Jamie, forget not thou thy father, nor thy mother; for that, thou knowest and feelest, is the commandment of God." The broken-hearted boy could give no reply. He had gradually stolen closer and closer unto the loving old man; and now was lying, worn out with sorrow, drenched and dissolved in tears, in his grandfather's bosom. His mother had sunk down on her knees, and hid her face with her hand. "Oh! if my husband knew but of this-he would never, never desert his dying father!" And I now knew, that the Elder was praying on his death-bed for a disobedient and wicked son. At this affecting time, the Minister took the FamilyBible on his knees, and said, "Let us sing to the praise and glory of God, part of the fifteenth psalm;" and he read, with a tremulous and broken voice, those beautiful verses, "Within thy tabernacle, Lord, Who shall abide with thee? "The man that walketh uprightly Ere the psalm was yet over, the door was opened, and a tall, fine-looking man entered, but with a lowering and dark countenance, seemingly in sorrow, in misery, and remorse. Agitated, confounded, and awe-struck by the melancholy and dirge-like music, he sat down on a chair, and looked with a ghastly face towards his father's bed. When the psalm ceased, the Elder said, with a solemn voice, "My son-thou art come in time to receive thy father's blessing. May the remembrance of what will happen in this room, before the morning again shine over the Hazel-glen, win thee from the error of thy ways! Thou art here to witness the mercy of thy God and thy Saviour, whom thou hast forgotten.' The Minister looked, if not with a stern, yet with an upbraiding countenance, on the young man, who had not recovered his speech, and said, "William! for three years past your shadow has not darkened the door of the house of God. They who fear not the thunder, may tremble at the still small voice-Now is the hour for repentancethat your father's spirit may carry up to Heaven tidings of a contrite soul saved from the company of sinners!" The young man, with much effort, advanced to the bedside, and at last found voice to say, Father-I am not without the affections of nature and I hurried home the moment I heard that the minister had been seen riding towards our house. I hope that you will yet recover; and, if I have ever made you unhappy, I ask your forgiveness -for, though I may not think as you do on matters of religion, I have a human heart. Father! I may have been unkind, but I am not cruel. I ask your forgiveness." 66 66 Come near to me, William; kneel down by the bedside, and let my hand feel the head of my beloved son-for blindness is coming fast upon me. Thou wert my firstborn, and thou art my only living son. All thy brothers and sisters are lying in the church-yard, beside her whose sweet face thine own, William, did once so much resemble. Long wert thou the joy, the pride of my soul,-ay, too much the pride! for there was not in all the parish such a man, such a son, as my own William. If thy heart has since been changed, God may inspire it again with right thoughts. I have sorely wept for thee-ay, William when there was none near me-even as David wept for Absalom-for thee, my sou, my son!" A long deep groan was the only reply; but the whole body of the kneeling man was convulsed; and it was easy to see his sufferings, his contrition, his remorse, and his despair. The Pastor said, with a sterner voice, and austerer countenance than were natural to him, Know you whose hand is now lying on your rebellious head? But what signifies the word father to him who has denied God, the Father of us all?" "Oh! press him not too hardly," said his weeping wife, coming forward from a dark corner of the room, where she tried to conceal herself in grief, fear, and shame. Spare, oh! spare my husband-He has ever been kind to me;" and, with that, she knelt down beside him, with her long soft white arms mournfully, and affectionately laid across his neck. Go thou, likewise, my sweet little Jamie," said the Elder, "go even out of my bosom, and kneel down beside thy father and thy mother, so that I may bless you all at once, and with one yearning prayer." The child did as the solemn voice commanded, and knelt down somewhat timidly by his father's side; nor did the unhappy man decline encircling with his arm, the child too much neglected, but still dear to him as his own blood, in spite of the deadening and debasing influence of infidelity. Put the word of God into the hands of my son, and let him read aloud to his dying father, the 25th, 26th, and 27th verses of the eleventh chapter of the gospel according to St. John." The Pastor went up to the kneelers, and, with a voice of pity, condolence, and pardon, said, "There was a time when none, William, could read the Scriptures better than couldst thou--can it be that the son of my friend hath forgotten the lessons of his youth?" He had not forgotten them-There was no need for the repentant sinner to lift up his eyes from the bed-side. The sacred stream of the gospel had worn a channel in his heart, and the waters were again flowing. With a choked voice he said, 'Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life: And whosoever liveth, and believeth in me, shall never die. Believest thou this? She said unto him, Yea, Lord: I believe thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world." 66 That is not an unbeliever's voice," said the dying man, triumphantly; "nor, William, hast thou an unbeliever's heart. Say that thou believest in what thou hast now read, and thy father will die happy!" "I do believe; and as thou forgivest me, so may I be forgiven by my Father who is in heaven." The Elder seemed like a man suddenly inspired with a new life. His faded eyes kindledhis pale cheeks glowed-his palsied hand seemed to wax strong-and his voice was clear as that of manhood in its prime. "Into thy hands, O God! I commit my spirit; and, so saying, he gently sunk back on his pillow; and I thought I heard a sigh.-There was then a long deep silence; and the father, the mother, and the child, rose from their knees. The eyes of us all were turned towards the white placid face of the figure now stretched in everlasting rest; and, without lamentations-save the silent lamentations of the resigned soul-we stood around the DEATHBED OF THE Elder. Wilson. On Lord Byron's Lines upon the Field of Waterloo. HERE is the very cunning of the poet-one train of ideas excited to prepare you for receiving, in its full force, the shock of their opposite. The ball-room thrown open to you; beauty and chivalry, in all the splendour that should. grace the festive hour, presented to you; the voluptuous swell of music awakened for you; your senses, your imagination, and your affections, environed with scenes and images of sweetness, and grace, and loveliness, and joy-to strike you aghast with alarm, to bring trepidation and terror before you, in their most appalling shapes and attitudes. The whole scene, as by the waving of an enchanter's wand, changed in a moment! For smiles, tears; for blushes, paleness; for meetings, partings; for the assembly, the muster; for the dance, the march; for the music, the cannon; for the ball-room, the battle-field! This is one of the most favourite feats of poetry, and occurs frequently in the works of all great masters. It is a means by which they provoke that agitation and hurry of spirits, which enable them to take possession of their readers; and which consists in bringing contraries into sudden collision. The luxuriant valley opens upon the sterile heath; the level plain borders upon the rugged mountain; you walk in imagined security, and find yourself upon the brink of an abyss; you fall asleep with the languor of the calm, and awaken with the fury of the tempest! Campbell soothes the apprehensions of Gertrude-places Albert and his interesting family in their lighted bower, prolonging the joy of converse-when Outalissi rushes in to tell them, that "The mammoth comes! the foe! the monster Brandt! Thomson avails himself of the serenity of a placid summer's day, and the security and calm of requited, happy, |