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all his life long turning over soils, of which he knows not the properties, or the process of improving, or who is using diagrams in mechanism, of which he understands none of the principles, or who, in political affairs, gives his suffrage at the instance of a party, without being able to assign any good reason for his choice. We should expect that those whose minds had been turned to the real love of knowledge-a thing that our schools hitherto have had very little tendency to bring about would at least gain an acquaintance with those things, with which they are brought into close and continual contact.

It seems to us, moreover, and by itself considered, a grievous wrong to the human mind, that it should pass through a world like this, in such ignorance as generally prevails, of all the wonders it contains. It is a wrong, if we might say so, to the Creator. He has spread around us, on every side, miracles of his power and wisdom. He has filled all nature with the most beautiful and wonderful evidences of design and benevolence. He has crowded all the forms of animal and vegetable life, with models of unequalled art. He has fearfully and wonderfully made the human frame-made it, as one has said, 'a cluster of contrivances,'—and to what end has he done all this, but that it should be seen and understood? He has placed in this world one being, and only one that is capable of understanding it; and is it not an unnatural stupidity, and a grievous misfortune in this sole pupil of nature, if he knows nothing about it? This knowledge is not afar off, but it is nigh' to him. He cannot step from his door, but elements, forms, principles, illustrations press around him, as it were, and solicit his attention. The light, the air, the ocean, the solid earth are all filled with wonders. Philosophers who have inquired into these things, come back, and report to us the discovery of new worlds-worlds within worlds, beneath the covering of every animal and plant, and in the structure of every flower of the field, and every shell of the sea-shore. Each department of that world of mechanism which is found in every vegetable and insect, is made the subject of Philosophical Transactions, and elaborate works of science. And yet the mass of mankind pass through this magnificent theatre, richer than all that human imagination could devise and human art frame, as ignorant of its interior structure and symmetry, and the skill of its Architect, as if they had lived upon a barren mountain, or in a subterranean

mine. A world of wonders and beauties is, as it were, thrown away upon them.-And it is not for the want of time, that they are ignorant of all this. It does not require profound learning to understand it. Much time and study are indeed requisite for the examination of these subjects; but the results, the important results, are few, simple, and intelligible. Of the time which the active and the laborious portion of the world, which the body of mankind enjoys for leisure and amusement, one-tenth part would be sufficient for the most material and important acquisitions in useful science. Neither is there any want of meaus, of funds, to procure books, and form libraries. There is a want of nothing, necessary to the end, but inclination.

And it is from awakening this inclination among men, it is from the diffusion of useful knowledge of every sort, among the body of mankind, that we derive one of our strongest grounds of hope for human nature, and for the world. It was, for this reason, that we hailed the establishment of the mechanics' associations of England. And it is with the same hope and interest, that we now look for some aid in the great cause, to the Lyceums of this country.

Let us not complain of human nature, let not the world complain of the badness of its condition, till greater efforts are made for its improvement; till light is preferred to darkness; till knowledge is sought for as eagerly as wealth; till virtue commands more treasures and more labors in its cause, than vice; till projects for the public good shall acquire something of the zeal of projects for private aggrandizement. Till then, it would be premature to judge of the nature of man or of the wisdom of Providence, for we cannot fairly comprehend either.

The work to be done is great; but now is not the time to be discouraged. In darker ages, amidst untoward circumstances, in danger, if not despondency, the noble company of confessors and martyrs have been true to the cause of God, and of human welfare. Their commission, attested with holy vows and prayers, and sealed in their blood, they have sent down to us; and faint-hearted and false shall we be, if we do not and dare not accept the trust. They 'compass us about as a cloud of witnesses,' and enforce the apostolic exhortation, that we 'run with patience the race that is set before us.' Better times have come; let them not witness worse endeavors. Let the auspices of the age cheer us on. If

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faith has held out in gloomier days, let it not fail now. may be thought, that in the views we have given of the state of the world, we have made the ways of Providence dark. We cannot help the sad truth; we cannot make out the state of the human race to be better than we have represented; and we see not, indeed, that the inference with regard to Providence is darker in the case of the world, than in the case of an individual. But if there be a problem, a mystery, we lay on good men the charge to clear it up. They only can do it. One vigorous, persevering exertion, all over the world, to raise the human race to knowledge and virtue, would do more to 'vindicate the ways of God to man,' than the speculations of philosophers for centuries.

MORAL BEAUTY.

"Tis not alone in the flush of morn,
In the cowslip-bell or the blossom-thorn,
In noon's high hour, or twilight's hush,
In the shadowy stream, or the roses' blush,
Or in aught that bountiful nature gives,
That the delicate Spirit of Beauty lives.

Oh no! it lives, and breathes, and lies,
In a home more pure than the morning skies;
In the innocent heart it loves to dwell,
When it comes with a sigh or a tear to tell
Sweet visions that flow from a fount of love,
To mingle with all that is pure above.

It dwells with the one whose pitying eye
Looks out on the world with charity;
Whose generous hand delight to heal
The wounds that suffering mourners feel,
Without a wish or a hope or thought
That light should shine on the deeds it wrought.

It dwells in the heart that naught inspires,
But manly feelings, and high desires;
Where nothing can come like a selfish dream,
When visions of glory around it gleam,
Proud visions that show to the gifted mind,
The boundless sphere of the human kind.

Sweet Spirit of Beauty! my dreams are thine,
But I loose thee not when the day-beams shine;
Thy image is still to my constant gaze,
At midnight hour, or noontide blaze;
And none but one with a heart unsold,
Can know the bliss which thy lovers hold.

SPIRIT OF BEAUTY.

THE spirit of Beauty unfurls her light,
And wheels her course in a joyous flight;
I know her track through the balmy air,
By the blossoms that cluster and whiten there;
She leaves the tops of the mountains green,
And gems the valley with crystal sheen.

At morn, I know where she rested at night,
For the roses are gushing with dewy delight;
Then she mounts again, and round her, flings
A shower of light from her crimson wings;
Till the spirit is drunk with the music on high,
That silently fills it with ecstacy.

At noon she hies to a cool retreat,

Where bowering elms over waters meet,

She dimples the wave where the green leaves dip,
As it smilingly curls like a maiden's lip,

When her tremulous bosom would hide, in vain,
From her lover, the hope that she loves again.

At eve she hangs o'er the western sky
Dark clouds for a glorious canopy,
And round the skirts of their deepened fold,
She paints a border of purple and gold,
Where the ling'ring sunbeams love to stay,
When their god in his glory has passed away.

She hovers around us at twilight hour,

When her presence is felt with the deepest power, She silvers the landscape, and crowds the stream With shadows that flit like a fairy dream;

Then wheeling her flight through the gladdened air, The Spirit of Beauty is every where.

THE FLOWER OF HOPE.

"Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,

And waste its sweetness in the desert air."-GRAY. WHICHEVER way I turned, nothing appeared but danger and difficulty. I saw myself in the midst of a vast wilderness; in the depth of the rainy season, naked and alone, surrounded by savage animals, and men still more savage. I was five hundred miles from the nearest European settlement. At this moment painful as my reflections were, the extraordinary beauty of a small moss in germination irresistibly caught my eye. I mention this to show from what trifling circumstances the mind will sometimes derive consolation; for, though the whole plant was not larger than the top of one of my fingers, I could not contemplate the delicate conformation of its roots, leaves, and capsula, without admiration. Can that being, thought I, who planted, watered, and brought to perfection, in this obscure part of the world, a thing which appears of so small importance, look with unconcern upon the situation and sufferings of creatures formed after his own image? Surely not. I started up, and, disregarding both hunger, and fatigue, traveled forward, assured that relief was at hand, and I was not disappointed.-Anecdote from Park's first journey in Africa.

Verses on the above affecting incident by Alexander Letham, a pupil of the Asylum for the blind, at Edinburgh.

Ah! lovely flower, what care, what power,
In thy fair structure are displayed
By him who reared thee to this hour
Within the forest's lonely shade!

Thy tender stalk, and fibres fine,

Here find a shelter from the storm;
Perhaps no human eyes but mine
Ere gazed upon thy lovely form.
The dew-drop glistens on thy leaf,
As if thou seem'st to shed a tear;
As if thou knew'st my tale of grief—
Felt all my sufferings severe.
But ah! thou know'st not my distress,
In danger here from beasts of prey,

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