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It is painful to turn back from contemplating Bacon's philosophy, to contemplate his life. Yet, without so turning back, it is impossible to fairly estimate his powers. He left the University at an earlier age than that at which most people repair thither. While yet a boy he was plunged into the midst of diplomatic business. Thence he passed to the study of a vast technical system of law, and worked his way up through a succession of laborious offices to the highest post in his profession. In the meantime he took an active part in every Parliament; he was an adviser of the crown; he paid court with the greatest assiduity and address to all whose favour was likely to be of use to him; he lived much in society; he noted the slightest peculiarities of character and the slightest changes of fashion.

Scarcely any man has led a more stirring life than that which Bacon led from sixteen to sixty. Scarcely any man has been better entitled to be called a thorough man of the world. The founding of a new philosophy, the imparting of a new direction to the minds of speculators—this was the amusement of his leisure, the work of hours occasionally stolen from the Woolsack and the Council Board. This consideration, while it increases the admiration with which we regard his intellect, increases also our regret that such an intellect should so often have been unworthily employed. He well knew the better course, and had, at one time, resolved to pursue it.

"I confess," said he, in a letter written when he was still young, "that I have as vast contemplative ends, as I have moderate civil ends." Had his civil ends continued to be moderate, he would have been not only the Moses, but the Joshua of philosophy. He would have fulfilled a large part of his own magnificent predictions. He would not merely have pointed out, but would have divided the spoil. Above all, he would have left not only a great, but a spotless name. Mankind would then have been able to esteem their illustrious benefactor.

We should not then be compelled to regard his character with mingled contempt and admiration, with mingled aversion and gratitude. We should not then regret that there should be so many proofs of the narrowness and sel fishness of a heart, the benevolence of which was yet large enough to take in all races and all ages. We should not

then have to blush for the disingenuousness of the most devoted worshipper of speculative truth, for the servility of the boldest champion of intellectual freedom. We should not then have seen the same man at one time far in the van, and at another time far in the rear of his generation. We should not then be forced to own, that he who first treated legislation as a science, was among the last Englishmen who used the rack; that he who first summoned philosophers to the great work of interpreting nature, was among the last Englishmen who sold justice. And we should conclude our survey of a life placidly, honourably, beneficially passed, "in industrious observations, grounded conclusions, and profitable inventions and discoveries," with feelings very different from those with which we now turn away from the checkered spectacle of so much glory and so much shame.

LESSON CXXXIX.

On the Downfall of Poland.-CAMPBELL.

O SACRED Truth! thy triumph ceased awhile,
And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile,
When leagued Oppression pour'd to Northern wars
Her whisker'd pandours and her fierce hussars,
Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn,
Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn;
Tumultuous Horror brooded o'er her van,
Presaging wrath to Poland—and to man!

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Warsaw's last champion, from her height, survey'd,
Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid:
'O Heaven!" he cried, my bleeding country save!-
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave?
Yet, though destruction sweep those lovely plains,
Rise, fellow-men! our COUNTRY yet remains!
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high!
And swear, for her to live!—with her to die!"

He said, and on the rampart-heights array'd
His trusty warriors, few, but undismay'd;

Firin-paced and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm!
Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly,
Revenge, or dEATH !—the watchword and reply;
Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charm,
And the loud tocsin toll'd their last alarm !—

In vain-alas! in vain, ye gallant few!
From rank to rank your volley'd thunder flew :
Oh! bloodiest picture in the book of Time,
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime!
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her wo!

Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd spear,
Closed her bright eye, and curb'd her bright career;
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shriek'd-as KOSCIUSKO fell!

LESSON CXL.

Saturday Evening.—Bulwer.

THE week is past, the Sabbath dawn comes on,
Rest-rest in peace-thy daily toil is done;
And standing, as thou standest, on the brink
Of a new scene of being, calmly think
Of what is gone, is now, and soon shall be,
As one that trembles on eternity.
For sure as this now closing week is past,
So sure advancing Time will close my
last-
Sure as to-morrow, shall the awful light
Of the eternal morning hail my sight.
Spirit of good! on this week's verge I stand,
Tracing the guiding influence of thy hand;
That hand which leads me gently, calmly still,
Up life's dark, stony, tiresome, thorny hill,
Thou, thou in every storm hast sheltered me
Beneath the wing of thy benignity;
A thousand writhe upon the bed of pain:
I live-and pleasure flows through every vein
A thousand graves my footsteps circumvent,
And I exist-thy mercy's monument!

Want o'er a thousand wretches waves her wand;
I, circled by ten thousand mercies, stand;
How can I praise thee, Father! how express
My debt of rev'rence and of thankfulness!
A debt that no intelligence can count,

While every moment swells the vast amount;
For the week's duties thou hast given me strength,
And brought me to its peaceful close at length,
And here my grateful bosom fain would raise
A fresh memorial to thy glorious praise.

LESSON CXLI.

God.-BowRING.

[Translated from the Russian of DERZHAVIN.]

O THOU Eternal One! whose presence bright

All space doth оссиру, all motion guide;

Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight;
Thou only God! There is no God beside!
Being above all Beings! Mighty One!

Whom none can comprehend and none explore!
Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone:
Embracing all,-supporting,-ruling o'er,-
Being, whom we call God!—and know no more.

In its sublime research, philosophy

May measure out the ocean-deep; may count The sands, or the sun's rays; but, God! for thee There is no weight nor measure :—none can mount Up to thy mysteries. Reason's brightest spark, Though kindled by thy light, in vain would try To trace thy counsels, infinite and dark;

And thought is lost, ere thought can soar so high, Even like past moments in eternity.

Thou from primeval nothingness didst call

First chaos, then existence. Lord, on thee

Eternity had its foundation: al'

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Sprang forth from thee-of light, joy, harmony, Sole origin;-all life, all beauty thine.

Thy word created all, and doth create ;
Thy splendour fills all space with rays divine.
Thou art, and wert, and shalt be, glorious! great!
Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate!

Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround,
Upheld by thee, by thee inspired with breath!
Thou the beginning with the end hast bound,
And beautifully mingled life and death.
As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze,

So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from thee; And, as the spangles in the sunny rays

Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry Of heaven's bright army glitters in thy praise.

A million torches, lighted by thy hand,

Wander unwearied through the blue abyss:
They own thy power, accomplish thy command,
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss.
What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light?
A glorious company of golden streams?
Lamps of celestial ether burning bright?

Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams?
But thou to these art as the moon to night.

Yes; as a drop of water in the sea,

All this magnificence in thee is lost :

What are ten thousand worlds compared to thee?
And what am I then? Heaven's unnumber'd host,—
Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed

In all the glory of sublimest thought,

Is but an atom in the balance, weighed

Against thy greatness; is a cipher brought

Against infinity! Oh! what am I then ?-Nought!

Nought! But the effluence of thy light divine,
Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too;
Yes! in my spirit doth thy spirit shine,

As shines the sun-beam in a drop of dew.
Nought! But I live, and on hope's pinions fly,
Eager, towards thy presence; for in thee
I live, and breathe, and dwell; aspiring high,
Even to the throne of thy divinity.

I am, O God; and surely thou must be!

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