I think I have shown you that I have no wish to forget the men in the books-that my great desire is that we should connect them together. But if we have known anything about the writers, or our fathers have known anything about them, if we have heard their acts and words gossiped about, they are not such good tests of the way in which we may discern them in their books, and learn what they are from their books. But as I began this lecture with some animadversions upon the tendency of one part of our popular literature to weaken our feeling that books are our friends, I ought to say that I am very far indeed from thinking that this is the effect which the more eminent writers among us produce. In their different ways, I believe most of them have addressed themselves to our human sympathies, and have claimed a place for their books, not upon our shelves, but in our hearts. Of some, both prose writers and poets, this is eminently true. Perhaps, from feeling the depressing influence of the We-teaching upon all our minds, they have taken even overmuch pains to show that each one of them comes before us as an I, and will not meet us upon any other terms. Many, I hope, who have established this intercourse with us will keep it with our children and our children's children, and will leave books that will be regarded as friends as long as the English language lasts, and in whatever regions of the earth it may be spoken.

It is very pleasant to think in what distant parts of the earth it is spoken, and that in all those parts these books which are friends of ours are acknowledged as friends. And there is a living and productive power in them. They have produced an American literature, which is coming back to instruct us. They will produce by-and-by an Australian literature, which will be worth all the gold that is sent to us from the diggings.

were produced upon a very simple-hearted and brave negro-whose whole life had been one of zealous self-devotion to some white children, but who had had no book teaching whatsoever-by the stories which were read to him out of the Old and New Testaments. We are told with great simplicity and with self-evident truth, how every one of these stories started to life in his mind, how every person who is spoken of in them came forth before the hearer as an actual living being, how his inmost soul confessed the book as a reality and as a friend. No lesson, I think, is more suited to our purpose. It shows us what injury we do to the Book of Books when we regard it as a book of letters, and not as a book of life; none can bear a stronger witness to us how it may come forth as the Book of Life, to save all others from sinking into dryness and death. I have detained you far too long in endeavoring to show you how every true book exhibits to us some man, from whose mind its thoughts have issued, and with whom it brings us acquainted. May I add this one word in conclusion ?—that I believe all books may do that for us, because there is one Book which, besides bringing into clearness and distinctness a number of men of different ages from the creation downwards, brings before us one Friend, the chief and centre of all, who is called there The Son of Man.

principal works are: Historic Doubts Relative to Napo

leon Bonaparte, London (1819), anon; The Use and Abuse of Party Feeling in Matters of Religion Considered,

Bampton Lecture, Oxford (1822); Essays (First Series) on some of the Peculiarities of the Christian Religion, Oxford (1825); Elements of Logic, London (1827), often reprinted; Elements of Rhetoric, Oxford (1828); Essays (Second Series) on some of the Difficulties in the Writings

ment, London (1828); A View of the Scripture Revelations concerning a Future State, London (1829); Essays (Third Series); The Errors of Romanism traced to their Origin

in Human Nature, London (1830); Introductory Lectures

on Political Economy, London (1831); Essays on some

of the Dangers to Christian Faith, London (1839); The Kingdom of Christ Delineated, London (1841); Introduo

tory Lessons on Christian Evidences, London (1843); Easy Lessons on Reasoning (1843); Lectures on the History of Religious Worship, London (1847); Treatise on Logic (from the Encyclopædia Metropolitana), London (1849); Treatise on Rhetoric (from the Encyclopædia Metropol iluna), London (1849); Scripture Revelations concerning Characters of Our Lord's Apostles, London (1851); Cautions for the Times, London (1853); Principles of Elocu

Good and Evil Angels, London (1851); Lectures on the

tion (1854); Bacon's Essays, with Annotations, London

(1856); Introductory Lessons on Mind, Boston (1859); In troductory Lessons on Morals, London (1860); Paley's Moral Philosophy, with Annotations, London (1859); Paley's View of the Evidences of Christianity, with Anno

tations, London (1859, 8vo., 1861, 8vo.); Introductory

Lessons on the British Constitution, London (1859); Lectures on some of the Parables, London (1859); General View of the Rise, Progress, and Corruptions of Christianity (from Encyclopædia Britannica, 8th edition), with a Sketch of the Life of the Author, and a Catalogue of his Writings, New York (1860); Miscellaneous Lectures and Reviews, now first collected, London (1861.)

See also: Detached Thoughts and Apophthegms extracted from some of the Writings of Archbishop Whately, First Series, London (1855); Selections from the Writings of Archbishop Whately, comprising his Thoughts and Apophthegms, London (1856); Miscellaneous Remains, Edited by Miss E. J. Whately, London (1864); Memoirs of Archbishop Whately, by W. Fitzpatrick (1864, 2 vols.); The Life and Correspondence of Archbishop Whately, by [his daughter] E. Jane Whately, London (1866), 2 vols.

"To great powers of argument and illustration, and delightful transparency of diction and style, he adds a higher quality still,—and a very rare quality it is,—an

evident and intense honesty of purpose, an absorbing

desire to arrive at the exact truth and to state it with

perfect fairness and with the just limitations."-HENRY

ROGERS: Edinburgh Review.]

I am convinced that the extension and perfection of friendship will constitute great part of the future happiness of the Blest. Many have lived in various and distant ages and countries, perfectly adapted (I mean not merely in their being generally estimable, but in the agreement of their tastes and suitableness of dispositions) for friendship with each other, but who, of course, could never meet in this world. Many a one selects, when he is reading history-a truly pious Christian, most especially in reading sacred historysome one or two favorite characters, with whom he feels that a personal acquaintance would have been peculiarly delightful to him. Why should not such a desire be realized in a future state? A wish to see and personally know, for example, the Apostle Paul, or John, is the most likely to arise in the noblest and purest mind. I

should be sorry to think such a wish absurd and presumptuous, or unlikely to be gratified. The highest enjoyment, doubtless, to the blest, will be the personal knowledge of their divine and beloved Master; yet I cannot but think that some part of their happiness will consist in an intimate knowledge of the greatest of his followers also; and of those of them in particular whose peculiar qualities are, to each, the most peculiarly attractive.

In this world, again, our friendships are limited not only to those who live in the same age and country, but to a small portion only even of those who are not unknown to us, and whom we know to be estimable and amiable, and who, we feel, might have been among our dearest friends. Our command of time and leisure to cultivate friendships imposes a limit to their extent they are bounded rather by the occupation of our thoughts than of our affections. And the removal of such impediments in a better world seems to me a most desirable and a most probable change.

I see no reason, again, why those who have been dearest friends on earth should not, when admitted to that happy state, continue to be so, with full knowledge and recollection of their former friendship. If a man is still to continue (as there is every reason to suppose) a social being and capable of friendship, it seems contrary to all probability that he should cast off or forget his former friends, who are partakers with him of the like exaltation. He will, indeed, be greatly changed from what he was on earth, and unfitted, perhaps, for friendship with such a being as one of us is Now; but his friend will have undergone (by supposition) a corresponding change. And as we have seen those who have been loving play fellows in childhood, grow up, if they grow up with good, and with like dispositions, into still closer friendship in riper years, so also it is prob able that when this our state of childhood shall be perfected, in the maturity of a better world, the like attachment will continue between those companions who have trod together the Christian path to glory, and have taken sweet counsel together, and walked in the house of God as friends." A change to indifference towards those who have fixed their hearts on the same objects with ourselves during this earthly pilgrimage, and have given and received mutual aid during their course, is a change

66

as little, I trust, to be expected, as it is to be desired. It certainly is not such a change as the Scriptures teach us to prepare for.

CHARACTER OF NAPOLEON

BONAPARTE.

[Charles Phillips, an Irish orator, barrister, and author, born at Sligo, Ireland, 1787, entered the Middle Temple, 1807, called to the Irish bar, 1811, and to the English bar, 1821, Commissioner of Bankruptcy at Liverpool, 1842, and a Commissioner of the Court of Insolvent Debtors, 1846, until his death, 1859. He ac

quired great reputation at the bar for impassioned, flowery eloquence. He wrote The Consolations of Erin,

a Poem (1811); The Loves of Celestine and St. Aubert, a Romantic Tale, London (1811), 2 vols.; The Emerald Isle, a Poem, London (1812); Historical Character of

Napoleon, London (1817); The Lament of the Emerald

Isle (for the Princess Charlotte, 1817); Speeches Deliv

ered at the Bar and on Several Public Occasions in Ireland

and England, London (1817), New York (1817), Philadelphia (1818); Recollections of John Philpot Curran and some of his Contemporaries, London (1818), New York (1818); Specimens of Irish Eloquence, etc. (with Biograph

ical Notices of Burke, Curran, Plunkett, Flood), London (1819), New York (1820); The Queen's Case Stated in an Address to the King, London (1820); Historical Sketch of Arthur, Duke of Wellington, Brighton (1852); Napoleon the Third, London (1854); Thoughts on Capital Punishments, London (1857), new edition (1866); Speeches of Phillips, Curran, and Grattan, Philadelphia

(1831), and later editions.]

He is fallen! We may now pause before that splendid prodigy, which towered amongst us like some ancient ruin, whose frown terrified the glance its magnificence attracted.

Grand, gloomy, and peculiar, he sat upon the throne, a sceptred hermit, wrapt in the solitude of his own originality.

A mind bold, independent, and decisive --a will despotic in its dictates-an energy that distanced expedition, and a conscience pliable to every touch of interest, marked the outline of this extraordinary character -the most extraordinary, perhaps, that, in the annals of this world, ever rose, or reigned, or fell.

Flung into life in the midst of a Revolution that quickened every energy of a people who acknowledged no superior, he commenced his course, a stranger by birth, and a scholar by charity!

With no friend but his sword, and no fortune but his talents, he rushed into the

lists where rank, and wealth, and genius had arrayed themselves, and competition fled from him as from the glance of destiny. He knew no motive but interesthe acknowledged no criterion but success -he worshipped no God but ambition, and with an eastern devotion he knelt at the shrine of his idolatry.

Subsidiary to this, there was no creed that he did not profess, there was no opinion that he did not promulgate; in the hope of a dynasty, he upheld the Crescent; for the sake of a divorce, he bowed before the Cross: the orphan of St. Louis, he became the adopted child of the Republic; and with a parricidal ingratitude, on the ruins both of the throne and the tribune, he reared the fabric of his despotism.

Pope; a pretended patriot, he impover A professed Catholic, he imprisoned the Brutus, he grasped without remorse, and ished the country; and in the name of wore without shame, the diadem of the Cæsars!

Through this pantomime of his policy, Fortune played the crown to his caprices. At his touch, crowns crumbled, beggars reigned, systems vanished, the wildest theories took the color of his whim, and all that was venerable, and all that was novel, changed places with the rapidity of a drama. Even apparent defeat assumed the appearance of victory-his flight from Egypt confirmed his destiny-ruin itself only elevated him to empire.

But if his fortune was great, his genius was transcendent; decision flashed upon his councils; and it was the same to decide and perform. To inferior intellects his combinations appeared perfectly impossi ble, his plans perfectly impracticable; but in his hands, simplicity marked their development, and success vindicated their adoption.

His person partook the character of his mind-if the one never yielded in the cabinet, the other never bent in the field.

Nature had no obstacles that he did not surmount, space no opposition that he did not spurn; and whether amid Alpine rocks, Arabian sands, or polar snows, he seemed proof against peril, and empowered with ubiquity! The whole continent of Europe trembled at beholding the audacity of his designs, and the miracle of their execution. Scepticism bowed to the prodigies of his performance; romance assumed

the air of history; nor was there aught too incredible for belief, or too fanciful for expectation, when the world saw a subaltern of Corsica waving his imperial flag over her most ancient capitals. All the visions of antiquity became common places in his contemplation; kings were his people nations were his outposts; and he disposed of courts, and crowns, and camps, and churches, and cabinets as if they were the titular dignitaries of the chess-board!

Amidst all these changes he stood immutable as adamant. It mattered little whether in the field or the drawing-room -with the mob or the levée-wearing the Jacobin bonnet or the iron crown-banishing a Braganza or espousing a Hapsburg -dictating peace on a raft to the Czar of Russia or contemplating defeat at the gallows of Leipsic he was still the same military despot!

Cradled in the camp, he was to the last hour the darling of the army; and whether in the camp or the cabinet, he never forsook a friend or forgot a favor. Of all his soldiers, not one abandoned him, till affection was useless, and their first stipulation was for the safety of their favorite.

They knew well that if he was lavish of them, he was prodigal of himself; and that if he exposed them to peril, he repaid them with plunder. For the soldier he subsidized everybody; to the people he made even pride pay tribute. The victorious veteran glittered with his gains; and the capital, gorgeous with the spoils of art, became the miniature metropolis of the universe. In this wonderful combination, his affectation of literature must not be omitted. The gaoler of the press, he affected the patronage of letters-the proscriber of books, he encouraged philosophy-the persecutor of authors, and the murderer of printers, he yet pretended to the protection of learning the assassin of Palm, the silencer of De Staël, and the denouncer of Kotzebue, he was the friend of David, the benefactor of De Lille, and sent his academic prize to the philosopher of England.

Such a medley of contradictions, and at the same time such an individual consistency, were never united in the same character. A Royalist-a Republican—and an Emperor a Mahometan-a Catholic and a patron of the Synagogue-a Subaltern and a Sovereign-a Traitor and a Tyrant—a Christian and an Infidel-he was, through

all his vicissitudes, the same stern, impatient, inflexible original-the same mysterious, incomprehensible self-the man without a model, and without a shadow.

His fall, like his life, baffled all speculation. In short, his whole history was like a dream to the world, and no man can tell how or why he was awakened from the reverie.

Such is a faint and feeble picture of Napoleon Bonaparte, the first Emperor of the French.

That he has done much evil there is little doubt; that he has been the origin of much good, there is just as little. Through his means, intentional or not, Spain, Portugal, and France have risen to the blessings of a free constitution; Superstition has found her grave in the ruins of the Inquisition, and the feudal system, with its whole train of tyrannic satellites, has fled forever. Kings may learn from him that their safest study, as well as their noblest, is the interest of the people; the people are taught by him that there is no despotism so stupendous against which they have not a resource; and to those who would rise upon the ruins of both, he is a living lesson that if ambition can raise them from the lowest station, it can also prostrate them from the highest. – Oration at the Bar, 1822.

THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED.

[Caroline Bowles Southey, an English author and poet, was the second wife of Robert Southey, and was born at Lymington, in 1786; died there in 1854.

Being overtaken by poverty in middle age, she began

to turn her talents to account in literature, sending her first poems to Southey, the editor, which led to

their acquaintance and ultimate marriage. She wrote

in prose Chapters on Churchyards (1829); and her collected poems have been published. Queen Victoria granted her an annual pension of £200 in 1852. Among the best poems of Caroline Southey is The Pauper's Death-Bed.]

Stranger! however great, with lowly reverence bow;

There's one in that poor shed-one by that paltry bed

Greater than thou.

Beneath that beggar's roof, Lo! Death doth keep his state:

Ween ye that law and right and the rule of life are uncertain,

Wild as the wandering wind, loose as the drift of the sand?

Fools! look round and perceive an order and measure in all things!

Look at the herb as it grows, look at the life of the brute:

This palace-gate.

sustains all;

Water, and fire, and air, wavy and wild though they be,

courtiers tread;

One silent woman stands, lifting with meagre hands

A dying head.

No mingling voices sound-an infant wail

alone;

and without it

Earth would burst every bond, ocean would yawn into hell.

Life and breath, what are they? the system of laws that sustains thee

Ceases: and, mortal, say whither thy being hath fled!

and then

The parting groan.

O change-0 wondrous change! Burst are the prison bars:

This moment there, so low, so agonized, and

now

Beyond the stars.

O change-stupendous change! There lies the soulless clod:

The sun eternal breaks-the new immortal wakes

Wakes with his God.

ADRASTEA.

[Carl Ludwig Von Knebel. This poet was born in 1744, at Wallerstein, in Franken. He was educated in Anspach, by Uz, and afterwards became an officer in Potsdam. In 1774 he was appointed tutor to the Prince Constantine in Weimar, and there lived in the society of Goethe, Herder, and Wieland. He removed afterwards to Ilmenau, and finally to Jena. His death took place in 1834, at the age of ninety years. He was a distinguished lyric poet, and an excellent translator. His poems were published anonymously in 1815, at Leipsic. His translation of the Elegies of Propertius appeared in 1798, and that of Lucretius in 1821. His Remains and Correspondence were published by Varnhagen von Ense and Theodore Mundt, at Leipsic, in 1835, and republished in 1840.]