EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF LORD MANSFIELD.

Who, when she suffers wrong, will speak her anger;
Who feels her own prerogative, and scorns,

By the proud reason of superior man,

To be taught patience when her swelling heart
Cries out revenge!

Duke. Why, let the flood rage on!

There is no tide in woman's wildest passion
But hath an ebb. I've broke the ice, however
Write to her father! She may write a folio--
But if she send it! "Twill divert her spleen;
The flow of ink may save her blood-letting;
Perchance she may have fits, they're seldom mortal,
Save when the doctor's sent for.-

[Exit.

Though I have heard some husbands say, and wisely,
A woman's honour is her safest guard,

225

[Locks the door.

Yet there's some virtue in a lock and key.
So thus begins our honeymoon. 'Tis well.
For the first fortnight, ruder than March winds,
She'll blow a hurricane. The next, perhaps,
Like April, she may wear a changeful face
Of storm and sunshine: and, when that is past,
She will break glorious as unclouded May.
Whilst others, for a month's delirious joy,
Buy a dull age of penance, we, more wisely,
Taste first the wholesome bitter of the cup,
That after to the very lees shall relish,
And to the close of this frail life prolong

The pure delights of a well-govern'd marriage.

(228.) EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF LORD MANSFIELD, IN THE BRITISH PARLIAMENT IN 1770.

William Murray, Earl of Mansfield, eminent lawyer, b. 1704, d. 1793. In 1754 he was made attorney-general.

My Lords,—I come now to speak upon what, indeed, I would have gladly avoided, had I not been particularly pointed at for the part I have taken in this bill. It has been said by a noble lord on my left hand, that I likewise am running the race of popularity.

If the noble lord means by popularity that applause bestowed by after ages on good and virtuous actions, I have long been struggling in that race; to what purpose all-trying time can alone determine :

but if the noble lord means that mushroom popularity that is raised without merit and lost without crime, he is much mistaken in his opinion. I defy the noble lord to point out a single action of my life, where the popularity of the times ever had the smallest influence on my determinations.

I thank God I have a more permanent and steady rule for my conduct, the dictates of my own breast. Those that have foregone that pleasing adviser, and give up their mind to be the slave of every popular impulse, I sincerely pity; I pity them still more, if their vanity leads them to mistake the shouts of a mob for the trumpet of fame. Experience might inform them, that many who have been saluted with the huzzas of a crowd one day have received their execrations the next; and many, who, by the popularity of their times, have been held up as spotless patriots, have, nevertheless, appeared upon the historian's page, when truth has triumphed over delusion, the assassins of liberty.

Why, then, the noble lord can think I am ambitious of present popularity, that echo of folly and shadow of renown, I am at a loss to determine.

Besides, I do not know that the bill now before your lordships will be popular: it depends much upon the caprice of the day. It may not be popular to compel people to pay their debts; and in that case the present must be a very unpopular bill. It may not be popular neither to take away any of the privileges of parliament; for I very well remember, and many of your lordships may remember, that not long ago the popular cry was for the extension of privilege; and so far did they carry it at that time, that it was said that the privilege protected members even in criminal actions; nay, such was the power of popular prejudices over weak minds, that the very decisions of some of the courts were tinctured with that doctrine.

It was undoubtedly an abominable doctrine; I thought so then, and think so still: but, nevertheless, it was a popular doctrine, and came immediately from those who are called the friends of liberty; how deservedly, time will show. True liberty, in my opinion, can only exist when justice is equally administered to all; to the king, and to the beggar.

Where is the justice, then, or where is the law, that protects a member of parliament, more than any other man, from the punishment due to his crimes? The laws of this country allow of no place, nor any employment, to be a sanctuary for crimes; and where I have the honour to sit as judge, neither royal favour nor popular applause shall ever protect the guilty.

(229.) PURITY.

Rev. Chauncey Giles, clergyman in the United States and miscellaneous writer, b. 1814; author of Gate of Pearl, Magic Shoes, The Atonement, Spiritual World, &c.

How can we see God? In what sense can we see Him? We can see Him in His works, for where we see His love and wisdom we see Him. We can see Him in man, who was created in His image and likeness; in the Sacred Scriptures, in which He has revealed Himself; and in Jesus Christ, the humanity He assumed for the express purpose of so veiling His divine nature that He might come near to man, and not destroy him, for "God out of Christ is a consuming fire.”

We may be able, now, to understand more clearly why the pure in heart alone can see God. The pure in heart are those who love God, and we are always looking for what we love. They will see Him in His works. To them the universe will be full of His presence; and in the least and the greatest things they will see tokens of His wisdom and goodness. Look up on a cloudless night to the firmament of worlds that spans your dwelling. Science teaches you that the firmament encircles the earth, and that it stretches away into infinite depths-that all you can see is as nothing to what you cannot see; that those little points of light are suns, the centres of vast systems, and that the thin, transparent veil of light that just obscures the blue, is the blended light of systems of worlds beyond.

But is this all that you see? Is your whole thought and affection absorbed in the grandeur and beauty of the material scene? Does it suggest nothing more than itself? If your heart is pure, if it beats with love to the Lord, your thoughts will spontaneously rise to Him. The visible scene will suggest the wisdom, and love, and omnipotent power of Him who created it. It may even vanish from your thought; you may seem to stand as in His presence, and to see Him alone. You are humble, subdued, reverent. You have gained some new ideas of His wisdom and power, and you feel the influx of a new life throbbing in your heart.

Some one, whom you love with a pure, unselfish affection, sends you a gift of flowers. How beautiful they are! What splendour of colour! What harmony of blending shades! What loveliness and symmetry of form! What delicacy of texture! With what delicious fragrance they fill the air! You see and enjoy all this loveliness and beauty. But is this all you see? Can you limit your thought to the gift before you? It is not possible. The affections turn the thoughts

to the giver. They express something higher than themselves. You see the thoughtfulness, the remembrance, the delicacy, the pure taste of the giver. In some particulars you may see the character more fully than you could in any personal presence.

But if your heart be pure and glowing with love to the Lord, would it not lift the thought to Him who wove the frail fabric of leaf and petal from earth's finest substances, with a skill surpassing all human conception, and who clothed them with the many-hued garment of light? If the friend who plucked and gave them expressed taste, kindness, and thoughtful regard, what does He express who made them? Can the loving heart fail to see His goodness, His kind remembrance, and loving regard for His children? No, it is not possible! The Lord proclaims His love and wisdom in everything He has created; and there is no better evidence that our hearts are filled with the impurities of selfish and worldly loves, that we see nothing more in the world than what will minister to them. Men talk every day of the beauty and grandeur of the works of nature. The natural philosopher and the devotee of science study those works, and grow eloquent over the wonders and riches of beauty, order, and harmony they discover. But there are no works of nature! Nature itself, in all its manifold forms, in the least and greatest things, is the work of God. He is ever present in nature, but we see Him not, because we love Him not. Nature is nothing but the thin veil He wears, which partly conceals and partly reveals His love and wisdom. It is the manifold form in which He seeks to come to us. He stands behind every leaf, and speaks to us in every form and motion, through eye and ear, and touch and taste.

(230.) ON THE THEATRE.

William Ellery Channing, Unitarian minister of the United States, b. 1780, d. 1842. "As a preacher he was remarkable for the polished grace with which he adorned his style, and the love of pure and lofty morality with which his sentiments were inspired."

In its present state the theatre deserves no encouragement. In saying this I do not mean that the amusement is radically, essentially evil. I can conceive of a theatre which would be the noblest of all amusements, and would take a high rank among the means of refining the taste and elevating the character of a people. The deep woes, the mighty and terrible passions, and the sublime emotions of genuine tragedy, are fitted to thrill us with human sympathies, with profound interest in our nature, with a consciousness of what man can do, and

dare, and suffer-with an awed feeling of the fearful mysteries of life. The soul of the spectator is stirred from its depths; and the lethargy in which so many live is roused, at least for a time, to some intenseness of thought and sensibility. The Drama answers a high purpose, when it places us in the presence of the most solemn and striking events of human history, and lays bare to us the human heart in its most powerful, appalling, or glorious workings. But how little does the Theatre accomplish this end! How often is it disgraced by monstrous distortions of human nature; and still more disgraced by profaneness, coarseness, indelicacy, and low wit, such as none take pleasure in without self-degradation. That the theatre exists in its present condition is a reproach to the community. Were it to fall, a better drama might spring up in its place. In the meantime, is there not an amusement, having an affinity with the drama, which might be usefully introduced among us? I mean, Recitation. A work of Genius, recited by a man of fine taste, enthusiasm, and powers of elocution, is a very pure and high gratification. Were this art cultivated and encouraged, great numbers, now insensible to the most beautiful compositions, might be waked up to their excellence and power. It is not easy to conceive of a more effectual way of spreading a refined taste through a community. The drama undoubtedly appeals more strongly to the passions than recitation; but the latter brings out the meaning of the author more. Shakspere, worthily recited, would be better understood than on the stage. Then, in recitation, we escape the weariness of listening to incompetent performers, who, after all, fill up most of the time at the theatre. Recitation, sufficiently varied, so as to include pieces of chaste wit, as well as of pathos, beauty, and sublimity, is adapted to our present intellectual progress, as much as the drama falls below it. Should this exhibition be introduced among us successfully, the result would be, that the power of recitation would be extensively called forth, and this would be a valuable addition to our social and domestic pleasures.

(231.) THE MITHERLESS BAIRN.

When a' ither bairnies are hushed to their hame
By aunty, or cousin, or frecky grand-dame,
Wha stands last and lanely, an' naebody carin'?
'Tis the puir doited loo ie, the mitherless bairn.

The mitherless bairn gangs to his lane bed;
Nane covers his cauld back, or haps his bare head;