enters the caverns buried far beneath the surface, and is struck with amazement at the grandeur and magnificence of a subterranean palace, hewn out, as it were, by the power of the Genii,* and decorated by the taste of the Queen of the Fairies. 5. Such is the natural world; and such, for the most part, has it ever been, since men began to subdue the wilderness, to scatter the ornaments of civilization amid the rural scenery of nature, and to plant the lily on the margin of the deep, the village on the hill-side, and martial battlements in the defiles of the mountains. Such has been the natural world, whether beheld by the eye of savage or barbarian, of the civilized or the refined. Such has it been, for the most part, whether contemplated by the harpers of Greece, the bards of Northern Europe, or the voluptuous minstrels of the Troubadour† age. Such it was, when its beauties, like scattered stars, beamed on the page of classic lore; and such, when its "sunshine of picture" poured a flood of meridian splendor on modern literature. 6. Admirable as the natural world is for its sublimity and beauty, who would compare it, even for an instant, with the sublimity and beauty of the MORAL WORLD? Is not the soul, with its glorious destiny and its capacities for eternal happiness, more awful and majestic than the boundless Pacific, or the interminable An'des? Is not the mind, with its thoughts that wander through eternity, and its wealth of intellectual power, an object of more intense interest than forest, or cataract, or précipice? And the heart, so eloquent in the depth, purity, and pathos of its affections,-can the richest scenery of hill and dale, can the melody of breeze, and brook, and bird rival it in loveliness? 7. The same God is the Author of the invisible and visible world. The moral grandeur and beauty of the world of man *GE'-NI-I, imaginary beings, some good, some bad, fabled to oc cupy a place intermediate between men and angels. TROU-BA-DOUR age, that is, the age of the Troubadours, a class of poets who flourished from the eleventh to about the commence ment of the fifteenth century. are equally the productions of His wisdom and goodness, with the fair, the sublime, the wonderful in the physical creation. What, indeed, are these, but the outward manifestations of His might, skill, and benevolence? What are they but a glorious volume, forever speaking to the eye and ear of man, in the language of sight and sound, the praises of its Author? And what are those but images, faint and imperfect as they are, of His own incomprehensible attributes? What are they, the soul, the mind, the heart of an immortal being, but the temple of the Holy Spirit; the dwelling-place of Him whom the Heaven of heavens can not contain, who inhabiteth eternity? 1 EXERCISE CLXVI. BEAUTY OF AGE. "The principle of beauty hath no age, L. H. SIGOURNEY. It looketh forth, even though the eye be dim, 2. The beauty of age! Does any one call me ironical, or point the finger at me in derision? Verily, I am speaking in good faith. Yet am I not ignorant of what Time takes away. I know that he is prone to steal from the eye its luster, and from the Parian brow its smoothness. The round cheek falls away at his plowshare, and the dimples disappear. The hair, no longer abundant, leaves the bald crown, or withered temples unshielded. Its hues of chestnut, or auburn, or raven black, vanish, and the complexion, no longer relieved by their rich contrast, loses its tint of rose or lily, and settles into the trying companionship of iron gray or white. 3. The erect form yields its dignity. The vertebral column bends, and the limos resign their elasticity. Happy are they who are compelled to call in no aid from crutch or staff, to sustain their footsteps. The beautiful hand loses its plump. ness, and bones and sinews and jagged veins become protuberant. Even the ear sometimes forfeits its delicate symmetry, and grows elephantine. The voice is prone to forget its harmony, or, unmodified by its dental allies, "pipes and whistles in its sound." 4. All these deteriorations, and more than these, I admit, yet boldly sustain my argument, the beauty of age. Where is it? In what does it consist? Its dwelling is in the soul, and it makes itself visible by radiations that reach the soul; by the smile of benevolence, by limitless good will, by a saintly serenity, by the light of heaven shining upon the head that is so near it. 5. The smile of Washington, which had always possessed a peculiar charm, gathered force and sweetness from the snows of time. One who was accustomed to meet him in the family, says: Whenever he gave me one of these smiles, I always felt the tears swelling under my eye-lids." 66 6. What an affecting sketch of the tranquil beauty of age on which death hath set his seal, is given in a letter from Pope, to an artist whom he desires to preserve the likeness of the mother, whose declining years were soothed by his filial love and duty. 7. "My poor old mother is dead. I thank God that her death was as easy as her life has been innocent; and, as it cost her not a groan, or even a sigh, there is still upon her countenance such an expression of tranquillity, nay, almost of pleasure, that it is amiable to behold. It would afford the finest image of a saint expired, that painter ever drew; and it would be the greatest obligation which that art could bestow on a friend, if you could come and sketch it for me. I hope to see you soon, ere this winter flower shall have faded. I will defer the interment until to-morrow night. I know you love me, or I could not have written this, or, indeed, at such a time, have written at all. Adieu! May you die as happy !" 8. At his villa of Twickenham, bought with the first fruits of his translation of Homer's Iliad, the poet sheltered and §îl aced this venerable mother. From her honored seat at his fireside, her tender, simple message cheered him amid his toils:-"I send you my daily prayers, and I bless you, my deare." More touching and admirable was the interchange of these hallowed sensibilities, than all the melody of his verse. 9. Of the intrinsic beauty of age, I have been so happy as to see some distinguished specimens. My infant eyes opened upon one. My earliest perceptions of the beautiful and holy were entwined with silver hairs, and I bless God, that the fourteen first years of life dwelt under their serene shadow. A fair countenance, a clear, blue eye, and a voice of music, return to me as I recall the image of that venerated lady, over whom more than threescore and ten years had passed, ere I saw the light, 10. Her tall, graceful form, moving with elastic steps through the parterres, whose numerous flowers she superintended, and her brow raised in calm meditation from the sacred volume she was reading, were to me beautiful. Many sought to take counsel of her, both for the things of this life and the next, and her words were so uttered as to make them happier as well as wiser. 11. The sorrowful came to be enlightened by the sunbeam that dwelt in her spirit, and the children of want for bread and a garment; for her wealth was the Lord's, and, when she cast it into His treasury, it was with a smile, as if she was herself the receiver. The beauty of the soul was hers, that waxeth not old. Love was in her heart to all whom God had made, a love not ending in blind indulgence, but seeking to elevate them in the scale of existence. 12. Thus it was until eighty-eight years had passed over her; and when she entered the exalted society for which she had been fitted here, tears flowed widely and freely, as for one in her prime. At her grave I learned my first lesson of a bursting grief that has never been forgotten. Let none say that the aged die unloved, or unmourned by the young. It is not so. 13. Another, I knew, without munificent endowment of mind, person, or position. Yet had he, to the last, a beauty that love followed,-the beauty of kind regard to all creatures, and of a perfect temperament that never yielded to anger. Hence the wheels of life ran on without chafing, and, in his eighty-eighth year, his step was as elastic as at twenty, the florid hue of his cheek unchanged, and his bright, brown hair, without a thread of silver. 14. He loved the plants and flowers, and knew how scienfically to promote their welfare, and to enrich the dark, brown mold, with golden fruits, and fair vine-clusters. By these sweet recreations, life was made sweeter, and renewed its pleasures like the fresh spring-buds, and the bird that returns again to its nest after the winter. Sorrows he had tasted, but they left no cloud, only a deeper tenderness for all who mourned. 15. His religion had no mixture of coldness toward those who differed from him, no exclusive ess, no bigotry. The frailties of those around, he regarded with gentleness or with pity. He blamed not, upbraided not. On his loving soul there was no slander-spot. His life was like one long smile, closing with a music-strain. And on it was written as a fair motto," the man without an enemy.” 16. From the sacred pictures of the departed, that hang in the soul's temple, I would fain select another. It is of a friend, who, in early years, suffered from feebleness of constitution, yet, by care and temperance, so renovated his health, that age was to him better and more vigorous than youth. A strong perception of the beautiful, both in nature and art, lighted up his mind with a perpetual sunbeam. 17. His fine taste went hand in hand with a perfect philanthropy, so that what he admired he patronized, and what he patronized he spread abroad, that others might share his en joyment. The gates of his spacious rural villa were thrown open as a pleasure-ground for all the people, and with the treasures of literature and the arts, he enriched the noble public institute that he founded. "The holy truth walked |