placed in the midst of virtues, to all of which it can ally itself, and will strengthen all with which it is allied. How gracious is the influence it exerts, even by the exterior demonstrations of respect which it enforces. To him who honours himself, it is natural to mark to others the respect he bears them; for he has the instinct which warns him that the want of that respect must be felt by them as an injury. Besides, it is grateful to him that those who are esteemed should know themselves to be so. It is painful to him to think that any human being should live selfdegraded, and therefore he is unwillingly the cause to any one of selfhumiliation. Hence is this feeling the natural inspirer of courtesy. It is not to be believed that it is disappointed in its generous aim. The maintenance of exterior respect in the manners of society, is a perpetual encouragement to every one to believe that he is respected, and therefore a constant exhortation to him to respect himself. Our Alcove Library is not largeit is select-but neither is it exclusive and here is a volume (published by the excellent Seeley and Burnside) from which please, pray, to read aloud, but not loud, the first set of stanzas you see with our private approval mark" THE SOLACE OF SONG short Poems suggested by scenes visited on a Continental Tour, chiefly in Italy."—Give us the volume for a mo. ment. The writer is not a mere classical, he is a Christian tourist-and avers that "of the associations that throng the Christian mind on an Italian tour, none are so imposing as those derived from scenes connected with Scripture history. Though but few, and upon the very verge of the field of sacred narrative, yet to an inhabitant of a country whose very name has no existence in Holy Writ but as "the uttermost part of the earth," they present the distant glories of a light, hitherto only apprehended by the imagination. If, however, they are but gleams, they are welcomed with the greater delight; and the author wishes it were in his power to convey to the reader the tenth part of that enthusiasm with which he surrendered himself and the objects around him to the enchantment of such associations ;" and he says, "It may surely be forgiven, if all classic interest evaporated, when, under the Arch of Titus, the gorgeous procession, that bore captive Judea in triumph, seemed to move towards the Capitol; or, on the arena of the now desolate Coliseum, the mind recalled Ignatius patiently tarrying the moment when his life must be sacrificed to gratify the assembled myriads of Pagan Rome." He says that little art was exercised in their composition; as they merely formed a recreative amusement when the spirits sought refreshment from the crowd of surrounding objects of secular interest, in the meditation of subjects of eternal moment; and if some of them should appear to have a melancholy tinge, he can easily plead that it is chiefly in times of sorrow that the mind turns to such reminiscences. The ruins of Rome! The overthrow or decay of mighty human power is, of all thoughts that can enter the mind, the most affecting. The whole imagination is at once stirred by the prostration of that, round which so many high associations have been collected for so many ages. Beauty seems born but to perish, and its fragility is seen and felt to be inherent in it by a law of its being. But power gives stability, as it were, to human thought, and we forget our own perishable nature in the spectacle of some abiding and enduring greatness. Our own little span of yearsour own confined region of space, are lost in the endurance and far-spread dominion of some mighty state-and we feel as if we partook of its deep set and most triumphant strength. When, therefore, a great and ancient empire falls into pieces, or when fragments of its power are heard, in the sad conviction of our souls, rent asunder like column after column disparting from some noble edifice, we feel as if all the cities of men were built on foundations beneath which the earthquake slept. The same doom seems to be imminent over all the other kingdoms that still stand; and in the midst of such changes, and decays, and overthrows-or as we read of them of old-we look, under such emotions, on all power as foundationless, and in our wide imagination embrace empires covered only with the ruins of their desolation. Yet such is the pride of the human spirit, that it often unconsciously, under the influence of such imagination, strives to hide from itself the utter nothingness of its mightiest works. And when all its glories are visibly crumbling into dust, it creates some imaginary power to overthrow the fabrics of human greatness-and thus attempts to derive a kind of mournful triumph even in its very fall. Thus, when nations have faded away in their sins and vices, rotten at the heart and palsied in all their limbs, we strive not to think of that sad internal decay, but imagine some mighty power smiting empires and cutting short the records of mortal magnificence. Thus, Fate and Destiny are said in our imagination to lay our glories low. Thus, even the calm and silent air of oblivion, has been thought of as an unsparing power. Time, too, though in moral sadness, wisely called a shadow, has been clothed with terrific attributes, and the sweep of his scythe has, in imagination, shorn the towery diadem of cities. Thus the mere sigh in which we expire, has been changed into active power-and all the nations have with one voice called out "Death!" And while mankind have sunk, and fallen, and disappeared in the helplessness of their own mortal being, we have still spoken of powers arrayed against them-powers that are in good truth only another name for their own weaknesses. Thus imagination is for ever fighting against truth-and even when humbled, her visions are sublimeconscious even among saddest ruin of her own immortality. Now, my son, read on-with a few minutes' pause between each sacred poem-till we motion you to return the volume to its place. BASILICA OF S. PETER. "Who sits, a sceptered monarch in his hall, "What would ambition more? Eternal Rome "What would he more? The world his sceptre owns Aloft from column, cupola, and tower, He views ten kingdoms prostrating their thrones, The vassal-subjects of his magic name— What would he more to seal a deathless fame? "And yet to reign as king he held as nought, "He braved a vow his Master's head to shield, "Yea, he denied with curses-thrice the word 6 The Lord of Hosts,' he said, was not his Lord, 66 "For lo! the Sufferer turns His woe-worn face, Or his heart's pangs-his wandering sheep he sought : "He sought and found-the arrow Peter smote, "O then! why drag him forth who thus did mourn, O sight more galling than the lictor's rod, "Bitter the tears! and let them freely flow, Stand 'twixt his fellow-man, and Jesus' look of love!" S. MARIA SOPRA MINERVA. Why that appalling frown, That eye of wrath, and stern, averted brow? Is not the altar laid? Will he indeed forego "Yet hush the hasty thought, Which hath unjustly wrought 'Gainst Him, who is my own, my loving Lord; O no-how can it be, That he from pain should flee, And o'er his chosen wave the vengeful sword! "Vain fear! that wrathful eye The lip of stern reproof His fore-doomed work, my soul to seek Nor heap temptation on the o'erladen and save, hour. Alike the summer beams repel, And bid afar the wintry sky Where Solitude hath framed a bower, And Shade hath spread her noon-tide night, He comes, to fill the lonely hour, He shines, and where He shines, 'tis light. 66 My roving soul He bids me bound "These clustering trunks of stately trees, "Nor lonely is my duty paid, "They know each want, they know each grief, They throng with me His mercy's throne, With me they kneel to urge relief, My nearest woes they claim their own: "One is our object-one our aim, Religion in the human mind is apt to decline in two different ways. It de. generates into fanatic superstition or into a cold speculative philosophy. Both these are averse from its proper nature; but, perhaps, the last most so; for the first is but excess, and the last is defect. The excesses of the first startle men, and warn them back; but the cold speculative faith seems almost to recommend itself to an intellectual age. It looks like reason purifying religious belief, while she takes no more than what she can comprehend. Yet it is an inclination of the mind to atheism, for it is a loosen "For Faith is here, though weak and ing of it from the bond of its full re frail, And tottering with infantine feet, Her voice is strong her Lord to hail, "And who is she, that shrinks behind "And nearer to my station crowd, ligious obligation. How shall we pretend to say that we will bring to this service our intellectual and not our moral being? That we will know what is to be known, and believe as far as undoubted evidence constrains our conviction? But that our heart, our whole spirit of passion and feeling shall remain exempt from the same influence. If our minds owe any thing to God, they owe all. Their rational intelligence is required to the highest use of its intelligent powers, when it is called upon to know the truths which religion teaches, and on which it rests. The greatest object of thought is presented to the understanding. But, at the same moment, the greatest object of affection is offered to the soul. And it is as absurd and self-contradictory to our nature, not to feel, as it is, when truth is unfolded clearly before us, not to understand. The mere consideration of the con |