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stars—all have shed their influences to ripen this ear of corn. When you behold this you must see the sun shining, the rain falling, the earth cherishing the seed, and man labouring for its growth, while God pours his blessing through all these means. Here, then, is a symbol of life. And as this corn is thus given for your life, so you must devote your lives for the support and happiness of the whole family to which you belong. All things are holy which live in the bond of union. Not alone in this temple is divine service performed. Hero we have the expressions in words, music and other symbols, of that worship which is otherwise expressed in deeds. Every stroke of the miner's axe; every movement of the gardener's spade and the reaper's sickle, animated by a good and benevolent motive, is an act of worship. All branches of art and industry are parts of one continual service in one temple." Such was the strain of the teacher's discourse.
The poet was delighted with the arrangement of industry in this New World. He remained for some days in one of the agricultural villages, making himself acquainted with the lives and cireumstances of the labourers. Their condition oven realised the dreams of his poetry. Labour and happiness were married. The toiling hand was directed by the well-developed mind. The labourers and their families rose soon after dawn, and before going forth to the fields many of them united with their children in singing cheerful songs, praising the Creator, and encouraging man's industry. At an early hour in the evening, except durinc harvest, they returned to their homes, washed themselves, and changed their dress, then amused themselves in their gardens, or read, or sung, or talked, or played on musical instruments until the hour of rest. In every village was a library, and also a spacious building as a Bath-and-Wash-IIousc for the whole of the inhabitants.
"Here the Old World is imitating you," said the poet. "We have now public baths for the poor in our metropolis."
"A very good beginning," said the guide—" one of the best gns of your times!"
There was a school in every village. The country was divided nto districts, each containing a number of villages; and certain i terary and well-qualified men were appointed over these districts. One gave lectures on musie, another on painting, another on the natural sciences, and so on, according to their respective attainments; so that the minds of the people were kept in union with the best intellects of the country.
After inspecting and admiring the works of industry and the educational systom of the country, the poet visited some of the places of public amusement. He was delighted in the Gallery of Painting to find that artists did not restrict themselves to a few old subjects; but devoted their powers to illustrate and beautify the life of the people around them. Here art and industry were companions. Peasants stood gazing on beautiful pictures, and were glad to find that the artist did not consider their labours unworthy of his pencil. One artist exhibited a series of pictures illustrating peasant-life. In one painting the peasant was seen going forth into the fields in the freshness of a spring morning. In other parts of the scries, the various employments of ploughing, sowing, reaping, and harvest-home were illustrated ; and in the last number, the aged labourer, surrounded with his family, sat under a tree before his cottage, in the evening light, enjoying anticipation of the rest beyond the grave.
Equally was our poet charmed in the Hall of Music; for here the musicians of the country did not come to exhibit strange tricks upon instruments, nor merely to show their ability, but to employ the powers of harmonious sounds, reverently and reasonably, for the delight and edification of the people. Accordingly, the pieces sung and performed were not on stale theatrical subjects, but such as hymns, anthems, and cantatas on various themes of real human life. One of these pieces, which pleased our poet well, was a cantata on the " Praises of Labour," consisting of various songs, celebrating various parts of industry, giving
"Honour to the sailor brave,
and ending with a full chorus, in which miners, peasants, and other workers all sang heartily,
"The friendly heart and the working hand
Among the places of recreation, there was one where the poet found especial amusement. It was an observatory upon a high hill, commanding a view of some parts of the Old World. Here was a large telescope placed under the caro of a speculative man, who was glad to obtain some information from the poet respecting the scenes in the Old World, which the telescope rerealed.
"I see," said the man of the telescope, "in a park near your metropolis, splendid equipages, conveying persons of great importance, as I suppose; but, though I haVe seen these persons assembling on grounds where horses gallop, or where those troops of men in red clothes mareh about, I con never see them amid an assembly of labourers, or taking any part in the recreations of the poor people. How is this?"
"Those men with gay equipages," said the poet, "are our 'lords,' our 'aristocracy,' and, of course, they cannot associate with poor people."
"What! do they not recognise the importance and dignity at" labour i Then there must be a lamentable want of education among your gay people," said the observer; "but what do thes? troops of red men mean? They have implements; but I cannot see that they use them in auy useful work, and yet they do net seem to be at play."
"We call them our soldiers," said the poet, "and they are employed to kill people in other nations, or to keep our own people in control."
"What! do you require such a sort of government? Hare yon So temples?" said the observer. "I see large buildings, here and there, with towers and spires, and I should take these to be your temples; but I cannot see any schools attached to them, and few people go to them except once in seven days."
"These ore our churehes," said the poet: "but they haTe net schools attached to them."
"Oh, then, your schools are perhaps these large gloomy buildings which we see," said the observer; "but they are built in a very bad style for schools."
"They arc prisons instead of schools," said the poet; "prisons where we chain up unhappy men, who often become criminals for want of good education."
"You give me gloomy views of the Old World," said the observer; "I shall no longer bo able to look upon it with pleasure."
"But in yon Old World," said the poet, "thereore some minds who havo visions of a New World, and who are determined to strive patiently for the fulfilment of what good prophets have said."
"Then there is a hope for you," said the observer; "and I will continue my observations on yon strange part of the universe. And as the minds of whom you speak act upon society in your world, I shall expect to see you gloomy prisons disappear, and schools rising in all your villages, and your rich and gay people intermingling' with the poor and the laborious."
After he had witnessed, with delight, many of the beautiful scenes of unity and happiness in this New World, the poet returned to the teacher, and asked for instruction as to the best means of improving the condition of the Old World. "Here I could willingly stay for ever," said he; "but duty calls mo to return."
"Tell the men of the Old World," said the teacher, " what you have seen here, and let them know how human nature may be trained, if never to reach that consummation of which seers have spoken, yet to present to the eye of Heaven something more like a happy and harmonious system than it does now. Many glorious things are possibilities. Necessary knowledge may be imparted to all; moral and preventive measures may take the place of a great part of your punitive system; the rich and the poor need not dwell apart in extreme disunion; millions of lives and of wealth may be saved by the cessation of war; the arts and sciences may be devoted to their proper end, to refine society; the physical cireumstances of your people may be brought into harmony with the laws of healthful nature. If you would find a centre and a souree for all these improvements, let me exhort you to return to the original spirit and purpose of that religion which you still profess. No longer worship the letter; but unfold and apply to life the benevolent spirit of your creed. Poet! do thy duty. Utter the truth that is in thee. Be faithful to the ideal, even when not a ray of it seems to shino through the real. Strive
on and be patient! Return to that Old World which is to be
renovated, where the evil is even now passing away, though it boasts that it will endure for ever. Go, and be a man of the New World in the midst of the Old. When you have done your work, then come and dwell with us for ever!"
Then the poet awoke; for the light of morning was now shining in his chamber, and, inspired by the vision, he said, "As the shades of night are passing from yon mountain, so shall the shades of evil pass away from this world!"
FABLES FOR FOOLISH FELLOWS.
AMong the noblest passions of the soul of Man there is one, the noblest and holiest of all, which, while it moves him to wonder and adore, leads him also to aspire—lifts him from the ground, where inferior creatures grovel, to soar in his soul with angels, and stand only a little lower in the sight of their Master and his Heavenly Father. This is Admiration. Admiration came here with the first angelical natures that visited earth as missionaries from heaven to Man, who, as they themselves admire and tremble, instructed the innocent Adam how, and when, and to whom to bend the knee, lift the eyes in adoration, and reverently worship. His own existence, and the sense of how sweet it was to live—the new-created world, and its wondrous works around him, whether animate or inanimate, won, it may be, his earliest looks and thoughts of admiration; these messengers from their Heavenly Master awakened it next; and, lastly, his lovely and love-worshipped helpmate, Eve, as she stood before him in her first innocence, ere sin and shame were known, and turned not her eyes and perfect beauties from his admiring and adoring gaze, and felt that it was love.
Man still admires, not always wisely—not always well—admires things not worthy of admiration. Do animals admire? Do the inferior in power and beauty admire the superior in beauty and power? The slow admire the swift—the small wonder at the gigantic—the gigantic curiously consider and marvel at the small? Does the Fieldmouse admire the most magnanimous Lion, and wish he had his mane, and tail, and mouth—a cavern—and claws, and his roar like thunder—a sound more terrible to hear than all the mice in the world could make 2 Does he reckon how he would frighten wild Cats out of eight of their nine lives apiece, and teach them to live inoffensively to mice with the ninth, if he had his talons and his roar 2 - Does he speculate how he would give mousing Owls a lesson for life not even to look at, much more to make a mouthful—not a meal—of a poor mouse: if he was a Lion, how