Consolation. Stanza.--Doddridge. 'Peace! humbled soul, whose plaintive moan Pathos and Solemnity. The Strangers' Nook in the Burial-ground.--R. Chambers. 'The graves of the strangers !-what tales are told by every undistinguished heap,-what eloquence in this utter absence of epitaphs !'' Here, we may suppose, rests the weary old man, to whom, after many bitter shifts, all bitterly disappointed, wandering and mendicancy had become a trade. His snow-white head, which had suffered the inclemency of many winters, was here, at last, laid low for ever. Here, also, the homeless youth, who had trusted himself to the wide world in search of fortune, was arrested in his wanderings; and whether his heart was as light and buoyant as his purse, or weighed down with many privations and disappointments, the end was the same,-only, in the one case, a blight; in the other, a bliss. The prodigal, who had wandered far, and fared still worse and worse, at length returning, was here cut short in his better purpose, far from those friends to whom he looked forward as a consolation for all his wretchedness. Perhaps, when stretched in mortal sickness in a homely lodging, in the neighbouring village, where, though kindness was rendered, it was still the kindness of strangers, his mind wandered in repentant fondness to that mother whom he had parted with in scorn, but for whose hand to present his cup, and whose eye to melt him with its tenderness, he would now gladly give the miserable remains of his life. Perhaps he thought of a brother, also parted with in rage and distrust, but who, in their early years, had played with him, a fond and innocent child, over the summer leas, and to whom that recollection forgave everything. No one.of these friends to soothe the last moments of his wayward and unhappy life— scarcely even to hear of his death when it had taken place. Far from every remembered scene, every remembered face, he was doomed here to take his place amidst the noteless dead, and be as if he had never been. 'Perhaps one of these graves contains the shipwrecked mariner, hither transferred from the neighbouring beach.-A cry was heard by night through the storm which dashed the waves upon the rocky coast; deliverance was impossible; and next morning, the only memorial of what had taken place, was the lifeless body of a sailor, stretched on the sand. No trace of name or kin; not even the name of the vessel, was learned; but, no doubt, as the villagers would remark in conveying him to the Strangers' Nook, he left some heart to pine for his absence, some eyes to mourn for him, if his loss should ever be ascertained. There are few so desolate on earth as not to have one friend or associate. There must either be a wife to be widowed, or a child to be made an orphan, or a mother to suffer her own not less grievous bereavement. Perhaps the sole beloved object of some humble domestic circle, whose incomings and outgoings were ever pleasant, is here laid low; while neither can the bereaved learn aught of the fate and final resting-place of their favourite, nor can those who kindly, but without mourning, performed his last offices, reach their ears with the intelligence,-grateful even in its pain, of what had been done to his remains: here the energies which had battled with the waves in their hour of might, and the despair whose expression had been wasted upon the black tempest, are all stilled into rest, and forgotten. The storm is done; its work has been accomplished; and here lies the strange mariner, where no storms shall ever again trouble him.'— To the other graves there was also some one to resort afterwards, to lament the departure of those who lay below. The spot was always cherished and marked by at least one generation of kind ones; and, whether distinguished by a monument or not, there was always a greater or less interval before the memory of the deceased entirely perished from its place. Still, as each holy day came round, and the living flocked to the house of prayer, there was always some one to send a kind eye aside towards that little mound, and be for a moment moved with a pensive feeling, as the heart recalled a departed parent, or child, or friend. But the graves of the strangers! all regard was shut out from them as soon as the sod had closed over them. The decent few who had affected mourning over the strangers, had no sooner turned away, than they were at once forgotten. That ceremony over, their kind had done with them for ever. And so, there they lie, distinguished from the rest only by the melancholy mark that they are themselves undistinguished from each other; no eye to weep over them now or hereafter, and no regard whatsoever to be paid to them till they stand forth, with their fellowmen, at the Great and Final Day.' Awe and Pathos. The Death of the Wicked.-Massillon. 'The remembrance of the past, and the view of the present, would be little to the expiring sinner; could he confine himself to these, he would not be so completely miserable; but the thoughts of a futurity convulse him with horror and despair. That futurity, that incomprehensible region of darkness, which he now approaches,-conscience his only companion; that futurity, that unknown land from which no traveller has ever returned, where he knows not whom he shall find, nor what awaits him; that futurity, that fathomless abyss, in which his mind is lost and bewildered, and into which he must now plunge, ignorant of his destiny; that futurity, that tomb, that residence of horror, where he must now occupy his place amongst the ashes and the carcasses of his ancestors; that futurity, that incomprehensible eternity, even the aspect of which he cannot support; that futurity, in a word, that dreadful judgment, at which, before the wrath of God, he must now appear, and render account of a life, of which every moment almost has been occupied by crimes. 'Alas! while he only looked forward to this terrible futurity at a distance, he made an infamous boast of not dreading it; he continually demanded, with a tone of blasphemy and derision, Who is returned from it? He ridiculed the vulgar apprehensions, and piqued himself upon his undaunted courage. But from the moment that the hand of God is upon him; from the moment that death approaches near, that the gates of eternity open to receive him, and that he touches upon that terrible futurity, against which he seemed so fortified-ah! he then becomes either weak, trembling, dissolved in tears, raising up suppliant hands to heaven, or gloomy, silent, agitated, revolving within himself the most dreadful thoughts, and no longer expecting more consolation or mercy, from his weak tears and lamentations, than from his frenzies and despair.' 'Moderate Movement. This modification of the 'time' of utterance, occurs in the style of the epistles in the New Testament, of hymns of sentiment, essays, lectures, practical and doctrinal discourses,whatever, in a word, falls under the customary rhetorical designation of 'didactic' composition. The character of the 'movement,' or rate of voice, in the elocution of pieces of this description, is adapted to the comparatively moderate emotions, and, consequently, the unimpassioned tones, which pervade their language. The practice of the following exercises, demands attention to that proper medium of utterance which avoids equally slowness and hurry. Deliberateness and composure are the states of feeling to be expressed in the formation and succession of the sounds of the voice. Elevated Sentiment. The Enlargement of our Intellectual Powers.-Savile. 'From the right exercise of our intellectual powers arises one of the chief sources of our happiness. The light of the sun is not so pleasant to the eye as the light of knowledge to the mind. The gratifications of sense yield but a delusive charm, compared with the intellectual joys of which we are susceptible. But these intellectual joys, however refined, are at present much interrupted. However wide the extent of human knowledge, however deep the researches of human wisdom, still it must be confessed, that, in this life, our faculties are exceedingly limited, and our views exceedingly confined. Light, to us, is everywhere mixed with darkness. Wherever we cast our eyes, or turn our thoughts, we are reminded of our ignorance, are liable to perpetual mistakes, and often fall into them even in our wisest pursuits. But when the day of immortality dawns, all this shall vanish; the encumbrance of flesh and blood shall no longer grieve us, nor the thick shades of ignorance ever more surround us. happy spirit emancipated, and having left the spoils of mortality behind it, shall be able to comprehend, fully and at once, all the truths and objects which now either come but very partially within, or entirely escape, its observation.-Here we are only children, but in heaven we shall arrive at the manhood of our being; and therefore we justly infer, that the strength and manhood of our intellectual powers then, will surpass, at least, as much what they are now, as the reason and judgment of a man exceed those of a child. The But however this may be, certain we are, that the faculties with which we are at present blessed, and which are essential to our nature, shall be to a wonderful degree invigorated and improved. They shall be capable of taking in far more copious views, and abundantly larger emanations of God's excellence, nay, of tracing the hidden springs of his mysterious operations.-The volumes of nature, of providence, and of re |