upon flowers, and realized the harmony of another and a better sphere. The mourned looked upon that radiant countenance and dried his tears, till, contrasting the smiling youth's situation, with his own, they flowed more bitterly. Jared was happy, but his joy was entirely confined within his own bosom. There existed no sympathy between him and the sons of men; they could not comprehend his feelings, and he did not seek to participate in theirs. The source of his felicity was a fountain sealed, at which no man could quench his thirst. He was an object of mistrust and envy to the vicious, and the good felt in his presence the same awe with which they would have regarded a visitant from another world. Even Achbor shrunk from his caresses, and regarded his beautiful aspect with secret fear. He reproached him with a want of sympathy in his sorrows, and Jared answered with the same serene smile, "That he was a stranger to grief." The ungrateful father reproached the good spirit for having given him a son devoid of human feeling, and lamented continually the insurmountable barrier she had placed between them. Unable to comprehend these repinings, Jared left his father's hut to enjoy his cloudless existence in the deep solitudes of nature-to enhale the perfume of the flowers-to listen to the voice of the breeze and the music of the waters to join in the chorus of the birds, and to watch the young antelopes gambolling in the shade. His eyes were never weary of contemplating the beautiful face of nature; her charms were ever new to him, and in storm or in sunshine spoke gladness to his heart. He listened with as much pleasure to the deep voice of the thunder, when it echoed among the rocks and shook the distant hills, as to the soft murmurs of the southern breeze. His spirit traversed the rolling cloud, and rose in proportion to the grandeur of the storm; and he bared his brow to meet the rushing torrents, and drank in the tears of heaven with eager delight. He saw in the grief of man only those showers with which nature refreshes the earth. His anger was like the voice of the thunder, which heralded the early and the latter rain; and he met the clouded brow and the tearful visage with the same feelings of joyful serenity with which he contemplated the storm. Satisfied with all things, happy in all things, he drank the delicious freshness of the wave, and sought no richer viands than the fruits of the earth -no softer pillow than her bosom—no higher privilege than to dwell with her. His heart, unagitated by human passions, was rich enough to vivify itself, and hope and fear were alike strangers to his breast. One beautiful summer evening, while wandering among the romantic passes of the mountains, Jared discovered a lovely secluded dell, encircled by lofty rocks, whose rugged sides were covered with flowering shrubs, and their summits crowned with the towering cedar that lifted its spiral head proudly towards heaven. In the centre of the glen was a large well, and a stone was rolled before its mouth, to prevent the water from being absorbed by the heat of the sun or defiled by the fallen leaves. To this well the shepherds that inhabited the plains came every evening to water their flocks. Jared seated himself on a piece of the fallen rock, and was soon engaged in a thousand delightful reveries,-now watching the upward flight of the eagle, or listening to the cooing of the doves in the branches of the cedars above him, when the soft bleating of the approaching flocks diverted his attention, and, through the narrow defile by which he had entered the glen, a numerous flock of sheep approached the well, guided by a young female of exquisite beauty arrayed in the simple dress of a shepherdess. Jared had never before contemplated the face of beauty, or seen a human countenance on which he wished to look again, and a new sensation of joy shot through his frame. He sprung from his seat, and hastened to assist the fair shepherdess, by rolling the stone from the mouth of the well and filling the troughs with water. The dark eyes of the young Mehetabel encountered the joyous glance of the happy Jared, and his sunny smile found its way into the deepest recesses of her heart, and she turned blushing away, as in faultering accents she thanked the stranger for his courtesy. "Do not leave me, beautiful creature," said Jared as she was about to depart. "Come and sit with me beneath the shade of these trees, and listen to the cooing of the doves and the song of the bulbul.” "It is growing late, gentle youth," returned Mehetabel, "and the flocks have far to go, and they must be folded before the moon rises and the wolf and the tiger are abroad." Jared accompanied the young shepherdess home, and assisted her in folding the flock, and returned by the light of the moon to his cave in the forest. His happiness was increased while pondering on the charms of Mehetabel, and his dreams were full of delightful visions and joyous anticipations of the morrow. The morning came, and Jared again met his beautiful shepherdess; and the modest tenderness with which she returned his love increased his former felicity. The summer fled away, and the fields were white with the harvest; but no cloud had darkened the smooth brow of Jared, and no tears had dimmed his eye. His love, like his life, was unruffled by a shade of care. Mehetabel could not enter into the fulness of his joy, but for a while she was happy in the idea that she was the cause of it. But the beautiful shepherdess was of a melancholy disposition; and with the inconstancy of her sex she began to grow weary of the eternal smile which rested upon the lips of Jared, and the untroubled serenity of his countenance. If she was ever so sad or discontented, he still smiled; and if she wept, his gay langh was a mockery of her grief; and if she was sick, he appeared entirely insensible to her pain. One evening, Jared found her in tears, and she greeted his rapturous salutation with downcast eyes and a sullen brow. "You do not smile upon me to-night, Mehetabel," said Jared, tenderly embracing her; "I cannot comprehend these frowns that mar your beauty." "Alas! Jared, how can I smile and appear glad when my father is dead?" "What is death that it should cause a shade to rest upon your brow?" said Jared. "Is it not a calm delightful sleep that ushers in a brighter day. I die every evening, Mehetabel, and awake every morning to fresh enjoyment." Cold, insensible Jared !" cried the weeping Mehetabel; "you do not love me, or you would share in my grief. Nay, turn not your countenance upon me; those unnatural smiles pierce me to the heart." Jared raised his sparkling eyes, that had never been dimmed, with tears to her face; but the light of his countenance only increased her sorrow, and she turned weeping away. He pressed her passionately to his heart, and kissed away her tears. "Cruel Jared!" she exclaimed, "leave me to my own misery, if you will not share my grief." "Surely it must be a pleasant thing to weep," said the son of Achbor thoughtfully, and a shade of discontent for the first time darkened the sunshine of his brow. "Since the sons of men seem so anxious to court sorrow, why has Heaven denied me a blessing which the whole human race enjoy? Teach me, loveliest Mehetabel, to share your grief." Tears filled his eyes as he ceased speaking, and a pang of unutterable anguish filled his heart. The blow was mortal, and he sang dying at her feet. The veil which had concealed the miseries of life from his view was suddenly removed, the face of nature was changed, and the whole earth resounded with the cries and groans of man. "Ah, wretched Jared !" he said, "why were you not contented with the felicity that heaven permitted you so long to enjoy? You are justly punished for your ingratitude in seeking an evil which was hidden from your view-a knowledge whose fruit was death." Then, seeing his father approach the spot, he exclaimed, "Achbor, behold your son!—a son that can now sympathize in your sorrows; for he has experienced a heavier reverse of fortune than the loss of a crown, and his heart has been pierced with a grief yet deeper than your own." "Alas!" said the white-haired mourner, bending sorrowfully over the breathless corse of his son, "the ways of Providence are just-Death can alone restore happiness to a fallen race!" TO MY SISTER, ON HER BIRTHDAY, ACCOMPANYING A WATCH. My sister! time's gray river onward flows The sun-lit banks and shaded glens among, That echo now with weeping, now with song; And this day passeth by where first there rose Thy head like angels, above speech or sound! I send thee what shall measure as it goes Life's stream. And thou may'st rove 'mid dewy flowers, Or, if thou wilt, may'st climb Parnassus' hill, Or rather bathe thy lips from Siloa's rill; "Till thou return, this watch shall count the hours, That are too kind to loiter, or delay Thy crown of hope-the everlasting day! WRENTHAM, November 14, 1845. THOUGHTS ON LIFE. WHAT is life's purpose? How few ever ask themselves this question, or think of life at all; and yet of what paramount importance and concern it is to each and all, and should be the abiding thought—should become the earnest endeavour of every one to discover. We look at nature, and observe that all things in nature have their appointed uses and purposes. The sunshine and the rain, the lightning and the frost, the snow and summer's dew all do their work, perform their purpose. We express no wonder at this, we take it for granted; but does man perform his work— fulfil his mission? Each individual mind has its mission to perform on earth; though few, very few, understand or understanding, honestly, truthfully fulfil it. Let his sphere be extensive or limited, his station high or low, there is time and opportunity enough for each to effect some good— help on the work of progression, which is man's mission here. But this "good" is not to be effected without trouble-perhaps difficulty. We must not sit contentedly by our comfortable firesides expecting the "work” to be brought to us; no, we must be the seekers after the work. We must go forth earnestly to do all we can, to aid where aid is wanting; it is the mission-the hallowed privilege of all to do good, to work for all, to serce humanity. Some will rest satisfied with non-exertion, on the false plea of the utter uselessness of individual action-a selfish plea. Why society is but an aggregate of individuals, and I apprehend that individual actions and example effect incalculable good-more than is dreamt of in man's philosophy; but granted it were otherwise, that the good attained was small and scarcely commensurate with the endeavour, should we be justified in withholding our labours? Are we to enjoy a life of ease and pleasure-do nothing because we cannot do all? Is that interpreting life's purpose rightly? Was life given us for selfish enjoyment? Life is a sacred boon- -a blessed and holy gift; but to be so felt and appreciated, we must feel and fulfil, as best we can, its purpose:-and this not by the daily toil of adding to our own stores, heaping up riches for our future benefit alone, but in working for others--for humanity, each day performing some deed of benevolence, be it only a kind word spoken to raise a drooping spirit-in assisting those most tried and suffering-in diffusing knowledge-in raising the aspirations of those with whom we are brought into contact in alleviating the hardships and trials of those who are in a state of dependence; in short, in doing all that lies within our power to carry on the grand work of progression, and thus show our love and gratitude to that Great Being who bestowed on us the sacred boon of life. Life is a privilege; let us so regard it, and waste it not in idle and frivolous pleasures, in self-seeking gratifications, nor think that the aim and end of life is money-getting. Man was not born to be a mere money-making machine; if that were life's purpose, why was man endowed with heart and soul to feel and appreciate nature's beauty, and truth, and grandeur? "Tis the God within us tells us man is born for higher, nobler purposes. Whatever be his station in society, whatever his occupation, let him feel that he, in common with all mankind, has a heart to feel and a soul to think; that he has his mission to fulfil on earth. M. T. MAHOMET. LECTURE II. YATHREB, henceforth to be called Medina, was now the dwelling-place of Mahomet; for rebellious Mecca had cast him out, and banded her sons together in a league against him. But to use the words which Mahomet afterwards framed into a maxim, "The undeserved curse recoiled upon the curser:" she had taken up the sword only to have its point turned upon herself; for her victim, hitherto so meek, so long suffering, had come to the limit of his forbearance, and ordered his followers to avenge his wrongs. Thus does it ever happen to the persecutor: chain up the dog by day, and when the night comes his loosened passion will be the more dangerous; stem for a brief time the current of the brook, and its accumulated waters will have the force of a river. That Mahomet used the sword in the cause of his religion must be to us a matter of grief, but not of astonishment. To a man, loving his principles for their own sake, and not for any personal aggrandizement which they might procure for him, the sword would be a very hateful instrument, one indeed altogether unfitted for his purpose. He would be content to live and die despised and rejected of men, confident that the truths which he had preached would at some time find an acceptation in the world, as indeed all truths eventually must. But to a man, not less confident in his own ability and the correctness of his creed, but yet desirous of seeing, ere he died, their triumph over the world; to such a man, desirous, like Moses, of entering the promised land towards which he had been leading the people; to such a man, the sword, nay any means of obtaining the desired end, would seem justifiable. His very sincerity of belief in his own doctrines would only the more impel him to this line of conduct, because he could then so readily persuade himself that he, in compelling the public to adopt his notions, was only acting for the public good. It is to be regretted that Mahomet adopted this last line of conduct that he had not sufficient heroism to die without seeing the accomplishment of his designs; but the fact need be no matter of wonder. To a brave Arab, such as he was, the sword must have offered tempting persuasions; indeed, at the first glance, the sword may seem to have been the only effectual way of eventually spreading his religion. But, though a man not well versed in politics or human nature might be deceived by this, yet the man of experience would know that the religion which is preached by the sword must be maintained by the sword, and can be maintained by no other means whatever; so that when the sword fails, the religion must fall to the ground. And herein consists the chief worldly advantage of virtue, that it will often, by following purely honest motives, escape that snare from which all the experience of the world will hardly save the vicious; for that it was vicious in Mahomet to crush in others that freedom of conscience which he desired for himself, I hold to be an incontrovertible fact. To follow him in his victorious career were to us a matter of no profit; |