Yet bemoan, the dead husband or the dying widow. commonly it comes to passe, that such widow's griefe is quickly emptied, which streameth out at so large a vent; whilst their tears that but drop will hold running a long time." It is a happy thing that widows are not always weeping after the storm comes the bright sunshine over woman's sweet face: and as it is impossible to resist the fascination of its smile even through her tears, we come to the sage and safe conclusion that widows also are no less deserving of our love, our hearts and hands. ORIGIN OF CELEBRATED BOOKS. 66 IF the secret history of books could be written," said Thackeray," and the author's private thoughts and meanings noted down alongside of his story, how many insipid volumes would become interesting, and dull tales excite the reader." In obedience to this suggestion, we have essayed to group together a few illustrative facts of this class, but without any attempt at classification; in the hope that some one more competent to the task may hereafter digest and complete what is here, necessarily, so incomplete. If the brevity of our selections be deemed a fault, we cite, in self-defence, the remark of Voltaire, where he thus asserts the absolute necessity of condensation: "The multiplicity of facts and writings is become so great," he says, "that everything must soon be reduced to extracts." Books, as Dryden has aptly termed them, are spectacles to read nature. Eschylus and Aristotle, Shakspeare and Bacon, are the high priests who expound the mysteries of man and the universe. They teach us to understand, and feel what we see, to decipher and syllable the hieroglyphics of the senses. 259 "All books grow homilies by time; they are We call the present,' from the cell could see No daylight trembling on the dungeon bar. And feel the near,' less household than the far!' "It is remarkable that many of the best books of all sorts have been written by persons who, at the time of writing them, had no intention of becoming authors. Indeed, with slight inclination to systematize and exaggerate, one might be almost tempted to maintain the position-however paradoxical it may at the first blush appear that no good book can be written in any other way; that the only literature of any value, is that which grows directly out of the real action of society, intended to effect some other purpose; and that when a man sits down doggedly in his study, and says to himself, 'I mean to write a good book,' it is certain, from the necessity of the case, that the result will be a bad one." La Rochefoucauld remarks that nature seems to have concealed at the bottom of our minds, talents and abilities of whose very existence we were not conscious; and that the passions have the prerogative of bringing them to light. "The passions act as winds to propel our vessel-our reason is the pilot that steers her; without the winds she would not move; without the pilot, she would be lost." "There is a joy in writing, which none but writers *Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. Edward Everett. know. What a number of writers in our literature have all their real title to esteem from this geniality and joy of utterance! In this consists their genius. The remark will apply particularly to the essayists. Evidently, Montaigne wrote in the mere love of writing. He wanted to express himself, and all that he has written is not only in the manner, but in the spirit of a Monologue. Addison evidently loved to write, and found a joy in writing. It is this joy in writing which gives to the compositions of Addison their wealth, and music, and beauty. He does not instruct-he enchants. You do not look to him for new truths, but you are sure to find in him fresh emotions. They well up from his nature in all its senses, affections and passions. Yet, had not Addison loved to write, the world would have lost all that Addison has given it. Then there is Charles Lamb; we should have had nothing from him in letters but for his love of writing. He was no machine that could be regulated by the debt and credit sides of a balance-sheet. He longed for another life, which only the pen of free thought and free excitement could give him. And then Hazlitt, what a joy he had in writing! The fact is, no one can do writing well, who has not this joy. Without it, the style is mechanical and artificial. The lyric flow of inspiration is never in it. Without joy, style is merely rhetoric, and there is nothing so remote from eloquence as rhetoric. It is no wonder that ancient sages and bards thought it inspiration. Glorious it is, beyond all other arts.” * It is also remark *Henry Giles. able that, as a rule, the realm of authorship is parvenu as to its origin; yet is the aristocracy of talent but the more noble and illustrious on this very account. "Whoe'er amids the sons Of reason, valor, liberty, and virtue, Displays distinguished merit, is a noble Of nature's own creating. Such have risen, Sprung from the dust; or where had been our honors ?" * "A great, a good, and a right mind," said Seneca, "is a kind of divinity lodged in flesh, and may be the blessing of a slave, as well as of a prince; it came from heaven, and to heaven it must return. It is a kind of heavenly felicity, which a pure and virtuous mind enjoys, in some degree even upon earth.” If many have become authors by accident rather than design, the same may be also affirmed of many of our most valuable discoveries. "It has been asked, which are the greatest minds, and to which do we owe the greatest reverence? To those who by the powerful deductions of their reason, and the well-grounded suggestions of analogy, have made profound discoveries in the sciences, as it were à priori; or to those, who, by the patient road of experiment, and the subsequent improvement of instruments, have brought these discoveries to perfection, as it were à posteriori? Who have rendered that certain, which before was only conjectural; practical, which was problematical; safe, which was dangerous, and subservient, which was unmanageable? It would * Thomson. |