THE RUINED COTTAGE.

Not speaking much, pleased rather with the joy
Of her own thoughts: by some especial care
Her temper had been framed, as if to make
A being who by adding love to peace
Might live on Earth a life of happiness.
Her wedded partner lack'd not on his side
The humble worth that satisfied her heart;
Frugal, affectionate, sober, and withal

Keenly industrious. She with pride would tell
That he was often seated at his loom,

In Summer, ere the mower was abroad
Among the dewy grass,

in early Spring,

Ere the last star had vanish'd. They who pass'd,
At evening, from behind the garden fence
Might hear his busy spade, which he would ply,
After his daily work, until the light

Had fail'd, and every leaf and flower were lost
In the dark hedges. So their days were spent
In peace and comfort; and a pretty boy
Was their best hope, next to the God in Heaven.
Not twenty years ago, but
you I think
Can scarcely bear it now in mind, there came
Two blighting seasons, when the fields were left
With half a harvest. It pleased Heaven to add
A worse affliction in the plague of war:
This happy land was stricken to the heart!
A wanderer then among the cottages,

I, with my freight of winter raiment, saw
The hardships of that season: many rich
Sank down, as in a dream, among the poor;

And of the poor did many cease to be,

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And their place knew them not. Meanwhile, abridged

Of daily comforts, gladly reconciled

To numerous self-denials, Margaret

Went struggling on through those calamitous years
With cheerful hope, until the second Autumn,

When her life's helpmate on a sick-bed lay,

Smitten with perilous fever. In disease

He linger'd long; and, when his strength return'd,

He found the little he had stored, to meet
The hour of accident or crippling age,

Was all consumed. A second infant now
Was added to the troubles of a time
Laden, for them and all of their degree,
With care and sorrow: shoals of artisans,
From ill-requited labour turn'd adrift,
Sought daily bread from public charity,
They, and their wives and children; happier far
Could they have lived as do the little birds
That peck along the hedge-rows, or the kite
That makes her dwelling on the mountain rocks!
A sad reverse it was for him who long
Had fill'd with plenty, and possess'd in peace,
This lonely cottage. At the door he stood,
And whistled many a snatch of merry tunes
That had no mirth in them; or with his knife
Carved uncouth figures on the heads of sticks;
Then, not less idly, sought, through every nook
In house or garden, any casual work

Of use or ornament; and with a strange,
Amusing, yet uneasy novelty,

He mingled, where he might, the various tasks
Of Summer, Autumn, Winter, and of Spring.
But this endured not; his good humour soon
Became a weight in which no pleasure was;
And poverty brought on a petted mood
And a sore temper: day by day he droop'd,
And he would leave his work, and to the town
Would turn without an errand his slack steps;
Or wander here and there among the fields.
One while he would speak lightly of his babes,
And with a cruel tongue : at other times
He toss'd them with a false unnatural joy :
And 't was a rueful thing to see the looks
Of the poor innocent children. 'Every smile,'
Said Margaret to me, here beneath these trees,
'Made my heart bleed.'"

At this the Wanderer paused;

THE POWER OF CHARITY.

And, looking up to those enormous elms,
He said, "T is now the hour of deepest noon.
At this still season of repose and peace,

This hour when all things which are not at rest
Are cheerful; while this multitude of flies
With tuneful hum is filling all the air;

Why should a tear be on an old man's cheek?
Why should we thus, with an untoward mind,
And in the weakness of humanity,

From natural wisdom turn our hearts away;
To natural comfort shut our eyes and ears;

And, feeding on disquiet, thus disturb

The calm of Nature with our restless thoughts?"

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WILLIAM WORDSWORTH: 1770-1850.

THE POWER OF CHARITY.

In all reason and equity, if I would have another my friend, I must be a friend to him; if I pretend to charity from all men, I must render it to all in the same kind and measure. Hence is the law of charity well expressed in those terms, "of doing to others whatever we would have them do to us"; whereby the palpable equity of this practice is demonstrated.

Let us consider that charity is a right noble and worthy thing; greatly perfective of our nature; much dignifying and beautifying our soul. It rendereth a man truly great, enlarging his mind unto a vast circumference, and to a capacity near infinite; so that by it a general care doth reach all things, by an universal affection doth embrace and grasp the world. By it our reason obtaineth a field or scope of employment worthy of it, not confined to the slender interests of one person or place, but extending to the concerns of all men.

Charity is the imitation and copy of that immense Love which is the fountain of all being and all good; which made all things, which preserveth the world, which sustaineth every creature: nothing advanceth us so near to a resemblance of Him who is essential love and goodness; who freely and purely, without any

regard to His own advantage or capacity of finding any beneficial return, doth bear and express the highest good-will, with a liberal hand pouring down showers of bounty and mercy on all His creatures; who daily putteth up with numberless indignities and injuries, upholding and maintaining those who offend and provoke Him.

Charity rendereth us as Angels, or peers to those glorious and blessed creatures who, without receiving or expecting any requital from us, do heartily desire and delight in our good, are ready to promote it, do willingly serve and labour for it. Nothing is more amiable, more admirable, more venerable, even in the common eye and opinion of men: it hath a beauty and a majesty apt to ravish every heart; even a spark of it in generosity of dealing breedeth admiration; a glimpse of it in formal courtesy of behaviour procureth much esteem, being deemed to accomplish and adorn a man : how lovely, therefore, and truly gallant is an entire, sincere, constant, and uniform practice thereof, issuing from pure good-will and affection!

Love, indeed, or goodness for true love is nothing else but goodness exerting itself in direction towards objects capable of its influence is the only amiable and honourable thing. Power and wit may be admired by some, or have some fond idolaters; but, being severed from goodness, or abstracted from their subserviency to it, they cannot obtain real love, they deserve not any esteem. For the worst, the most unhappy, the most odious and contemptible of beings do partake of them in a high measure: the Prince of Darkness hath more power, and reigneth with absolute sovereignty over more subjects by many, than the great Turk; yet with all his power and all his wit he is most wretched, most detestable, most despicable and such in proportion is every one who partaketh in his dispositions of malice and uncharitableness.

:

If we have not charity towards men, we shall have enmity with them; and upon that do wait troops of mischief: we shall enjoy nothing quietly or safely, we shall do nothing without opposition and contention; no conversation, no commerce will be pleasant: clamour, obloquy, tumult, and trouble will surround us; we shall live in perpetual danger, the enmity of the meanest and weakest creature being formidable.

But all such mischiefs charity will prevent or remove; damming

DIVINE PROVIDENCE IN HUMAN ART.

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up the fountains or extirpating the roots of them. For who will hate a person that apparently loveth him? who can be so barbarous or base as to hurt that man whom he findeth ever ready to do him good? what brute, what devil, can find in his heart to be a foe to him who is a sure friend to all?

As charity restraineth us from doing any wrong, or yielding any offence to others in thought, in word, in deed; from hatching any mischievous designs against our neighbour; from using any harsh, virulent, biting language; from any rugged, discourteous, disobliging behaviour; from any wrongful, rigorous, severe dealing towards him; so it consequently will defend us from the like treatment. For scarce any man is so malicious as, without any provocation, to do mischief: no man is so incorrigibly savage as to persist in committing outrage upon perfect innocence, joined with patience, with meekness, with courtesy. Charity will melt the hardest heart, and charm the fiercest spirit; it will bind the most violent hand, it will still the most obstreperous tongue: it is the best guard that can be of our safety from assaults, of our interest from damage, of our reputation from slander, detraction, reproach.

ISAAC BARROW: 1630-1077.

DIVINE PROVIDENCE IN HUMAN ART.

MAN is proud of art and skill more than of all things else. Virtue and piety are indeed greater and nobler, but they make men humble, not proud; and even they are indebted to the arts of civilized life for the basis of intelligence, knowledge, culture, and refinement, on which alone they can be built up in their full strength and beauty, and by means of which alone they can have their due manifestation and influence.

But what man has done for himself and for his earthly home, the wastes he has reclaimed; the cities he has built; the grandeur and beauty he has embodied in architecture, enshrined in marble, portrayed on canvas; the enslaving to his uses of the giant and wayward forces of Nature; the overcoming of obstacles that once seemed insurmountable; the sovereign command which he exercises in the entire realm of material forces and agencies ;- these are the burden of his self-praise and especially we are never weary of