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No! I would tell what 't were to be a judge,
Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
Isał Alas! alas!
Ang. Be you content, fair maid ;
Isab. To-morrow? O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him.'
Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept :
Isab. Yet show some pity !
Ang. I show it most of all when I show justice;
Isab. So you must be the first that gives this sentence,
Drest in a little brief authority,
Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me?
Isab. Because authority, though it err like others,
Ang. [Aside.]El She speaks, and 't is
Isab. Gentle, my lord, turn back.
Isab. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you,
Ang. Well ; come to me
Isab. Heaven keep your honor safe !
CLI. — THE MIND ITS OWN EDUCATOR.
1. KNOWLEDGE and virtue, or, in other words, intellectual and moral improvement, are mainly the mind's own work. The ordinary processes of direct instruction are, at best, but means, facilities, and aids, — of immense importance, it is true, but which pres ippose in the mind to which they are applied an active, self moving coöperation. None can carry us up the hill of learning It must be done, if done, by the strain upon our own sinews by the wrenching of our own muscles, by the indomi. .
table resolution of our own wills. Without this effort on our parts, all the means of instruction which this and all other ages have devised are vain, worse than vain.
2. There is a vague notion widely prevalent that schools and ampler seminaries are able, by a power inherent in themselves, to fill the mind with learning; or that it is to be received inertly, like the influences of the atmosphere, by a mere residence at the places of instruction. But this is a sad mistake. Something, in this way, doubtless, may be effected. Something may be thus insensibly imbibed. A young person cannot pass his time, for years, in scenes like these, without catching something from the inspiration of the place. Intercourse, conversation, sympathy with his companions, will, without much voluntary effort on his part, convey some information, and mould, in some degree, the habits of his mind. But this, admitting it in its full extent, amounts to but very little. It is, moreover, too vague to be of any practical value.
3. The truth, after all, is, that the most elaborate and manifold apparātus of instruction can impart nothing of importance to the passive and inert mind. It is almost as unavailing as the warmth and light of the sun, and all the sweet influences of the heavens, shed upon the desert sands. « The schoolmaster," we are told by one, who, be it observed, is himself a prodigy of selfeducation, “ the schoolmaster is abroad.” The word has been caught up by the nations as prophetical of mighty changes. But the schoolmaster is abroad to little purpose, unless his pupils stand ready in their places to receive him with open and active minds, and to labor with him for their own benefit.
4. If all the means of education which are scattered over the world, and if all the philosophers and teachers of ancient and modern times, were to be collected together, and made to bring their combined efforts to bear upon an individual, all they could do would be to afford the opportunity of improvement. They could not give him a single valuable thought independently of his own exertion. All that could be accomplished must still be done within the little compass of his own mind; and they could not approach this by a hair's breadth nearer than access was made for them by his own coöperation. Nothing short of a miracle can teach a man anything independently of this. All that he learns is effected by self-discipline, and self-discipline is the mind's own work. We all are, under God, intellectually, the makers of ourselves.
5. Virtue, religion, as well as knowledge, must also be mainly the mind's own work. Here, too, external · means are useless, without the earnest coöperation of the individual. The usual
means of religious improvement, public r .gious instruction, public worship, the solemn and tender rites of our religion, seasons of abstraction from ordinary cares for self-intercourse, and for communion of the soul with God, are valuable, most valuable, valuable very far beyond the common estimate that is made of them, — so valuable, that they are the principal head-springs of public morals, and possex a preventive and san'ative El influence over public sentiment, which is more effective in preserving good order, good institutions, civil rights, and private welfare, than any other influences which are brought to bear upon the community.
6. But how and why are they thus valuable ? Simply and only as means and aids of personal exertion ; simply and only by being brought into contact with the minds and hearts of men. Unless this is done, religious meetings and services and rites are a mockery. Worse, even, than this; they are a perversion of those overtures of mercy, and those means of improvement, which a gracious God has vouchsa fed, to raise us from a mere earthly life, and make us partakers of a divine nature. What is prayer to him who does not pray? What is religious instruction to the vain, the frivolous, the indifferent, the preöccupied and fore. closed mind? What is the keeping of holy time to him, who, while he is ostensibly present at places of social worship, has yet left his thoughts and affections behind, to hold companionship with his business or his pleasures ? Alas! nothing. It is but as the vain oblations, the pageantry, and sacrifices of a darker age, without the excuse of ignorance to be pleaded in palliation. Under God, and by those spiritual aids which are ever vouchsafed in exact proportion to our endeavors to obtain them (how gracious and glorious is this truth !), we are morally and religiously, as well as intellectually, the makers of ourselves.
FROM THE FRENCH OF DEGERANDO
CLII. — FULTON'S FIRST STEAMBOAT. 1. It was in reference to the astonishing impulse given to mechanical pursuits, that Dr. Darwin, more than forty years ago, broke out in strains equally remarkable for their poetical enthusiasm and prophetic truth, and predicted the future triumph of the steam-engine :
“ Soon shall thy arm, unconquered steam, atar
Drag the slow barge, or drive the rapid car ;
Or on wide waving wing expanded bear
2. What would he have said, if he had but lived to witness the immortal invention of Fulton, El which seems almost to move in the air, and to fly on the wings of the wind? And yět how slowly did this enterprise obtain the public favor! I myself have heard the illustrious inventor relate, in an animated and affecting manner, the history of his labors and discouragements. When, said he, I was building my first steamboat at New York, tho project was viewed by the public either with indifference or with contempt, as a visionary scheme. My friends, indeed, wero civil, but they were shy. They listened with patience to my explanations, but with a settled cast of incredulity on their countenances. I felt the full force of the lamentation of the poet,
“ Truths would you teach, to save a sinking land,
All shun, none aid you, and few understand.”
3. As I had occasion to pass daily to and from the buildingyard, while my boat was in progress, I have often loitered un. known near the idle groups of strangers, gathering in little cir. cles, and heard various inquiries as to the object of this new vehicle. The language was uniformly that of scorn, or sneer, or ridicule. The loud laugh often rose at my expense; the dry jest; the wise calculation of losses and expenditures ; the dull but endless repetition of “ the Fulton Folly.” Never did a sin. gle encouraging remark, a bright hope, or a warm wish, cross my path. Silence itself was but politeness veiling its doubts, or hiding its reproaches.
4. At length the day arrived when the experiment was to be put into operation. To me it was a most trying and interesting occasion. I invited many friends to go on board to witness the first successful trip. Many of them did me the favor to attend, as a matter of personal respect; but it was manifest that they did it with reluctance, fearing to be the partners of my mortification, and not of my triumph. I was well aware that, in my case, there were many reasons to doubt of my own success. The machinery was new and ill made; many parts of it were constructed by mechanics unaccustomed to such work; and unexpected difficulties might reasonably be presumed to present themselves from other causes. The moment arrived in which the word was to be given for the vessel to move My friends were