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have gone forth to mar and to crush the noblest and fairest -this is the 'mystery of iniquity, that hath been hidden from ages,' and is not yet fully unfolded.
The Same Concluded.
THE mysteries of our present being, though met with in daily experience, though recognised by the severest philosophy, are never perhaps more sensibly, or so to speak, consciously shadowed forth to us, than in the scene of strangely mingled experience and illusion, that world veiled from the eyes of philosophy-the world of our dreams. Mr. Hogg somewhere remarks, and it seems to be more than a poetical fancy, that our dreams are emphatically mysteries, hitherto sacred from metaphysical analysis. The writer hopes he may be excused, therefore, if he introduces, as appropriate to the meditations of this paper, a dream of his own.
An excursion of health carried me, some years ago, through the beautiful villages of Concord and Lancaster, to the brow of the noble Wachusett. It was in the month of our summer's glory-June. I know not how it may appear to others; but that enjoyment, leading to surfeit and oppression, which is often described as attending upon one class of our pleasures, seems to me as more than realized in the overpowering, the almost oppressive, the mysterious delight, with which we gaze upon the ever-renewed and brightened visions of nature. Such it was to me; and when the evening came, its calmness was as grateful to me, as the rest which hospitality afforded.
Yet it brought its own fascination. The moon shed down from her calm and lofty sphere, a more sacred beam than that of day. Her light seemed like an emanation, an element for holy thought, in which there was something like consciousness and witnessing to the thoughts of mortals. The breeze, as it went up the mountain's side, and touched the forest boughs, seemed like a living spirit. The summit, rising towards heaven and resting in a solemn and serene light, appeared like a mount of meditation, where some holy sufferer had retired from the world to pray, and where angels were ascending and descending.
Fatigued and exhausted, I sought repose at an early hour, and soon fell into that half sleeping and half waking state, with which the diseased and troubled, at least, are well acquainted. It is the well known and frequent effect of this state of partial consciousness, to give a mysterious and preternatural importance to every thing that attracts the notice of the wandering senses. Now and then, an evening traveller passed by; but that was not the simple character, with which my imagination invested him. He was a fierce rider from the battle field—and as he rushed by upon the sounding mountain pavement, he seemed to bear upon his tread the fate of empires.
Then a sound of laughter and shout of revelry reached mé from a neighboring ale-house, and it appeared like the discordant mockery of fiends over the wreck of kingdoms. And ever and anon, the passing breeze shook the casement of my window, and the sound in my ear seemed stern as the voice of destiny, and struck me with an inexplicable awe, that attends the slightest jar of an earthquake.
At length I sunk into a deeper sleep; but still the confused images of my half conscious state, mingled with the deeper reveries of my dreams. I dreamed as I often do when awake, of men, and life, and the crowded world. The procession of human generations passed before me. The wandering Tartar flew by me in his sledge, over the frozen solitudes of the North. The turbaned Turk moved slowly on, by the many shores of his rich and glorious domains. The politic, bustling, busy European passed over the theatre of my vision, and it was a theatre of merchandise. And then, again, the wilds of the New World were open to me, and I saw the stealthy Indian retiring from thicket to thicket, and the white man pressed hard upon his retreating steps.
Then the palaces and courts of royalty rose before me, and I saw the gay and gorgeous train that thronged them, and heard, from many a recess and by-path, the sighs of disappointed ambition. Anon, the camp, with its mingled order and confusion, came upon the wayward fancies of my dream; and the fearful tread of a host drew near, and music from unnumbered instruments burst forth, and swelled gloriously up to heaven. And then suddenly the scene changed, and I thought it was music for the gay assembly and the dance; and a multitude innumerable wandered through boundless plains, in pursuit of pleasure.
But immediately either in the strange vagaries of my
dreams, or according to the broken memory of it,-it appeared to be no longer a multitude, but a mighty city of immeasurable extent;—and then, the countless habitations of far distant countries, came within the range of my vision, and the scenes of domestic abode and all the mazy struggle of human life, were beneath my eye. I heard the song of gladness; and then the wailings of infancy were in my ears, and stern voices seemed to hush them.
In another quarter the throng of pleasure and the pall of death passed on, and went different ways, as it seemed but in a shocking vicinity to each other, and in strangely mingled and mournful confusion: and I thought of human weal and wo, and of this world's great fortunes, and of the mystery of life, and of God's wisdom, till it seemed to me that my heart would break with its longing for further knowledge, and my pillow was wet with the tears of my dream.
As my head was bowed down in meditation and in sorrow, it suddenly appeared to me, that an unusual and unearthly light was breaking around me. I instantly lifted my eyes, for a thrilling and awful expectation came upon me. thought of the judgment, and almost expected to behold the Son of Man in the clouds of heaven. I immediately perceived that the vision was to me alone; for the light did not spread far, and proceeded from only one voluminous cloud.
As I gazed upon the cloud, features of more than mortal loveliness became visible, the form was partly veiled from me, in the glorious brightness that surrounded it. I imagined that I perceived a resemblance to the countenance of one, that I had known and loved on earth; and I girded up the powers of my mind, as I have often thought I should do, in my waking hours, to meet a spirit from the other world.
The first words that fell upon my ear, instead of inspiring me with the expected terror, spread a sacred tranquillity through all my faculties. Mortal'-the voice said-' once a fellow mortal!'-and no earthly tongue can express the soothing sweetness and tenderness that flowed in those words
be patient,' it said, 'be strong; fear not; be not troubled. If thou couldst know!-but I may not tell thee-else would not thy faith be perfected:-be yet patient; trust in God; trust in him and be happy!'
The bright cloud was borne by the gentlest breath of air away from me; the features slowly faded, but with such a smile of ineffable benignity and love lingering upon the countenance, that in the ecstasy of my emotion, I awoke.
I awoke; the songs of the morning were around me; the sun was high in heaven; the earth seemed to be clothed with new beauty. I went forth with a firmer step, and a more cheerful brow, resolving to be patient and happy, till I also should see as I am seen, and know even as I am known.'
Close of Mr. Brougham's Speech on the Reform Bill.
YOUR Lordships may pass this bill, and then we shall have peace and contentment; but I much dread that it may be refused, and that you may be induced, under other ministers, in less auspicious times, to grant a far more extensive measure than that which is now proposed. Oh, my lords, let the old illustration of the Sibyl, never be forgotten by you. On no one question of practical politics has it so direct a bearing as on this.
You have now offered to you the volume of peace. The price that you are called upon by that prophetic Sibyl to pay is, to restore under great modifications, the old fabric of the representative constitution. You will not take the volume-you will not pay that price-that moderate price! The Sibyl darkens your doors no longer. You repentyou call her back—she returns-the leaves of peace are half torn out, and it is no longer the volume that first was offered; but she demands a still larger price, and you must pay for it with parliaments by the year, elections by millions, and voting by ballot; you will not pay that price, and again you send her away.
What the next price which she will demand, and that you must pay, is more than I will say. This I know, as sure as man is man, and human error leads to human disappointment, justice delayed, wisdom postponed, must enhance the price of peace. My lords, there is an awful consideration connected with this subject. You are judges in the highest court in the last resort; and it is the first office of a judge never to decide even the most trifling case, without hearing every thing. But in this case you are going to decide without a hearing, without a trial.
My lords, beware of standing out on this sacred subject.
You may obstruct, you may put off the day, you may give a temporary life to the borough jobber, and postpone the elective franchise to the greatest towns of the realm; but, my lords, that delay will have no effect in raising the respect of this house, and in conciliating the affections of the people of this country.
My lords, I wish you, because I belong to you, because I am a good subject of the king, because I am a friend to my country, but, above all, because my whole life has been devoted to obtain, confirm, and perpetuate peace abroad and at home, I wish you, nay, by all these reasons, and by all these motives, I pray and beseech you not thus to reject this bill; I call on you by all you hold most dear, I call on every one except those who think no reform necessary, and they alone can give a consistent vote against the bill. I call on you by this solemn appeal, and remember, my lords, I am in the same vessel as yourselves, I call on you, I entreat you, and on my bended knees I implore you not to reject this bill.
Ir was a fine sabbath morning in the year 1777, that the inhabitants of a little parish in the state of Vermont, and on the borders of New Hampshire, assembled in their accustomed place of worship. The cares and turmoils of that fearful and long to be remembered summer, had imprinted an unusually serious look upon the rough, though not unpleasing countenance of the male members of that little congregation. Their rigid features relaxed, however, as they entered that hallowed place, and felt the genial influence of a summer's sun, whose rays illuminated the sanctuary, and played upon the desk, and upon the fine open countenance of him who ministered there. He was a venerable man, and his whitened locks and tottering frame evidenced that he had numbered his three score and ten years.
Opening the sacred volume, the minister of Christ was about to commence the services of the morning, when a messenger, almost breathless, rushed into the church, and