concluding lines being an impressive vindication of the ways of Providence to man: Provvidenza alta infinita, if it sometimes denies the favours we implore, denies in kindness; and seeming to deny a blessing, grants one in that very refusal o negar finge, e nel negar concede. William Collins the painter-a loving and lovable man as well as refined artist-in one of his letters home expresses his "decided opinion, that if the Almighty were to give us everything for which we feel desirous, we should as often find it necessary to pray to Him to take away as to grant new favours." And he refers to thousands of cases that he could bring forward in proof of his assertion. It amounts to a sort of refrain in the melodious rhythm of that fragmentary prose-poem of De Quincey's, "The Daughter of Lebanon," the admonition of the prophet to the lovely woman in the Damascus market-place: "Ask what thou wiltgreat or small-and through me thou shalt receive it from God. But, my child, ask not amiss. For God is able out of thy own evil asking to weave snares for thy footing. And oftentimes to the lambs whom He loves, He gives by seeming to refuse ; gives in some better sense, or " (and here the prophet's voice swelled into the power of anthems) "in some far happier world." And when the sun is declining to the west on the thirtieth day, the prophet iterates the strain of old: “Lady of Lebanon, the day is already come, and the hour is coming, in which my covenant must be fulfilled with thee. Wilt thou, therefore, being now wiser in thy thoughts, suffer God, thy new Father, to give by seeming to refuse; to give in some better sense, or in some far happier world?" But the daughter of Lebanon sorrowed at these words; she yearned after her native hills, and the sweet twin-born sister with whom from infant days hand-in-hand she had wandered amongst the everlasting cedars. The delirium of fever, and approaching death, are next described; and again the evangelist sits down by her bedside, and rebukes the clouds that trouble her vision, and bids them stand no more between that dying Magdalen and the forests of Lebanon. Anon, we read how the blue sky parted to the right and to the left, laying bare the infinite revelations that can be made visible only to dying eyes; and how, as the child of Lebanon gazed upon the mighty visions, she saw bending forward from the heavenly host, as if in gratulation to herself, the one countenance for which she hungered and thirsted. "The twin-sister, that should have waited for her in Lebanon, had died of grief, and was waiting for her in Paradise. Immediately in rapture she soared upwards from her couch; immediately in weakness she fell back; and being caught by the evangelist, she flung her arms around his neck; whilst he breathed into her ear his final whisper, 'Wilt thou now suffer that God should give by seem ing to refuse?'—'Oh yes—yes—yes,' was the fervent answer from the daughter of Lebanon." Hitherto she had known not what to ask for as she ought. Hitherto her asking had been amiss she had asked for she knew not what. But now her vision was purged. Now she had the second-sight that could pierce through and beyond the night-side of nature, and gaze on the land that is very far off. Hitherto she had, at the best, seen through a glass darkly; but now, it might be said, face to face. So that she knew what to ask for, now. : Chactas, the blind old sachem in Chateaubriand's Wertherian romance, is made to bring that once enthusiastically admired story to an end by relating a parable to his woe-fraught young listener. It tells how the Meschacebé, soon after leaving its source among the hills, began to feel weary of being a simple brook; and so asked for snows from the mountains, water from the torrents, rain from the tempests; until, its petitions granted, it burst its bounds, and ravaged its hitherto delightsome banks. At first the proud stream exulted in its force; but seeing ere long that it carried desolation in its flow, that its progress was now doomed to solitude, and that its waters were for ever turbid, it came to regret the humble bed hollowed out for it by nature,—the birds, the flowers, the trees, and the brooks, hitherto the modest companions of its tranquil course. The moral of the myth of Tithonus is one for all time. Mr. Tennyson has pointed it for ours. He shows us in Tithonus a concluding lines being an impressive vindication of the ways of Providence to man: Provvidenza alta infinita, if it sometimes denies the favours we implore, denies in kindness; and seeming to deny a blessing, grants one in that very refusal o negar finge, e nel negar concede. William Collins the painter-a loving and lovable man as well as refined artist-in one of his letters home expresses his "decided opinion, that if the Almighty were to give us everything for which we feel desirous, we should as often find it necessary to pray to Him to take away as to grant new favours." And he refers to thousands of cases that he could bring forward in proof of his assertion. It amounts to a sort of refrain in the melodious rhythm of that fragmentary prose-poem of De Quincey's, "The Daughter of Lebanon," the admonition of the prophet to the lovely woman in the Damascus market-place: "Ask what thou wilt— great or small-and through me thou shalt receive it from God. But, my child, ask not amiss. For God is able out of thy own evil asking to weave snares for thy footing. And oftentimes to the lambs whom He loves, He gives by seeming to refuse ; gives in some better sense, or " (and here the prophet's voice swelled into the power of anthems) "in some far happier world." And when the sun is declining to the west on the thirtieth day, the prophet iterates the strain of old: "Lady of Lebanon, the day is already come, and the hour is comi which my covenant must be fulfilled with thee. W therefore, being now wiser in thy thoughts, suffer Go Father, to give by seeming to refuse; to give in sense, or in some far happier world?" Lebanon sorrowed at these words; she yearned hills, and the sweet twin-born sist days hand-in-hand she had wa cedars. The delirium of f next described; and agai bedside, and rebukes th bids them stand no m the forests of Leba white-haired shadow roaming like a dream the ever silent spaces of the East; and from this grey shadow, once a man, the wailing utterance of a sad story comes : "I ask'd thee, 'Give me immortality.' Then didst thou grant my asking with a smile, Let me go: take back thy gift : Where all should pass, as is most meet for all? WEL in the Romish Church, who upon reading in the Book of Genesis how that all the days that Adam lived were nine hundred and thirty years, and he died; and all the days of Seth were nine hundred and twelve years, and he died; and all the days of Methuselah were nine hundred and sixty nine years, and he died;-immediately shut himself up in a convent, an absolute recluse from the world, as not thinking anything in this life worth pursuing, which had not regard to another. What man is he that liveth, and shall not see death? "Dead !-Man's 'I was,' by God's 'I am ' All hero-worship comes to that. High heart, high thought, high fame, as flat As a gravestone. Bring your facet jam— |