any one wishes to know the quality of Emerson's doctrines, the best advice that can be tendered him is not to read what has been said about them, but to read what Emerson has written. My reason for including him among our Gentiles is not so much that he ceased to be and was not what is usually called a Christian preacher, but that he belonged to that other class of preachers who are quite as indispensable for the civilisation and renewal of the world as preachers of the Gospel-the priests of philosophy and letters. Among these he deserves a most honourable place, and is certainly one of the best and noblest America has produced.

Ralph Waldo Emerson was born in Boston, May 25, 1803, and, according to the historian of Concord, could trace his ancestry back as far as the thirteenth century, when Robert Bulkeley, Lord of the Manor of Bulkeley, from whom he was descended, put his hand, as an English baron, to that famous historical document, the Magna Charta. Both his father's and his mother's ancestors seem to have emigrated from the old country in the seventeenth century, and to have settled in or near Concord. As has already been said, eight generations of ministers preceded him, and after studying at Havard College, he was himself ordained a minister, in the Unitarian denomination, at Boston, January 11, 1829. His ministry was short-his resignation of his position as minister of the Second Church in Boston, the only pastorate he ever occnpied, being tendered in the autumn of 1832. Soon after its acceptance his health broke down, and being advised to take a seavoyage, in 1833 he visited Europe; and after seeing Italy and France, came to England, where he met with Coleridge and Wordsworth; and coming north visited Carlyle at Craigenputtock. Two years afterwards, when Longfellow came to the same place, Carlyle said to him, "Emerson's coming was like the visit of an angel." Returning home, Emerson, after lecturing in Boston and elsewhere, and having declined a call from the Unitarian Church in New Bedford, where he had preached for several months, settled down in Concord, guided chiefly in his selection of the place by his love of nature. "I am a poet of nature," he said at the time, "and therefore must live in the country." Here he devoted himself to study, and having given up all thought of the ministry, chose in its stead a literary

career.

An idealist by disposition, he naturally turned his attention to the chief masters of the idealistic philosophy. His favourite authors at this time were Plato, Plotinus, and Plutarch among the Greeks, the old German Mystics, some of the Cambridge Platonists, and the more recent idealists among English writers. The fruit of his study was a small book entitled Nature,

which bore on its title-page the significant words of Plotinus: "Nature is but an image or imitation of wisdom, the last thing of the soul: nature being a thing which doth only do, but not know." Its leading thought is expressed in the following lines, which stood as a motto to the volume :

"A subtle chain of countless rings,

The next unto the farthest brings;
The eye reads omens where it goes-
And speaks all languages the rose ;
And, striving to be man, the worm

Mounts through all the spires of form."

From beginning to end the book is the work of an idealist, but the idealism it contains is of a very pure and noble, and far-reaching kind. Here, for instance, are a few sentences from it:-"All things are moral, and in their boundless changes have an increasing reference to spiritual nature. Every animal function, from the sponge up to Hercules, shall hint or thunder to man the laws of right and wrong, and echo the ten commandments. This ethical character so penetrates the bone and marrow of nature as to secure the end for which it was made. Every natural process is a version of a moral sentence. The moral law lies at the centre of nature, and radiates to the circumference. It is the pith and marrow of every substance, every relation and every process. All things with which we deal preach to us."

Published anonymously, the volume sold but slowly. Emerson, however, was not discouraged. He still continued to preach, but his time was mainly occupied in writing and lecturing. Latterly he came to feel that his pulpit was the platform of the Lyceum, and gave up preaching altogether. Many of his lectures were re-cast and published in the shape of essays. From time to time, too, he edited various collections of Carlyle's writings, which for a long time were much more popular in America than amongst ourselves. In 1838 he delivered the customary address before the graduating class, in the Divinity School of Havard University. By his friends the address was regarded as the proclamation of a new faith. By others, espe cially by the authorities of the University, it was regarded with a considerable amount of distaste, and one of its results was a somewhat sharp controversy. In 1847 Emerson again visited England, and was everywhere received and listened to with enthusiasm. The lectures which he delivered in London, Manchester and other places, attracted large and crowded audiences. Those delivered in London were attended by most of the literary men, and by many of the leading minds of the period. As a lecturer his manner was somewhat peculiar, and was thus described at the time :-"Precisely at

four o'clock the lecturer glided in, and suddenly appeared at the reading-desk. Tall, thin, his features aquiline, his eye piercing and fixed; the effect, as he stood quietly before his audience, was at first somewhat startling, and then nobly impressive. Having placed his manuscript on the desk with nervous rapidity, and paused, the lecturer then quickly, and as it were, with a flash of action, turned over the first leaf, whispering at the same time, Gentlemen and Ladies.' The initial sentences were next pronounced in a low tone, a few words at a time, hesitatingly, as if then extemporaneously meditated, and not, as they really were, premeditated and forewritten. Time was thus given for the audience to meditate them too. Meanwhile the meaning, as it were, was dragged from under the veil and covering of the expression and seen, and ever and anon a particular phrase was so emphatically italicised as to command attention. There was nothing like acquired elocution, no regular intonation, in fact, none of the usual oratorical artifices, but for the most part a shapeless delivery (only varied by certain nervous twitches and angular movements of the hands and arms, curious to see and even to smile at), and calling for much co-operation on the part of the auditor to help out its shortcomings. Along with this there was an eminent bonhomie, earnestness, and sincerity, which bespoke sympathy and respect-nay, more, secured veneration."

His next visit to England was in 1872. In the meantime, however, he had taken an active part in the literary movements and stirring events which had transpired in America. He had also spoken out manfully in the cause of freedom, and had been recognised by his countrymen as one of their foremost men. His home at Concord came gradually to be looked upon as one of the literary centres of the American Continent, and he carried with him to the grave the esteem and veneration not only of a vast number of friends, but also of that still vaster multitude, those who have profited by his writings.

Thanks to the rivalry of publishers, Emerson's complete works can now be had in several forms and at very moderate prices. As I have already hinted, the worth and tendency of his teaching have been variously estimated. Not a few hard names have been applied to him-Mystic, Pantheist, Atheist, are among the choicest. A mystic probably he was; but a is no worse than others, I imagine, because he is From amongst those who have been designated mystics, it would not be difficult to select a pretty large list of illustrious men. Those who are acquainted with. the higher theological literature, either of this country or of the Continent, are not unaccustomed to hear of the

mysticism of St. John and the mysticism of St. Paul. At the head of the Christian Mystics historians usually place no other than the beloved disciple. As for the epithets Pantheist and Atheist, well, they are ugly words, and are used by many much too freely. As a rule, it wil be found, I believe, that those who make the freest use of them apply them to those who do not hold precisely the same conception of God as they do themselves. The real Atheist, I imagine, is not he who denies some abstruse doctrine about the personality of God, or confesses his inability to understand it; but, he who sets at defiance the eternal law of charity, and lives in wickedness. I am a disciple neither of Emerson nor of Spinoza, but after reading their works with considerable attention, I do not hesitate to say, notwithstanding all that has been said to the contrary, that neither the one nor the other was either a Pantheist or an Atheist. Each of them stood face to face with the awful mysteries of existence, and having tried to construe them in the forms of the intellect, they felt their powerlessness, and had the courage to confess it. At the same time, by the purity and nobleness of their lives, they confessed their trust in all that is right and true, and eternal. From the writings of either I do. not think it would be difficult to select passages of a distinctly Theistic significance, or to match those, which are said to be Pantheistic, or Atheistic, with others of an entirely opposite meaning.

Emerson's style is not the best. It is too condensed, too aphoristic, too jerky. It is disfigured also by a number of unpleasant mannerisms. His thought, however, is of the purest and noblest. His moral and social teaching is full of a divine wisdom. Put into practice it would speedily work a beneficent revolution in every department of human life. As a poet, Emerson is not so great as he is as an essayist : still, some of his verses have a singular charm, and are not without genuine inspiration. Here are a few of them from his "Threnody: "

What is excellent,

As God lives, is permanent;

Hearts are dust-hearts' lives remain ;
Heart's love will meet thee again :
Revere the Maker-fetch thine eye
Up to His style and manner of the sky.
Not of adamant and gold

Built He heaven, stark and cold;
No: but a nest of bending reeds,
Flowering grass, and scented weeds
Or like a traveller's fleeting tent,
Or bow above the tempest bent:
Built of tears and sacred flames
And virtue reaching to its aims!
Built of furtherance and pursuing,
Not of spent deeds, but of doing."

IT

Two Nights.

T was a night of wondrous beauty, that first sweet night, now so long ago, and the stars shone out in golden splendour above our heads, as Sylvio and I stood together watching them, and ever and anon a quick exclamation would escape from the lips of one or other of us, as a star, shining more brightly than the rest, would leave its comrades in the sky, and swift as lightning shoot down to earth. We watched them long, and as we watched, and listened to the murmur of the distant waves upon the shore, we told each other many things that until that blissful moment had lain buried in the deep recesses of our hearts. Ah! what we told each other that calm night, is better left untold to other ears. We loved each other; that is enough for those who know the deep meaning of that sacred word. And from our earthly love we raised our hearts unto the purer love of God which seemed to us proclaimed in all around. The sea, so gently calm, was murmuring it in its song; the breath of evening whispered it in our ears; the stars declared it in the heavens. Bright homes they seemed of God's bright angels-"many mansions "-so we said, and when we saw one leave the shining throng, and shoot down to the earth, we fancied it might be God's messenger of love and grace to some poor tired soul, or sent to fetch some weary one to the home of rest on high. Thus we talked, and wondered, and the evening hours fled, and we grieved to leave the starlight and return to the dim and shadowy lights within. Moreover, it was our last night together, and we had much to say. But fleeting are our earthly joys, and soon this happiness was past, and we were separated. Separated with a wide sea between us, and I was left to watch and wonder at the stars alone. Sometimes I stood as on that night with him; but oh, how different seemed all things now! I saw the stars as then, but they looked dimmer now (maybe it was my blinding tears that made them so); I heard the murmur of the sea; but now it sounded sad and mournful to my heavy ear. As I gazed up at the sky I thought of all that he had said that night before he left, and wondered if we should ever live in one of those "many mansions;" and as the "messengers" shot down, I wished that they might carry some sweet word of love and grace to him. But always across my saddened spirit came the peaceful thought, that God's

love was always in His works, and I still could listen thankfully to the messages He sent me. But these nights of calm and peace were only for a little while, and then a change came over all. Too chilly to stand and watch the sky, I crouched by the fireside, and as I sat, living pictures seemed to form themselves in the coals before my eyes. I listened to the angry howling of the wind and the hoarse roar of the waves, and 1 trembled, for he was on his homeward way again. And then I wondered, could the love of God be still in these angry voices? and I wept for fear. But in the lull between the raging gusts, I seemed to hear these words: "Wind and storm fulfilling His word." Then my troubled heart took comfort, and I knew it was in love He sent the storm, and I knelt down and prayed that He would keep my dear one safe from harm. When morning came the gale was over, but the sullen sky gave no hope of brightness for the day. I went about my daily duties with a sad and downcast heart, and longed for those warmer days and nights of summer, and wished that I could have a bright messenger sent down with words of comfort and cheer for me ? But none came.

Only, one morning long after, a dark messenger came in hot haste, with mournful tone, to tell me he whom I loved had returned at last, but that even now the shadow of death was hovering round him. Oh, the anguish of my soul! I hurried, scarcely heeding how I went, until I came to where he lay sick and helpless. As I bent over him, and my hot tears rained down, he opened his eyes and looked at me-that old sweet look of love!--and said, in weary weakened tones: "I think a messenger will come to-night for me, and I longed to see your face once more, before I go to the many mansions,' in the skies." I could not answer, but sank down sobbing at his side. He let me weep at first, and then he gently said: "It will be a messenger of love and rest to me, dear; will you not let me go?" I struggled to say yes, and prayed for strength to be resigned and strength was given. I got up and sat by him, and watched his dear face; and he told me how he had never ceased to love me, and to remember our sweet intercourse that first night before he left; and every word he said was treasured in my heart. But as the hours wore on and evening came, he grew restless, and very weary, and longed for the messenger to come and fetch him home. The curtains were drawn back, and the window was open to let in the evening breeze, for it was hot and sultry, like that first night, and the stars shone out in all their glory, and the little waves kissed the shore, and murmured their old sweet song, "God is Love!" And, as we watched the sky, I knew that it was the last night that

I should ever gaze upward with him. Henceforth he would look down from there on me, and I should look alone towards his new and distant home. I felt that soon the messenger would come. The hand I held in mine grew chill and damp, and the eyes, so bright of old, were becoming dim now, and he lay quite still waiting. Suddenly a star, more bright than all the rest, left the sky and sped swiftly down. "Your messenger!" I cried, and turned to look at him. But he had seen it first. His weary soul had taken flight already, and only his dear form lay there.

I

The Children's Column.

THE DEATH OF MOSES.

beauty, then turned again to watch the sky. There I saw his bright star, more radiant to my eyes than all the shining throng, and I whispered-" He is there! I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me."

And then I felt, though grieving sore for him, that God's love was shown even in taking him I loved from me; and that he had taken him to draw me nearer to Himself, and in order that I might more earnestly desire to leave this weary earth, and live with Him in perfect rest on high! And ever as I watch those stars, as on those two most blessed nights of old, I see his star shining; and as I work and wait I know that one day a messenger will come for me; and together we two, now separated for a little while, shall worship in the "many mansions," and sing the never-ending song of "GOD IS LOVE!"

THE CONTRAST.

I.

I HAD wandered thro' the woodland bowers Since the morning's golden prime,

E. M. L.

And my hands were filled with the buds and flowers
Of the gorgeous Summer time.

The stream at my feet lay glittering fair,
And the green trees waved above,

And the lays that the birds were chanting there
Were the lays of peace and of love.

The sun had sunk to his short-lived rest,
And the sky was clear and blue,

Save the glowing gates afar to west
That were flushed with crimson hue.

The dew fell thick and I turned me home
Through the scented woodland air:

And I marvelled much how storms could come,
For the whole world seemed so fair.

II.

I stood once more in those woodlands, swept
Of their leaves at Autumn's close,
And mine eyes were as dim with tears unwept
As the sky with unshed snows.

The stream lay stiff in the Winter's bands,
And the trees stood bare and stark,
And the birds were dead, or to kinder lands
Had fled from the Winter dark.
On the howling wind the drift came down,
And the clouds closed black and near,
And I wondered much how sunbeams shone,
For the whole world seemed so drear.

ISABELLA STUART.

episodes in the Old Testament, for he dies just as his wanderings in the wilderness are over, and his people, whom he loves so fondly, and has guided and ruled so well, are about to enter into the Promised Land. Is he never to get there, never be rewarded for his patience and long-suffering?

How his noble spirit must have yearned for the fulfilment of his life-long dream and ambition!

How faithfully he has obeyed God's commands, and instructed the Hebrews according to His laws.

All his life he has tried to make them a people "consecrated to the Lord."

A holy and a good people-a kingdom of priests, and taught them to worship one God, "Jehovah," whose servant he was, and from whom came all his teachings and inspirations—the Creator of all things, -the only Power.

He has given his tribe a noble set of commandments (engraven on stone that they may live for ever), which we to this day acknowledge and obey; has instituted the keeping of the Sabbath and the laws of marriage; has told them how to live and how to die; how to bring up their children and treat their servants; how their cattle are to be managed, and what punishment a criminal is to receive, how to plough and how to reap; what feasts to keep, and what sacrifices to offer in the Tabernacle. But above all, and before all, they are to worship but one God, Jehovah. For forty years he has lived with his people in the desert, and has provided food and raiment for them. Many of the men who left Egypt with him are dead, and a new generation has sprung up, better and more civilised. His brother Aaron, and his sister Miriam, have gone, and now his turn has come.

The Promised Land has been inspected and measured out; the borders fixed, and everything there is ready for the children of Israel, but Moses has to die first. The fiat has gone forth, and with unmurmuring obedience Moses makes up his mind to the inevitable,

"Get thee up into the mountain and die whether thou goest; thou shalt see the land before thee, but

thou shalt not go thither into the land which I give the children of Israel."

There it is, and has to be obeyed! Why is this stern law to be carried out? Moses has always believed in God, and followed His laws.

Ah! but his people have not, and he must suffer for their sins.

Be it so; he will do it!

Charging Joshua to watch over and guard them, and lead them into Canaan, he goes up from the plain of Moab, where the camp is, into the Mount of Nebo, and there sees for the first and last time the Promised Land in the distance, that he has never been able to reach, and is never to put foot in. With farewell words and arms stretched towards it, he casts himself down on the ground, to rise no more.

Alone! unseen? his heart is broken, and his spirit fled! What availed his patience, his ability, his power? It is all as nought before the Lord who has commanded him to die thus. His eye was not dim, nor his natural force abated, still he has to go. And so ends a noble prophet's life. His towering grandeur have for ever been acknowledged, his commandments followed, his teaching admired, and his brave heart respected. He combined everything in his own person -ruler, teacher, priest, and hero. He will ever stand pre-eminent in the history of the world.

My Hereafter." By the Very Rev. Dean Bickersteth.

My Father's House." By the Very Rev. Dean Edwards.

My Walk with God." By the Very Rev. Dean Montgomery. My Aspirations." By Rev. Geo. Matheson, D.D., of Inellan, and Baird Lecturer.

'My Body." By the Rev. W. G. Blaikie, D.D.

"My Aids to the Divine Life." By the Very Rev. Dean Boyle. "My Prayers." By the Rev. J. W. Reynolds, M.A.; Preb. of St. Paul's.

"My Emotional Life." By the Rev. Preb. Chadwick, D.D.; Rector and Preb, of Armagh.

"My Source of Strength." By the Rev. E. E. Pullens, M.A.

Calendar for February.

1st-Born, John Philip Kemble, 1757 -Died, Dr. John Sempriere, 1793; Mary Woolstoncraft Shelley (nee Godwin), 1851.

2nd-Candlemas Day.-Died, Archbishop John Sharp, 1714.
3rd-Died, Charles X. of Sweden, 1660; Richard (Beau) Nash, 1761.
4th-Died, Rev. Robert Blair, poet.

5th-Born, Sir Robert Peel, 1788; Dr. John Lindley, botanist, 1799.

Died, Lewis Galvani, 1799.

6th-Born, Antoine Arnold, 1612.--Died, Charles II.

7th-Born, Charles Dickens, 1812,-Died, Anne Radcliffe, novelist, 1823. 8th-Born, Samuel Butler, 1612.-Died, Mary Queen of Scots, 1586; Dr. George Sewell, historian of the Arcadias, 1727.

9th-Died, Bishop Hooper and Dr. Rowland Taylor, burnt, 1555. 10th-Born, William Congreve, dramatist; Rev. Dr. Henry H. Mulman, 1291.

11th-Died, René Descartes, 1650; William Shenstone, poet, 1763; Macvey Napier, editor of the "Encyclopædia Brittanica, 1847. 12th-Born, Edward Forbes, naturalist, 1815.-Died. George Heriot, founder of Heriot's Hospital, 1624; Immanuel Kant, 1804 13th-Born, David Allan, Scotch painter.-Died, Cattherny Benvenuto Cellini, Florentine sculptor, 1576. 14th-St. Valentine's Day.-Born, Archdeacon Waterland, 1683,-Died, Captain James Cook, 1779; Sir William Blackstone, 1780. 15th-Born, Galileo Galilei, 1564.

16th-Born, Philip Melancthon, 1497.-Died, Lindley Murray, 1820 17th-Died, Michael Angelo Buonarotti, 1563-4.

18th-Born, Charles Lamb, 1775.-Died, Martin Luther, 1546. 19th-Sir Roderick I. Murchison, 1792.

20th-David Garrick, 1716.-Died, Joseph Hume, 1855. 21st-Died, Benedict de Spinoza, 1677; Rev. Robert Hall, 1851. 22nd-Died, Dr. Adam Ferguson, 1816; Rev. Sydney Smith, 1845. 23rd-Born, Samuel Pepus, 1632.-Died, Sir Joshua Reynolds, 1792; John Keats, 1821; Joanna Barthe, 1851.

24th-Born, George Frederick Handel, 1648; Robert, Lord Clive, 1726; Charles Lamb, 1775.

25th-Died, William Lilly, 1523; Sir Christopher Wren, 1723. 26th-Born, Rev. James Hervey, author of the "Meditations," 1714; Victor Hugo, 1802.-Died, John Philip Kemble, 1823; Thomas Moore, 1852.

27th-Born, Henry W. Longfellow, 1807.

28th-Born, Michael de Montaigne, 1533.-Died, George Buchanan, 1582, 29th-Died, Archbishop John Whitgift, 1603-4; John Landseer, 1852,

Ecclesiastical Calendar for February.

SUNDAY, 3rd-Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany.
The Epistle to the Romans, xiii. 1–7.
The Gospel of St. Matthew, viii. 23-34.

SUNDAY, 10th-Septuagesima.

The First Epistle to the Corinthians, ix. 24—27. The Gospel of St. Matthew, xx. 1-16.

SUNDAY, 17th-Sexagesima.

The Second Epistle to the Corinthians, xi. 19-31. The Gospel of St. Luke, viii. 4—16.

SUNDAY, 24th-Quinquagesima.

The First Epistle to the Corinthians, xiii. 1—13.
The Gospel of St. Luke, xviii. 31–43.

WEDNESDAY, 27th-Ash Wednesday.
For the Epistle, Joel ii. 12.

The Gospel of St. Matthew, vi. 16-21.

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