reigner, an enemy even? Nature in
trouble, in consternation, shrieks '_He is a man!_' and every heart and
hand is prompt to the rescue.' 'To a high office and ministry, to a life
of beneficence, pity and love, each man should deem himself called by a
divine vocation, by the appointment of nature; and otherwise living,
should judge himself to be an abortion, a mistake, without signification
or use in a world like ours. And the beauty, the glory of such a life, is
not to be reckoned among ideal things heard out of heaven but never
encountered by the eye. This world has had its CHRIST, its FENELONS, its
HOWARDS, as well as its CALIGULAS and NEROS. Love hath been at times a
manifestation as well as a principle; and the train of its glory swept far
below the stars, and its brightness has fallen in mitigated and mellowed
rays from the faces of men. As the ambiguous stranger-star of Bethlehem
had its interpreting angel-song to the herdsmen of the plains, so loving
men in all ages have given glimpses and interpretations of the love of
GOD, and of the pity that is felt for the miserable and the guilty in the
palace and presence-chamber of JEHOVAH. What glory within the scope of
human imitation and attainment is comparable to that of the beneficent,
the sympathising lover of his race? What more elevated, pure, and
beautiful is possible among the achievements of an endless progression in
heaven itself? MILTON represents the profoundest emotions of joy and
wonder among the celestial hosts as occasioned by the first anticipative
disclosures of divine pity toward sinning man; and a greater than MILTON
assures us that the transport and festival of angelic joy occurs when Pity
lifts the penitent from his prostration and forgives his folly.' . . .
EMBELLISHMENT would seem to be the literary order of the day, in more ways
than one. It has come to be the mode to express the most simple thought in
the most magniloquent phrase. This propensity to lingual _Euphuism_ has
given rise to sundry illustrations, in embellished maxims, which are
particularly amusing. They are of the sort so finely satirized by
'OLLAPOD,' on one occasion, two or three examples of which we annex. The
common phrase of ''Tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good' was
transformed into 'That gale is truly diseased which puffeth benefactions
to nonentity;' 'Let well enough alone,' into 'Suffer a healthy sufficiency
to remain in solitude;' and 'What is sauce for the goose is