She has studied human nature She is schooled in all the arts- As the mistress of all hearts. Are you sad?—how very serious She can lure, and catch, and play you, Another phase of widowhood, we presume, will not be the less amusing because it comes to us with such undoubted authority. "When an Arab woman intends to marry again after the death of her husband, she comes before the grave of her first husband. Here she kneels, and prays to him not to be offended and jealous. She brings with her a donkey laden with two goats' skins of water. The prayers ended, she proceeds to pour on the grave the water, to keep the first husband cool under the irritating circumstances about to take place; and having well saturated him she departs." Honest old Thomas Fuller presents us with a touching sketch of the widow of his time: "Her sorrow is no storm, but a still rain. Indeed, some foolishly discharge the surplusage of their passions on themselves, tearing their hair, so that their friends coming to the funeral know not which most to bemoan, the dead husband or the dying widow. Yet commonly it comes to passe, that such widow's griefe is quickly emptied, which streameth out at so large a vent; whilst their tears that but drop will hold running a long time." It is a happy thing that widows are not always weeping after the storm comes the bright sunshine over woman's sweet face: and as it is impossible to resist the fascination of its smile even through her tears, we come to the sage and safe conclusion that widows also are no less deserving of our love, our hearts and hands. ORIGIN OF CELEBRATED BOOKS. "IF the secret history of books could be written," 66 said Thackeray," and the author's private thoughts and meanings noted down alongside of his story, how many insipid volumes would become interesting, and dull tales excite the reader." In obedience to this suggestion, we have essayed to group together a few illustrative facts of this class, but without any attempt at classification; in the hope that some one more competent to the task may hereafter digest and complete what is here, necessarily, so incomplete. If the brevity of our selections be deemed a fault, we cite, in self-defence, the remark of Voltaire, where he thus asserts the absolute necessity of condensation: "The multiplicity of facts and writings is become so great," he says, "that everything must soon be reduced to extracts." Books, as Dryden has aptly termed them, are spectacles to read nature. Eschylus and Aristotle, Shakspeare and Bacon, are the high priests who expound the mysteries of man and the universe. They teach us to understand, and feel what we see, to decipher and syllable the hieroglyphics of the senses. 259 "All books grow homilies by time; they are And feel the near,' less household than the far!' "It is remarkable that many of the best books of all sorts have been written by persons who, at the time of writing them, had no intention of becoming authors. Indeed, with slight inclination to systematize and exaggerate, one might be almost tempted to maintain the position-however paradoxical it may at the first blush appear-that no good book can be written in any other way; that the only literature of any value, is that which grows directly out of the real action of society, intended to effect some other purpose; and that when a man sits down doggedly in his study, and says to himself, 'I mean to write a good book,' it is certain, from the necessity of the case, that the result will be a bad one."† La Rochefoucauld remarks that nature seems to have concealed at the bottom of our minds, talents and abilities of whose very existence we were not conscious; and that the passions have the prerogative of bringing them to light. "The passions act as winds to propel our vessel-our reason is the pilot that steers her; without the winds she would not move; without the pilot, she would be lost." "There is a joy in writing, which none but writers *Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. Edward Everett. know. What a number of writers in our literature have all their real title to esteem from this geniality and joy of utterance! In this consists their genius. The remark will apply particularly to the essayists. Evidently, Montaigne wrote in the mere love of writing. He wanted to express himself, and all that he has written is not only in the manner, but in the spirit of a Monologue. Addison evidently loved to write, and found a joy in writing. It is this joy in writing which gives to the compositions of Addison their wealth, and music, and beauty. He does not instruct-he enchants. You do not look to him for new truths, but you are sure to find in him fresh emotions. They well up from his nature in all its senses, affections and passions. Yet, had not Addison loved to write, the world would have lost all that Addison has given it. Then there is Charles Lamb; we should have had nothing from him in letters but for his love of writing. He was no machine that could be regulated by the debt and credit sides of a balance-sheet. He longed for another life, which only the pen of free thought and free excitement could give him. And then Hazlitt, what a joy he had in writing! The fact is, no one can do writing well, who has not this joy. Without it, the style is mechanical and artificial. The lyric flow of inspiration is never in it. Without joy, style is merely rhetoric, and there is nothing so remote from eloquence as rhetoric. It is no wonder that ancient sages and bards thought it inspiration. Glorious it is, beyond all other arts." It is also remark * Henry Giles. * |