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days later, I was invited to the house of English friends from Venice, who wished, they said, to introduce me to some particular friends of theirs. I was delighted to discover that their friends were Thorwaldsen and Vernet. . . . ¶ In my capacity as a pianist I have enjoyed a

Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing,
I can not ease the burden of your fears,
Or make quick-coming death a little thing,
Or bring again the pleasure of past years,
Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears.
Or hope again for aught that I can say,
The idle singer of an empty day.

T my first ball at Tortonia's, not knowing any lady, I was standing about, looking at everybody, but not dancing. All at once some one tapped me on the shoulder, and said, "You also are admiring the beautiful Englishwoman there?" What was my surprise, when on turning around, I found myself face to face with Chevalier Thorwaldsen, who was standing by the door and intently observing the beautiful creature. He had hardly asked the question when some one spoke loudly just behind me. "Where is she then? Where is the little Englishwoman? My wife has sent me to look at

her, per Bacco! "

The speaker was a slight little Frenchman, with stiff upstanding gray hair, and the Legion of Honor at his button-hole. I immediately recognized Horace Vernet

He and Thorwaldsen began a serious and learned conversation about the beauty, and what

But, rather when aweary of your mirth,
From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh,
And, feeling kindly unto all the earth,
Grudge every minute as it passes by,
Made the more mindful that the sweet
days die-

Remember me a little then I pray,
The idle singer of an empty day.

The heavy trouble, the bewildering care
That weighs us down who live and earn
our bread

These idle verses have no power to bear:
So let me sing of names remembered,
Because they living not, can ne'er be dead,
Or long time take their memory quite away
From us poor singers of an empty day.

Dreamerof dreams, born out of my due time,
Why should I strive to set the crooked

Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme
Beats with light wing against the ivory gate.
Telling a tale not too importunate
To those who in the sleepy region stay,
Lulled by the singer of an empty day.
"The Idle Singer," by William Morris

especially delighted me was to see the admiration of these two old artists for the young girl; they were never tired of looking at her, while she went on dancing with the most delicious unconsciousness. Thorwaldsen and Vernet had themselves introduced to the parents of the young English lady, and took no further trouble about me, so that I had no chance of speaking to them again But, some

special pleasure here. You know how Thorwaldsen loves music. He has a very good instrument in his studio, and I go to him sometimes in the mornings and play to him while he works. When I see the old artist handling his brown clay, giving the last touches, with his firm and delicate hand, to a drapery or a limb, when I see him creating those imperishable works which will win the admiration of posterity, I feel happy in that I can give him pleasure. -Mendelssohn.

HIS little globe which is but a through space with mere speck, travels its fellows, lost in immensity. Man, a creature about five feet tall, is certainly a tiny thing, as compared with the universe. Yet one of these imperceptible beings declares to his neighbors; "Hearken unto me. The God of all these worlds speaks with my voice. There are nine billions of us wee ants upon earth, but only my ant-hole is precious in God's sight. All the others are eternally damned by Him. Mine alone is blessed."-Voltaire.

Adversity is the path of truth.-Byron.

Y DEAREST BETSY, yesterday I received Letters from some of our Friends at the Camp informing me of the Engagement [Bunker between American troops and the Army in Charlestown. I can not be greatly rejoyced at the tryed of your Countrymen, who, by all unts behaved with an intrepidity ning those who fought for their ties against the mercenary Soldiers Tyrant.

painful to me to reflect on the terror ist suppose you were under on hearthe Noise of War so near. Favor me, dear, with an Account of your Apensions at that time, under your hand...


Pitts and Dr. Church inform me my dear Son has at length escaped n the Prison at Boston .... Rememme to my dear Hannah and sister ly and to all Friends.

me know where good old Swory is. ge [the British General] has made me pectable by naming me first among ose who are to receive no favor [of don] from him. I thoroughly dese him and his [amnesty] Proclamon ... The Clock is now striking elve. I therefore wish you a good ght. Yours most affectionately,

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S. Adams. (Letter to his Wife, June 28th, 1775)

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E [Patrick Henry] rose to reply with apparent embarrassment and some kwardness, and began a faltering exorm. The people hung their heads at the promising commencement, and the ergy were observed to exchange I looks with each other, while his her sank back in his chair in evident fusion d

this was of short duration, however. he proceeded and warmed up to his oject, a wondrous change came over m. His attitude became erect and lofty,

face lighted up with genius, and his es seemed to flash fire, his gestures beme graceful and impressive, his voice d his emphasis peculiarly charming. s appeals to the passions were over

powering. In the language of those who heard him," he made the blood to run cold, and their hair to rise on end.” In a word, to the astonishment of all, he suddenly burst upon them as an orator of the highest order. The surprise of the people was only equaled by their delight, and so overcome was his father that tears flowed profusely down his cheeks.

He contended that . . . . in the case now before them . . . [the parsons] deserved to be punished with signal severity o

"We have heard a great deal about the benevolence and holy zeal of our reverend clergy, but how is this manifested? Do they manifest their zeal in the cause of religion and humanity by practising the mild and benevolent precepts of the Gospel of Jesus? Do they feed the hungry and clothe the naked? Oh, no, gentlemen! Instead of feeding the hungry and clothing the naked, these rapacious harpies would, were their powers equal to their will, snatch from the hearth of their honest parishioner his last hoe-cake, from the widow and her orphan children their last milch cow! the last bed, nay, the last blanket from the lying-in woman!

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HEN Zarathustra arrived at the nearest town which adjoineth the forest, he found many people assembled in the market-place; for it had been announced that a rope-dancer would give a performance And Zarathustra spake thus unto the people:

I teach you the Superman. Man is something that is to be surpassed. What have ye done to surpass man?

All beings hitherto have created something beyond themselves: and ye want to be the ebb of that great tide, and would rather go back to the beast than surpass man?

What is the ape to man? A laughingstock, a thing of shame And just the same shall man be to the Superman: a laughing-stock, a thing of shame.

Ye have made your way from the worm to man, and much within you is still worm. Once were ye apes, and even yet man is more of an ape than any of the apes

Even the wisest among you is only a disharmony and hybrid of plant and phantom. But do I bid you become phantoms or plants?

Lo, I teach you the Superman!

The Superman is the meaning of the earth. Let your will say: The Superman shall be the meaning of the earth!

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But ye, also, my brethren, tell me: What doth your body say about your soul? Is your soul not poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency?

Verily, a polluted stream is man. One must be a sea, to receive a polluted stream without becoming impure. Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that sea; in him can your great contempt be submerged Je

What is the greatest thing ye can experience? It is the hour of great contempt. The hour in which even your happiness becometh loathsome unto you, and so also your reason and virtue.

The hour when ye say: "What good is my happiness! It is poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency. But my happiness should justify existence itself!"

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my reason! Doth it long for knowledge as the lion for his food? It is poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency!" ›☛☛

The hour when ye say: "What good is

my virtue! As yet it hath not made me passionate. How weary I am of my good and my bad! It is all poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency!" The hour when ye say: "What good is my justice! I do not see that I am fervor and fuel. The just, however, are fervor and fuel!

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Where is the lightning to lick you with its tongue? Where is the frenzy with which ye should be inoculated?

Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that lightning, he is that frenzy!— When Zarathustra had thus spoken, one of the people called out: "We have heard enough of the rope-dancer; it is time now for us to see him!" And all the people laughed at Zarathustra. But the rope-dancer, who thought the words applied to him, began his performance. -Friedrich Nietzsche.

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In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.

we have just passed in review, the gaps in our knowledge are immense, and every problem that is solved but opens a dozen new problems that await solution. Under such circumstances there is no likelihood that the last word will soon be said on any subject. In the eyes of the twenty-first century the science of the nineteenth will doubtless seem very fragmentary and crude. But the men of that day, and of all future time, will no doubt point back to the age just passing away as the opening of a new dispensation, the dawning of an era in which the intellectual development of mankind was raised to a higher plane than that upon which it had hitherto proceeded se

So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with

HIS century, which some have called an age of iron, has been also an age of ideas, an era of seeking and finding the like of which was never known before. It is an epoch the grandeur of which dwarfs all others that can be named since the beginning of the historic period, if not since. Man first became distinctively human. In their mental habits, in their methods of inquiry, and in the data at their command, "the men of the present day who have fully kept pace with the scientific movement are separated from the men whose education ended in 1830, by an immeasurably wider gulf than has ever before divided one progressive generation of men from their predecessors.'

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The intellectual development of the human race has been suddenly, almost abruptly, raised to a higher plane than that upon which it had proceeded from the days of the primitive troglodyte to the days of our

sinuous rills,

Where blossomed many an incensebearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But O! that deep romantic chasm which slanted

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was


By woman wailing for her demon-lover! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this Earth in fast thick pants were


A mighty fountain momently was forced, Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's


And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and


As an inevitable result of the thronging discoveries just enumerated, we find ourselves in the midst of a mighty revolution in human thought. Time-honored creeds are losing their hold upon men; ancient symbols are shorn of their value; everything is called in question. The controversies of the day are not like those of former times. It is no longer a struggle between abstruse dogmas of rival churches. Religion itself is called upon to show why it should any longer claim our allegiance.

It flung up momently the sacred river.

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great-grandfathers. It is characteristic of this higher plane of development that the progress which until lately was so slow must henceforth be rapid. Men's minds are becoming more flexible, the resistance to innovation is weakening, and our intellectual demands are multiplying while the means of satisfying them are increasing. Vast as are the achievements


There are those who deny the existence of God There are those who would explain away the human soul as a mere

group of fleeting phenomena attendant upon the collocation of sundry particles of matter. And there are many others who, without committing themselves to these positions of the atheist and the materialist, have nevertheless come to regard religion as practically ruled out from human affairs.

No religious creed that man has ever devised can be made to harmonize in all its features with modern knowledge All such creeds were constructed with reference to theories of the universe which are now utterly and hopelessly discredited

How, then, it is asked, amid the general wreck of old beliefs, can we hope that the religious attitude in which from time immemorial we have been wont to contemplate the universe can any longer be maintained? Is not the belief in God perhaps a dream of the childhood of our race, like the belief in elves and bogarts which once was no less universal? and is not modern science fast destroying the one

have the strongest possible reason for believing that the idea is permanent and answers to an Eternal Reality. It was to be expected that conceptions of Deity handed down from primitive men should undergo serious modification. If it can be shown that the essential element in

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And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,

A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer

In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,

And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora,
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,

To such a deep delight 't would win me
That with music loud and long,

I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

"Kubla Khan," by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

as it has already destroyed the other?

Such are the questions which we daily hear asked, sometimes with flippant eagerness, but oftener with anxious dread. .. If we find in that idea, as conceived by untaught thinkers in the twilight of antiquity, an element that still survives the widest and deepest generalizations of modern times, we

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To say that two is company and three is a crowd is to make a very temporary statement. After a short time satiety or use and wont has crept sunderingly between the two, and, if they are any company at all, they are bad company, who pray discreetly but passionately for the crowd that is censured by the proverb.

-James Stephens. Our whole life is like a play.-Ben Jonson.

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