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HE changes which break up at short intervals the prosperity of men are advertisements of a nature whose law is growth. Evermore it is the order of nature to grow, and every soul is by this intrinsic necessity quitting its whole system of things, its friends, and home, and laws, and faith, as the shell-fish crawls out of its beautiful but stony case, because it no longer admits of its growth, and slowly forms a new house.

In proportion to the vigor of the individual these

revolutions are frequent, until in some happier mind they are incessant, and all worldly relations hang very loosely about him, becoming as it were a transparent fluid membrane through which the form is always seen and not as in most men an indurated heterogeneous fabricofmany dates and of no settled character, in which

the man is impris

oned. Then there

can be enlargement

may come in s We are idolaters of the old. We do not believe in the riches of the soul, in its proper eternity and omnipresence. We do not believe there is any force in today to rival or re-create that beautiful yesterday We linger in the ruins of the old tent, where once we had bread and shelter and organs, nor believe that the spirit can feed, cover, and

I went to the dances at Chandlerville,
And played snap-out at Winchester.
One time we changed partners,

Driving home in the moonlight of middle
June,

And then I found Davis.

We were married and lived together for
seventy years,

Enjoying, working, raising the twelve
children,

Eight of whom we lost

Ere I reached the age of sixty.

I spun, I wove, I kept the house, I nursed
the sick,

I made the garden, and for holiday
Rambled over the fields where sang the
larks,

And by Spoon River gathering many a
shell,

And many a flower and medicinal weed
Shouting to the wooded hills, singing to
the green valleys.

At ninety-six I had lived enough, that is all,
And passed to a sweet repose.

What is this I hear of sorrow and

weariness,

Anger, discontent and drooping hopes?
Degenerate sons and daughters,
Life is too strong for you—
It takes life to love Life.

"Lucinda Matlock," by Edgar Lee Masters

and the man of to-
day scarcely recog-
nizes the man of
yesterday. And such should be the out-
ward biography of man in time, a putting
off of dead circumstances day by day, as
he renews his raiment day by day. But
to us, in our lapsed state, resting not
advancing, resisting not co-operating
with the divine expansion, this growth
comes by shocks.

We can not part with our friends. We
can not let our angels go. We do not see
that they only go out that archangels

nerve us again. We can not again find aught so dear, so sweet, so graceful. But we sit and weep in vain. The voiceof the Almighty saith,

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'Up and onward for evermore!" We can not stay amid the ruins. Neither will we rely on the new; and so we walk ever with reverted eyes, like those monsters who look backwards o And yet the compensations of calamity are made apparent to the understanding also after long intervals of time. A fever, a mutilation, a cruel disappointment, a loss of wealth, the loss of friends, seems at the moment unpaid loss, and unpayable

But the sure years reveal the deep remedial force that underlies all facts. The death of a dear friend, wife, brother, lover, which seemed nothing but privation, somewhat later assumes the aspect of a guide or genius; for it commonly operates revolutions in our way of life, terminates an epoch of infancy or of youth which was waiting to be closed, breaks up a wonted occupation, or a household, or style of living, and allows the formation of new ones more friendly

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There can be no such thing as a nation flourishing alone in commerce; she can only participate; and the destruction of it in any part must necessarily affect all. When, therefore, governments are at war, the attack is made upon the common stock of commerce, and the consequence is the same as if each had attacked his own.

The prosperity of any commercial nation is regulated by the prosperity of the rest. If they are poor, she can not be rich; and her condition, be it what it may, is an index of the height of the commercial tide in other nations.

-Thomas Paine.

A politician thinks of the next election; a statesman, of the next generation.

-James Freeman Clarke.

ITH respect to what are called denominations of religion, if every one is left judge of his own religion, there is no such thing as a religion that is wrong; but if they are to judge of each other's religion, there is no such thing as a religion that is right; and therefore, all the world is right, or all the world is wrong.

But with respect to religion itself, without regard to names, and as directing itself from the universal family of mankind to the divine object of all adoration, it is man bringing to his Maker the fruits of his heart; and though these fruits may differ from each other like the fruits of the earth, the grateful tribute of every one is accepted.

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If we suppose a large family of children who on any particular day, or particular occasion, make it a custom to present to their parents some token of their affection and gratitude, each of them would make a different offering, and most probably in a different manner.

Some would pay their congratulations in themes of verse and prose, by some little devices, as their genius dictated, or according to what they thought would please; and, perhaps, the least of all, not able to do any one of those things, would ramble into the garden, or the field, and gather what it thought the prettiest flower it could find, though, perhaps, it might be but a simple weed. The parents would be more gratified by such a variety than if the whole of them had acted on a concerted plan, and each had made exactly the same offering

This would have the cold appearance of contrivance, or the harsh one of control.

But of all unwelcome things, nothing would more afflict the parents than to know that the whole of them had afterwards got together by the ears, boys and girls, fighting, reviling and abusing each other about which was the best or the worst present.-Thomas Paine.

No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.-Samuel Johnson.

NLY in broken gleams and partial light has the sun of Liberty yet beamed among men, yet all progress hath she called forth.

Liberty came to a race crouching under Egyptian whips, and led them forth from the House of Bondage She hardened them in the desert and made of them a race of conquerors. The free spirit

of the Mosaic law took their thinkers up to heights where they beheld the unity of God, and inspired their poets

with strains that

yet phrase the high

est exaltations of thought.

Liberty dawned on thePhoenician coast and ships passed the Pillars of

Hercules to plow

the unknown seas❤ She broke in partial light on Greece, and marble grew to shapes of ideal beauty, words became the instru

that glorified the Elizabethan age. It was the spirit that brought a crowned tyrant to the block that planted here the seed of a mighty tree. It was the energy of ancient freedom that, the moment it had gained unity, made Spain the mightiest power of the world, only to fall to the lowest depths of weakness when tyranny succeeded liberty. See, in France, all intellectual vigor dying under the tyranny of the seventeenth century to revive in splendor as Liberty awoke in the eighteenth, and on the enfranchisement

Bright Star! would I were steadfast as

thou art

Not in lone splendor hung aloft the night, And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like Nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priest-like task Of pure ablution round earth's human

shores,

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the

moors

No-yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,

To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

And so live ever-or else swoon to death.

"Last Sonnet," by John Keats

ments of subtlest thought, and against the scanty militia of all free cities the countless hosts of the Great King broke like surges against a rock. She cast her beams on the four-acre farms of Italian husbandmen, and born of her strength a power came forth that conquered the world! She glinted from shields of German warriors, and Augustus wept his legions. Out of the night that followed her eclipse, her slanting rays fell again on free cities, and a lost learning revived, modern civilization began, a new world was unveiled; and as Liberty grew so grew art, wealth, power, knowledge and refinement

In the history of every nation we may read the same truth. It was the strength born of Magna Charta that won Crecy and Agincourt. It was the revival of Liberty from the despotism of the Tudors

of the French peas-
ants in the great
revolution, basing
the wonderful
in our time laughed
strength that has

at disaster.
What Liberty
shall do for the
nation that fully
accepts and loyally
cherishes her, the
wondrous inven-
tions, which are the
marked features of

this century, give us but a hint .

A hundred years have passed since the fast friend of American liberty-the great Earl Chatham-rose to make his last appeal for the preservation, on the basis of justice, of that English-speaking empire, in which he saw the grandest possibility of the future. Is it too soon to hope that the future may hold the realization of his vision in a nobler form than even he imagined, and that it may be the mission of this Republic to unite all the nations of English speech, whether they grow beneath the Northern Star or Southern Cross, in a league which by insuring justice, promoting peace, and liberating commerce, will be the forerunner of a world-wide federation that will make war the possibility of a past age, and turn to works of usefulness the enormous forcesnow dedicated to destruc

tion, . Is this the dream of dreamers? One brought to the world the message that it might be reality. But they crucified him between two thieves.

Not till it accepts that message can the world have peace. Look over the history of the past. What is it but a record of the woes inflicted by man on man, of wrong producing wrong, and crime fresh crime? It must be so till justice is acknowledged and liberty is law

Who is Liberty that we should doubt her; that we should set bounds to her, and say, "Thus far shalt thou come and no farther!" Is she not peace? is she not prosperity? is she not progress? nay, is she not the goal towards which all progress strives?

Not here; but yet she cometh! Saints have seen her in their visions; seers have seen her in their trance. To heroes has she spoken, and their hearts were strong; to martyrs, and the flames were cool! She is not here, but yet she cometh. Lo! her feet are on the mountains-the call of her clarions ring on every breeze; the banners of her dawning fret the sky! Who will hear her as she calleth; who will bid her come and welcome? Who will turn to her? who will speak for her? who will stand for her while she yet hath need?-Henry George.

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F a friend of mine. gave a feast, and did not invite me to it, I should not mind a bit. . . . Buf if. . a friend of mine had a sorrow and refused to allow me to share it, I should feel it most bitterly. If he shut the doors of the house of mourning against me, I would move back again and again and beg to be admitted, so that I might share in what I was entitled to share. If he thought me unworthy, unfit to weep with him, I should feel it as the most poignant humiliation, as the most terrible mode for which disgrace could be inflicted on me... he who can look on the loveliness of the world and share its sorrow, and realize something of the wonder of both, is in immediate contact with divine things, and has got as near to God's secret as any one can get.-Oscar Wilde.

I

T has been thought a considerable advance towards establishing the principles of freedom to say, that government is a compact between those who govern and those who are governed: but this can not be true, because it is putting the effect before the cause; for as man must have existed before governments existed, there necessarily was a time when governments did not exist, and consequently there could originally exist no governors to form such a compact with.

The fact therefore must be that the individuals themselves, each in his own personal and sovereign right, entered into a compact with each other to produce a government: and this is the only mode in which governments have a right to arise, and the only principle on which they have a right to exist.

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HEY that love beyond the world

can not be separated by it. Death can not kill what never dies.

Nor can spirits ever be divided, that love and live in the same divine principle, the root and record, of their friendship

Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still. . . .

This is the comfort of friends, that though they may be said to die, yet their friendship and society are, in the best sense, ever present because im

mortal.-William Penn.

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HAT Nature is always right, is an assertion, artistically, as untrue, as it is one whose truth is universally taken for granted. Nature is very rarely right, to such an extent even, that it might almost be said that Nature is usually wrong: that is to say, the condition of things that shall bring about the perfection of harmony worthy a picture is rare, and not common at all.

This would seem, to even the most intelligent, a doctrine almost blasphemous. So incorporated with our education has the supposed aphorism become, that its belief is held to be part of our moral being, and the words themselves have, in our ear, the ring of religion. Still, seldom does Nature succeed in producing a picture

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working man and the cultured one, the wise man and the one of pleasure, cease to understand, as they have ceased to see, and Nature, who, for once, has sung in tune, sings her exquisite song to the artist alone, her son and her masterher son in that he loves her, her master in that he knows her.

In the dark womb where I began
My mother's life made me a man.
Through all the months of human birth
Her beauty fed my common earth,
I can not see, nor breathe, nor stir,
But through the death of some of her.

Down in the darkness of the grave,
She can not see the life she gave.
For all her love, she can not tell
Whether I use it ill or well,
Nor knock at dusty doors to find
Her beauty dusty in the mind.

If the grave's gates could be undone,
She would not know her little son,
I am so grown. If we should meet,
She would pass by me in the street,
Unless my soul's face let her see
My sense of what she did for me.

What have I done to keep in mind
My debt to her and womankind?
What woman's happier life repays
Her for those months of wretched days?
For all my mouthless body leeched
Ere Birth's releasing hell was reached?

What have I done, or tried, or said
In thanks to that dear woman, dead?
Men triumph over woman still,
Men trample woman's rights at will,
And man's lust roves the world untamed.
O grave, keep shut lest I be shamed.
"C. L. M.," by John Masefield.

sunset.
And when
the evening mist clothes the riverside
with poetry, as with a veil, and the poor
buildings lose themselves in the dim sky,
and the tall chimneys become campanili,
and the warehouses are palaces in the
night, and the whole city hangs in the
heavens, and fairy-land is before us-
then the wayfarer hastens home; the

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Through his brain, as through the last alembic, is distilled the refined essence of that thought which began with the Gods, and which they left him to carry out. Set apart by them to complete their works, he produces that wondrous thing called the masterpiece, which surpasses in perfection all that they have contrived in what is called Nature; and the Gods stand by and marvel, and perceive how far away more beautiful is the Venus of Melos than was their own Eve.-Whistler.

ASSION is a sort of fever

in the mind, which ever leaves us weaker than it found us... It, more than any thing, deprives us of the use of our judgment; for it raises a dust very hard to see through . . . . .

It may not unfitly be termed the mob of the man, that commits a riot upon his reason.-William Penn.

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