my earnest gaze. At length, when men came a little to themselves, and would gaze on him, whom all knew now to be the Christ, no one

could find him, so effectually had he withdrawn himself from their homage.

ADINA.

A FEW THOUGHTS ON

THE WRITINGS OF JEREMY TAYLOR,

This title has been accorded to him, nor is it inappropriate, or undeserved. That eulogy which was given to the Grecian who treated merely of wine, roses and love, (for the heathen Greek had only a delicate perception of beauty in its visible form,) might more truly be applied to him, the Christian Bishop-the scholar-the poet, and the man ;-that what he wrote was χρυσεῖοτερον χρυσόν-more golden than gold.

OLDEN-MOUTHED TAYLOR! tingencies, the noblest work may be pressed down for a time, in the dull, cold pool of Lethe. A Prophet is not without honor, save in his own country; and often it may be said, nor a Poet, save in his own time. Shakspeare lives now more than when he lived. His wonderful language is mouthed every night in a thousand theatres, and perhaps every second passing under eyes glistening with admiration; and when men are wrapt in sleep in one quarter of the globe, they take him up by daylight in another hemisphere; and the arts are glorified by selecting his page to illustrate their triumph; and his This is not an extraordinary expression. leaves fall incessantly from a multitude of For even gold may be corrupted, while intel-presses like the waves of a cataract. lectual treasure can never lose its brightness. Milton, we may say, was partially buried Time tries the literary works of men, of what while he lived, and transfigured after his sort they are. The brilliant position of a death. As in a whole city there may not be writer, friends and patronage, royal imprima-enough art to stamp a work of art, nay, in a tur, a prevailing taste and appetite, main force, whole nation, to appreciate a work of which and mechanical means, mere contingencies, a nation may be proud, so a whole age may may give a fictitious value to that which can- not be able to convene its Academicians into not abide by the deep secret rules of beauty, a Senate; but in a few ages the scattered which are acknowledged in the models, but opinions of the dead shall combine with the too subtle to be defined. Representative pa- voices of the living, in a firm, weighty Areoper will be worn out in the circulation, or pagite judgment, from which there is no aphowever long it may pass, must at last be ga- peal. Then is the great man fixed on an enthered up, and accounted of no value unless during pedestal, from which he cannot be cast it can be redeemed with pure gold, stamped down. The Present may lack judgment, with genius; and so will superfluous literary but time takes time to judge withal. The reputation be clipped. The rate of interest living are envious of the living, but time disdecreases gradually, until posterity thinks arms envy, and pours flattery into a dead that it is no more than honest to repudiate man's ear. We may deny to our neighbor the debt. On the other hand, by similar con- the virtue of patience, but cheerfully com

mend the attribute of Job, so long as Job isness, the loathsomeness and horror of a three not present to wound our vanity.

days' burial," he has created above him a spangled firmament for his fame to dwell in ; the very fragments struck from the heat of his great mind have become worlds of beauty; bright thoughts dwell in clusters; new plan{ets come twinkling on the mental vision; wherever his creative hand has been, the whole field is sprinkled with a plentiful golden dust; and in the midst of all, the great luminary of his genius shines with a perpetual soft splendor.

If we examine his page attentively, we shall find him to possess in the highest degree all those requisites, any one of which, if exuberant, is sufficient to make a great

But speaking of writings, true works, by the electric fire which is in them, will at some time or other shine out. The writer of them is, in an inferior sense, a creator, and the life which he has infused is, like that breathed by God into man, immortal. Their outward form may decay, as their very words become obsolete, but the spirit remains. Bury them in the dead Latin, overlay them with a crabbed and harsh dialect, place them high up on the shelves of the Vatican, where Mezzofanti's eye may never reach them, or in the very tomb, (as heroes are buried sometimes with their armor,) their light will slowly force itself through the great interval, dense me-writer; imagination, fancy, wit, immense dium-mist of ignorance-(just as it takes the beams of some stars a hundred years to reach the earth,) till its rays are intercepted on the bright surface of intellect, and refracted in a flood of glory on the world. And even if destruction flap his wings of fire over an Alexandrian library, some guardian would catch the characters upon his eye, in the ashen semblance of a scroll, and propagate them forever.

learning, originality, judgment, a despotic control of language, and of knowledge. In most cases, if you find any of these in excess, it implies a defect somewhere. For the most part, a very great man will be distinguished for nothing in particular; while a very great genius, alas! will too often be distinguished more for what he has not, than for the remarkable gifts which he has. Nature is chary of her dower. You will often find much talent, and no common sense; much wit, and no judgment; good Scotch judgment, and no moisture in the clay, not even enough to lubricate the eye, or corrugate the

"

εστι

Concerning the author of whom we now speak, it cannot be said that his genius was ever unacknowledged. It always shone with a steady, unintermitted lustre. When he was a young man, it was said of him: "his flo-tough skin into a smile; one faculty will rid and youthful beauty, sweet and pleasant bulge out, and other parts be so dwarfed as air, sublime and raised discourses, made his to he deformed. Where can you look for hearers take him for some young angel, newly A combination and a form indeed, descended from the visions of glory. His Where every god did seem to set his seal, discourse was beyond exception, and beyond To give the world assurance of a man!'' imitation." Nevertheless, falling upon the It has been well said by a heathen poet : unhappy times of King "Charles the Mar-ro ovap ék Aios cσri-dreams come from God.tyr," he was buried for awhile, and in his re- And this may apply to a chastised imaginatirement composed many of those beautiful tion. All eloquence, whether from Heathen works which we now have; and at this day or Christian, is in one sense an inspiration, they are found in so many libraries, he is read for it is the gift of God; but there is none by so many admiring eyes, that his former re- like that drawn from the very altar, and innown may be considered obscurity, and his voked from the very angels who fame is even brighter than when his silver voice rang in St. Paul's. Though his own body has long since passed through the terri-One may be holy, and not eloquent; but not ble ordeal which he himself depicts in those eloquent in the highest sense, unless holy. words of tender melancholy called "Bundles It is no wonder, then, that the young lecof Cypress," "The hollowness and dead pale-turer in St. Paul's made his hearers take him

Touched Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire."

66

of fancy. Omnis copia naris might be inscribed over the gateway of his garden. When he had selected the ground which he meant to beautify and adorn, under the warmth and enthusiasm of his nature, it was instantly

for some young angel," when we read of him that "he spent the greatest part of his time in heaven; his solemn hours of prayer took up a considerable portion of his life; and we are not to doubt that he had learned of St. Paul to pray continually; and that occa-covered with a tropic luxury of bloom, the sional aspirations and emigrations of his soul after God made up the best part of his devotions."

and the iron age; among the moralists, wits, poets, orators, and philosophers, snatching his illustrations from the most diverse sources

rarest exotics, the tenderest plants, the sweetest flowers, in the midst of a continual freshness of his own, out of which the streams of Next may be mentioned a substratum of his wit gushed in a perennial flow. His eye sound learning, a profound scholarship, such flitted with marvellous velocity down the as would astonish some dignitaries of his whole line of ancient and modern classic aurank now-a-days. What accumulated trea-thors, for he had absorbed everything of real sures he carried down to the grave with him! { value in the golden, the silver, the brazen, There is no richer grave in England than Taylor's. It contained on one scroll the whole transcript of ancient and modern learning, the most choice. What we have is not the bulk of his learning, but the excess of it; a little fruitage and flowers shaken off. He was in richness like some Oriental Princes, who, as they pass on, scatter from their robes enough precious stones to make the finders rich, while in the blaze of that which remains they are not conscious that they have parted with any. Some men have a little learning, of which they make a good deal; others a good deal, which they make little use of. Many have a great faculty of acquiring, but not the least knowledge of dispensing, either from the want of magnanimity or desire, or absolute inability. The parts are diverse. Because a man can get money, that is not to say that he can spend it, or will, if he can. He got it for his own pleasure, and keeps it for This author had a better faculty of using what he had than most men, while he had more than most men. And what was his method of using it? Not surely did he pile it up like merchandise, in cumbersome dry tomes. However great the display, this would not have ensured the kind of admiration which he excites, though his wares were even dis-some fact or analogy to illustrate his themes.

the same.

played with a cold judgment. This brings us to his distinctive characteristic as a writer. He had an unparalleled warmth and richness!

every word which he wrote suggestive to him of some reminiscence-literally unable to get his teeming fancies down fast enough in those complex compositions of his, which involve thoughts within thoughts, and essays within essays, until his judgment (tightreined) threw down the pen in despair, and his overflowing ideas went back for refuge to their own fountain. Now he would snatch a "curious felicity" from Horace, then a few Enɛа пTEрoɛvта from Homer, and again a witty saying, or a story from Petronius, fusing all together in no purple patchwork, and as none but he could. What he took in was like assimilated food, becoming a new substance. Thus he brought the elegances of pagan letters and mythologies, and the records of all history, which he had at his fingers' ends, to illustrate and embellish the sublime themes of the religion of Christ. And he cast his eye

over the whole realm of nature in all her provinces, tracing the correspondence between the moral and the physical in many a beautiful and sublime figure, drawing from fire, air, earth, and water, and all the sciences,

F. W. S.

Huntington, L. I.

(To be concluded in our next.)

EARLY FRIENDSHIP:

OR

SOME PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF A YOUNG CLERGYMAN.

"'Tis ever thus-'tis ever thus, with all that's best below,

The dearest, noblest, loveliest, are always first to go;

The bird that sings the sweetest, the pine that crowns the rock,

The glory of the garden, the flower of the flock.

'Tis ever thus-'tis ever thus, with creatures heavenly fair,

Too finely fram'd to bide the brunt, more earthly natures bear,
A little while they dwell with us, blest ministers of love,
Then spread the wings we had not seen, and seek their home above."

HE memory of few of my earlier friends is embalmed with a calmer, sweeter serenity in my heart, than that of the Rev. J. E. A. None who knew him could ever forget the saint-like purity of his character, or the chastened fervor of his piety. His very frame and aspect were of a mould so slight and delicate as plainly to indicate that he could not long endure the buffetings of a rough and troublesome world-and his whole life and ministry seemed more like the message of an angel, reluctant to be kept from the congenial employments of his former celestial abode, than the brief residence upon earth of a mortal, frail and guilty as other men.

Mrs. Southey.

prayer, long before he knew its meaning. As he advanced in years, his excellent mother sought to impress on his young mind those great truths of religion which had been her own comfort and support, through a life of singular vicissitude. Early admitted into the Church of Christ, by holy baptism, the covenant obligations then entered into on his behalf were made the basis of all his parents' instructions. As soon as he was capable of understanding it, he was taught "what a solemn vow, promise, and profession had been made in his name, and his consequent obligation to lead the residue of his life according to this beginning." Day by day, was he reminded of those vows and exhorted so to live, that the grace given in baptism, might not be lost through his neglect-that it was no idle Our intimacy commenced at that period of promise his parents had made for him, but inlife when the heart is most open to strong, tended to influence all his future conduct. and lasting impressions. Circumstances, Everything was brought to bear upon this many years before, had united our families in point. Was he selfish, fretful, or exacting, he bonds of the strictest friendship, and being was shown the inconsistency of those feelmuch his senior, it was my privilege to watchings with what had been promised in his bethe development of his pure and holy character. Possessing a mind naturally docile and teachable, he early evinced that devoted attachment to his mother, which disposed him to receive and retain whatever instructions fell from her lips. The first accents his infant lips were taught to utter, were those of praise, and his knees were bent, and his little hands were clasped in the attitude of

half, and he was exhorted to lift up his heart in prayer, for strength to resist the world, the flesh, and the devil. Did he discover too much of worldliness and vanity—a love of show and parade, he was reminded of the solemn renunciation of the pomps and vanities of the world made in his name. admonished and encouraged, it was impossible he should ever lose sight of his high and

Thus

the tomb. On the morning of his death, when informed that his hours were numbered, not one pang disturbed the holy calm of that expressive face.

"A thoughtful beauty rests awhile

Upon his snowy brow,

But those pale lips could never smile
More radiantly than now.

And sure some heavenly dreams begin,
To dawn upon the soul within."

The last food he received, was that spiritual sustenance provided by the Church to sustain her children in the final conflict-the Body and Blood of a once crucified, but now risen Saviour. His end was emphatically peace. The beautiful commendatory prayer of the Church, for the departing soul, was offering beside his bed when the spirit passed away, so calmly, so sweetly, that not one sigh interrupted the solemn service.

We follow him, not to the tomb-for that

holy calling; accordingly, we behold him growing daily in grace, and in the knowledge and love of Jesus his Saviour. His excellent mother was early summoned to her reward, but not until she was permitted to see the success of her unwearied efforts for the spiritual welfare of her son-till she had witnessed his assumption of baptismal vows, in the holy rite of confirmation, in devout reliance on that grace, therein promised to all, who are faithful to their high obligations. It was at this period of his life that I lost sight of him-the current of life carried us different ways, and for some years I did not again meet my young friend. I returned, after a long absence, to my native state, to find J. the rector of a flourishing congregation, in a considerable town. The promise of his early years was abundantly fulfilled, and each day witnessed his increasing ripeness for that world, which he seemed likely so soon to enter.lifeless body is not him-but to the spirits of There was only one drawback to the satisfaction with which his attached friends regarded him. This was the extreme delicacy of his constitution, which had threatened, even from his infancy, an early termination to his useful life. Consumption, the hereditary scourge of his family, now approached him with insidious steps. Fully aware of his tendency to a disease, confessedly beyond the reach of ordinary skill, he had very early learnt to look to a premature grave as his appointed lot. But he had learnt to look at it with the eye of a Christian. Flattered, courted, and caressed by the younger portion of his congregation-reverenced and beloved by those more capable of estimating aright his high and holy character, and constantly increasing influence-with extensive prospects of usefulness, and the world, wearing to him its most beautiful and attractive aspect, he could yet say from the heart: "Father, not my will, but thine be done." As long as strength was continued to him, he remitted none of his labors for the good of his people. As the prospect of final recovery became more doubtful, and the outward man visibly decayed, the inward man was continually renewed: continually was manifested the workings and witness of a Father's love, leading him along with a feeble, but unfaltering step, towards Epiphany, Vermont.

the just made perfect. And oh, how the heart yearns to pierce the veil which separates the beloved one from mortal gaze, to understand his employments, and witness his joys! Who shall say that the lost one-no, rather the redeemed, the glorious one—is not now permitted to revisit the earth, and in his pure and heavenly intelligence watches over the friends who mourn for him? Were our mortal organs capable of hearing the voice of a beatified and celestial being, we might, perhaps, hear him, in seraph tones, admonishing us to be also ready. "If ye loved me, ye would rejoice because I have gone to the Saviour. I sorrow no more, neither sin any Be ye faithful unto death, and ye shall receive a crown of life."

more.

Among his papers are to be found many expressive of his belief in his early death, and dwelling with great beauty of sentiment, and force of language, on subjects connected with the future world, the ministry of angels-the employment of the blessed, and the knowledge of one another in heaven-subjects of such deep and overwhelming interest.

Should portions of these papers be likely to prove acceptable to the readers of the Evergreen, they shall appear in future numbers.

E.