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alds of truth; and richer, as the parent of this land of promise in the west. I am not I need not say
I am not
the panegyrist of England. I am not dazzled by her riches, nor awed by her power. The scepter, the miter, and the coronet,
stars, garters, and blue ribbons, seem to 'me poor things for great men to contend for. Nor is my admiration awakened by her armies mustered for the battles of Europe, her navies overshadowing the ocean, nor her empire, grasping the farthest east. It is these, and the price of guilt and blood by which they are too often maintained, which are the cause why no friend of liberty can salute her with undivided affections.
But it is the cradle and the refuge of free principles, though often persecuted; the school of religious liberty, the more precious for the struggles through which it has passed; the tombs of those who have reflected honor on all who speak the English tongue; it is the birthplace of our fathers, the home of the pilgrim ;— it is these which I love and venerate in England. I should feel ashamed of an enthusiasm for Italy and Greece, did I not also feel it for a land like this. In an American it would seem to me degenerate and ungrateful to hang with passion upon the traces of Homer and Virgil, and follow without emotion the nearer and plainer footsteps of Shakespeare and Milton. I should think him cold in his love for his native land, who felt no melting in his heart for that other native country which holds the ashes of his forefathers.
XXXVIII. — ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY IN
BELZONI'S EXHIBITION, LONDON.
HORACE SMITH, a native of London, died in July, 1849, in the seventieth year of his age. In 1812, in conjunction with his elder brother, James Smith, he published a volume called “Rejected Addresses," consisting of imitations of the popular poets of the day. It had great and deserved success, and has since been frequently reprinted. Horace Smith was a stock-broker by profession; but in the leisure hours stolen from his employment he wrote a number of works of fiction, which were received with favor, and many contributions, both in verse and prose, to the magazines of the time. His poems have been collected and published in two volumes. He was a very amiable and estimable man.
ND thou hast walked about (how strange a story!)
In Thebes's * streets three thousand years ago, When the Memnonium + was in all its glory,
And time had not begun to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous.
Speak! for thou long enough hast acted dummy;
Thou hast a tongue, come, let us hear its tune;
Revisiting the glimpses of the moon;
for doubtless thou canst recollect
* Thebes was a celebrated city of Upper Egypt, of which extensive ruins still remain.
+ The Memnonium was a building combining the properties of a palace and a temple, the ruins of which are remarkable for symmetry of architecture and elegance of sculpture.
I The great sphinx, at the pyramids, is hewn out of a rock, in the form of a lion with a human head, and is one hundred and forty-three feet in length, and sixty-two feet in height in front.
Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect
Of either pyramid that bears his name? *
Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbidden
what secret melody was hidden
Has hob-a-nobbed with Pharoah, glass to glass :
Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass ;
I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed,
Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled;
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled :
We have, above ground, seen some strange mutations ;
* The pyramids are well-known structures near Cairo. According to Herodotus, the great pyramid, so called, was built by Cheops (pronounced Kě'ops).
He was succeeded by his brother Cephren or Cephrenes (pronounced Sef'rē-nes), who, according to the same historian, built another of the pyramids.
+ Pompey's Pillar is a column almost a hundred feet high, near Alexandria. It is now generally admitted by the learned to have had no connection with the Roman general whose name it bears.
# This was a statue at Thebes, said to utter at sunrise a sound like the twanging of a harp-string or of a metallic wire.
The Roman Empire has begun and ended ;
New worlds have risen, we have lost old nations, And countless kings have into dust been humbled, While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled.
Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head
When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses,
O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis,t
If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed,
The nature of thy private life unfold :
And tears adown that dusky cheek have rolled :Have children climbed those knees, and kissed that face ? What were thy name and station, age and race ?
Statue of flesh, - immortal of the dead !
Imperishable type of evanescence ! Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bed,
And standest undecayed within our presence ! Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment morning, When the great trump shall thrill thee with its warning.
Why should this worthless tegument endure,
If its undying guest be lost forever ?
In living virtue, that, when both must sever,
* Egypt was conquered 525 B. c. by Camby'ses, the second king of Persia † These are the names of Egyptian deities.
EDWIN HUBBELL CHAPIN, D. D., was born in Union Village, Washington County, New York, December 29, 1814. He is a clergyman of the Universalist denomination ; but his sympathies are not bounded by the limits of any sect. Since 1848 he has been settled over a church in New York. He is one of the most eloquent pulpit orators in America. He is remarkable for earnestness and persuasiveness flowing from a warm heart and a genial temperament. His style is picturesque and striking ; his thoughts are commended to his hearers by a voice of uncommon richness and power.
THE grandest scale on which the operation of a Provi
dence appears is the entire system of the natural world. It is true that here is the field from which, in theory, many seem to exclude the notion of a Providence. They speak of Nature as a stupendous machine, wound up and running by its own vitality,-- an automaton which, by a kind of clock-work, simulates a life and an intelligence that are really absent from it. Or, if they do not deny the operation of a Divine Providence, they refer to what are termed “the laws of nature” in such a manner as to shut off the immediate agency of God.
But what is a law of nature, except a fixed way in which the Creator works? The finest element that the chemist can detect— the subtile, immaterial force whatever it may be — is not the law, but merely an expression of the law. And in the last analysis we cannot separate law from the operation of intelligent will.
I do not say that God acts only through nature, or that God is identical with nature; but in a profound sense it is true that nature is Providence. God, who in essence is distinct from his works, is perpetually in his works. And so every night and every day his providence is illustrated before us. His beneficence streams out from the morning sun, and his love looks down upon