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their growing improvement cannot fail to give, damping, however, as it must be, under the best circumstances, to his warm enthusiastic feelings, cannot now proceed without inflicting considerable pain on the individual. The man soon finds that he can no longer continue the idealist he was in youth. The realities of life are at first naturally distasteful to him ; and he manifests impatience of their pressure, and exclaims with bitterness against their infliction. Be it medicinal; nevertheless, and perhaps all the more for that reason, he heaves the gorge at it. We would, however, address ourselves to such, and are especially solicitous to inform him, that, whatever he may think, the regimen is wholesome, it is a part of the moral discipline which Providence designs for his redemption from that corruption which he has himself no doubt predicated of human nature. Let him not fret at opposition, or repine at disappointment-least of all, let him chafe at delay. There is yet time enough. All that is needful to man in any situation, is faith and perseverance in the path of duty: let him proceed in this way; and whether the endeavour that philanthropists are now making in favour of the Worker be successful or not, the time will come, and come as soon as it will be good for him, when he shall be delivered from what, during this period of transition, now oppresses him; when the prison gates shall be thoroughly opened, and the prisoner shall not only be permitted, but commanded, to go out free. Meantime, let him wait in pious dependence on a superior power, and not endeavour, by an act of his own, (although it may even be one of equivocal morality,) out of the line of his duty in that station of life to which it has pleased God to call him, to forestall the means which will undoubtedly be prepared for his redemption. We give not this advice because we fear bim-but the wounded spirit requires not consolation only, but counsel. For the Worker himself we are assured, that in all respects he will prove himself worthy; in his great strife with the necessity of his condition, he will show himself a good soldier
-- both to God and man-until discharged from a painful duty, in a manner equally honourable to himself and his fellow creatures.
Those whose lines have fallen in the least pleasant places of social duty, may learn to abate the sense of hardship, by reflecting that this life itself, in its best estate, is and can be but a vanity, a burthen and a yoke, which the richest and proudest devise many false shows to set off or conceal, and are glad, at last, to lay by for the chance of a better. Only by labour and death is worked out, with fear and trembling, the Salvation of the World, even as of the individual. Knowledge is not all which it beloves us to seek—the knowledge which has been actually found hath hitherto abridged only the employment of labour, without improving the means of distributionsomething more is wanted to turn knowledge and its results to right account. Rather the life within us should be nourished into moral eminence above the life without, in all patience, and faith, and hope, and charity. This life, it is needful, should have its first resurrection while in the body, and surrounded with the mixed good and evil of physical circumstances, that it may certainly attain to a happy immortality in the second. Such a consummation, however, can only be secured by submission, in the first place, to Law and Order; and in the next, by acts of love and good-will to all men in the path of duty.
There is every reason for the class we have been addressing, to hope and trust in the character of the Queen. Here it is again, as we have remarked in former articles, that the Personal comes into play. It is not upon the Monarchy as a party interest, that our young Queen can or does rest—the mere fact of her occupying the throne amounts to nothing—but the manner in which she performs the part is all in all, and on her own conduct the throne she inherits will be established, and not on mere inheritance. Hitherto, she has proved herself to be a Queen, indeed, in purpose and in will. She has shown herself, whenever occasion demanded, to be no State idol, but a living reality. Her sympathy with all conditions of men has been witnessed—and her popular bias has indeed been rather unceremoniously quoted in favour of an imbecile and departing Cabinet. The fact is, that the court is necessarily placed in the same mid-political position which the country at large represents, and which should be called Conservatism, as distinguished both from Toryism and Whiggism. Her Majesty has hitherto maintained, and will continue to maintain, the station of a Reconciler -it is a Law which is irresistible in itself, although willingly obeyed by her. God to her has given the special grace to choose as of herself, even that duty and none other, which his providence in its goodness has appointed. Her disposition and her destiny are happily identical. God save the Queen !
THE MUSE OF THE DRAMA.
Tue Genius of Britannia's Drama rose
A VISION OF THE SAVIOUR'S RESURRECTION.
BY MRS. CRAWFORD.
While I wander in spirit within thy walls, O Jerusalem! and survey thy ruin and thy desolation, I sigh from my inmost soul, as I contrast the things that have been with the things that are. I sigh that all thy glories are departed; that thy temple is thrown down, thine altars are quenched, the light of thy hearths is extinct, thy children are scattered, thy sacred songs have ceased, and thy holy harps hang mute upon the willows of other lands. Queen of the world ! capital city of the nations! temple of Jehovah! dwelling of the living God! how art thou fallen, and all thy glory gone! When will thy song of triumph swell again to heaven? When shall thy scattered tribes begin to gather from remotest regions to this their central home? When shall thy countless thousands march under the banner of their anointed king? When shall they rebuild thy walls, O Jerusalem! and render thee again the glory of the earth? Shall I live to see even the faintest dawning of that triumphant day?—the thought were pleasant and refreshing to my soul; for thou art dear to me, thou city of the living God! thou art most dear to me. And
elder brethren of your father's house! I long to see ye restored to your rightful inheritance. In your fortune, the fate of the earth lies bound. Even now, the destinies of the universe are gathering fast around ye.
And how I am carried back in spirit through the bygone ages, to the cause of all that I here witness and deplore. Night is brooding over the holy city with her raven wings. And now the sweet moon, breaking through the obscuring clouds, sheds her gentle light to guide my uncertain steps. The hum and the stir of life are over; its cares and anxieties are hushed; deep sleep hangs upon the scene; the solemn sabbath is begun: and as my eye glances from the silent earth to the silver moon, and again from the moon back to the slumbering city, it seems to me as this were indeed the sabbath of the tomb,-a high, a sacred, an eternal sabbath.
And now I wander to the confines of the city. What sight is that in yonder garden? The cavern that was open a few short hours ago, is now carefully closed, and a guard is set before it. Is it changed into a prison, and for whom? what may this mean? But the watch appears to be sleeping. I will draw gently near, and endeavour to
Ah! what glorious form is that, reposing in the garments of the grave? what a deep, what a death-like slumber! and yet, how unlike to death! never did the king of terrors wear such a shape as this. How that still but majestic brow seems yet instinct with thought, and that shut eye with life! How those mute lips speak! What a benignant smile still hovers around them! There seems nothing of death about that face, but the calm and the stillness; and nothing of earth, but a faint trace upon the hollow cheek of suffering and anxiety now gone by.
But who is this mysterious tenant of the tomb? that placid dignity might well befit some great, some mighty king; but nothing of kingly state surrounds his lowly bed. And yet, a tender care is visible in every thing; and the hand of affection has indeed been busy here, which rarely performs the obsequies of kings. How reverently the lifeless form is stretched upon the bier ! while the ample linen, (finest of the far Egyptian loom, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain tops,) enshrouds within a hundred spicy folds, fragrant with myrrh and aloes, and still moist with many a lamenting tear, the corpse of one most highly honoured and beloved.
And now I take a nearer view,-a glory streams from the departed One, and fills his place of rest with a light softer and sweeter than the early dawn : a low murmur of unearthly music, as from unseen harps and voices, floats upon the still air, and far from disturbing-seems to charm the precincts of the tomb into deeper silence. And while I devoutly close my eyes and ears to outward objects, that I may better gaze and listen here, that light shines brightly through my inward soul, and those sounds waft me to the gates of paradise. Two radiant forms are seated, the one at the head, the other at the feet of the mysterious sleeper, and reverently but intently gazing on the glorious countenance of him, who in the stillness and the movelessness of that death-like slumber, seems as far superior to each of them, as they are to the common sons of men.
And now that solemn sabbath is drawing to a close. And now the midnight hour again is past : but long before the faintest trace of dawn is seen upon the Eastern hills, and while the world is still buried in profoundest sleep, I again visit the tomb, and mark a wondrous change. There is a stir of life within ;-a mysterious murmur of expectation from melodious voices ;—and now the sound and flashing of a thousand silver wings give sign of preparation for some grand event. Some grand event! Say rather, the grandest far, since this fair globe sprang fresh into existence from the hand of its Creator, and the morning stars sang together on that primeval Sabbath, when the OMNIPOTENT ETERNAL rested from his work. For ah! what sight is this? Can death relax his adamantine grasp ? Can the dark grave relent? Ah no! it cannot be. And yet—and yet-it is! Mark now that outstretched form! See how that placid face gathers into a celestial smile !-and now the heart begins to beat—the pulse to throb with the returning energies of life—the prayer-like hands are raised the lustrous eye uncloses—and without a struggle he rises from the bier :
- he rises like a mighty conqueror from his bed of rest ;-he rises in the majesty of Omnipotence, and the brightness of redeeming love ;he puts off the habiliments of the grave, and he clothes himself with light and immortality, as with a garment.
Calm and collected he lingers for a moment within the tomb, while the astonished Earth heaves with convulsive throes, and quakes affrighted to her farthest centre. The holy light, that beamed before with sepulchral softness, now fills the place with a brightness brighter than the noonday sun; and the breathing melody that charmed, yet hardly reached my listening ear, now swells upon the midnight air, and bears the wondrous tidings to the highest heaven : for now he
stands confessed the great, the glorious, the triumphant Saviour, the Rock of ages, the King of glory. the Conqueror of the grave, the Lord of life, the exhaustless fountain of immortality!
And now the adoring seraphs kneel before him, and offer him the homage that of right is his. And now the chief in dignity precedes him to the door of the Sepulchre ; with a motion of his hand he rolls away the massive rock that guards it; and while the glory of the Eternal flashes round the great Archangel, the benignant smile of the Redeemer snatches the astonished guards from instant annihilation. Outside the tomb again the ministering spirits kneel before him, and, with lowly and reverential greetings, speed him on his way. And now he is gone! and I trace him only by the track of glory he has left behind.
And is he gone?—is he indeed gone? Not so, my soul! not so! it is not thus we part. Though he had the port and the bearing of the King, ay, of the King of kings, his looks had all the sweetness of a friend. And thou, my soul, hast need of such a friend ! Didst thou not mark, the willingness to serve was great as the ability to save ? Though power shone round him as a robe, and glory and dominion sate enthroned upon his regal brow, yet couldst thou hardly note them amidst the splendour of benignity and love.
Arise, arise, my soul! put on thy swiftest wings ! We will pursue -We will overtake him—we will run before, we will intercept him in the way. Surely he must have slacked his speed for thee, for thou hast overtaken him already. Overtaken, sayest thou !-Ah! my soul! Did thy dull eye not see that he turned back to meet thee more than half the way? When thou wert setting off, he was already with thee. Take courage, then, and speak: his looks make kind and gentle inquest after all thy wants and wishes.-Alas! alas! they are many-very many; and time will not suffice to tell them all. But ah! he again anticipates thee, and sums the whole in one short word
and more than this, he freely offers it; and more than that, compels thee to accept it. O sweet compulsion ! when gratitude compels. O blest constraint ! when love alone constraineth us!
And now he leaves with thee his blessing and his peace; and with a smile that shall not depart from thee, either in joy or in woe, he again vanishes from thy sight.