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of him—ventured to preach a sermon on the Duties
of Royalty. The “ Quarterly," " so savage and tar
tarly," came down upon him in the most contempt:
uous style, as " a joker of jokes,” a “ diner-out of the
first water," in one of his own porases; sneering at
him, insulting him, as nothing but a toady of a court,
sneaking behind the anonymous, would ever have
been mean enough to do to a man of his position
and genius, or to any decent person even.- If I were
giving advice to a young fellow of talent, with two
or three facets to his mind, I would tell him by all
means to keep his wit in the background until after
be had made a reputation by his more solid qualities.
And so to an actor: Hamlet first, and Bob Logic
afterwards, if you like; but don't think, as they say
poor Liston used to, that people will be ready to
allow that you can do anything great with Macbeth's
dagger after flourishing about with Paul Pry's um-
brella. Do you know, too, that the majority of men
look upon all who challenge their attention,-for a
while, at least,—as beggars, and nuisances ? They
always try to get off as cheaply as they can; and
the cheapest of all things they can give a literary
man-pardon the forlorn pleasantry!—is the funny-
bone. That is all

well so far as it


but satisfies no man, and makes a good many angry, as I told you on a former occasion.

Oh, indeed, no -I am not ashamed to make rou laugh, occasionally. I think I couli read you

something I have in my desk which would probal's make you smile. Perhaps I will read it one of the days, if you are patient with me when I am senu mental and reflective; not just now.

The ludicrou has its place in the universe; it is not a human in vention, but one of the Divine ideas, illustrated in the practical jokes of kittens and monkeys long be. fore Aristophanes or Shakspeare. How curious it is that we always consider solemnity and the absence of all gay surprises and encounter of wits as essential to the idea of the future life of those whom we thus deprive of half their faculties and then call blessed! There are not a few who, even in this lite, seem to be preparing themselves for that smileless eternity to which they look forward, by banishing all gayety from their hearts and all joyousness from their countenances. I meet one such in the street not unfrequently, a person of intelligence and education, but who gives me (and all that he passes) such a rayless and chilling look of recognition,something as if he were one of Heaven's assessors, come down to “doom" every acquaintance he met, that I have sometimes begun to sneeze on the spot, and gone home with a violent cold, dating from that instant. I don't doubt he would cut his kitten's tail off, if he caught her playing with it. Please tell me, who taught her to play with it?

No, no give me a chance to talk to you, my fel. low-boarders, and you need not be afraid that I shal

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gave any scruples about entertaining you, if I can
do it, as well as giving you some of my serious
thoughts, and perhaps my sadder fancies. I know
nothing in English or any other literature more ad-
mirable than that sentiment of Sir Thomas Browne

I find the great thing in this world is not so much
where we stand, as in what direction we are moving:
To reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes
with the wind and sometimes against it,—but we
must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor. There is
one very sad thing in old friendships, to every mind
that is really moving onward. It is this : that one
cannot help using his early friends as the seaman
uses the log, to mark his progress. Every now and
then ve throw an old schoolmate over the stern with
a string of thought tied to him, and look-I am
afraid with a kind of luxurious and sanctimonious
compassion-to see the rate at which the string reels
off, while he lies there bobbing up and down, poor
fellow! and we are dashing along with the white
foam and bright sparkle at our bows ;-the ruffled
bosom of prosperity and progress, with a sprig of
diamonds stuck in it! But this is only the senti- .
mental side of the matter; for grow we must, if we
outgrow all that we love.
Don't misunderstand that metaphor of heaving the

og, I beg you. It is merely a smart way of saying that we cannot avoid measuring our rate of move. ment by those with whom we have long been in the habit of comparing ourselves; and when they onco becoine stationary, we can get our reckoning from then, with painful accuracy. We see just what we were when they were our peers, and can strike the balance between that and whatever we may feel ourselves to be now. No doubt we may sometimes he mistaken. If we change our last simile to that very old and familiar one of a fleet leaving the harbor and sailing in company for some distant region, we can get what we want out of it. There is one of our companions ;—her streamers were torn into rags before she had got into the open sea, then by and by her sails blew out of the ropes one after another, the waves swept her deck, and as night came on we left her a seeming wreck, as we few under our pyramid of canvas. But lo! at dawn she is still in sight,-it may be in advance of us. Some deep ocean-current has been moving her on, strong, but silent,---yes, stronger than these noisy winds that puff our sails until they are swollen as the cheeks of jubilant cherubim. And when at last the black steam-tug with the skeleton arms, which comes out of the mist sooner or later and takes us all in tow, grapples her and goes off panting and groaning with her, it is to that harbor where all wrecks are refitted, and where, alas! we, towering in our pride, may never come.

So you will not think I mean to speak lightly of old friendships, because we cannot help instituting romparisons between our present and former selves by the aid of those who were what we were, but are not what we are. Nothing strikes one more, in the race of life, than to see how many give out in the first half of the course. “ Commencement day" always reminds me of the start for the “ Derby," when the beautiful high-bred three-year olds of the season are brought up for trial. That day is the start, and life is the race. Here we are at Cam. bridge, and a class is just “graduating.” Poor Harry! he was to have been there too, but he has paid forfeit; step out here into the grass back of the church; ah! there it is :


SociI MERENTES.” But this is the start, and here they are,-coats bright as silk, and manes as smooth as eau lustrale can make them. Some of the best of the colts are pranced round, a few minutes each, to show their paces. What is that old gentleman crying about? and the old lady by him, and the three girls, what are they all covering their eyes for ? Oh, that is their colt which has just been trotied up on the stage. Do they really think those little thin legs can do anything in such a slashing sweepstakes as is co ming iff in these next forty years? Oh, this ter. rible gift of second-sight that comes to some of us

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