I could not help thinking, in the next place, when I saw the Catamaran-men floating about in the roads of Madras, of the need there is that we should adapt our means to the circumstances in which we are placed. What a useless means of flotation would a light, well-built Dunbar or Aberdeen fishing-cobble be in the surf at Madras. She would be overturned, filled and broken in a moment. And what a useless thing would the Catamaran be in our Northern seas. The navigator would be frozen to death, and his raft of three planks beaten into matchwood on our iron-bound coasts. The cobble, then, for the North sea, and the Catamaran for the surf of the Indian Ocean.

So should the Christian-whether pastor or private individual-seek ever to win the end by adapting means to circumstances. On some occasions it is good to declare the terrors of the law; on others to show forth the goodness of God; one day to enforce the truth, on the next to show forth the great wisdom, of God. It is good at one time to send a Minister; at another a Scripturereader; now to found a church; byand-by to build a school; at one time to go forth boldly into the marketplace; and again to seek the retirement of the closet,-there to wrestle

in earnest prayer. May we be enabled to use those means in all circumstances which may be the happiest and best to bring men to the desired land of rest and peace in God!" Indian Jottings," by the Rev. John Paton.

GOD'S USE OF UNLIKELY
INSTRUMENTS.

FEw things are more remarkable in the Bible than to see how God, as if to teach us to trust in nothing, and in none, but Himself, selects instruments that seem the least fitted to accomplish His end. Does He choose

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an ambassador to Pharaoh ? it is a man of stammering tongue. Are the streams of Jericho to be sweetened ? salt is cast into the spring. Are the eyes of the blind to be opened? they are rubbed with clay. Are the battlements of a city to be thrown down? the means employed is, not the blast of a mine, but the breath of a trumpet. Is a rock to be riven? the lightning is left to sleep above, and the earthquake with its throes to sleep below, and the instrument is one-a rod-much more likely to be shivered on the rock than to shiver it. Is the world to be converted by preaching, and won from sensual delights to a faith whose symbol is a cross, and whose crown is to be won among the fires of martyrdom ?-leaving schools, and halls, and colleges, God summons His preachers from the shores of Galilee. The helm of the Church is entrusted to hands that had never steered aught but a fishing-boat; and by the mouth of one who had been its bloodiest persecutor, Christ pleads His cause before the philosophers of Athens, and in the palaces of Rome. And when He chose the weak things of the world to confound the strong, and the foolish to confound the wise, what God meant to teach us was, that we are to look above the instruments to the great Hand that moves them : and that, whether it was a giant or a devil that was to be conquered, the eyes of the body or of the soul that were to be opened, walls of stone, or, what are stronger, walls of ignorance and sin, that were to be overthrown, men are but instruments in His hand; with Him the meanest mighty, and the mightiest mean without Him. -Dr. Guthrie.

SENTENCES FOR THOUGHT.

KEEP aloof from the oracles of God, keep aloof from the places where they are discoursed of, from the companies which fulfil them, and

you are not far from the kingdom of Satan; but come to the word and meditate thereon, go where its truths are proclaimed, watch at the gates where Divine wisdom speaketh, and look upon the men whose lives she adorneth, and you are not far from the kingdom of God.

THE truth which the Bible contains once dwelt undivulged in the bosom of God. Beyond what it reveals, the mysteries of the future are unknown. To gain it acceptance and currency, the noble army of martyrs testified unto the death. The general assembly of the firstborn in heaven made it the day-star of their hopes, and the pavilion of their peace.

TIBNI AND OMRI;

OR, THE TWO KINGS.
(1 Kings xvi. 22.)

"TWAS "Tibni died, and Omri reign'd:"
So these two sovereigns stand
Forth, each in his own robes array'd,

And with a scroll in hand.
Who does not wish to see the scrolls,

And what the writings say?
Hebraic, Greek, or cuneiform,*

Or tongue more grave than they? Truth writes out names and lore to last, And tells of times that were;

It brings up hidden things to light,
And makes the distant near:

Hence, through all time, and in all change,

The dreamy world shall know,
That "Tibni died, and Omri reign'd,"

And wherefore it was so.

How generations pass away,
And others rise instead!
This glitters as the sunny day;

And that is with the dead:
So winding-sheets and royal robes

Full into contrast came,
When "Tibni died, and Omri reign'd;"
And still it is the same.

*This Omri is the same as Khumri in cuneiform writing. See Layard's "Nineveh and Babylon," pp. 613, 626.

There is one only step between

The grave and diadem:
When "Tibni died, and Omri reign'd,"
'Twas even so with them. ·
But there was distance infinite

Betwixt each in his lot:
Life is the glory of all worlds;
Death-earth and bane and blot.

Come forth, ye kings! just as ye were
When fame went out to say
Why "Tibni died, and Omri reign'd;"
For so it speaks to-day.
A stark, cold, livid countenance
Lies here beneath my eye;
There mind, and might, and majesty ;
But this has yet to die.

It is not said that Tibni reign'd,
But only that he died:
To die winds up the catalogue

Of princedom, power, and pride.
It is not said that Omri lived,
But only that he reign'd:
To reign shows not the gate of life,
Or how it may be gain'd.

It is not writ how Tibni died,
In battle or by guile;
He is not writ unmerciful,
Or hopelessly the while:
But Omri died as heathens live;
And worse than heathen he,
Since never "true light" shone on them,
Which fain had made him see.

When piety forsakes a land,

There pity cannot stay; And cruelty will rule the heart Which chases truth away: So "Tibni died, and Omri reign'd;" For victory, which was won By blood, in blood raged on its way, And ended as begun.

Since "Tibni died, and Omri reign'd,"
Both seem to bid us live

By that which death has fail'd to harm,
And crowns have failed to give ;
And that is faith, "which works by
love;"

For they who win the prize
Shall "reign in life" o'er worlds above,
And joy in paradise.

-Church of England Magazine.

FLORENCE, AND HER POET. AMONG the many characteristics of the present age one cannot fail to remark the prevalence of commemorative festivals and centenary celebrations. Europe seems waking up, in a fit of enthusiastic loyalty, to the recognition of her great men; and, as if to make amends for the neglect and ingratitude of a former age, where the least honour was done them during their life, the most is done them now; and the cities of their birth, made immortal through their genius, are proud to do a tardy justice to their memory.

A few years back the Scots were keeping the centenary of Burns, and all Ayr was astir with processions and banners. It is not long since Shakespeare's Tercentenary was celebrated at Stratford-upon-Avon. And, later still,

VOL. XIII.-Second Series.

Florence, after six hundred years have passed, has heaped on the memory of her most illustrious poet all the honours she could devise, and added to all his crowns the one he would most have coveted for himself-the grateful love of a united Italy.

Everything conspired to make this festival a grand event. The climate, the cheerful disposition of the people, to whom out-door festivities are natural, and who throw themselves into them with a grace and freedom to which we stolid English are quite strangers. Add to these the recent removal of the seat of government to Florence, and the newfound national life of young Italy; and when we remember how an appreciative love for Dante has grown with the centuries, how his spirit has kindled and inspired the noblest of his countrymen,

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and how his fondest dreams for Italy are fulfilled in the facts of to-day, we can find no more fitting occasion for the joyousness of a great people to burst forth, and for their unity and nationality to find a voice, than in such a celebration as that of last May.

It is said that Dante has had more commentators than any other poet. This may be so; though the multiplication of writings on the works of our own Shakespeare, in the present day, bids fair soon to invalidate the assertion. If it be a fact, it is one easily accounted for: by the long period that has elapsed since he wrote, by the allegorical nature of his great work, which requires so much interpreting, and gives rise to so many different theories; and, still more, by the historical and biographical allusions Iwith which it is crowded. That he has had more translators than any beside the ancient classic poets is undoubted; yet, for all that, he is not so generally and familiarly known in England as his fame would lead us to expect.

Before glancing at the scope and manner of his wonderful work, or attempting to gather up some of the lessons-practical, historical, and others -that may be gained from it, we will take a short review of his life and times, and of the history of his native city.

Florence, having become the capital of the Italian kingdom, will now be as much noticed on account of its political importance, as it has formerly been on account of its beauty, its history, and its long list of citizens, illustrious in every branch of literature and art. It deserves to be the metropolis of a great nation; for its early history has afforded much valuable instruction in the art of government to other nations in later times. The origin of this city is dim and indistinct; but, from the best accounts, we may gather that it was Roman. Of its name, too, there are many different derivations; and of these the most probable one is also the most beautiful. Florentia was its Latin name; and this word was anciently in use in allusion to the lily, or iris, which grew in great abundance in the meadows of the Arno, and which has always been the city's emblem. Thus, it is scarcely

a poetical figure to call Florence "the flower" of Tuscany. It is not difficult to trace the process by which Florentia has been corrupted into the present Italian Firenze. Other European languages, our own included, have, however, preserved the original form much more closely.

In a rich and fertile plain, abounding in vines and olives, and watered by the lovely Arno, Florence, though its beginnings were small enough, soon grew and flourished. Protected by the ancient city of Fiesole on the one hand, and having facilities for trading with the seaport of Pisa on the other, it rapidly increased in size and wealth, till, in the year 786, it was sufficiently important to receive a visit from Charlemagne, who granted it many privileges. In the course of time, like so many other Italian cities, particularly those in the north, it formed itself into a Republic. The causes that led to this republican development in Italy are many, and complicated, and most interesting to the student of history. The decaying institutions of Rome, the incursions of barbarians, the consequent infusion of young and energetic northern races, the change of dynasties, the feudal system, all acted and re-acted on each other in fixing the state of Italy in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. people, gathered together in towns for defence from the oppression of contending rulers, learnt self-reliance, built walls for their protection, cultivated industrial arts, and acquired habits of self-government; and, as they became of consequence, gained privileges for themselves, which the nominal rulers, the Frankish Emperors, were not strong enough to withhold. The more powerful each city became, the more independent it showed itself, and the more separate in its interests. Thus national life died out, and these different republics looked on each other like foreigners, and were ready to draw the sword on their neighbours without compunction, if cause for quarrel arose. We read of Florence as an independent power as early as the beginning of the twelfth century; and from this time to Dante's birth her history is full of wars and aggressions

The

without, and tumults, and factions, and revolutions within. The grand quarrel of the Guelphs and Ghibelines, which divided every important town or province in Italy against itself, raged in Florence in full force.

This quarrel, which originated with two rival houses in Germany, became in Italy a struggle between great political principles. The high aristocracy and the adherents of the Emperor were called Ghibelines, while the Guelphic side represented the democratic party, protected by the Church. It was to the interest of the Papal see to encourage free institutions, because these would form a barrier and a check to Imperial power. This was the broad distinction; but sometimes parties changed sides, when there was a Guelphic Emperor on the throne, or when personal attachment or private pique overbore other considerations. In Florence party spirit ran very high, and quarrels were constantly breaking out, especially among the nobility. A look, or a word, between these proud spirits was often enough to stir up a deadly feud; swords would be drawn, streets barricaded, and the tumult would go on till the whole city had taken one side or another, and the streets were deluged in blood. To read the history of these outbreaks one would imagine that this people was the worst governed and the most unhappy in the world.

But there was a great quiet current of prosperity flowing on under all this. Commerce was thriving. The city increased so much in size, that a second circuit of walls had to be thrown around it. Many wise and admirable institutions arose for the public good, and Florence could boast of citizens who lived and laboured for the equal administration of justice, for the protection of the oppressed, and the welfare of all. The population appears to have been composed mainly of freemen, who were traders, and nobles. The people, whose different occupations were considered honourable, and among whom the greatest frugality and simplicity of manners prevailed, were at one time represented in the government by men chosen from each of the principal trades, called "Priors of the Arts." Their

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term of office lasted about two months. As Florence rose in importance, the neighbouring nobility left their castles and strongholds in the country, and flocked into the city, requesting to be made citizens. These, with their retainers, were the turbulent and riotous part of the population. Every man of them was trained to the use of arms, which they constantly carried. They all fought on horseback, clothed, cap-à-pie, in armour, charging with the long lance. These, let us remember, were the days of chivalry; that system so fair in romance and story, but which, the more we know of it, the less inclined shall we be to wish it back again.

The nobles, strong and handsome, and well trained to arms, were very firebrands in temper, and gloried in revenge. They had no patriotism in our sense of the word; but, in its place, family pride and party feeling ruled them. If a member of one family was injured by another, the injury was sure to be immediately revenged, either by a noonday murder or a secret stroke; and even this would not make the retaliation complete. It was in their code of honour that if an innocent person suffered wrong, the injury was not wiped out till an innocent person belonging to the offending family had suffered too. Thus vengeance followed vengeance; others would take part in the feud, and there was no end to the blood-shedding and the strife which ensued. Often, indeed, the nobility were excluded from all share in the government, because of their turbulence and oppression; but the judges and magistrates, not strong enough to restrain their lawlessness, were too much afraid to bring them to justice. In the most prosperous times of Florentine life, accordingly, there was a great sense of insecurity. Even at public festivals, of which the people were very fond, quarrels between different parties would break out; and the day that began with processions, bellringing, and garlands, would end in terror and blood. These quarrels often became general between the Guelphs and the Ghibelines; and the triumphant party would banish the heads of the other from their homes, confiscate their