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yet circles of social influence and leadership.
Some of you may be chosen to greater dis-
tinctions and heavier trials, and may enter
into that class of which each member, while
he lives, is envied or admired:-
"And when he dies he leaves a lofty name,
A light, a landmark, on the cliffs of fame."

And, gentlemen, the hope of an enduring
fame is without doubt a powerful incentive
to virtuous action; and you may suffer it to
float before you as a vision of refreshment,
second always, and second with long inter-
val, to your conscience and the will of God.
For an enduring fame is one stamped by the
judgment of the future; of that future which
dispels illusions, and smashes idols into dust.
Little of what is criminal, little of what is
idle, can endure even the first touch of the

ordeal; it seems as though this purging power following at the heels of man and try ing his work even here and now, were a witness and a harbinger of the great final

account.

So then the thirst of an enduring fame is near akin to the love of true excellence. But the fame of the moment is a dangerous possession and a bastard motive; and he who does his acts in order that the echo of them may come back as a soft music to his ears, plays false to his noble destiny as a Christian man, places himself in continual danger of dallying with wrong, and taints even his virtuous actions at their source. Not the sublime words alone of the Son of God and his apostles, but heathenism too, even while its vision is limited to the passing scene, testifies with an hundred tongues that the passing scene itself presents to us virtue as an object, and a moral law, graven deeply in our whole nature, as a guide. But now,

when the screens that so bounded human

vision have been removed, it were sad indeed, and not more sad than shameful, if that be ing should be content to live for the opinion of the moment, who has immortality for his inheritance. He that never dies, can he not afford to wait patiently awhile? And can he not let Faith, which interprets the present, also guarantee the future? Nor are there any two habits of mind more distinct

than that which chooses success for its aim

and covets after popularity, and that, on the other hand, which values and defers to the judgments of our fellow-men as helps in the attainment of truth.

But I would not confound with the sordid worship of popularity in after life, the graceful and instinctive love of praise in the uncritical period of youth. On the contrary, I say, avail yourselves of that stimulus to good deeds, and when it proceeds from worthy

sources and lights upon worthy conduct, yield yourselves to the warm satisfaction it inspires; but yet, even while young, and even amidst the glow of that delight, keep a vigilant eye upon yourselves, refer the honor to Him from whom all honor comes, and ever be inwardly ashamed for not being worthier of his gifts.

But, gentlemen, if you let yourselves enjoy the praise of your teachers, let me beseech you to repay their care, and to help their arduous work, by entering into it with them; and by showing that you meet their exertions neither with a churlish mistrust nor with a passive indifference, but with free and ready gratitude. Rely upon it, they require your sympathy; and they require it their work. The faithful and able teacher, more in proportion as they are worthy of says an old adage, is in loco parentis. His charge certainly resembles the mother's care in this: if he be devoted to his task, you can measure neither the cost to him of the efforts which he makes, nor the debt of gratitude you owe him. The great poet of Italy-the profound and lofty Dante-had had for an instructor one whom for a miserable vice, his poem places in the regions of the damned; and yet this lord of song-this prophet of all the knowledge of his time-this master of every gift that can adorn the human mind

when in those dreary regions he sees the known image of his tutor, avows in lanhe cannot, even now, withhold his sympathy guage of a magnificence all his own, that and sorrow from his unhappy teacher, for he recollects how, in the upper world, with a father's tender care, that teacher had pointed to him the way by which man becomes immortal.

Gentlemen, I have detained you long. Perhaps I have not had time to be brief; certainly I could have wished for much larger opportunities of maturing and verifying what I have addressed to you upon subjects which have always possessed a hold on my heart, and have long had public and palpable claims on my attention. Such as I have, I well, let me invoke every blessing upon your give. And now, finally, in bidding you farevenerable University in its new career; upon the youth by whom its halls are gladdened, teachers by whom its places of authority are and upon the distinguished head and able

adorned.

*Brunetto Latini.

Se fosse pieno tutto 'l mio dimando,
Risposi io lui, vio non sareste ancora
Dell' umana natura posto in bando;

Che in la mente m' è fitta, cd or m' accora
La cara e buona imagine paterna
Di voi nel mondo, quando ad ora ad ora
Mi 'nsegnavate come l' uom s' eterna.

Inferno, xv. 79.

THE BATTLE OF COPENHAGEN.

From The Constitutional Press Magazine. THE following stanzas by the late Thomas Campbell-never included in his published works-are obviously the first expanded sketch of what he afterwards condensed into that most noble sea-song, "The Battle of the Baltic."

The editor is indebted to the Rev. Greville J. Chester for permission to print this very interesting poem.

FIRST EDITION OF "THE BATTLE OF COPENHAGEN," MS.

Or Nelson and the North

Sing the day!

When, their haughty powers to vex,
He engaged the Danish decks,
And with twenty floating wrecks
Crowned the fray.

All bright in April's sun

Shone the day!

When a British fleet came down Through the Islands of the Crown, And by Copenhagen town

Took their way.

In arms the Danish shore
Proudly shone;

By each gun the lighted brand,
In a bold, determined hand,
And the prince of all the land
Led them on.

For Denmark here had drawn All her might!

From her battle-ships so vast She had hewn away her mast, And at anchor to the last, Bade them fight.

Another noble fleet

Of their line

Rode out; but these were naught To the batteries which they brought Like leviathans afloat

On the brine.

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Ere a first and fatal sound

Shook the flood;

Each Dane looked out that day,
Like the red wolf on his prey,

And they swore their flags to sway
O'er our blood.

Not such a mind possessed
England's tar;

'Twas the love of noble game
Set his oaken heart on flame,
For to him 'twas all the same,
Sport or war.

All hands and eyes on watch
As they keep,

By cach motion light as wings,
By cach step that haughty springs,
You might know them for the kings
Of the deep.

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Three hours the raging fire

Did not slack,

But at length the signals drear
Of distress and wreck appear,
And the Dane a feeble cheer
Sent us back.

The sound decayed, their shots
Slowly boom;

It ceased, and all is wail,
As they strike the shattered sail,
Or in conflagration pale,

Light the gloom.

O Death! it was a sight
Filled our eyes;

But we rescued many a crew
From the wave of scarlet hue,
Ere the cross of England flew
O'er her prize.

Why ceased not here the strife,
O ye brave!

Why bleeds Old England's band
By the fire of Danish land,
That smote the very hand
Stretched to save?

But the Britons sent to warn
Denmark's town,

"Proud foes let vengeance sleep,
If another chain shot sweep,
All your navy in the deep
Shall go down.

"Then peace instead of war

Let us bring;

If you yield your conquered fleet, With the crews, at England's feet, And make submission meet,

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Then the stainless life returneth laughing through the merry hours,

On the ancient paths of childhood, sown around with starry flowers.

Who would lose the dear illusion-who would wish to feel it less,

Though it make the radiant morning thick with blight and barrenness?

Let the weary waking hours, forlorn of hope, creep slowly on,

So on slumber's couch we borrow joyaunce from the summers gone.

O Sleep! dear to all, then dearest when strong sorrow bows us down,

Charming care with golden hours, and smoothing out the furrowed frown;

Thou that blottest from existence half the fever and the fear

Come, kind minister of healing, come, for thou art needed here.

Come, as yesternight thou camest. I had deemed that nevermore,

Save to grief, my darkened spirit should unlock its sealed door;

For within my breast I shuddered, shadowing forth the things unseen,

And the Past, savo in its sorrow, seemed as it had never been.

For I thought on wasted life-I saw a future fearful hour,

Dread misgivings, formless terrors, evil sights of evil power,

When the clock ticks slow, the minutes linger in their sullen flight,

And the ghastly day's oppression is but trebled in the night.

When no more the shattered senses round the throne of reason dwell,

Thinking every sight a spectre, every sound a passing bell;

When the mortal desolation falleth on the soul

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There it stood-the self-same village-even as in hours of old,

When the stately sun descending dipped the dazzling panes in gold;

And methought for many an hour, yea many a peaceful day and night,

All that space of carth was steeped in one delicious faery light.

And I marvelled not, though round me clustering life and beauty grew

In the paradisal stillness visited by forms I knew ;

Yet there were, beyond all others, features that I loved to trace

Ah! too truly I remember-for it was my mother's face.

'Twas no wonder that I knew thee, as thy kind eyes turned to mine,

Happy in my happiness, while I was thinking not of thine;

And I heard thy silver accents sweeter than all music flow

Ah me, but the lapse of summers changes many things below!

"Mother, we will dwell together evermore," I seemed to say,

Far from hence life's wheels are whirling; scarce an echo comes this way.

Here an uneventful rest shall fold us in a dream

of peace,

Here our love through silent seasons grow with infinite increase."

But I woke as one who, coming from far lands beyond the wave,

Finds not any face of welcome-all he loved are in the grave.

Scarce the ancient house remaineth, bartered for a stranger's gold;—

Foreign fires upon the hearth, whose very flame is deathly cold!

Surely, 'twas some evil angel woke me ere the dawn began

Fiend, who could have heart to break the slumbers of a wretched man!

Time enough grief's drooping banners once more to behold unfurled,

When the warm imperial sunlight widens through a weeping world!

Breathing soon a finer sorrow, I, who had not wept for years,

As I pondered on the vision felt my eyes grow dim with tears;

And I know that never, never, while Time wings his weary flight,

From my heart of hearts shall perish the remembrance of that night.

God be thanked that thy sweet phantom swept across my dreary way,

Lighting up thine own dear footprints lest thy child should turn astray.

Now for me, my loving sisters, Hope and Memory embrace,

Each alike henceforward living in the sunshine of thy face.

Let me pass in some sweet vision of the seasons long gone by!

Some stray touch of dreamy fancy haunt me slumbering ere I die!

Kindred hands of welcome lead me to the country far away,

Where the spirit never needeth interchange of

Night and Day!

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TOO LATE.

HUSH! speak low-tread softly-
Draw the sheet aside:
Yes, she does look peaceful;

With that smile she died.
Yet stern want and sorrow
Even now you trace
On the wan, worn features
Of the still, white face.
Restless, helpless, hopeless,
Was her bitter part;
Now, how still the violets
Lie upon her heart.

She who toiled and labored
For her daily bread:
See the velvet hangings
Of this stately bed.
Yes, they did forgive her,
Brought her home at last,
Strove to cover over

Their relentless past.

Ah, they would have given
Wealth and name and pride,
To see her looking happy

Once before she died.

They strove hard to please her,
But, when death is near,
All, you know, is deadened-
Hope and joy and fear.
And, besides, one sorrow-
Deeper still, one pain-
Was beyond them: healing
Came to-day in vain.
If she had but lingered

Just a few hours more;
Or had this letter reached her
Just one day before!

I can almost pity
Even him to-day,
Though he let this anguish
Eat her heart away.

Yet she never blamed him,
One day you shall know
How this sorrow happened:
It was long ago.

I have read his letter:

Many a weary year
For one word she hungered-
There are thousands here!
If she could but hear it,
Could but understand!
See, I put the letter

In her cold white hand.
Even these words, so longed for,
Do not stir her rest.
Well, I should not murmur,
For God judges best.
She needs no more pity;
But I mourn his fate,
When he hears his letter
Came a day too late.

-All the Year Round.

From The Constitutional Press Magazine. INFLUENCE OF EGYPTIAN ARCHEOLOGY ON BIBLE STUDIES.

BY REGINALD STUART POOLE.

I HAVE been asked "What is the good of hieroglyphics?" and found it hard to give an answer. The investigation of these primeval records of what men thought and did, two, three, and even four thousand years ago, has been in general pursued with little or no reference to what men now think and do. Learning and patience have been devoted to minute questions; while the grand human subjects, of which these are insignificant portions, have been neglected. Thus a pursuit rich in its promise has been confined to a few, and the many have not cared for it. Were it generally known what real good may be derived from this difficult study, what unveiling of the inner life of the oldest of settled nations, what clear recovery of traces of man's first true belief, what a new and independent commentary on the Bible, the learning of Egypt would not be almost as great a mystery as when the priests refused to tell the sacred name of Osiris.

ments. Their belief in these broad truths is quite certain; the more minute definition of them may be doubtful. It has not been determined how far the immortality of the soul was held; whether the ultimate state was supposed to be one of separate existence or of absorption or annihilation; whether the rewards or punishments were believed to be purgatorial or eternal. The judge of the dead was Osiris, the great foe of the power of evil. Every man was examined before him as to his deeds on earth. He had to reply to forty-two questions, each one relating to the commission of a particular sin. If acquitted, he became an Osiris, taking the name and form of the judge, and being admitted to the joys of the Egyptian Paradise, the Aähloo, whence the Greeks derived their Elysian Fields. A woman also became an Osiris, taking the name of the judge, and not that of Isis his wife.

If I were to cite late and second-hand authority, I might much enlarge this account, and show a greater closeness of agreement with revelation. I prefer to confine myself to what can be learnt from the Egyptian Ritual and the early religious representations of the monuments. The Ritual was the sacred book of the Egyptians. Countless copies of parts and some of the whole, written on papyrus, have been found in Egypt, chiefly in the burial-grounds. It consists of prayers mainly to be said by the deceased in the separate state, and therefore to be learnt by him while on earth. Portions of it are known to be as old as two thousand years B.C., and there are copies of the whole written one thousand five hundred or one thousand four hundred years B.C. Much of it is still uninterpreted, but the general truths I have mentioned are admitted to be declared in it with great clearness.*

I know that many are weary of the very mention of Egyptian or any other archæology in relation to the Bible. They say, "We have read so many books and essays on this subject, arguing on matters prejudged, that we do not believe in your impartiality." I quite admit that on the religious side there has been reason enough to offend any clear-headed or honest inquirer. But I have found, and still find, quite as much written on the other side, which is as repugnant to all notions of judgment and fairness. To the end of time the majority on both sides will, intentionally or not, wrest arguments and reason on false grounds, but this does not justify any one in shutting his This discovery bears with surprising force ears to a fair statement of a weighty ques-upon a controversy of the highest import

tion.

The first point on which I wish to touch is the evidence of a primeval revelation afforded by the Egyptian mythology. It is now admitted by every competent scholar that, inwoven with the tangled web of myths and superstitions which mainly compose the strange belief of Egypt, we trace ever and anon the golden thread of truth. Base as were many of the tenets among which the truth was thus preserved, it was never lost; and not only so, but it ever maintained its superiority. The whole moral teaching of the priests depended upon it. To it was due the majestic art of the nation. It alone had principles of vitality.

The Egyptians believed in life after death, in judgment according to man's deeds on earth, and in future rewards and punish

ance. The old idea that Moses based the law upon the Egyptian belief, has lately found many adherents in the German school. These have been so accustomed to repeat this old scandal that they have ceased to question its truth, and have allowed themselves to drift away into a very dangerous position. So long as we knew nothing of the Egyptian religion, except from the representations of the monuments and the incorrect statements of ancient writers, it was easy enough to assert, on the evidence of a few outward agreements, that the two systems were identical. Now, however, our fuller

The reader will find an interesting paper on the Ritual, by M. de Rouge, in the February numam not, however, prepared to accept his close ber of the Revue Archéologique for the present year. definition of the principles of the Egyptian religion.

I

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