INFLUENCE OF PATRIOTISM ON NATIONAL PROGRESS. 449 mankind, whose love embraces all countries, and whose voice sounds through all ages! Here, and here only, may we confidently expect those mighty minds to be reared and ripened, whose names are naturalized in foreign lands, the sure fellow-travellers of civilization! and yet render their own country dearer and more proudly dear to their own countrymen. This is indeed cosmopolitism, at once the nursling and the nurse of patriotic affection! This, and this alone, is genuine philanthrophy, which like the olive-tree, sacred to concord and to wisdom, fattens, not exhausts, the soil from which it sprang, and in which it remains rooted. It is feebleness only which cannot be generous without injustice, or just without ceasing to be generous. Is the morning star less brilliant, or does a ray less fall on the golden fruitage of the earth, because the moons of Saturn too feed their lamps from the same sun? Even Germany, though curst with a base and hateful brood of nobles and princelings, cowardly and ravenous jackals to the very flocks entrusted to them as shepherds, who hunt for the tiger, and whine and wag their tails for his bloody offal,—even Germany, whose ever-changing boundaries superannuate the last year's map, and are altered as easily as the hurdles of a temporary sheep-fold, is still remembered with filial love and a patriot's pride, when the thoughtful German hears the names of Luther and Leibnitz. "Ah! why," he sighs, "why for herself in vain should my country have produced such a host of immortal minds!" Yea, even the poor enslaved, degraded, and barbarized Greek, can still point to the harbour of Tenedos, and say, “There lay our fleet when we were besieging Troy." Reflect a moment on the past history of this wonderful people. What were they while they remained free and independent when Greece resembled a collection of mirrors set in a single frame, each having its own focus of patriotism, yet all capable, as at Marathon and Platea, of converging to one point and of consuming a common foe? What were they then? The fountains of light and of civilization, of truth, and of beauty, to all mankind! they were the thinking head, the beating heart of the whole world! They lost their independence, and with their independence their patriotism; and became the cosmopolites of antiquity. It has been truly observed, that, after the first acts of severity, the Romans treated the Greeks not only more mildly than their other slaves and dependents; they behaved to them even affectionately, and with munificence. The victor nation felt reverentially the presence of the visible and invisible deities that gave sanctity to every grove, every fountain, and every forum. "Think" (writes Pliny to one of his friends) "that you are sent into the province of Achaia, that true and genuine Greece, where civilization, letters, even corn, are believed to have been discovered; that you are sent to administer the affairs of free states, that is, to men eminently free, who have retained their natural right by valour, by services, by friendship; lastly, by treaty and by religion. Revere the gods, their founders; the sacred influences represented in these gods; revere their ancient glory and their very old age, which in man is venerable, in cities sacred. Cherish in thyself a reverence of antiquity, a reverence for their great exploits, a reverence even for their fables. Detract nothing from the proud pretensions of any state; keep before thine eyes that this is the land which sent us our institutions, which gave us our laws, not after it was subjugated, but in compliance with our petition." And what came out of these men, who were eminently free without patriotism, because without national independence? While they were intense patriots, they were the benefactors of all mankind; legislators for the very nation that afterwards subdued and enslaved them. When, therefore, they became pure cosmopolites, and no partial affections interrupted their philanthropy, and when they yet retained their country, their language, and their arts, what noble works, what mighty discoveries, may we not expect from them? If the applause of a little city (a first-rate town of a country not much larger than Yorkshire), and the encouragement of a Pericles, produced a Phidias, a Sophocles, and a constellation of other stars scarcely inferior in glory, what will not the applause of the world effect, and the boundless munificence of the world's imperial masters? Alas! no Sophocles appeared, no Phidias was born!-individual genius fled with national independence, and the best products were cold and laborious copies of what their fathers had taught and invented in grandeur and majesty. At length nothing remained but dastardly and cunning slaves, who avenged their own ruin and degradation by assisting to degrade and ruin their conquerors; and the golden harp of their divine language remained only as the frame on which priests and monks spun their dirty cobwebs of sophistry and superstition! 2. THE LORD HELPETH MAN AND BEAST.-(" FRIEND.") During his march to conquer the world, Alexander the Macedonian came to a people in Africa, who dwelt in a remote and secluded corner in peaceful huts, and knew neither war nor conqueror. They led him to the hut of their chief, who received him hospitably, and placed before him golden dates, golden figs, and bread of gold. Do you eat gold in this country? said Alexander. I take it for granted (replied the chief) that thou wert able to find eatable food in thine own country; for what reason then art thou come among us?-Your gold has not tempted me hither, said Alexander; but I would willingly become acquainted with your manners and customs. So be it, rejoined the other; sojourn among us as long as it pleaseth thee. At the close of this conversation two citizens entered as into their Court of Justice. The plaintiff said: I bought of this man a piece of land, and as I was making a deep drain through it, I found a treasure. This is not mine, for I only bargained for the land, and not for any treasure that might be concealed beneath it; and yet the former owner of the land will not receive it. The defendant answered: I hope I have a conscience as ADVANTAGE OF METHOD. 451 well as my fellow-citizen. I sold him the land, with all its contingent as well as existing advantages, and consequently the treasure inclusively. The chief, who was at the same time their supreme judge, recapitulated their words, in order that the parties might see whether or no he understood them aright; then, after some reflection, said: Thou hast a son, friend, I believe?—Yes! And thou (addressing the other) a daughter?—Yes! Well, then! let thy son marry thy daughter, and bestow the treasure on the young couple for their marriage-portion. Alexander seemed surprised and perplexed. Think you my sentence unjust? the chief asked him.-O no, replied Alexander; but it astonishes me. And how, then, rejoined the chief, would the case have been decided in your country?—To confess the truth, said Alexander, we should have taken both parties into custody, and have seized the treasure for the king's use. For the king's use! exclaimed the chief, now in his turn astonished. Does the sun shine in that country?-O yes! Does it rain there?— Assuredly. Wonderful! But are there tame animals in the country, that live on the grass and green herbs ?-Very many, and of many kinds. Aye, that must be the cause, said the chief; for the sake of those innocent animals, the all-gracious Being continues to let the sun shine and the rain drop down on your country. 3. ADVANTAGE OF METHOD.- -("FRIEND.") What is that which first strikes us, and strikes us at once, in a man of education; and which, among educated men, so instantly distinguishes the man of superior mind, that (as was observed with eminent propriety of the late Edmund Burke) "we cannot stand under the same archway during a shower of rain without finding him out?" Not the weight or novelty of his remarks; not any unusual interest of facts communicated by him; for we may suppose both the one and the other precluded by the shortness of our intercourse, and the triviality of the subjects. The difference will be impressed and felt though the conversation should be confined to the state of the weather or the pavement. Still less will it arise from any peculiarity in his words and phrases; for if he be, as we now assume, a well-educated man, as well as a man of superior powers, he will not fail to follow the golden rule of Julius Cæsar, and, unless where new things necessitate new terms, he will avoid an unusual word as a rock. It must have been among the earliest lessons of his youth that the breach of this precept, at all times hazardous, becomes ridiculous in the topics of ordinary conversation. There remains but one other point of distinction possible; and this must be, and in fact is, the true cause of the impression made on It is the unpremeditated and evidently habitual arrangement of his words, grounded on the habit of foreseeing, in each integral part, or (more plainly in every sentence, the whole that he ther us. intends to communicate. However irregular and desultory his talk, there is METHOD in the fragments. Listen, on the other hand, to an ignorant man, though perhaps shrewd and able in his particular calling; whether he be describing or relating. We immediately perceive that his memory alone is called into action, and that the objects and events recur in the narration in the same order, and with the same accompaniments, however accidental or impertinent, as they had first occurred to the narrator. The necessity of taking breath, the efforts of recollection, and the abrupt rectification of its failures, produces all his pauses, and, with exception of the "and then," the "and there," and the still less significant "and so," they constitute likewise all his connections. Our discussion, however, is confined to method, as employed in the formation of the understanding and in the constructions of science and literature. It would indeed be superfluous to attempt a proof of its importance in the business and economy of active or domestic life. From the cotter's hearth, or the workshop of the artizan, to the palace, or the arsenal, the first merit, that which admits neither substitute nor equivalent, is, that everything is in its place. Where this charm is wanting, every other merit either loses its name or becomes an additional ground of accusation and regret. Of one by whom it is eminently possessed, we say proverbially he is like clock-work. The resemblance extends beyond the point of regularity, and yet falls short of the truth. Both do, indeed, at once divide and announce the silent and otherwise indistinguishable lapse of time. But the man of methodical industry and honourable pursuits does more: he realises its ideal divisions, and gives a character and individuality to its moments. If the idle are described as killing time, he may be justly said to call it into life and moral being, while he makes it the distinct object not only of the consciousness, but of the conscience. He organizes the hours, and gives them a soul; and that, the very essence of which is to fleet away, and evermore to have been, he takes up into his own permanence, and communicates to it the imperishableness of a spiritual nature. Of the good and faithful servant whose energies, thus directed, are thus methodized, it is less truly affirmed that he lives in time than that time lives in him. His days, months, and years, as the stops and punctual marks in the records of duties performed, will survive the wreck of worlds, and remain extant when Time itself shall be no more. IX, CHARLES LAMB. CHARLES LAMB was born in London in 1775, and was educated at Christ's Hospital, for which magnificent institution he entertained through life a filial regard. He was intended for the Church; but an impediment in his speech was deemed too serious an obstacle to such a profession, and, instead of entering the university, he became a THE POOR RELATION. 453 clerk in the East India Company's offices. Here he continued in the quiet discharge of the usual methodical routine of such establishments for upwards of thirty years, when he retired with a pension liberal enough to supply him with all that his necessities or tastes required. He died in 1836. Lamb's first appearance as an author was in verse. He wrote one or two plays, and several sonnets and minor poems, which, though possessing much of his peculiar merit, have never enjoyed any extensive share of popularity. He is also the author (in conjunction with his sister) of "Tales from Shakspere ;" but his fame rests upon his "Essays," and his "Specimens of the Dramatists who were Contemporary with Shakspere." The last work displays a thorough knowledge and genuine appreciation of the Elizabethan literature, and has done much to diffuse an enlightened admiration of our older dramatists. Lamb is the most delightful of all Essayists:" he combines all the quaintness of Sir Thomas Browne, with a quiet, pleasing humour, and innumerable amiable whims and peculiarities, which make the "Essays of Elia" universal favourites. 66 1. THE POOR RELATION. A poor relation is the most irrelevant thing in nature, a piece of impertinent correspondency, an odious approximation, a haunting conscience, a preposterous shadow lengthening in the noontide of our prosperity, an unwelcome remembrancer, a perpetually recurring mortification, a drain on your purse, a more intolerable dun upon your pride, a drawback upon success, a rebuke to your rising, a stain in your blood, a blot on your 'scutcheon, a rent in your garment, a death's head at your banquet, Agathocles' pot, a Mordecai in your gate, a Lazarus at your door, a lion in your path, a frog in your chamber, a fly in your ointment, a mote in your eye, a triumph to your enemy, an apology to your friends, the one thing not needful, the hail in harvest, the ounce of sour in a pound of sweet. He is known by his knock. Your heart telleth you, "That is Mr A rap, between familiarity and respect, that demands, and at the same time seems to despair of entertainment. He entereth smiling and embarrassed. He holdeth out his hand to you to shake, and draweth it back again. He casually looketh in about dinner-time, when the table is full. He offereth to go away, seeing you have company, but is induced to stay. He filleth a chair, and your visitor's two children are accommodated at a side-table. He never cometh upon open days, when your wife says with some complacency, "My dear, perhaps Mr will drop in to-day." He remembereth birth-days, and professeth he is fortunate to have stumbled upon one. He declareth against fish-the turbot being small-yet suffereth himself to be importuned into a slice against his first resolution. He sticketh by the port; yet will be prevailed upon to empty the remainder glass of claret, if a stranger press it upon him. He is a puzzle to the servants, who are fearful of being too obsequious, or not civil enough to him. The guests think they have seen him before." Every one speculateth upon his |