THE STATE OF BELIEF AT THE ADVENT OF CHRIST. Socrates created the glory of Athens, who | deemed that she could not live with him. Spinoza is the greatest of modern Jews, and the synagogue expelled him with ignominy. Jesus was the glory of the people of Israel, who crucified him. A gigantic dream for centuries had pursued the Jewish people, and renewed it continually in its decrepitude. A stranger to the theory of individual recompense, which Greece had disseminated under the name of the immortality of the soul, Judea had concentrated upon her national future all her power to love and to desire. She believed that she had the divine promise of a limitless future, and as the bitter reality, which, from the ninth century before our era, gave the kingdom of the world more and more to force, brutally trampled down these aspirations, she threw herself upon the most impossible alliances of ideas, and attempted the strangest expedients. Before the captivity, when all the earthly future of the nation was dissipated by the separation of the northern tribes, they dreamed of the restoration of the house of David, the reconciliation of the two fragments of the people, and the triumph of theocracy and the worship of Jehovah over the idolatrous worships. At the time of the captivity, a poet, full of harmony, saw the splendor of a future Jerusalem, to which the nations and the far-off isles should be tributary, in colors so soft that one would have said that a ray from the beaming face of Jesus illumined it at a distance of six hundred years. The victory of Cyrus seemed for a time to realize all that had been hoped. The grave disciples of the Avesta and the worshippers of Jehovah believed themselves brothers. Persia had succeeded, by banishing the multitudinous devas and transforming them into demons (divs), in drawing from the ancient Arian conceptions, essentially naturalistic, a species of monotheism. The prophetic tone of many of the precepts of Iran had close analogy to certain compositions of Hosea and Isaiah. Israel rested under the Achæmenides, and, under Xerxes (Ahasuerus), made himself feared by the Iranians themselves. But the triumphal and often brutal entrance of the Greek and Roman civilization into Asia, threw him back into his dreams. More than ever, he invoked the Messiah as judge and avenger of the nations. He required a renewal of all things, a revolution taking the globe by the roots and shaking it from 341 top to bottom, to satisfy the enormous demand which was excited in him by the feeling of his superiority and the sight of his humiliations. Had Israel possessed the doctrine, termed spiritualistic, which separates man into two parts, body and soul, and thinks it perfectly natural that while the body rots, the soul survives, this storm of rage and energetic protest would have had no cause for exis tence. But this doctrine, sprung from Greek philosophy, was not in the traditions of the Jewish mind. The ancient Hebrew writings contain no trace of future rewards or punishments. While the idea of the solidarity of the tribe existed, it was natural not to look for strict retribution according to the merits of each person. Woe to the pious man who fell upon an impious age; he suffered with the rest the public calamities flowing from the general impiety. This doctrine, handed down from the wise men of the patriarchal period, resulted every day in indefensible contradictions. Even in the time of Job it was severely shaken; the old men of Teman who professed it were men behind the times, and the young Elihu who comes in to oppose them, dares to put forth first of all this essentially revolutionary idea: wisdom is no longer to the aged. With the complications which the world had assumed since Alexander, the old Temanite and Mosaic principles became still more intolerable. Never had Israel been more faithful to the Law, and yet they had suf fered the atrocious persecutions of Antiochus. Only a declaimer, accustomed to repeat ancient phrases denuded of meaning, dared profess that these woes came because of the unfaithfulness of the people. What! these victims who died for their faith, these heroic Maccabees, this mother with her seven sons, shall Jehovah forget them eternally, abandon them to the corruption of the grave? An incredulous and worldly Sadducee, indeed, might not shrink before such a result; a consummate sage, like Antigonus de Soco, indeed, might maintain that we must not practice virtue like a slave, for a reward; that we must be virtuous without expectation. But the mass of the nation could not be satisfied with that. Some, cleaving to the principle of philosophic immortality, pictured to themselves the just living in the memory of God, glorious for ever in the remembrance of men, judging the impious who have persecuted them. They live in the eyes of God," such is their 66 842 FENELON CONCERNING ELOQUENCE. recompense. Others, the Pharisees especially, had recourse to the dogma of the resurrection. The just will live again to share in the Messianic reign. They will live again in the flesh, and for a world of which they will be kings and judges; they will witness the triumph of their ideas and the humiliation of their enemies. We find among the ancient people of Israel only very uncertain traces of this fundamental dogma. The Sadducee, who did not believe in it, was in reality faithful to the old Jewish doctrine; the Pharisee, the partisan of resurrection, was the innovator. But in religion it is always the zealous portion which makes innovations; it is the party of progress, it is that which achieves results. The resurrection, an lea totally different from the immortality of the soul, moreover, grew very naturally out of the former doctrines and condition of the people. Perhaps Persia also furnished some of its elements. At all events, combining with the belief in the Messiah and the doctrine of a speedy renewal of all things, it formed those apocalyptic theories, which, without being articles of faith (the orthodox sanhedrim of Jerusalem seems not to have adopted them), were rife in the imagination of all, and produced from one end to the other of the Jewish world an intense fermentation. The total absence of dogmatic rigor allowed very contradictory notions to be accepted at the same time, even on a point so important. Sometimes the just man was to await the resurrection; sometimes he was received at the moment of his death into Abraham's bosom. Sometimes the resurrection was universal, sometimes reserved for the faithful alone. Sometimes it supposed a renewed earth and a new Jerusalem; sometimes it implied a preliminary annihilation of the universe. Jesus, with his earliest thoughts, entered into the burning atmosphere which created in Palestine the ideas that we have set forth. These ideas were taught at no school; but they were in the air, and his soul was soon filled with them. Our hesitations, our doubts never reached him. Upon this summit of the mountain of Nazareth, where no modern man can sit without an anxious feeling, perhaps frivolous in regard to his future, Jesus has sat twenty times without a doubt. Free from selfishness, the source of our sorrows, which makes us seek greedily an interest beyond the tomb for virtue, he thought only of his work, his race, humanity. To him these mountains, this sea, this azure sky, these high plains in the horizon were not the melancholy vision of a soul questioning nature as to its fate, but the sure symbol, the transparent shadow of an invisible world and a new heaven. FENELON CONCERNING ELOQUENCE. [FRANÇOIS DE SALIGNAC DE LA MOTHE FÉNELON, a celebrated French author and divine, (1651-1715), wrote numerous books upon education, and religious treatises, and became bishop of Cambray. He was at one time an apostle of Quietiem, a mystic religious belief of which his intimate friend, Madame Guyon, was the chief propagandist, but abandoned the doctrine upon an adverse decision of the Pope upon the great controversy maintained between Fénelon and Bossuet concerning these doctrines. The writings of Fénelon have had wide popularity, and besides many gems of sacred eloquence, his Telemaque, History of Ancient Philosophies, Discourses on the Education of Girls, and on Eloquence, have been many times reprinted.] The ancients did not divide their dis courses; but they pointed out carefully all those things which ought to be distinguished; to each of them they assigned its proper place, after having attentively considered where it might be introduced to the best advantage, and be fittest to make a due impression. Oftentimes that which would seem nothing to the purpose, by being unseasonably urged, has a very great weight when it is reserved for its proper place, till the audience be prepared by other things to feel all its force and consequence. Nay, a single word, when happily applied, will set the truth in the strongest light. Cicero tells us that we ought sometimes to delay giving a full view of the truth till the very conclusion. But then, throughout our discourse there ought to run such a concatena. tion of proofs, as that the first may make way for the second, and the next always serve to support the former. We ought at first to give a general view of our subject, and endeavour to gain the favour of the audience by a modest introduction, a respectful address, and the genuine marks of candour and probity. Then we should establish those principles on which we design to argue, and in a clear, easy, sensible manner propose the principal facts on which we are to build; insisting chiefly on SORROW AND GLADNESS. those circumstances of which we intend to make use afterwards. From these principles and facts we must draw just conse quences, and argue in such a clear and wellconnected manner, that all our proofs may support each other, and so be the more easily remembered. Every step we advance, our discourse ought to grow stronger; so that the hearers may gradually perceive the force and evidence of the truth; and then we ought to display it in such lovely images and movements as are proper to excite the passions. In order to do this, we must know their various springs, and the mutual dependence they have one upon another; which of them we can most easily move and employ to raise the rest; and which of them, in fine, is able to produce the greatest effects, and must therefore be applied to in the conclusion of our discourse. It is oft-times proper at the close, to make a short recapitulation, in which the orator ought to exert all his force and skill in giving the audience a full, clear, concise view of the chief topics on which he has enlarged. In short, one is not obliged always to follow this method without any variation. There are exceptions and allowances to be made for different subjects and occasions. And even in this order which I have proposed, one may find an endless variety. But now you may easily see, that this method, which is chiefly taken from Tully, cannot be observed in a discourse which is divided into three parts; nor can it be followed in each particular division. We ought, therefore, to choose some method, sir; but such a method as is not discovered and promised in the beginning of our discourse. Cicero tells us, that the best method is generally to conceal the order we follow, till we lead the hearer to it without his being aware of it before. I remember, he says, in express terms, that we ought to conceal even the number of our arguments; so that one shall not be able to count them, though they be very distinct in themselves; and that we ought not too plainly to point out the division of a discourse. But such is the undistinguishing taste of these latter ages, that an audience cannot perceive any order, unless the speaker distinctly explain it in the beginning; and even intimate to them his gradual advances from the first to the second, and following general heads or subdivisions of his discourse. 343 much better obtained by his following a natural order, without any express division; for the true connection of things best directs the mind. Our common divisions are of use to those only who have studied, and been trained up to this method in the schools. And if the common people retain the division better than the rest of the sermon, it is only because they hear it often repeated; but, generally speaking, they best remember practical points, and such things as strike their sense and imagination. One of Plato's chief beauties is, that in the beginning of his moral pieces he usually gives us some fragment of history, or some tradition, which serves as the foundation of his discourse. This method would far more become those who preach religion, which is entirely founded upon tradition, history, and the most ancient records. Indeed, most preachers argue but weakly, and do not instruct people sufficiently, because they do not trace back things to their sources. The reading of good and bad orators will more effectually form your taste, on this point, than all the rules in the world. SORROW AND GLADNESS. [THOMAS KINGO, a Danish poet, 1634-1723, became bishop of Fünen, and wrote many fine spiritual songs.] Sorrow and gladness together go wending: Evil and good come in quick interchange; Is but splendid clay, Sceptres and crowns shine with diamonds resplendent, Sceptres a thousand anxieties bring. Are but gilded care; Only in heaven is joy not a snare. Everything here has the germ of decay in it; Every one findeth some grief in his breast; And soon is the bosom, though jewels blaze on it, Filled full of sorrow and secret unrest; Known or unknown; A division chiefly relieves the speaker's memory; and even this effect might be Heaven from woe is exempted alone. 844 QUEEN VICTORIA'S FIRST DAYS OF SOVEREIGNTY. Honor external, and wisdom and station; bodies to accomplish the plans of one little Youth's strength and beauty, the pride of life's May, head; yet far from being sufficient, they Oft fill the spirit with boastful elation, Yet these all must perish as time wears away. Everything must Pass into dust, In the sure bliss of heaven alone can we trust. Sharp thorns guard the rose in which most thou delightest; And the deadlier the poison, the fairer the flower; The heart may be crushed while the cheek is the brightest, For fortune oft changes her tide in an hour. 'Mid many woes The stream of time flows; Heaven alone steadfast happiness knows. Go to, then! Henceforth it no longer shall vex me, The seed of delight would all remain midway: four Methusalems added end to end would not bring to a conclusion what a single mind desires. HAPPY the man who lives at home, making it his business to regulate his desires! He only knows by hearsay what the court means, the sea, and thy empire, O fortune, who makest to pass before our eyes dignities, wealth, which men follow to the end of the world, without the result ever corres ponding to her promises. LA FONTAINEL THE Sovereign Author of the universe has made us all wallet-bearers in the same way, as well those of time past as those own failings, and the one before for those Shall spring up and bloom in heaven's islands of light. of to-day; he put the wallet behind for our Then pain shall inherit a rich overpayment; Then tears shall be wiped from all sorrowing eyes; The poor be clothed then in the fairest of raiment, And the sick with the vigor of health shall arise. Hatred shall cease; All shall be peace; For in heaven alone doth good ever increase. O, let then my lot and my life be appointed, Just as my God and my Lord seeth meet; Let the wicked go on still for evil anointed, [CHARLES GREVILLE, (born 1794, died 1863), was a grandson of the third Duke of Portland. At the age of twenty he was appointed private secretary to Lord And the world have its way till the end is complete; Bathurst, and seven years afterwards he succeeded to Time's tree will cast Its leaves on the blast, And heaven make everything right at the last. THE PASSION FOR WEALTH OR GLORY. [JEAN DE LA FONTAINE, the celebrated writer of Fables, was born 1621, at Chateau-Thierry, in France. He died 1695.] Man is thus formed: when anything fires his soul, impossibilities disappear. How many vows he offers up, how much labour he throws away, in trying to acquire wealth or glory! If I could but round my kingdom! If I could only fill my coffers with coin, acquire Hebrew, a knowledge of the sciences, and history! All that is as wise as attempting to drink the sea dry; but nothing suffices man. It would require four the clerkship of the council, which he held for about forty years. The appearance in 1874, of the Greville Memoirs, a journal of the reigns of George IV. and William III., excited great interest. Though too free in his comments and disclosures, and not always just or correct, Mr. Greville's journal will be valuable to future historians. In his gallery of portraits are the two Sovereigns whom he served, and nearly all the public men, statesmen, and authors, who figured during that period. The contrast between the Queen and her uncle is vividly set forth in the following passage:] June 21, 1837.-The king died at twenty minutes after two yesterday morning; and the young Queen met the council at Kensington Palace at eleven. Never was any. thing like the first impression she produced, or the chorus of praise and admiration which is raised about her manner and behaviour, and certainly not without justice. Her extreme youth and inexperience, and the ignorance of the world concerning her, naturally excited intense curiosity to see QUEEN VICTORIA'S FIRST DAYS OF SOVEREIGNTY. entered. 345 how she would act on this trying occasion, | business was done she retired as she had and there was a considerable assemblage Peel told me how amazed at the palace, notwithstanding the short he was at her manner and behaviour, at notice that was given. When the her apparent deep sense of her situation, lords were assembled the Lord President her modesty, and at the same time her informed them of the king's death, and firmness. She appeared, in fact, to be suggested as they were so numerous, that a awed, but not daunted; and afterwards the few of them should repair to the presence Duke of Wellington told me the same of the queen and inform her of the event, thing, and added that if she had been his and that their lordships were assembled in own daughter he could not have desired to consequence and accordingly the two see her perform her part better. royal dukes, the two archbishops, the chan- | cellor, and Melbourne went with them. The queen received them in the adjoining room alone. As soon as they had returned, the proclamation was read and the usual order passed, when the doors were thrown open and the queen entered, accompanied by her two uncles, who advanced to meet her. She bowed to the lords, took her seat, and then read her speech in a clear, distinct, and audible voice, and without any appearance of fear or embarrassment. She was quite plainly dressed and in mourning. After she had read her speech, and taken and signed the oath for the security of the Church of Scotland, the privy councillors were sworn, the two royal dukes (Cumberland and Sussex; the Duke of Cambridge was in Hanover) first, by themselves; and as these two old men, her uncles, knelt before her, swearing allegiance and kissing her hand, I saw her blush up to the eyes, as if she felt the contrast between their civil and their natural relations, and this was the only sign of emotion she evinced. Her manner to them was very grateful and engaging; she kissed them both, and rose from her chair and moved towards the Duke of Sussex, who was farthest from her, and too infirm to reach her. She seemed rather bewildered at the multitude of men who were sworn, and who came, one after another, to kiss her hand; but she did not speak to anybody, nor did she make the slightest difference in her manner, or show any in her countenance, to any individual of any rank, station, or party. I particularly watched her when Melbourne, and the minister, and the Duke of Wellington approached her. She went through the whole ceremony, occasionally looking at Melbourne for instruction when she had any doubt what to do, which hardly ever occurred, and with perfect calmness and selfpossession, but at the same time with a graceful modesty and propriety particularly interesting and ingratiating. When the It was settled that she was to hold a council at St. James's this day, and be proclaimed there at ten o'clock, and she expressed a wish to see Lord Albemarle, who went to her and told her he was come to take her orders. She said, "I have no orders to give; you know all this so much better than I do, that I leave it all to you. I am to be at St. James's at ten to-morrow, and must beg you to find me a conveyance proper for the occasion ?" Accordingly, he went and fetched her in state with a great escort. The Duchess of Kent was in the carriage with her, but I was surprised to hear so little shouting, and to see so few hats off as she went by. I rode down the Park, and saw her appear at the window when she was proclaimed. The Duchess of Kent was there, but not prominent; the Queen was surrounded by her Ministers, and curtsied repeatedly to the people, who did not, however, hurrah till Lord Lansdowne gave them the signal from the window. At twelve she held a council, at which she presided with as much ease as if she had been doing nothing else all her life, and though Lord Lansdowne and my colleague had contrived between them to make some confusion with the council papers, she was not put out by it. She looked very well, and though so small in stature, and without much pretensions to beauty, the gracefulness of her manner and the good expression of her countenance give her on the whole a very agreeable appearance, and with her youth inspire an excessive interest in all who approach her. Conyngham, when he came to her with the intelligence of the King's death, brought a request from the Queen Dowager that she might be permitted to remain at Windsor till after the funeral, and she has written her a letter couched in the kindest terms, begging her to consult nothing but her own health and convenience, and to remain at Windsor just as long as she pleases. In short, she appears to act with every sort of |