ried by long confinement, undismayed by the prospect of death. Such was Paul. We have his letters in our hands; we have also a history purporting to be written by one of his fellow-travellers, and appearing, by a comparison with these letters, certainly to have been written by some person well acquainted with the transactions of his life. From the letters, as well as from the history, we gather not only the account which we have stated of him, but that he was one out of many who acted and suffered in the same manner; and that of those who did so, several had been the companions of Christ's ministry, the ocular witnesses, or pretending to be such, of his miracles and of his resurrection. We moreover find this same person referring in his letters to his supernatural conversion, the particulars and accompanying circumstances of which are related in the history; and which accompanying circumstances, if all or any of them be true, render it impossible to have been a delusion. We also find him positively, and in appropriate terms, asserting that he himself worked miracles, strictly and properly so called, in support of the mission which he executed; the history, meanwhile, recording various passages of his ministry, which come up to the extent of this assertion. The question is, whether falsehood was ever attested by evidence like this. Falsehoods, we know, have found their way into reports, into tradition, into books; but is an example to be met with of a man voluntarily undertaking a life of want and pain, of incessant fatigue, of continual peril; submitting to the loss of his home and country, to stripes and stoning, to tedious imprisonment, and the constant expectation of a violent death, for the sake of carrying about a story of what was false, and what, if false, he must have known to be so? 226. ROBERT BLAIR. 1699-1746. (Manual, p. 350.) Robert FROM "THE GRAVE." Thrice welcome Death! That, after many a painful bleeding step, On the long-wished-for shore. Prodigious change! JAMES THOMSON. 1700-1748. (Manual, p. 351.) FROM "AUTUMN.” 227. EVENING IN AUTUMN. The western sun withdraws the shortened day, In her chill progress, to the ground condensed The dusky-mantled lawn. Meanwhile the moon, Now through the passing cloud she seems to stoop, Wide the pale deluge floats, and streaming mild FROM "WINTER." 228. REFLECTIONS SUGGESTED BY WINTER. 'Tis done! - Dread Winter spreads his latest glooms, And reigns tremendous o'er the conquered year. How dead the vegetable kingdom lies! How dumb the tuneful! Horror wide extends His desolate domain. Behold, fond man! See here thy pictured life; pass some few years, Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength, Thy sober Autumn fading into age, And pale concluding Winter comes at last, And shuts the scene. Ah! whither now are fled Those dreams of greatness? those unsolid hopes All now are vanished! Virtue sole survives, His guide to happiness on high. And see! And died, neglected: why the good man's share In starving solitude! while Luxury, In palaces, lay straining her low thought, To form unreal wants: why heaven-born Truth, The storms of wintry Time will quickly pass, 229. FROM "THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE." O mortal man, who livest here by toil, In lowly dale, fast by a river's side, 1 Calamity. A most enchanting wizard did abide, Than whom a fiend more fell is nowhere found. It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground: And there a season atween June and May, Half-prankt with spring, with summer half-imbrowned, No living wight could work, ne caréd e'en for play. Was nought around but images of rest; Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between; That as they bickered through the sunny glade, Though restless still themselves, a lulling murmur made. Joined to the prattle of the purling rills Were heard the lowing herds along the vale, 2 Cast. 4 WILLIAM SHENSTONE. 1714-1763. (Manual, p. 353.) 230. THE SHEPHERD'S HOME. My banks they are furnished with bees, And my hills are white over with sheep. I seldom have met with a loss, Such health do my fountains bestow; Not a pine in my grove is there seen, But with tendrils of woodbine is bound; Not a beech's more beautiful green, But a sweet-brier entwines it around. |