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The camel and the needle, —
Even so. The text
As easily as such a pampered soul
Your pardon, sir,
Your pardon, too, sir
With all their flourish and their leafiness, 15 We have been told their destiny and use,
When the axe is laid unto the root, and they
Was his wealth Stored fraudfully, the spoil of orphans wronged, 20 And widows who had none to plead their right?
Towns. All honest, open, honorable gains,
Why judge you then
For what he left
Believed no other gods than those of the Creed; 30 Bowed to no idols — but his money-bags;
Swore no false oaths — except at the custom-house •
Never picked pockets ; never bore false witness ; 35 And never, with that all-commanding wealth Coveted his neighbor's house, nor ox, nor ass.
STRAN. You knew him, then, it seems ?
As all men know The virtues of your hundred-thousanders :
They never hide their lights beneath a bushel.
Doth bounty, like a streamlet, flow unseen,
Towns. We track the streamlet by the brighter green And livelier growth it gives :— but as for this — 10 This was a stagnant pool of waters foul; ,
The rains of heaven engendered nothing in it
Yet even these
Now, sir, you touch
But the poor man never rung at his door : 20 And the old beggar, at the public gate,
Who, all the summer long, stands, hat in hand, -
Among your ten and twenty pound subscribers, 25 Your benefactors in the newspapers.
His alms were money put to interest
Retaining fees against the last assizes,
Shall be required from all, and the old arch-lawyer
I must needs
Gape at the gaping crowd. A good March wind
Were to be prayed for now, to lend cheir eyes
Towns. Who should lament for him, sir, in whose heart
The parlor-spaniel, when she heard his step, in Rose slowly from the hearth, and stole aside
With creeping pace; she never raised her eyes
How could it be but thus ? Arithmetic 15 Was the sole science he was ever taught.
The multiplication table was his creed,
The open air and sunshine of the fields,
He, in a close and dusky counting-house,
His feet departed not; he toiled and moiled, 5 Poor muckworm ! through his threescore years and ten;
And when the earth shall now be shovelled on him,
STRAN. Yet your next newspapers will blazon him, 30 For industry and honorable wealth,
A bright example.
Even half a million
* Mutes are persons dressed in deep mourning, who are sometimes employed by undertakers, in England, to stand before the door of a house in which prop arations for a funeral are going on.
Some twelve months hence, and you will find his virtues
LXIII. — VOICES OF THE DEAD.
(John CUMMING, D, D., is the pastor of a Scotch Presbyterian church in tho city of London. He is a popular and eloquent preacher, and the author of many works which are favorably known in this country as well as in Europe. Among them are “Apocalyptic Sketches, “Lectures on the Parables," and “ Voices of the Night.”]
We die, but leave an influence behind us that survives. The echoes of our words are evermore repeated, and reflected along the ages. It is what man was that lives and acts
after him. What he said sounds along the years like voices 5 amid the mountain gorges; and what he did is repeated
after him in ever multiplying and never ceasing reverbera'ions. Every man has left behind him influences for good or for evil that will never exhaust themselves. The
sphere in which he acts may be small, or it may be great. 10 It may be his fireside, or it may be a kingdom ; a village,
or a great nation ; it may be a parish, or broad Europe ; hut act he does, ceaselessly and forever. His friends, his family, his successors in office, his relatives are all recep
tive of an influence, a moral influence which he has trans15 mitted and bequeathed to mankind; either a blessing which
will repeat itself in showers of benedictions, or a curse which will multiply itself in ever accumulating evil.
Every man is a missionary, now and forever, for good or for evil, whether he interds and designs it, or not. He 20 may be a blot, radiating his dark influence outward to the
very circumference of society, or he may be a blessing, spreading benedictions over the length and breadth of the world; but a blank he cannot be. The seed sown in life springs up in harvests of blessings, or harvests of sorrow. Whether our influence be great or small, whether it be good
or evil, it lasts, it lives somewhere, within some limit, and 5 is operative wherever it is. The grave buries the dead
dust, but the character walks the world, and distributes itself, as a benediction or a curse, among the families of mankind.
The sun sets beyond the western hills, but the trail of in light he leaves behind him guides the pilgrim to his dis
tant home. The tree falls in the forest; but in the lapse of ages it is turned into coal, and our fires burn now the brighter, because it grew and fell. The coral insect dies,
but the reef it raised breaks the surge on the shores of 15 great continents, or has formed an isle in the bosom of the
ocean, to wave with harvests for the good of man. We live and we die; but the good or evil that we do lives after us, and is not • buried with our bones.”
The babe that perished on the bosom of its mother, 20 like a flower that bowed its head and drooped amid the
death-frosts of time — that babe, not only in its image, but in its influence. still lives and speaks in the chambers of the mother's hear..
The friend with whom we took sweet counsel is removed 25 visibly from the outward eye; but the lessons that he
taught, the grand sentiments that he uttered, the holy deeds of generosity by which he was characterized, the moral lineaments and likeness of the man, still sur
vive, and appear in the silence of eventide, and on the 30 tablets of memory, and in the light of morn, and noon,
and dewy eve; and, being dead, he yet speaks eloquently, and in the midst of us.
Mahomet still lives in his practical and disastrous in.
fluence in the East. Napoleon still is France, and France 35 is almost Napoleon. Martin Luther's dead dust sleeps at
Wittenburg, but Martin Luther's accents still ring through