Cenis, and thence onwards. Frank had seen the boisterous fury of the sea, stranding frail barques and knocking them into splinters; and he had contemplated the dark still horrors of the Black Loch till mere gloom had nothing more than the effect of sulky repose; but when he beheld the distant mountains raising their deep blue masses against the sunset, and the loftier ones crowned with the white of January, while the scenery beneath was rich in its autumn splendour of colour; when he found himself tramping after a carriage on its sledge, and afterwards discovered that the lake which he fancied to be at the base of Cenis was but a tarn not far beneath its summit; when, on his rapid descent from the lake towards the yet invisible plains of Italy, he saw, through rents in the clouds, snow peaks, as it were, overhanging him; when he beheld all this, he realised, as none save a deaf mute, intelligent but till then uninformed, could do, "the effect of novelty on ignorance!" He barked forth his wonder, which seemed almost too much for delight, and clung hold of Mary as though in this passage through the realms of magic they might be parted by one of the genii enamoured of her.

THE SISTER OF MERCY.

BY NICHOLAS MICHELL.

SOFTLY, softly treading;

As if a common footstep ill would suit

A place of so much suffering; 'mid the moans
Of racking pain that cannot all be mute,

You hear her low, sweet tones.

Gently, gently gliding,

From couch to couch, and plying woman's skill,

Braving the sight of ghastly wounds, the eye

And tender heart might shrink from; yielding still
Comfort to agony.

Kindly, kindly holding

The hand once strong in battle, now so frail,

It cannot move to intimate a want;

Wiping the clammy brow, and lips so pale-
Nothing her heart can daunt.

Mildly, mildly calming

The young man grieving at his early fate,

His dreams of glory phantasms of the brain;
Asking for mother, father, loved too late,
And her now loved in vain.

Sweetly, sweetly smiling

On the sad brave who would some token give

To dear-loved wife and child on Rhone's green shore;

She cheers him with the hope he yet shall live,

And clasp his babes once more.

Gently, gently soothing

The last pangs of the dying, speaking balm
To the tost, weary soul, and in God's page
Reading of that blest place of endless calm,
Where wars no more shall

Thus loving, loving spirit!

rage.

To these sad tasks thou dost soft nature bend,

Leaving perchance home's comforts, friendships dear, To walk the house of agony, and tend

War's hapless victims here.

O woman, angel-hearted!

Compassionate sister, bearing Mercy's name,

Who urgest thy good labours, God pour down
All blessings on thee! not poor mortal fame,
Be thine Heaven's fadeless crown!

STRAY THOUGHTS AND SHORT ESSAYS.

V.

CYNICS AND SCEPTICS.

THERE is a close alliance between cynicism and scepticism. He that believes that there is no virtue among men, must believe that there is no God, such as the Scriptures reveal to us. How can any one believe in the moral government and attributes of God who believes that He makes none good, and suffers a race of merely evil creatures to perpetuate itself? Generally it will be found that an unbeliever is a cynic; and the converse not unfrequently holds good. The infidel Voltaire was the very prince of modern cynics. It has been said that it was rather the disbelief in human virtue than disbelief in God, that brought about the French Revolution; rather, it was the latter disbelief manifested in the former. Charles II. was a disbeliever in all goodness. With him men of unspotted character were only "closer hypocrites;" and his life shows him to have been in heart and practice an unbeliever. It appears that in speculative opinion, when he did not lean to the Romish faith, he leaned to infidelity. Such was this royal cynic.

The most satirical estimate of human motives and intentions cannot impeach this truth, that the world is, after all, God's world, and so constituted and ruled by Him as to be best adapted for the trial, the exercise, and the exhibition, of human virtue.

The cynic triumphs over imperfect good because it is imperfect, omitting the consideration that good tends to greater good, and exerts by far the mightiest of all influences in the world. Let us be willing, when possible, to regard the actual in the light of the ideal, and to believe that the actual much more nearly approaches the ideal than corrupt minds would have us believe. There is truth and soundness in the instincts of veneration and faith. Plain and honest men are devoid of cynical views of their species: and so, too, are men of enlarged minds. In fact, this is one of the many cases in which the instinctive thoughts of plain and honest minds coincide with the last conclusions of great minds. It is to be noted how free the greatest minds have been from acrimonious views of mankind. How generous were Burke's judgments upon them! Johnson, though sometimes severe upon individuals, was yet opposed to all sweeping censures and general condemnations. In the mature judgment of his later years he averred that he had learnt

to think more favourably of his species, and owned that he had been treated generously by the world. Sir John Hawkins records of him that "he was not apt to judge ill of persons without good reasons: an old friend of his used to say that in general he thought too well of mankind." "When I have said something," writes Mrs. Thrale," as if the wickedness of the world gave me concern, he would cry aloud against canting, and protest that there was very little gross wickedness in the world, and still less of extraordinary virtue. Nobody had a more just aversion to general satire. He hated to hear others complain of general injustice." In the Life of Pitt, by Lord Stanhope, is contained an anecdote illustrating the favourable impression of mankind which that great minister had received after long experience in a position which, above all others, would afford a deep insight into human motives, and which would present much of the worse side of human nature. The anecdote is recorded by Lord Eldon. "I went with Mr. Pitt, not long before his death, from Roehampton to Windsor. Among much conversation upon various subjects, I observed to him that his station of life must have given him better opportunities of knowing men than almost any other person could possess; and I asked whether his intercourse with them, upon the whole, led him to think that the greater part of them were governed by reasonably honourable principles or by corrupt motives. His answer was that he had a favourable opinion of mankind upon the whole, and that he believed that the majority was really actuated by fair meaning and intention."

De Tocqueville, who is regarded as one of the profoundest thinkers of any age, formed no harsh estimate of mankind. "I like," said he, "mankind; but I constantly meet individuals who repel and disgust me by the meanness of their nature. It is my daily effort to guard against an universal contempt of my fellowmen. I can only succeed by a minute and severe analysis of myself; the result of which is that I am inclined, as a rule, rather to condemn men's intelligence than their hearts." On the other hand, the most noted cynics have been men of notoriously superficial intellects. Such was Voltaire, who was described by Johnson as "vir acerrimi ingenii et paucarum literarum," a man of brilliant abilities but of no great learning. Such, too, were Lord Chesterfield and Horace Walpole, who took the lowest views of mankind, and whose works the world is very "willingly letting die !"

MORAL COURAGE.

How many there are who have neither the moral courage to refuse compliance with evil suggestions, nor the moral laxity to comply without reluctance and subsequent remorse!

COURAGE RARE.

It is wonderful, much as its possession is vaunted, how little courage there is in the world; and this, not only in the present but in every age. History illustrates this fact. Tacitus's pictures of Rome under Tiberius and Domitian exemplify it. Juvenal describes in four pointed words the general prostration under the tyranny of the latter:

Semianimem laceraret Flavius orbem.

And this tyranny was endured for fourteen years! How few men in this country could, either for conscience sake, or for the sake of the ancient liberties of the land, brave the tyranny of Henry VIII.'s later years! How cowed was the spirit of Lords, Commons, and people under his iron rod! Again, in James II.'s reign, how easily were juries intimidated by the aspect and violence of Jeffreys-aye, juries of gentlemen as well as of yeomen, all of whom doubtless boasted of the national characteristic of courage! And in France, how utter the abjectness under which all cowered under the rule of the Committee of Public Safety, composed though it was of six most ordinary men! Even at last, when they broke this heavy and ignoble yoke, it was with trembling hearts and faltering hands; and how genuine was the cowardice with which they triumphed over it when they had broken it! Courage of display, or courage under excitement, is not rare; but true and calm courage can hardly subsist but on a firm basis of faith in the Unseen.

SELF IN FRIENDSHIP.

So much does self intrude into human connexions, that even in the most generous of all affections, friendship, its presence may be observed. How often one friend praises and defends the other in order to show him worthy of his friendship and a credit to himself, as much as from actual affection! Thus, and for the same reason, even dependants often uphold the characters of their patrons. They do it for their own credits' sake.

PARTIALITY TO SELF.

Such things as, when happening to ourselves, we think of considerable moment, often seem to us unworthy of notice when they happen to others, and we then wonder at the extent to which they are cared for. A success, which would have rejoiced our own hearts, is regarded by us with more than philosophical calmness when it falls to the lot of another: an insult offered to another we think too trivial for anything but a passing smile or sigh; but if the same had happened to ourselves, we might regard it as no trivial matter. So little can we, and so much less do we, realise the position of another in estimating his feelings!