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RETROSPECT AND REGRETS.

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is the strain of The Prelude from that of Don Juan, in reference to the age in question :

"Four years and thirty, told this very week,

Have I been now a sojourner on earth,

By sorrow not unsmitten; yet for me

Life's morning radiance hath not left the hills,
Her dew is on the flowers."

One of Charlotte Brontè's letters begins, "I shall be thirtyone next birthday. My youth is gone like a dream; and very little use have I ever made it. What have I done these last thirty years?" The plaint is in the tone of that symbolical autobiographer in Hawthorne's looking-glass story, who gazes on his mirrored self, that other self, as a record of his heavy youth, wasted in sluggishness, for lack of hope and impulse, or equally thrown away in toil that had no wise motive and had accomplished no good end; and who perceives that the tranquil gloom of a disappointed soul has darkened through his countenance, where the blackness of the future seems to mingle with the shadows of the past, giving him the aspect of a fated man. In Romola, only a keen eye bent on studying Tito Melema, after his return to Florence, can mark the certain amount of change in him which is not to be altogether accounted for by the lapse of time: it is that change which comes from the "final departure of moral youthfulness." The lines of the face may continue soft, and the eyes pellucid as of old; but something is gone-something as indefinable as the changes in the morning twilight.

"Time has not blanched a single hair

That clusters round thy forehead now;
Nor hath the cankering touch of care
Left even one furrow on thy brow.
But where, oh! where's the spirit's glow,
That shone through all-ten years ago!

'I, too, am changed-I scarce know why-
Can feel each flagging pulse decay;
And youth, and health, and visions high,
Melt like a wreath of snow away.

"Time cannot sure have wrought the ill;

Though worn in this world's sickening strife,
In soul and form, I linger still

In the first summer month of life;

Yet journey on my path below,

Ah! how unlike ten years ago!"

But the reminder is wholesome, that the recollection of the spring of life being gone, occasions melancholy only because our views are so much confined to this infancy of our existence; and that to cultivate an intimacy with the circumstances relating to its future stages is the only wisdom; for this alone can reconcile us to the decaying conditions of mortality. Frederick Perthes somewhere says, that between youth and age there is a wall of partition, which a man does not perceive till he has passed it; the transition being generally made in middle life, but passing unnoticed amid the necessary cares and labours of one's calling. Rightly he takes the discovery to be a stimulus to action, not a plea or pretext for languid reverie and unavailing regrets.

Ever to be noted is the pregnant fact, that when our Lord began to be about thirty years of age, then began His work in earnest, His ministry in public. To many, that age is the signal for selfish indulgence in regrets. To Him it struck the hour of hard work-work that should cease but in death.

PRETENCE-MADE LONG PRAYERS.
ST. MARK xii. 40.

N the audience of all the people was this warning given,

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to beware of the scribes, by One who taught as having authority all His own, and not as the scribes,—to beware of them, the long-robed, smooth-spoken, self-seeking, pretentious dissemblers, "which devour widows' houses, and for a pretence make long prayers." Short work they made of widows' houses; and their way of compensation was to make their prayers long.

MANTIS RELIGIOSA.

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Dryden's great satire has a vigorous couplet to the purpose.:

"Thus heaping wealth, by the most ready way

Among the Jews, which was-to cheat and pray."

In another part of it we come upon another portrait of a like professor :

"Blest times, when Ishban, he whose occupation

So long has been to cheat, reforms the nation!
Ishban, of conscience suited to his trade,

As good a saint as usurer ever made."

La Bruyère holds that "l'on peut s'enrichir dans quelque art, ou dans quelque commerce que ce soit, par l'ostentation d'une certaine probité." Let the probity be piety, and things go better still-for a time.

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Why should not piety be made,
As well as equity, a trade,

And men get money by devotion,

As well as making of a motion," etc.,

asks Butler in his Miscellaneous Thoughts. He is full of such pensées. A godly man that has served out his time in holiness -this is another of them-may set up any crime; "as scholars, when they've taken their degrees, may set up any faculty they please." More familiar are the lines in Hudibras:

"Bel and the Dragon's chaplains were

More moderate than these by far:

For they, poor knaves, were glad to cheat,
To get their wives and children meat;

But these will not be fobb'd off so,

They must have wealth and power too;

Or else with blood and desolation

They'll tear it out o' th' heart o' th' nation."

Worthy of study, on ethical grounds as well as entomological, is that species of the Mantis family of purely carnivorous insects, which rejoices in the name of Mantis religiosa, being regarded with religious reverence by the natives of the countries it inhabits, on account of its occasionally assuming the attitude of prayer. This, however, naturalists tell us, is the position in which it lies in wait for its prey; the front of the thorax being

elevated, and the two fore legs held up together, like a pair of arms, prepared to seize any animal that may fall within their reach.

"Holy Will, holy Will, there was wit in your skull,
When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor;

The timmer is scant, when ye're ta'en for a saunt,
Wha should swing in a rape for an hour."

So judges the author of Holy Willie's Prayer. Swift pitches one stanza of his Newgate's Garland in much the same key :

"Some by public revenues, which pass'd through their hands,

Have purchased clean houses and bought dirty lands:

Some to steal for a charity think it no sin,

Which at home (says the proverb) does always begin.
But if ever you be

Assign'd a trustee,

Treat not orphans like masters of the Chancery;
But take the highway, and more honestly seize."

In a memorable ode, Thomas Hood invites us to behold yon servitor of God and Mammon, who, binding up his Bible with his ledger, blends Gospel texts with trading gammon,

"A black-leg saint, a spiritual hedger,
Who backs his rigid Sabbath, so to speak,
Against the wicked remnant of the week,
A saving bet against his sinful bias-
'Rogue that I am,' he whispers to himself,
'I lie-I cheat-do anything for pelf,

But who on earth can say I am not pious?'"

Mr. Thackeray's John Brough, managing director of the Independent West Diddlesex Insurance Company, is punctilious about having his family to prayers every morning at eight precisely; not that his author (who was even severe against hasty charges of hypocrisy) would call him a hypocrite because he had family prayers: "there are many bad and good men who don't go through the ceremony at all, but I am sure the good men would be the better for it, and am not called upon to settle the question with respect to the bad ones ;" and therefore a great deal of the religious part of Mr. Brough's behaviour is designedly passed over: suffice it, that religion was always on

MAKING, A TRADE OF PIETY.

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his lips; that he went to church thrice every Sunday, for a show making long prayers. He belonged to what Molière calls 66 ces gens qui, par une âme à l'intérêt soumise, font de dévotion métier et marchandise." A pronounced example figures in Mr. Tennyson's Sea Dreams-that story of a city clerk whose face would darken, as he cursed his credulousness, "And that one unctuous mouth which lured him, rogue,

To buy strange shares in some Peruvian mine;"

which oily rogue the impoverished dupe in vain strove to bring to an account, and in vain plied with the demand to be shown the books:

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When the great Books (see Daniel seven and ten)
Were open'd, I should find he meant me well;
And then began to bloat himself, and ooze
All over with the fat affectionate smile

That makes the widow lean. My dearest friend,
Have faith, have faith! We live by faith,' said he;
'And all things work together for the good
Of those'-it makes me sick to quote him-last
Gript my hand hard, and with 'God-bless you' went.

My eyes

Pursued him down the street, and far away,
Among the honest shoulders of the crowd,

Read rascal in the motions of his back,

And scoundrel in the supple-sliding knee.”

So false, he partly took himself for true; whose pious talk when most his heart was dry,

"Made wet the crafty crowsfoot round his eye;
Who, never naming God except for gain,
So never took that useful name in vain ;
Made Him his catspaw and the Cross his tool,
And Christ the bait to trap his dupe and fool;
Nor deeds of gift, but gifts of grace he forged,
And snakelike slimed his victim ere he gorged;
And oft at Bible meetings, o'er the rest
Arising, did his holy oily best,

Dropping the too rough H in Hell and Heaven,

To spread the Word by which himself had thriven."

A younger poet has painted for us a banker, well-known as

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