experience of the elevating, chastening, and subduing power of

nature.

And I have felt

A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man.
A motion and a spirit, that impels

All thinking things, all objects of all thought,

And rolls through all things. Therefore an I still
A lover of the meadows, and the woods,

And mountains; and of all that we behold

From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye and ear,
both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense,

The anchor of my purest thoughts, the muse,

The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my mortal being.

This is a record of the natural experience of every sensitive and poetical mind. But quietly indeed must the world have gone with a man, in whom this serene religion of poetry continues an undisturbed empire. A calm and philosophic temperament like Wordsworth's, with the passions lulled to sleep, or occasions of disturbance cut off by a mountain solitude, and sweet thoughts only nursed in leafy retreats, may abide in such experience, and continue une accordant language:

Knowing that nature never did betray

The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,

Through all the years of this our life to lead

From joy to joy; for she can so inform

The mind that is within us, so impress

With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,

Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb

Our cheerful faith that all which we behold

Is full of blessings.

But if this be mistaken for religion, it is a disastrous mistake indeed. If there be no other nor higher element than that which these experiences develop, a worshipper of nature, even with such feelings, would remain forever in the porch of the great temple, nor ever enter the inmost sanctuary. How different is the language of the soul, when colored by the religious affections, when nature is viewed through a heart filled with the inspiration of love to God, and in communion with him. Nature becomes not less beautiful, but God is more clearly seen. The intellectual and poetical atmosphere is not disesteemed or neglected, but is not dwelt in exclusively or alone; the element. of spiritual devotion, of prayer, praise, and heavenly love, mingles with it, diffuses a warmer glow and sweeter tints, through which the lines of the works of God disclose something of the Divine face of their author, and produce not only a deeper power of joy and a harmony of soul, as natural as the serene and quiet beauty of an Autumn noon, in which we seem to see into the life of things, but a still more blessed mood, as on the verge of the unseen and eternal, participating of the Earnest of the Spirit, and approximating to the life of heaven.

The more the principle of the law breaks forth in nature, Mr. Coleridge has remarked, “the more does the husk drop off, and the phenomena themselves become more spiritual." But it can only be, where the principle of law, and because the principle of law, in a well constituted and believing mind, leads directly to the lawgiver; otherwise, the discovery and declaration of law itself becomes but a more transcendental materialism. The eye

and ear must be quickened and guided by that inward love, that heavenly sympathy in the soul, which is the secret of true and living knowledge, and then "the heavens and the earth shall declare, not only the power of their Maker, but the glory and the presence of their God, even as he appeared to the great prophet during the vision of the mount, in the skirts of his divinity."

"At last the scene shall change," exclaims the heavenly minded Henry Martyn, towards the close of his life in Persia, "and I shall find myself in a world, where all is love! We have a city, whose builder and maker is God. The least of His works it is refreshing to look at. A dried leaf or a straw makes me feel myself in good company." He was drawing near to that world, where he would see God, no more through the leaves or light of nature, so dear to him as speaking of God, but in vision and enjoyment incomprehensible here, without cloud, without veil, and according to the wondrous announcement in God's Word, face to face. And how sadly, yet serenely beautiful are the last recorded aspirations in his diary, penned amidst the sleepless fever of his mortal frame!

"I sat in the orchard, and thought, with sweet comfort and peace, of my God; in solitude, my company, my friend, and * Coleridge, Biographia Literaria.

comforter. Oh! when shall time give place to eternity! When shall appear that new heaven and new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness! There, there shall in nowise enter in anything that defileth: none of that wickedness, which has made men worse than wild beasts; none of those corruptions which add still more to the miseries of mortality, shall be seen or heard of any more!"

HERE he might lie on fern or withered heath,
While from the singing lark, that sings unseen
The minstrelsy that solitude loves best,
And from the sun, and from the breezy air
Sweet influences trembled o'er his frame;
And he, with many feelings, many thoughts,
Made up a meditative joy, and found
Religious meanings in the forms of nature!
And so, his senses gradually wrapt

In a half sleep, he dreams of better worlds,
And dreaming hears thee still, O singing lark!
That singest like an angel in the clouds.

COLERIDGE.-Fears in Solitude.

It was the season sweet, of budding leaves,
Of days advancing towards their utmost length,
And small birds singing to their happy mates.
Wild is the music of the autumnal wind
Among the faded woods; but these blithe notes
Strike the deserted to the heart; I speak

Of what I know, and what we feel within.

WORDSWORTH's Mountain Churchyard.