he generally sought her counsel respecting his pecuniary affairs, and exhorted his younger brothers and sisters to similar confidence while she remained with him.

The lapse of years found Arthur at the head of a flourishing firm, when his parents' death placed a large accession of property in his hands. After settling all accounts, and arranging to continue his father's bounty to the many pensioners who had gratefully shared it, he took a serious review of his position. He had heard many sermons, read many books upon the subject, and moreover had before his eyes the warning cases of one or two school mates, who, intoxicated with the novelty of uncontrolled wealth, had speculated, or squandered blindly on, till they found themselves not only minus their money, but deficient in character! Had they toiled hard for every penny, it would not have been spent so thoughtlessly. Another associate had fallen into an opposite error. Of timid and easy disposition, Samuel aimed to make himself comfortable with his share of his father's property. Accordingly he planted his garden; gathered his fruits; decorated his mansion; added luxuries to conveniences; travelled and studied; then rested and meditated, till languor overpowered him, and as he yielded more and more to the fascinating quiet of opulent leisure, he fancied his health failing, and gradually relinquishing his few active pursuits, the premature old age of a confirmed valetudinarian crept on, till he was by degrees as much lost to himself, as he had previously been to society.

"It would have been better for him if he had been forced to earn his living," said our friend Arthur, as in life's prime he returned from paying a melancholy visit to this wreck of humanity. "Only my own age, too," he continued, "his father's property has proved a curse, instead of a blessing to him, and I fear, the rust of his riches will rise up in witness against him, as the apostle James says, if we let them be idle. Shut up in his own narrow sphere, he has no heart for any beyond. Here are my neighbours," he added, pausing before a substantial building-" by their industry and good example, they have established this noble Asylum for the Blind: after all, a liberal heart accomplishes more than ample means!"

Arthur was right, according to the testimony of facts. Most

of the world's benefactors have been persons with limited resources, wisely applied; and as to acceptance above, God has declared, that he loveth a cheerful giver, and approveth the willing heart. Some have dedicated certain proportions of their income; others have expended the whole surplus of a fixed revenue for the purposes of religion and charity. No case can be a rule for others, each must realize his own responsibility, and act according to his own convictions. Arthur varied his plans, but continually found that the Lord prospered him in proportion to his just liberality. We emphasize the phrase, "just liberality;" for to make charitable donations, before satisfying all equitable claims, is not honest, much less generous.

As Arthur advanced in years, he scrupulously managed his affairs as a wise steward of his master's property; and when infirmity secluded him from active exertion, he still attended several committees, where his long experience, and sound judgment, rendered his presence far more valuable than could be compensated by the small emoluments accruing from his service. This emolument he ever devoted to the needy; and when remonstrated with by his family for undergoing so much fatigue, he would remark, "I earned one guinea and gave away two, but, oh, the pleasure of seeing what that could accomplish! I should have been an unfaithful steward if I had not made that money change hands to-day."

How many a youthful extravagance has been nipped in the bud, by the remembrance of the parental scrutiny which will examine the neatly ruled account book. Nothing will have a greater tendency to promote discretion, in the expenditure of maturer years, than the prospect of that solemn time, when rich and poor will alike be required to give an account of their stewardship to the Father of Spirits, and Judge of all the earth. The Christian pilgrim, in a higher sense, enjoys the good things of this world as his share of his Heavenly Father's property; and as the parental will allots the proportions, and quiets all murmurs, he is satisfied with his riches, be they little, or be they much. While diligent in business, he knows that it is so easy for the Almighty hand to shower down wealth in abundance, that when withheld he can be sure its absence is best for him.

Where much is given, much also is required. We are to covet earnestly the best gifts, but they assuredly must far outweigh treasures of silver and gold-the riches of Christ's grace, the fruits of the Holy Spirit, a mansion in the city of the Great King. Is it so? Do we indeed possess such unspeakable privileges? Then let us see that we act as "wise stewards of the manifold grace of God," dispensing to all around the pearl of great price, the precious knowledge of that glorious gospel which reveals the boundless extent of the believer's inheritance, and entitles him to be partaker of "his father's property."

E. W. P.

THE ART OF DESCRIBING.

(Concluded from page 478.)

The art of Painting by Words possesses advantages over every other mode of representing impressions, especially when set off by appropriate emphasis and oratory. Even print and paper, without these accessories, may be made to minister to the ear with very great effect. No one, for instance, who has read Southey's "Cataract of Lodore" will question a writer's capability of transfusing sounds through these media. Whilst the fantastic contortions of this whirl of waters are vividly pictured to the eye, its many voices are admirably echoed by the employment of speaking epithets, and a seasonable variation of rhyme and metre which rivet the attention till the grand climax, when the fitful cascade is brought down to its cavernous depths" with a mighty uproar," and the lull of its thunders gives us time to breathe again freely and look around us.

This curious, and we may add, wonderful composition, has been tauntingly styled "verbal mosaic;" and perhaps it is not, strictly speaking, true poetry; but so long as a perfect picture is produced, what if the tessera that compose it be but fragments of glass, or shreds of earthenware?

Conder's verses "To the Nightingale" possess the same property, though in a far inferior degree. There are two lines, also, in Scott of Amwell's "Ode on War," which tell in the same effective manner on the mind and ear at once.

"I hate that drum's discordant sound,
Parading round, and round, and round!"

The difference between verbal painting and mere commonplace description appears to be this, that the first is specificthe latter, merely generic. In this last and slovenly mode of describing we are only anxious to use such words as will convey our meaning, whilst in the former we search for the exact term representing the idea existing in our minds. Thus one who is unskilled or careless in his descriptions will designate by one and the same expression, the music of all kinds of birds, and call it " singing." But the accurate observer and

critical writer, will distinguish the several sounds by the very words which respectively express them. This is especially

to be remarked in the letters of Gilbert White, the naturalist, who has a specific term for each and all of these "wood notes wild." According to his accurately-registered observations, the nut-hatch chatters; the woodlark whispers; the grim woodpecker laughs; the titmouse chirps; the goldfinch whistles ; the stone curlew clamours; the snipe pipes; and the goatsucker jars.

But this last description of the graphic power is somewhat different from that of the preceding poetry. In the verses quoted, it consists chiefly in the use of epithets that speak to the mind and ear at once: in the quotation from the Selborne naturalist, principally in a judicious and critical employment of terms which address the understanding only. A third kind affects the ear only, and, as a mere imitation of brute sounds, is hardly to be recommended: it is in fact a puerile and often ludicrous alternative. A whimsical instance occurs in the wellknown fable of "The honey-bird and the woodpecker."

Many persons have a singularly unhappy mode of circumventing a subject, as if at a loss where to find a proper point of attack: they never close in upon it, but after fluttering round and round, leave you about as well-informed regarding it as they appear to have been themselves, They are perhaps not sparing of epithets either; but these epithets mean anything, or everything, or nothing-they are not specific, and have no more to do with their immediate subject than with any other. This fault is remarkably conspicuous in the windy sketches of many of our French writers: they seem to be inflated rather than informed, by their subject, and give you words instead of ideas.

Were it not a somewhat invidious task, we could give in illustration of this remark, two descriptions, by different writers, of the "Royal Clarence Vase," sometime since exhibited in London.

One of these furnishes an average specimen of such remarks as might be made by a casual observer who is unaccustomed to look at things critically, and uninitiated in wielding the pen of a ready writer-one who looks through the twittering mists of indifference, and says things as other people say them, because by putting certain words together he can make a sentencé, and not because the impressions received pass into the mind, and are thence delivered to the paper.

The other observer has the power of imbibing perceptions in all their vividness and vigor, and of elaborating them before he attempts their transfusion. The image is perfectly pictured in his mind, and he assorts, arranges, and chastens the language in which it is to live again in print and paper. The principles which he observes are general, and may serve all who are anxious to investigate this subject-the art of distinguishing and describing.

AN OLD SAILOR'S STORY.

DEAR SIR,-I know that many of your young readers are fond of adventure. In my younger days I have passed through strange scenes not the less strange for being true-and I therefore send you a little passage from my personal history.

I am an old man now, and have, I hope, grown wiser and better. I know, indeed, that if my time were to come over again, I should not be very willing to associate with men-ofwar's men, or take part in any of the evils associated with a system that requires them; but in my day, the people generally had very loose notions on the subject. They are now growing wiser-thanks to our Peace Societies, and the diffusion of education; and when I tell them that my feelings, on looking back to those early days, so far from being pleasurable, are full of regret, there will be no fear of their confounding mere information, with example, or supposing that I wish henceforward to be distinguished by any other name than that of, Yours, &c., A LOVER OF PEACE.