remembrance of her; and it was he who made the feeling remark, that he had discovered, to his sorrow, that one "can have but one mother." Sitting down by the tomb, I read the Elegy with an interest, as may be supposed, in a high degree enhanced by the thought that I was perusing the poem on the very spot where it was written or conceived. It was not, however, the evening-hour, -as I could have wished it to be-but mid-day. Neither was there a "solemn stillness" in the air; but the birds were singing gaily in the trees around me, thinking nothing of death or the grave, and as sportive over tombs as in gardens. The solemn owl had not yet come to his place on the "ivy-mantled tower;" or, if there, he was buried amid the leaves, and invisible. His great eyes were probably closed in sleep at this hour; and his friend, the moon, was not yet up. How I should have liked to hear him "complain" to her of me, disturbing these solemn solitudes! that would have been romance, truly. Had I waited till dusk, perhaps I might have had that satisfaction. Even as it was, however, the charm of the spot was sufficient: I could fill up the rest with my fancy. With this magic wand I could wave over the scene, and change it to evening. As in a "dissolving view," I could perceive the forms of things fading around me, and the dusky shades settling on the landscape. The birds were still, and only the solemn "knell" of the "curfew" was heard, with the "drowsy tinklings" of the "distant folds ;" and again, the world was left "to darkness and to me." Soon awaking from this dream, however, I closed my book, and reluctantly left the church-yard. As I passed the monument again, on my return, I saw some rosy children playing thoughtlessly around it among the flowers. It was a pretty sight. Like the birds, they knew nought of tombs, or poets, or the past all was to them a happy present. So will it be with us, when we reach our eternal homes, and become children again, sporting in Paradise. CHANNING. Well done! thy words are great and bold; At times they seem to me, LONGFELLOW. HAPPENING to step into a village-library in the neighborhood of Manchester, my eye fell on a copy of Channing's works,-a London edition. On opening it, I found, prefixed to the volume, the following Sonnet, addressed to the distinguished author by one of his English admirers:— "Yes! earth shall still be brightened with the rays, Which virtuous hearts upon its darkness shed; And point prophetic to the future days! "And thine, O Channing, be the patriot's praise, "Proceed-while tyrants at thy page turn pale, And unstained hearts throb warmer at its power: Thine own high mind, which future times shall hail, The reputation of Dr. Channing, in England, may be termed, in the best sense of the word, popular. His works are read by all classes, high and low (among the former, the late amiable Duke of Sussex is said to have been one of his warmest admirers). I found editions of his works circulating in various forms; from the handsome Glasgow edition, in six volumes, with a preface from Dr. Channing's pen, written expressly for it,-to the cheap "people's edition," in two volumes, and another in one large volume. But the class, which he seems to have most effectively reached, is the very one which he most aimed at interesting and elevating, namely, the middle, or what would be termed in England, perhaps, the better portion of the lower, class—the mechanics, who in truth constitute the bone and sinew of the body politic. His Address on "Self-Culture," and his Lectures on the "Elevation of the Working Classes," circulate widely through the country in the form of tracts. As appears from the sonnet just quoted, it is Channing's political, not his theological, writings, which have excited this general interest; or, more truly speaking, it is his moral views-which lie, indeed, at the base of all his political ones. Channing sees in man-in every man—an immortal soul, by the possession of which he is the likeness of his Maker; a mind, capable of expanding and rising forever; capacities for an indefinite reception of intelligence, affection, and happiness. He burns to wake up in man a perception of this great truth,conceiving that if men but felt the greatness of the capacity with which their Creator has endowed them, the grandeur of the destiny which he has spread before them, they would turn from low and grovelling pursuits, would rise above base and sensual pleasures, and strive to realize the greatness and elevation of character and condition for which they were created. Hence his appeals to man to be wise and virtuous; hence his exhortations to selfculture, self-improvement. It is on the same foundation that his political views are based. He cannot bear to see this immortal mind kept in bondage, debased, ground down under the feet of oppressors and self-styled superiors, by whatever name they may be called— kings, nobles, or masters. In his view, the possession of such a mind, with its vast capacities, renders all men true equals, and makes it criminal in man to treat his fellow-man with social contempt, physical violence, or tyrannical abuse. In the presence of this grand in-born equality, derived from the Divine Creator Himself, all the petty distinctions of social and political rank sink into utter insignificance. Hence, Channing's great motto is that which forms the text of one of his discourses, "Honour all men." This is the grand idea that pervades all his writings, political, moral, religious. Hence, his dwelling so much on what he terms the "dignity of human nature,"-a phrase, which is perhaps somewhat ambiguous and liable to be misunderstood. In his use of it, Channing appears to mean—not so much man's present excellence, as his capacity for excellence; not so much man's natural goodness of heart (which is the construction that has been sometimes put upon the phrase)—for he |