jealousy, and a thousand tyrannical passions, that now sleep, awaken and make this already wicked world, a very hell! And did our lives move on in the way of our own appointment, would not confusion without and within soon prove the narrow sphere of our vision? For we are selfish, and God knows that our desires must be kept within limits, or they would produce a spiritual anarchy, in which no being could exist; and blessed be His name, that the strong hand of His Providence lies always upon the wild striving of human purposes, and draws a fatal circle which no finite power can overleap. Yet, within certain limits, the will of man is permitted to go forth into corresponding actions, and God does not forbid us to work out our own purpose. And often it seems as if he permitted this, that we might be convinced of the folly of our selfish desires, through the retribution they drag after their fulfilment. It is difficult to convince a man of the insufficiency of his own judgment, by mere reasoning. He must be permitted to execute his plan, be forced to endure its consequences to the utmost, and to see that these are its legitimate results, before he will distrust his own wisdom. Neither does one such experience accomplish the purpose. The process must be repeated again and again, and under a great variety of circumstances; the man must have tried to walk in many paths, and in each have encoun tered an obstacle that forced him to turn back ashamed of his weakness. Then, perchance, out of repeated failure may arise a sense of humility, and the proud will, foiled at every point, may acknowledge the omnipotence of God. This is precisely the discipline to which we are subjected by Providence. Our requests are often granted as far as the safety of others will permit far enough to bring us into trouble and confusion. And this trouble we know is only the just retribution for our own obstinacy. Thus God "gives us our request, but sends leanness into our soul." Illustrations of this truth might be drawn from all occupations of life, and all varieties of character. But it will suffice now to present one which can be easily verified. A man may permit himself to be engrossed by the love of popular distinction, as many do in our own country, where the shortest avenue to power is the favor of the people. He may determine to be popular, at all events. The means of this lie around him if he will but use them. He has only to force his sincerity and honesty to go into bankruptcy; lay in a capital of duplicity sufficiently large to conceal this poverty; flatter the lowest prejudices of the people, and persuade them that he is the only one who understands their true interest; work early and late, and foil every attack made upon his reputation; and he will succeed for a time; perhaps for a long time, if he is quite skilful. And God will not apparently interfere with his plans. He may go on, rising from post to post of popular preferment, and no prophet stand by to warn the people that they are deceived. He may be accompanied by an escort of huzzas wherever he goes, and wherever he appears, men may look respectfully and hold their hats in their hands. He may, at last, become the presiding influence in the State, and, from the legislative assembly, or the executive chair, or abroad among the people, guide the opinions of a great community. Here, then, behold him at the summit of his power, "his request given him." And now let a sincere, strong, righteous man be brought face to face with him in the discussion of any great topic involving weighty moral consequences. What can our successful friend say, until he has "taken an observation," and seen the way of the popular mind? And what reason can he urge for his opinions, save those founded upon a narrow expediency? When, from the lips of the honest man, come thoughts born in the deep places of a soul consecrated to truth, do they not run through the sophistry of his antagonist, like fire rushing through flax? When, in his speech, the eternal law of God gets avowed, are not this man and all his followers compelled to fall upon their knees before it, or driven to evasion as their only resource? In such a moment as this, when the majesty of truth fills the place of assembly, look into his face, and in the downcast eye, and the flitting color, and the quivering lips, and the confusion that cannot be hid, see the confession of his soul that its life has been a failure; that, although surrounded with a wall of popular favor, a word of God's truth will set it quaking; that for all noble purposes for which a man ought to live, he is now useless and impotent! And there he stands, who by meanness has risen to an elevated station, on the summit of his greatness, and the sun-light of truth shines through him and reveals him to all the world in his utter nakedness and poverty! God has "given him his request and sent leanness into his soul." So it is that God's way is better than our way. It is better in the providential direction of human affairs, better in our own souls. To learn this truth, and always to live mindful of it, is our most difficult earthly task; yet our peace, our efficiency, and our worth depend upon the proficiency we make in the lesson. For man can do nothing higher than at the end of all his striving to submit cheerfully to the way of heaven, and the Saviour of men could say nothing beyond the words: "Nevertheless, Father, not my will but thine be done." CAONABO. A BALLAD. BY DAY K. LEE. When discovered by Columbus, the Island of Hayti was governed by Caŏnäbō, who reigned in absolute power over tributary chiefs, and whose empire was divided into five domains, called the Vega, Marien, Maguana, Xaragua, and Higuey. Măg-uä-nä comprised the chief part of the centre of the island, and was the home province of that noble and powerful Cacique, whose history runs through a series of singular fortunes, varying little from the story of this ballad. WILL tender Pity cease to weep, Or Love her laud withhold, When Caonabo's tale of life And tale of death is told? A Carib boy of lowly birth, And worn and weak was he, But Nature raised him from the dust, |