Ages on ages before even the dust of which we are formed was created, he had existed in infinite majesty, and ages on ages will roll away, after we have all returned to the dust whence we were taken, and still he will exist in infinite majesty, living in the eternity of his own nature, reigning in the plenitude of his own omnipotence, forever sending forth the word, which forms, supports and governs all things, commanding new-created light to shine on newcreated worlds, and raising up new-created generations to inhabit them.

The contemplation of these glorious attributes of God is fitted to excite in our minds the most animating and consoling reflections. Standing, as we are, amid the ruins of time, and the wrecks of mortality, where every thing about us is created and dependent, proceeding from nothing, and hastening to destruction, we rejoice that something is presented to our view, which has stood from everlasting, and will remain forever. When we have looked on the pleasures of life, and they have vanished away; when we have looked on the works of nature, and perceived that they were changing; on the monuments of art, and seen that they would not stand; on our friends, and they have fled, while we were gazing; on ourselves, and felt that we were as fleeting as they; when we have looked on every object to which we could turn our anxious eyes, and they have all told us that they could give us no hope nor support, because they were so feeble themselves, we can look to the throne of God: change and decay have never reached that; the revolution of ages has never moved it; the waves of an eternity have been rushing past it, but it has remained unshaken; the waves of another eternity are rushing toward it, but it is fixed, and can never be disturbed.

And blessed be God, who has assured us, by a revelation from himself, that the throne of eternity is likewise a throne of mercy and love; who has permitted and invited us to repose ourselves and our hopes on that which alone is everlasting and unchangeable. We shall shortly finish our allotted time on earth, even if it should be unusually prolonged. We shall leave behind us all which is now fa miliar and beloved, and a world of other days and other

men will be entirely ignorant that once we lived. But the same unalterable Being will still preside over the universe, through all its changes, and from his remembrance we shall never be blotted. We can never be where he is not, nor where he sees and loves and upholds us not. He is our Father and our God forever. He takes us from earth that he may lead us to heaven, that he may refine our nature from all its principles of corruption, share with us his own immortality, admit us to his everlasting habitation, and crown us with his eternity.

Philosophy and Morality of Tacitus.-FRISBIE.

It is not for his style, that we principally admire this author: his profound views of the human heart, his just developement of the principles of action, his delicate touches of nature, his love of liberty and independence, and, above all, the moral sensibility, which mingles, and incorporates itself with all his descriptions, are the qualities, which must ever render him a favourite with the friends of philosophy and of man.

Tacitus has been truly called the philosopher of historians; but his philosophy never arrays itself in the robe of the schools, or enters into a formal investigation of causes and motives. It seems to show itself here and there, in the course of his facts, involuntarily, and from its own fulness, by the manner of narration, by a single word, and sometimes by a general observation. Events, in his hands, have a soul, which is constantly displaying its secret workings by the attitude, into which it throws the body, by a glance of the eye, or an expression of the face, and now and then a sudden utterance of its emotions. It is not the prince, the senator, or the plebeian, that he describes; it is always man, and the general principles of human nature; and this in their nicer and more evanescent, as well as their boldest and most definite expressions. If we were not afraid of giving too violent a shock to classical devotees, we should say, that, in the particulars we have mentioned Tacitus in history is not unlike Miss Edgeworth in fiction.

There are, indeed, many circumstances, unnecessary to be pointed out, in which they differ; but there is in both the same frequent interspersion in the narrative of short remarks, which lay open a principle of human nature, the same concise developement of character by discrimination and contrast, and the nice selection of some one trait, or apparently trifling circumstance, of conduct, as a key to the whole; traits and circumstances, which, though none but a philosopher would have pointed out, find their way at once to every heart. But the historian has none of the playfulness, the humour, and the mind at ease, which are seen in the novelist. He knew himself the register of facts, and facts, too, in which he took the deepest interest. He records events, not as one curious in political relations, or revolutions in empires, but as marking the moral character and condition of the age; a character and condition, which he felt were exerting a direct and powerful influence upon himself, upon those whom he loved, and with whom he lived.

The moral sensibility of Tacitus is, we think, that particular circumstance, by which he so deeply engages his reader, and is perhaps distinguished from every other wri ter, in the same department of literature; and the scenes he was to describe peculiarly required this quality. His writings comprise a period the most corrupt within the annals of man. The reigns of the Neros, and of many of their successors, seemed to have brought together the opposite vices of extreme barbarism and excessive luxury; the most ferocious cruelty and slavish submission; voluptuousness the most effeminate, and sensuality worse than brutal. Not only all the general charities of life, but the very ties of nature were annihilated by a selfishness, the most exclusively individual. The minions of power butchered the parent, and the child hurried to thank the emperor for his goodness. The very fountains of abominations seemed to have been broken up, and to have poured over the face of society a deluge of pollution and crimes. How important was it, then, for posterity, that the records of such an era should be transmitted by one in whose personal character there should be a redeeming virtue, who would himself feel, and awaken in his readers, that disgust

and abhorrence, which such scenes ought to excite! Such a one was Tacitus. There is in his narrative a seriousness, approaching sometimes almost to melancholy, and sometimes bursting forth in expressions of virtuous indignation. He appears always to be aware of the general complexion of the subjects, of which he is treating; and, even when extraordinary instances of independence and integrity now and then present themselves, you perceive, that his mind is secretly contrasting them with those vices, with which his observation was habitually familiar. Thus, in describing the pure and simple manners of the barbarous tribes of the north, you find him constantly bringing forward and dwelling upon those virtues, which were most strikingly opposed to the enormities of civilized Rome. He could not, like his contemporary Juvenal, treat these enormities with sneering and sarcasm. To be able to laugh at vice, he thought a symptom, that one had been touched at least by its pollution; or, to use his words, and illustrate, at once, both of the remarks we have just made; speaking of the temperance and chastity of the Germans, he says, "Nemo enim illic ridet vitia, nec corrumpere et corrumpi sæculum vocatur." Therefore it is, that, in reading Tacitus, our interest in events is heightened by a general sympathy with the writer; and as, in most instances, it is an excellence, when we lose the author in his story, so, in this, it is no less an excellence, that we have him so frequently in our minds. It is not, that he obtrudes himself upon our notice, but that we involuntarily, though not unconsciously, see with his eyes, and feel with his feelings.

In estimating, however, the moral sentiment of this historian, we are not to judge him by the present standard, elevated and improved as it is by Christianity. Tacitus undoubtedly felt the influence of great and prevalent er rors. That war with barbarians was at all times just, and their territory and their persons the lawful prey of whatever nation could seize them, it is well known, had been always the practical maxim of the Greeks, as well as the Romans. Hence we are not to be surprised, that, in various passages of his work, he does not express that abhorrence of many wars, in which his countrymen were

engaged, which we might otherwise have expected from him. This apology must especially be borne in mind, as we read the life of Agricola. The invasion of Britain by the Romans was as truly a violation of the rights of justice and humanity, as that of Mexico and Peru by the Spaniards; and their leader little better in principle, than Cortez and Pizarro. Yet, even here, full as was Tacitus of the glory of his father-in-law and of Rome, we have frequent indications of sensibility to the wrongs of the oppressed and plundered islanders. The well known speech of Calgaeus breathes all the author's love of liberty and virtue, and exhibits the simple virtues, the generous selfdevotion, of the Caledonians, in their last struggle for independence, in powerful contrast with the vices and ambition of their cruel and rapacious invaders.

We have mentioned what appears to us the most striking characteristics of the author before us. When compared with his great predecessor, he is no less excellent, but essentially different. Livy is only a historian, Tacitus is also a philosopher; the former gives you images, the latter impressions. In the narration of events, Livy produces his effect by completeness and exact particularity, Tacitus by selection and condensation; the one presents to you a panorama-you have the whole scene, with all its complicated movements and various appearances vividly before you; the other shows you the most prominent and remarkable groups, and compensates in depth for what he wants in minuteness. Livy hurries you into the midst of the battle, and leaves you to be borne along by its tide: Tacitus stands with you upon an eminence, where you have more tranquillity for distinct observation; or perhaps, when the armies have retired, walks with you over the field, points out to you the spot of each most interesting particular, and shares with you those solemn and profound emotions, which you have now the composure to feel.