If fixed contemplation be chosen rather in the mind, All the mysteries of the high regions shall be laid open to us, Then it may be permitted to act upon earth, to have a care Of the weal of men, and to bestow just laws. If we are more delighted with celestial love, We are dissolved into flames which glide about and excite one another Spring upwards, enfolded together in firmest bonds, In parts and wholes, mingling by turns, And the ardour of the Divine kindles (in them) still new ardours, It will make us happy to praise God, while he commands us, The angelic choir, singing together with sweet modulation, And beauteous spectacles are put forth, hour by hour, And, as it were, the whole fabric of heaven becomes a theatre, Adorned with new faculties, of larger powers. Our forms, too, may then be renewed Assume new forms and senses, till our Joys again rise up consummate. If trusting thus, I shall have put off this mortal weed, George H.-(who, during his brother's reading, has listened, with head bowed down, leaned on his arm, looks up after a few moments' silenge)-Pardon, my lord, if I have not fit words to answer you. The flood of your thought has swept over me like music, and like that, for the time, at least, it fills and satisfies. I am conscious of many feelings which are not touched upon there, of the depths of love and sorrow made known to men, through One whom you as yet know not. But of these I will not speak now, except to ask, borne on this strong pinion, have you never faltered till you felt the need of a friend? strong in this clear vision, have you never sighed for a more homefelt assurance to your faith? steady in your demand of what the soul re quires, have you never known fear lest you want purity to receive the boon if granted? Lord H.-I do not count those weak moments, George; they are not my true life. George H.-It suffices that you know them, for, in time, I doubt not that every conviction which a human being needs, to be reconciled to the Parent of all, will be granted to a nature so ample, so open, and so aspiring. Let me answer in a strain which bespeaks my heart as truly, if not as nobly as yours answers to your great mind,— My joy, my life, my crown! My heart was meaning all the day And still it runneth, muttering, up and down, Yet slight not these few words; The fineness which a hymn or psalm affords, He who craves all the mind And all the soul, and strength and time; Justly complains, that somewhat is behind Whereas, if the heart be moved, As when the heart says, sighing to be approved, "Oh, could I love!" and stops; God writeth, loved. Lord H.-I cannot say to you truly that my mind replies to this, although I discern a beauty in it. You will say I lack humility to understand yours. let us George H.-I will say nothing, but leave you to time and the care of a greater than I. We have exchanged our verse, now change our subject too, and walk homeward; for I trust you, this night, intend to make my roof happy in your presence, and the sun is sinking. Lord H.-Yes, you know I am there to be introduced to my new sister, whom I hope to love, and win from her a sisterly regard in turn. George H.-You, none can fail to regard; and for her, even as you love me, you must her, for we are one. Lord H.-(smiling)-Indeed; two years wed, and say that. George H.-Will your lordship doubt it? From your muse I took my first lesson. * With a look, it seem'd denied All earthly powers but hers, yet so As if to her breath he did owe And shall our love, so far beyond And which so chaste desires unite, O no, belov'd! I am most sure Those virtuous habits we acquire, As being with the soul entire, Must with it evermore endure. Else should our souls in vain elect; And vainer yet were heaven's laws When to an everlasting cause They gave a perishing effect. Lord H.-(sighing)-You recall a happy season, when my thoughts were as delicate of hue, and of as heavenly a perfume as the flowers of May. George H.-Have those flowers borne no fruit? Lord H.-My experience of the world and men had made me believe that they did not indeed bloom in vain, but that the fruit would be ripened in some future sphere of our existence. What my own marriage was you know,-a family arrangement made for me in my childhood. Such obligations as such a marriage could imply, I have fulfilled, and it has not failed to bring me some benefits of good-will and esteem, and far more, in the happiness of being a parent. But my observation of the ties formed, by those whose choice was left free, has not taught me that a higher happiness than mine was the destined portion of men. They are too immature to form permanent relations; all that they do seems experiment, and mostly fails for the present. Thus I had postponed all hopes except of fleeting joys or ideal pictures. Will you tell me that you are possessed already of so much more ? George H.-I am indeed united in a bond, whose reality I cannot doubt, with one whose thoughts, affections, and objects every way correspond with mine, and in whose life I see a purpose so pure that, if we are ever separated, the fault must be mine. I believe God, in his exceeding grace, gave us to one another, for we met almost at a glance, without doubt before, jar or repentance after, the vow which bound our lives together. Lord H.-Then there is indeed one circumstance of your lot I could wish to share with you. (After some moments' silence on both sides)—They told me at the house, that, with all your engagements, you go twice a-week to Salisbury. How is that? How can you leave your business and your happy home, so much and often? George H.-I go to hear the music; the great solemn church music. This is, at once, the luxury and the necessity of my life. I know not how it is with others, but, with me, there is a frequent drooping of the wings, a smouldering of the inward fires, a lan guor, almost a loathing of corporeal existence. Of this visible diurnal sphere I am, by turns, the master, the interpreter, and the victim; an ever burning lamp, to warm again the embers of the altar; a skiff, that cannot be becalmed, to bear me again on the ocean of hope; an elixir, that fills the dullest fibre with ethereal energy; such, music is to me. It stands in relation to speech, even to the speech of poets, as the angelic choir, who, in their subtler being, may inform the space around us, unseen but felt, do to men, even to prophetic men. It answers to the soul's presage, and, in its fluent life, embodies all I yet know how to desire. As all the thoughts and hopes of human souls are blended by the organ to a stream of prayer and praise, I tune at it my separate breast, and return to my little home, cheered and ready for my day's work, as the lark does to her nest after her morning visit to the sun. Lord H.-The ancients held that the spheres made music to those who had risen into a state which enabled them to hear it. Pythagoras, who prepared different kinds of melody to guide and expand the differing natures of his pupils, needed himself to hear none on instruments made by human art, for the universal harmony which comprehends all these was audible to him. Man feels in all his higher moments, the need of traversing a subtler element, of a winged existence. Artists have recognised wings as the symbol of the state next above ours; but they have not been able so to attach them to the forms of gods and angels as to make them agree with the anatomy of the human frame. Perhaps music gives this instruction, and supplies the deficiency. Although I see that I do not feel it as habitually or as profoundly as you do, I have experienced such impressions from it. George H.-That is truly what I mean. It introduces me into that winged nature, and not as by way of supplement, but of inevitable transition. All that has budded in me, bursts into bloom, under this influence. As I sit in our noble cathedral, in itself |