These I remember, these selectest men,
And would their names record; but what avails
My mention of their names? Before the throne
They stand illustrious 'mong the loudest harps,
And will receive thee glad, my friend and theirs-
For all are friends in heaven, all faithful friends;
And many friendships in the days of time
Begun, are lasting here, and growing still;
So grows ours evermore, both theirs and mine.

COMMUNINGS WITH NATURE.

Pleasant were many scenes, but most to me
The solitude of vast extent, untouched

By hand of art, where nature sowed herself,

And reaped her crops; whose garments were the clouds;
Whose minstrel brooks; whose lamps the moon and stars;
Whose organ-choir the voice of many waters;

Whose banquets morning dews; whose heroes storms;
Whose warriors mighty winds; whose lovers flowers;,
Whose orators the thunderbolts of God;

Whose palaces the everlasting hills;

Whose ceiling heaven's unfathomable blue;
And from whose rocky turrets battled high

Prospect immense spread out on all sides round,
Lost now beneath the welkin and the main,
Now walled with hills that slept above the storm.
Most fit was such a place for musing men,
Happiest sometimes when musing without aim.
It was, indeed, a wondrous sort of bliss

The lonely bard enjoyed when forth he walked,
Unpurposed; stood, and knew not why; sat down,
And knew not where; arose, and knew not when;
Had eyes, and saw not; ears, and nothing heard;

And sought-sought neither heaven nor earth-sought nought,
Nor meant to think; but ran meantime through vast

Of visionary things, fairer than aught

That was; and saw the distant tops of thoughts,
Which men of common stature never saw,

Greater than aught that largest worlds could hold,
Or give idea of to those who read.

He entered into Nature's holy place,
Her inner chamber, and beheld her face
Unveiled; and heard unutterable things,
And incommunicable visions saw;
Things then unutterable, and visions then
Of incommunicable glory bright;

But by the lips of after-ages formed

To words, or by their pencil pictured forth;
Who, entering farther in, beheld again,

And heard unspeakable and marvellous things,

Which other ages in their turn revealed,
And left to others greater wonders still.

NATURE'S TEACHINGS.

The Seasons came and went, and went and came,
To teach men gratitude; and as they pass'd,
Gave warning of the lapse of time, that else
Had stolen unheeded by. The gentle flowers
Retired, and, stooping o'er the wilderness,
Talk'd of humility, and peace, and love.
The dews came down unseen at evening-tide,
And silently their bounties shed, to teach
Mankind unostentatious charity.

With arm in arm the forest rose on high,
And lesson gave of brotherly regard.
And, on the rugged mountain-brow exposed,
Bearing the blast alone, the ancient oak
Stood, lifting high his mighty arm, and still
To courage in distress exhorted loud.

The flocks, the herds, the birds, the streams, the breeze,

Attun'd the heart to melody and love.

Mercy stood in the cloud, with eye that wept
Essential love; and, from her glorious bow,
Bending to kiss the earth in token of peace,
With her own lips, her gracious lips, which God
Of sweetest accent made, she whisper'd still,
She whisper'd to Revenge, Forgive, forgive!
The sun, rejoicing round the earth, announced
Daily the wisdom, power, and love of God.
The Moon awoke, and from her maiden face,
Shedding her cloudy locks, look'd meekly forth,
And with her virgin stars walk'd in the heavens,
Walk'd nightly there, conversing, as she walk'd,
Of purity, and holiness, and God.

In dreams and visions, sleep instructed much.

Day utter'd speech to day, and night to night

Taught knowledge. Silence had a tongue; the grave, The darkness, and the lonely waste, had each

A tongue, that ever said, Man! think of God!

Think of thyself! think of eternity!

Fear God, the thunders said; Fear God, the waves.

Fear God, the lightning of the storm replied.
Fear God, deep loudly answer'd back to deep.

LOVE.

Hail love, first love, thou word that sums all bliss!
The sparkling cream of all Time's blessedness,

The silken down of happiness complete!
Discerner of the ripest grapes of joy!
She gathered and selected with her hand
All finest relishes, all fairest sights,

All rarest odors, all divinest sounds,

All thoughts, all feelings dearest to the soul;
And brought the holy mixture home, and filled

The heart with all superlatives of bliss.

But who would that expound, which words transcends,

Must talk in vain. Behold a meeting scene

Of early love, and thence infer its worth.

It was an eve of autumn's holiest mood.

The corn-fields, bathed in Cynthia's silver light,
Stood ready for the reaper's gathering hand;
And all the winds slept soundly. Nature seemed
In silent contemplation to adore

Its Maker. Now and then the aged leaf
Fell from its fellows, rustling to the ground;
And, as it fell, bade man think on his end.
On vale and lake, on wood and mountain high,
With pensive wing outspread, sat heavenly Thought,
Conversing with itself. Vesper looked forth
From out her western hermitage, and smiled;
And up the east, unclouded, rode the moon
With all her stars, gazing on earth intense,
As if she saw some wonder working there.

Such was the night, so lovely, still, serene,
When, by a hermit thorn that on the hill
Had seen a hundred flowery ages pass,
A damsel kneeled to offer up her prayer-
Her prayer nightly offered, nightly heard.
This ancient thorn had been the meeting place
Of love, before his country's voice had called
The ardent youth to honored office far
Beyond the wave and hither now repaired,
Nightly, the maid, by God's all seeing eye
Seen only, while she sought this boon alone-
"Her lover's safety, and his quick return."
In holy, humble attitude she kneeled,
And to her bosom, fair as moonbeam, pressed
One hand, the other lifted up to heaven.
Her eye, upturned, bright as the star of morn,
As violet meek, excessive ardor streamed,
Wafting away her earnest heart to God.
Her voice, scarce uttered, soft as Zephyr sighs
On morning's lily cheek, though soft and low,
Yet heard in heaven, heard at the mercy-seat.
A tear-drop wandered on her lovely face;
It was a tear of faith and holy fear,
Pure as the drops that hang at dawning-time
On yonder willows by the stream of life.
On her the moon looked steadfastly; the stars

That circle nightly round the eternal throne
Glanced down, well pleased; and everlasting Love
Gave gracious audience to her prayer sincere.

O had her lover seen her thus alone,
Thus holy, wrestling thus, and all for him!
Nor did he not: for ofttimes Providence
With unexpected joy the fervent prayer
Of faith surprised. Returned from long delay,
The sacred thorn, to memory dear, first sought
The youth, and found it at the happy hour,
Just when the damsel kneeled herself to pray.
Wrapped in devotion, pleading with her God,
She saw him not, heard not his foot approach.
All holy images seemed too impure

To emblem her he saw. A seraph kneeled,
Beseeching for his ward before the throne,

Seemed fittest, pleased him best. Sweet was the thought!
But sweeter still the kind remembrance came,

That she was flesh and blood formed for himself,

The plighted partner of his future life.

And as they met, embraced, and sat embowered
In woody chambers of the starry night,
Spirits of love about them ministered,

And God, approving, blessed the holy joy!

JONATHAN DYMOND, 1796-1828.

JONATHAN DYMOND,' the celebrated author of the "Essays on Morality," was born in Exeter, in 1796. His father, who was a member of the Society of Friends, was a linen-draper of that city, and brought up his son to the same business. Of course, he did not receive what is called a "liberal education;" but he possessed that without which a liberal education is worse than useless; for the sound moral and religious principles which were carefully inculcated by his parents at home laid the foundation of that high and stern standard of morality which has placed him at the very head of English moralists. On leaving school, he found employment in his father's business, in which he afterwards became a partner, and in which he continued until the close of his life. He early evinced a disposition for quiet reflection, and in his conversation, for which he had a great talent, he manifested just and enlightened views of the progress of mankind, and that freedom of thought which enabled him to go forth in search of truth,

There are very few materials for writing a biography of Dymond, and I am indebted for this chiefly to an article in the " Non-Slaveholder," written by its editor, Samuel Rhoads, from materials collected by him from the family when he was in England.

to disregard the opinions of his contemporaries, and of those who had gone before him, and to bring his strong intellect and his very sensitive and enlightened conscience, unfettered, to the investigation of the Divine Will in the government of the world.

In 1822, he married Anna Wilkey, a Friend, of Plymouth, who survived him nearly twenty-one years; their family consisted of a daughter and a son, the latter of whom died at the age of seven years. In 1823, he published his "Enquiry into the Accordancy of War with the Principles of Christianity," a work composed in the momentary intervals of business, and in his early morning hours-time rescued from sleep by his habit of early rising. This work, from the energy and earnestness of its style, and from its high standard of Christian morals, immediately attracted very great attention, and soon ran through three editions. Of course, it met with censure from those who deem human butchery professionally right; but it was the means of opening the eyes of many to the atrocities of war, and of raising up many supporters to the cause of peace.

During the time occupied in publishing the "Enquiry," he was frequently engaged in laying the foundation of his other work-that on which his fame chiefly rests his "Essays on the Principles of Morality." This, he hoped, would prove even more extensively useful than his first work, and he soon devoted himself fully to it-a work that was to exhibit the only true and authoritative standard of rectitude, and to estimate, by that standard, the moral character of human actions. He was never of a strong constitution; and, early in the spring of 1826, appeared the first symptoms of that disease which, in two years, was to send him to his grave. A frequent cough and great weakness of the throat gradually increased upon him, and he was soon compelled to give up conversation altogether, and to express his ideas by writing on a little slate which he carried in his pocket. This continued to be his only means of conversation until the close of his life. As recommended by his friends, he went to London to consult some eminent physicians there; but all to no purpose. His disorder-pulmonary consumption-continued to make rapid advances, and after trying two or three different situations in the country in hopes of benefit, he returned to his native place, where he remained still employed, as his small remaining strength would permit, in preparing for the publication of his "Essays;" and he might be seen surrounded by his papers until a few days before his death, which took place on the 6th of May, 1828. Throughout his lingering illness, he evinced a perfect resignation to the will of God, and a full confidence in his promises, and manifested on his death-bed his deep conviction of that great truth with which he has concluded his "Essays"-that "the true and safe foundation of our hope is in the redemption that is in Christ Jesus."

1 A well-merited tribute to his character appeared, some years ago, in "Tait's Magazine," in the following lines, entitled"

DYMOND'S GRAVE.

"Standing by Exeter's Cathedral tower,

My thoughts went back to that small grassy mound