In the first book of Samuel and nineteenth chapter, we find Saul, worked up by the spirit of envy and jealousy, commanding Jonathan and his servants to slay David. Here, as on similar occasions, Jonathan exhibits the wisdom of a true friend, as well as the respect due to a father from his son. He first apprizes David of his danger, and then presents himself in the admirable character of a peace-maker. At such a moment as this, when one so unoffending, and so dear to him, was unjustly threatened and persecuted, it would have been natural to expect that the language of reproof, or at least of indignant remonstrance, would have burst from the lips of the generous prince. But no, he knew "a more excellent way," and to that way he betook himself: "And Jonathan spake good of David unto Saul his father, and said unto him, Let not the king sin against his servant, against David; because he hath not sinned against thee, and because his words have been to thee-ward very good. For he did put his life in his hand, and slew the Philistine, and the Lord wrought a great salvation for all Israel; thou sawest it and didst rejoice wherefore then wilt thou sin against innocent blood, to slay David without a cause ?" Even the hard heart of Saul was not proof against this touching appeal. In a few words he had been shown, at a glance, David's uprightness, valour, and renown, and at the same time was reminded of the iniquity of conspiring against one who was so evidently favored of God. The pleader proved successful, and for a season Saul was reconciled to David. In this transaction it seems that Jonathan subdued all personal feeling or fear of unpleasant results; he was simply governed by a desire to honor God, deliver his friend, and save his father from the commission of sin. O happy attainment, when a man can accomplish a hazardous undertaking, and manage to forget himself throughout the whole of it! History tells us that the restless spirit of Saul was soon again active in an attempt to destroy his intended victim. David, however, eluded his pursuers by a stratagem of Michal's; and after having fled to Samuel for succour, contrived to see Jonathan. This interview is one of the most pathetic ever recorded. The tender manner in which Jonathan endeav ored to comfort and assure the heart of his friend in so distressing a situation ; his recognition of David's future elevation above himself and his father's family; his perfect submission to the will of God in setting aside his own claims to the throne; the ingenious plan suggested by love to ascertain and inform David of the extent of his danger; and the solemn covenant made between them, of which God was the only witness-all these invaluable evidences of mind and heart combined, display a refinement of feeling which defies description. The last meeting of these two friends which Scripture mentions, once more bears testimony to the enduring affection and unfailing constancy of Jonathan. "And David saw that Saul was come out to seek his life; and David was in the wilderness of Ziph in a wood. And Jonathan, Saul's son, arose and went to David into the wood, and strengthened his hand in God. And he said unto him, Fear not, for the hand of Saul my father shall not find thee; and thou shalt be king over Israel, and I shall be next unto thee; and that also Saul my father knoweth. And they two made a covenant before the Lord: and David abode in the wood, and Jonathan went to his house." 1 Sam. xxiii, 15-18. In the experience men have of human friendships, it is not usual to find that a continuance of what is called misfortune, on the one side, contributes to the increase of regard and esteem, or desire to show unwearied kindness, on the other. Such noble instances of disinterested friendship are rare-but, when found, most worthy of imitation. The duty, as well as privilege, of helping and sustaining a falling friend, becomes doubly imperative when that friend is suffering for righteousness' sake; and where the case is thus, even natural affection should not stand in the way to oppose the exercise of so laudable a virtue. We can perceive from all that is written concerning Jonathan in Scripture, that he was a good son; but this in no way interfered with his faithful dealings toward his friend. We find him, disgusted as he must have been with the envy, jealousy, ingratitude, injustice, and cruelty of Saul's conduct, in his place; as a subject fighting the king's battles; as a son taking part against the enemies of his father, although he well knew that the kingdom would be taken from him and given to David. And finally we see, that he perished in the path of duty, at his father's side. He neglected not to perform those services for his king and country which his station demanded of him, yet persevered to the last in succoring, comforting, advising, and encouraging David, whom he loved, be it remembered, in the spirit as well as in the flesh. Had he been spared, days followed which would have given "the man after God's own heart" ample opportunity of conferring upon his friend and former benefactor every blessing in his power; but there was something better in store for that magnanimous prince. "How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle! O Jonathan, thou wast slain in thy high places. I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou been unto me: thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women. How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished!" So sung and lamented the sweet Psalmist of Israel: and surely we may say, Was "there not a cause?" MISERERE, DOMINE. MISERERE, Domine ! Chant which mortal and immortal By the shore of heaven's blue sea. Golden August, sun-embrown'd, Blushing purple, berry-crown'd, Singeth now her songs of glee; Even so we are not free From the ancient blot and staining On our hearts; though thou art raining Lord of mercy! 'Midst our mirth Foam-wreaths on the white sea-shore- Peaches ripening on the tree- They were given by thee. I ᎠᎡᎬᎪᎷ MY ᎠᎡᎬᎪᎷ. I DREAM my dream: the sullen tide The bark lies on the river side, Rent sail and drooping mast; And rest upon the oar. I dream my dream, my lovely dream, Throng'd with its shapes immortal; How bright the golden halos gleam About the mystic portal! I speak the poet spell I know, And all its bliss is mine. For me the soft rays beam; And all that's fair, and pure, and bright, Around my vision throng; The people of the realms of light- I shut the world's fierce clamor out, The din, the riot, and the shout, No tempests threat, no clouds obscure No shadows cross the radiance pure,― And so I dream my dream. And all is warm and truthful there-- No stains that load our common air Sully that atmosphere. The mourners smile, the dead awake, The loving part no more; And love and duty blend-and thus FIGHT ON, BRAVE HEART, FIGHT ON. FIGHT onward to the breach, brave heart, Thou hast the warrior's now begun : Fight on, brave heart, fight on! The knight of old sought Christ's dear grave, And roam'd o'er burning waste alone: THE FRIENDSHIP OF RUTH AND NAOMI. THE simple and impres sive story of the cour- RUTH AND NAOMI. where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me." Ruth was young and robust, as her labors in the fields of Boaz testify, and grudged not the generous toil which earned the golden grain she wanted for Naomi's nourishment. "The Lord looketh on the heart." She voluntarily devoted her youth and strength to the service of the friendless Naomi; and (to speak after the manner of men) it was a great sacrifice; but He "who seeth not as man seeth" had prepared for her a rich recom pense in the love and liberality of Boaz. Had she withheld her compassionate aid from Naomi, we might picture the solitary widow bereft of every earthly tie, mournfully returning to a scene where she would arrive unknown and uncared for, and at a season of life when there is little left to excite interest in the bosoms of strangers. But the industry, purity, and youthful innocence of Ruth were instrumental in opening the way to a bright and happy future both for Naomi and her gentle self. The power of influence, how great it is! and when well employed, how good it is! The penniless Ruth held a rich dowry in the virtues and graces which adorned her lowly mind. "He that humbleth himself shall be exalted." [For the National Magazine.] COMMON SENSE AND SCHOLARSHIP. WHA HATEVER else man was made for, it is evident he was designed to work. Labor is the inevitable condition of his earthly existence. It is true that in a great majority of cases toil produces pain; but a proper exercise of its functions always results in pleasure to the worker. Without inquiring, further into the philosophy of labor, we only remark that it is the obvious policy as well as the duty of every man, inasmuch as he must work, to ask, first, what he must do, and, secondly, how he shall do it? It is pretty well understood, theoretically at least, that all effectual labor must be directed by intelligence. It is from neglect of this truth that we so often spend our strength in beating the air-a very tiresome process, by the way, and one that wears out the heart-life of a man far more rapidly than the most intense drudgery which accomplishes the thing undertaken. The scholar has chosen for himself an inheritance of toil; but he has only to enter upon it with discretion to make it a source of pleasure as exquisite as the labor is severe. In speaking of the scholar, we mean the practical scholar-we believe in no other for though there are many scholars" in the abstract," they are chiefly valuable only as specimens of the extent to which intellectual efforts can be carried without effecting anything real; like hydrogen soap-bubbles, interesting, because VOL. VI.-21 they carry high up into the air the liquid film in which they are inclosed! The work which the real scholar proposes to himself is to acquire the greatest possible amount of intellectual power for every possible emergency. The way in which he is to do this is by arranging, harmonizing and disciplining the various elements of his mind in their proper relations to each other. Now as common sense embraces all these original intellectual elements, it necessarily holds an important relation to any system of education. This, to be sure, is a very tame truth, and always by all men acknowledged, though the fact is not so often made use of as it ought to be. By common sense we understand the ability which all men have, to some extent, of making decisions without any formal process of deduction. Propose a question to some men, and they will at once give a correct answer, though they may not be able to give the reasons for their convictions. They feel that they are right, and no force of logic can shake their faith. There is a sort of instinct-a short method of reasoning-by which the mind goes at once to the conclusion, unconscious of the numerous steps by which it arrives there. Ask any blunt farmer, in these our northern latitudes, on which side of a particular hill corn will grow most rapidly? and though he may have never seen the spot before, and, of course, knows nothing about it by experience, he will, without hesitation, tell you the south side. His reason for the answer, if he gives any, may be that it lies toward the sun, and it is the warmest there. In most cases he cannot assign any reason for this latter notion, though he feels sure of what he states; and, if you press him further, he may tell you that "common sense would teach anybody this fact"-and this would be the whole truth. Now we do not say that there is a complete absence of reason, or that instinct and feeling at once grasp the truth, but that mere formal reason, such as a scientific mind would use in explication of the fact, would never have revealed it to such a mind. The fact that men feel some truths which they cannot prove, but which are nevertheless demonstrable, shows that a power of reasoning may be going on in the mind, and we all the time be unconscious of it. What is more singular still, the : results of such a process are often more reliable than those of more formal deduction. Hazlitt, in one of his essays, tells us of a man stopping at a hotel in the north of England he had ordered a dinner of ham and eggs, and was luxuriating in a happy mood by anticipation. While he waited, he saw a man pass the window; soon after, when he sat down to the table, he found himself without appetite, and much depressed in mind, although five minutes before he had been keenly hungry and in a most cheerful frame. As he was reflecting on this mysterious revulsion of feeling, the same man passed the window again, and he now recognized in him an officer of the government, who held a warrant for his arrest, which if executed might consign him to the prison or the gallows. He had felt the danger, at first, though totally unable to trace the connection of his feeling with its course, till the second appearance of the man and the recognition of the officer. Similar instances, no doubt, suggest themselves from the experience of every individual. According to the laws of optics, when a man with two good eyes looks upon a distant object, he sees it in two different directions thus apparently making two instead of one. By experience he learns to correct the error, and to regard the object as single. The rational demonstration of this fact requires the trigonomet- | rical solution of a triangle whose base and adjacent angles are given-a process to which, we are thinking, few small children are accustomed to say nothing of those of larger growth. Innumerable examples might be adduced, all going to show that we are not to make pure reason our sole guide in practical life or in mental cultivation. If we attempt this, our whole existence must be at the dictation of certain definite and unvarying formulæ. If we are to enter into a theoretical deliberation on every occasion before we act, it is evident our practical progress will be very slow. We do not mean that we are to abandon reason, by any means, but that we are to use it in connection with instinct, feeling, intuition. If in any case reason disagrees with these, we may be sure that something is wrong. When the latter make their decisions and the former reiterate them, they mutually confirm each other, and assurance becomes doubly This is common sense. sure. | One of our sweetest poets has sung in didactic strain "Things are not what they seem;" still we are inclined to adopt the opinion of one whose lessons of practical wisdom we have long since learned to venerate, and disclose on the contrary that "things are just what they seem." At all events, had men been more willing to take things for what they seemed to be, we should have been saved many a bewildering tramp through vague theories, numerous speculations, and dark inanition which are ever occurring in the "march of mind." Common sense implies an intuitive perception of the relation of things, and a correct judgment; and enables us to discern what is right, useful, and expedient in any case that may come under its cognizance. The man who cultivates this faculty, reflects upon the facts with which experience makes him acquainted, and forms a series of conclusions of ready and practical application to human life. He is a judge of things that fall under common observation-that come home to the business and bosoms of men. An embodiment of this common-sense principle is almost a marvel among men. No doubt, it was this which Diogenes sought when with his lighted candle at noonday he looked diligently among the thronging multitudes for "a man.” But the old Cynic might have looked till this time and still not have found one! not so much from their scarcity as that he did not look in the right place. Such men are not educated in a crowd-they do not form their opinions while carried hither and thither by the excited but fickle throng of the floating populace. To be sure, they are not always in seclusion-for they learn the great lessons of wisdom from all things natural, human, and divine, which approach them through the senses or appeal directly to the internal man. And thus, whether alone with God and nature, or observing the workings of the human mind in crowds or in individuals, they are ever feeding the soul with majestic truths arising from reflection and the exercise of calm judgment. The elements of this faculty, we suppose, nature has conferred on all men in nearly equal proportions. The great diversity arises not so much in the amount originally bestowed as in the manner of |