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days, and with a high, strong, not uninspired heart, strove to represent it in the Visible, and publish tidings of it to his fellowmen.” THOMAS CARLYLE, “Jean Paul Friedrich Richter again ” (“Miscellanies,” v. iii.).

In the fictitious “Life of Quintus Fixlein,” Jean Paul, himself one of the characters and the narrator of the story, notes down the following Rules of Life, for his own guidance and that of his friends :


(From Richter's “Life of Quintus Fixlein,” translated by Thomas

Carlyle.) Little joys refresh us constantly like house-bread, and never bring disgust; and great ones, like sugar-bread, briefly, and then bring it.

Trifles we should let, not plague us only, but also gratify us; we should seize not their poison-bags only, but their honey-bags also; and if flies often buzz about our room, we should, like Domitian, amuse ourselves with flies, or like a certain still living Elector, feed them.

For civic life and its micrologies, for which the parson has a natural taste, we must acquire an artificial one; must learn to love without esteeming it; learn, far as it ranks beneath human life, to enjoy it like another twig of this human life, as poetically as we do the pictures of it in romances. The loftiest mortal loves and seeks the same sort of things with the meanest; only from higher grounds and by higher paths. Be every minute, Man, a full life to thee!

Despise anxiety and wishing, the Future and the Past !

If the Second-pointer can be no road-pointer into an Eden for thy soul, the Month-pointer will still less be so, for thou livest not from month to month, but from second to second! Enjoy thy Existence more than thy Manner

of Existence, and let the dearest object of thy Consciousness be this Consciousness itself!

Make not the Present a means of thy Future; for this Future is nothing but a coming Present; and the Present, which thou despisest, was once a Future which thou desiredest!

Stake in no lotteries, — keep at home, -give and accept no pompous entertainments, — travel not abroad every year!

Conceal not from thyself, by long plans, thy household goods, thy chamber, thy acquaintance.

Despise Life, that thou mayst enjoy it!

Inspect the neighborhood of thy life; every shelf, every nook of thy abode; and nestling in, quarter thyself in the farthest and most domestic winding of thy snail-house !

Look upon a capital but as a collection of villages, a village as some blind-alley of a capital; fame as the talk of neighbors at the street-door ; a library as a learned conversation, joy as a second, sorrow as a minute, life as a day; and three things as all in all : God, Creation, Virtue!


(A. D. 1770–1850.)

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, one of the greatest of English poets, was born at Cockermouth, in Cumberland, England, on the 7th of April, 1770. His father, John Wordsworth, was law-agent of Sir James Lowther, afterwards Earl of Lonsdale. The future poet was educated, first at a school in Hawkshead, and then at St. John's College, Cambridge. He travelled and lived during several years in France and elsewhere on the Continent; and, after several changes of English residence, settled with his devoted sister Dorothy in the Westmoreland Lake Country, where the remainder of his life was passed in meditation and poetical composition. He married happily in 1802. In 1843, on the death of his friend Southey, he was appointed Poet Laureate. His death occurred in 1850.

The noble poem quoted below, entitled “The Happy Warrior," was inspired by the death of Lord Nelson, in 1805, following the loss, in that same year, of the poet's brother, John Wordsworth, captain of an East Indiaman, whose ship was sunk by an incompetent pilot. He drew a blended portrait, joining the two heroic memories in one grand ideal. He “had recourse,

says Mr. F. W. H. Myers, “to the character of his own brother John for the qualities in which the great Admiral appeared to him to have been deficient. And surely these two natures taken together make the perfect Englishman. Nor is there any portrait fitter than that of • The Happy Warrior' to go forth to all lands as representing the English character at its height —a figure not illmatching with . Plutarch's men.' For indeed this short poem is itself a manual of greatness; there is a Roman majesty in its simple and weighty speech.”


(By William Wordsworth.)

Who is the happy warrior ? Who is he
Whom every man in arms should wish to be?

It is the generous spirit, who, when brought
Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought
Upon the plan that pleased his childish thought :
Whose high endeavours are an inward light
That make the path before him always bright;
Who, with a natural instinct to discern
What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn;
Abides by this resolve, and stops not there,
But makes his moral being his prime care;
Who, doom’d to go in company with pain,
And fear, and bloodshed, miserable train!
Turns his necessity to glorious gain ;
In face of these doth exercise a power
Which is our human nature's highest dower;
Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves
Of their bad influence, and their good receives;
By objects which might force the soul to abate
Her feeling, render'd more compassionate;
Is placable — because occasions rise
So often that demand such sacrifice

More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure
As tempted more; more able to endure,
As more exposed to suffering and distress
Thence, also, more alive to tenderness.

.’T is he whose law is reason; who depends Upon that law as on the best of friends; Whence, in a state where men are tempted still To evil for a guard against worse ill,

And what in quality or act is best
Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,
He fixes good on good alone, and owes
To virtue every triumph that he knows;
- Who, if he rise to station of command,
Rises by open means; and there will stand
On honourable terms, or else retire
And in himself possess his own desire;
Who comprehends his trust, and to the same
Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim ;
And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait
For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state;
Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall,
Like showers of manna, if they come at all;
Whose powers shed round him in the common strife,
Or mild concerns of ordinary life,
A constant influence, a peculiar grace;
But who, if he be call'd upon to face
Some awful moment to which Heaven has join'd
Great issues, good or bad for human kind,
Is happy as a lover; and attired
With sudden brightness, like a man inspired;
And through the heat of conflict, keeps the law
In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw;
Or if an unexpected call succeed,
Come when it will, is equal to the need:

He who, though thus endued as with a sense
And faculty for storm and turbulence,
Is yet a soul whose master bias leans
To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes ;
Sweet images ! which, wheresoe'er he be,
Are at his heart; and such fidelity
It is his darling passion to approve;
More brave for this, that he hath much to love :

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