of the young and tender bird,—to crush the egg before it is hatched? Shall we ever retrace our flight? And, if so, in what state shall we find our old home, and how shall we be received? Mournfully the winds wail in response:—"Alas! sad is your fate. We would answer your questions satisfactorily, if it were in our power; but we are unable to do so. The secrets of the future cannot be read by us. One only can reveal them, and in due season he will disclose all that is fit to be known. Trust Him, and believe us, messengers of His will, that hereafter, when all is known, you will worship Him in admiration and awe, and despise your own shortsightedness that could not perceive the wisdom of His way." Silently we drink in the admonition of the winds, and resolve that we shall be calmly resigned to whatever may befall, conscious that our own destiny is in the hands of an All-Wise and Beneficent Being. Then the fierce winds, mollified by our submissive aspect, gradually subside, and softly whisper, "Courage! every cloud has a silver lining. Murmur not at the decrees of the Most High.
"Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence,
He hides a smiling face."
We then ask them if they will tell us whither they are bound. Mildly they reply, as they gently fan us, "we will sweep the broad ocean, tempering the burning heat of the tropic sun to the half-fainting voyager as he passes through the torrid zone, and, bearing aloft the ocean-spray to the clouds, convey it as refreshing dew to the arid soil of Africa, and to the islands and mainland of Europe to saturate the ground in preparation for forthcoming fruits and flowers." Moving them to linger a space, we ask them to bear kisses of love to a golden-haired and blue-eyed damsel, whose prayers we hear in fancy as they ascend to heaven for our welfare, and beg them to steal the pearly tears that moisten her fair round cheek at thought of us, and waft them, "ere the leviathan can swim a league," to our yearning lips. We send words of love and cheer to the dear friends we left behind, assuring them that we ever take with us the impress of their fond features and recollection of their deep affection; that though a snow-white plumage may be slightly soiled by foul association,—not of our own choosing,—we can maintain our dignity unruffled,—our honor maintained, and that the memory of the dear land of our birth shall never fade from our souls. So the sympathizing winds, bidding us farewell, speed homeward with our heart-messages; and as they dally with maiden tresses, will breath into her joyful ears the welcome tidings:—
"They’ll come again when south winds blow."
Laudable Ambition.
Laudable ambition stimulates a man to endeavour to do well himself, and rejoice to see his neighbour do better. To delight in, and take every opportunity of exerting all the powers of which he may be possessed towards honoring our Creator, and serving our fellow human-beings, is not only laudable, but the highest and most noble use to which human ambition can be applied; it is indeed the very end for which it was given. Whenever we see a man exerting his powers to these purposes, nothing would be more unjust to him, or more detrimental to society, than to attribute them to ostentation. We are too apt to judge of others by ourselves; when we see another possess such qualifications as would make us proud, we, without farther evidence, conclude him to be so. Thus superior intelligence always attracts envious eyes; and what virtue will not envy construe into vice? That ambition can never be justly blamed which produces, or endeavours to produce, public good; but some are so envious that they cannot see any shining talent in another without snarling at it, like dogs barking at the moon.
To curb such ambition, and check our just censures, we should look well into, and study that living book—our own hearts; for nothing will so effectually suppress ostentation as to know ourselves. He that most clearly perceives his own imperfections will be the last to seek out and condemn those of others.—Extract.
Continental people say that the English people are so arrogant, that they expect their own language to be understood by everybody. The following is given as an instance: At a table d’hote in Baden-Baden, a milord, when dessert had been served, politely asked a German lady, in his own vernacular, if he could help her to some peaches. Understanding his question rather by his manner than his language, the lady replied, "Nein" (No)—"Nine!" ejaculated the astonished Englishman, "there are only six on the plate, but here they are all for you!" rolling them towards her.
