thousands of persons in London never saw the
sun rise? And yet it is one of the most
glorious and most exhilarating sights in nature.
I do not wonder at the sun-worshippers. Even
a Christian, when he sees the orb of day bursting
upon the world in all his golden splendour,
can scarcely refrain from falling upon his knees,
not to worship, but to adore with thankfulness.
There are many thousands in large
cities who live and die and never see a sun
rise. There are thousands again who see it
often, with bloodshot eyes, as they stagger
home from the night's debauch. But what a
bath of delight is dawn to the early riser.
London, with all its ill fame for smoke and
dirt and fog, is as bright and clear on some
summers' mornings as any city of Italy or
Spain. Before the fires are lighted, and the
chimneys begin to smoke, every object, as far
as the eye can reach, stands out distinct and
clear.

The delights of a walk through the silent
streets when the milkman is going his rounds,
and the industrious apprentice is taking down
the shutters, and the old woman at the stall is
preparing to dispense her coffee, and the day
policeman is coming on his beat with shining
boots and clean-shaven face—how shall I
describe them? I know not. Stay! I will
take this staggering reveller by the collar and
steady him, and tell him, if he can hear
anything but the echo of the midnight chorus in
which he has roared himself hoarse, that the
draughts of this morning air which I am
inhaling are more exhilarating than any
champagne; that the beams of the virgin dawn that
fall upon me are warmer than the smiles of
the beauty that flaunts under the gas-lamps;
that here in my morning's walk I am enjoying
a keenness of pleasure such as he has
never known, such as he probably never will
know.

There is a text for a whole sermon here—
one that sadly wants preaching. Half the
young men who follow intellectual pursuits in
our great cities are killing themselves with late
hours. They turn day into night, and night
into day. They never have an opportunity of
breathing pure air. They live by gas-light,
and go home to sleep when the sun rises,
carefully barring out his beams. Such persons
never taste one of the purest pleasures of life.
They are, indeed, voluntary candidates for an
early death. The wise man, when he is growing
old, renews his youth, and his spirit and his
brains, with early hours or walks in the
sunshine.

Lastly, and generally, with regard to Pleasure:
she is a coy and fickle maiden. If you
take her for your sweetheart, don't make
appointments to meet her. If you, do she will
generally disappoint you. Walk abroad without
thinking of her, and she will suddenly hook
herself on to your arm, and make you
unexpectedly happy. She is a decent maiden, and
knows when to leave. Don't try to persuade
her to stop too long; don't run after her and
compel her to stay, or she will not appear so
sprightly and engaging when you meet her on
her next Sunday out.

THE GREAT CHINESE PHILOSOPHER.

NEVER did a great name pass through the
traditions and worshippings of more than twenty
centuries, with so little of the colourings of
romance, as has been the fortune of Confucius.
His example and precepts have made a deep
impression on a greater number of human beings
than any teacher of his own or any other age,
has never been turned into an idol, nor
worshipped as a deity. His modest nature
constantly disdained all authority other than he
had gathered from much travel, much
intercourse with mankind, and much meditation on
the rights and duties of individuals in their
domestic, social and political relations. In the
life that he led, in the books that he wrote, one
sees nothing but the ordinary current of mortal
affairs; and all the narratives with which he is
associated are so simple and so truthful, as to
present "the very age and body of the time,
its form and pressure." He meddled with no
state intrigues, and was therefore welcome at
court; he mingled cheerfully with the multitude,
and was popular with the people. Too independent
to require, and too well satisfied with his
condition ever to accept, favour from the ruling
few, his rank did not place him above habitual
intercourse with the subject many. Philosopher
and sage, he never alienated himself from ordinary
domestic duties, nor allowed his contemplative
faculties to divert him from the practical
application of his great experience to common
concerns.

His words and acts are constantly referred to
as the axioms and examples which should
regulate the business and fix the duties of life.
His doctrine was, that the laws of heaven
and the laws of earth ought to be in harmony;
that where they seemed discordant, it was man's
duty to endeavour to make them accordant;
that wisdom and goodness ought to be associated
with power, and obedience with dependence;
that society was a pyramid, having for its basis
the people; and that the powers of government,
passing through various stages, of lesser towards
greater influence, should culminate in the apex
of supreme authority. To those high in office
he taught the lessons of prudence, forbearance,
condescension, and benignity. Among the
multitudes he enforced harmony, order, contentment
subjection to and reverence for the law.
His estimate of the various social relations is
equally wise and benignant. Hence, to parents,
affection; for children, love; among brethren,
universal courtesy and urbanity; these are the
commandments he habitually circulated. He teaches
the unsoiled purity of the infant at its birth,
and that any after stains from ignorance, folly,
or crime, are attributable to neglected education,
wicked example, bad legislation, and other
removable or controllable mischiefs. To eradicate