How rapid, how splendid, how complete the ascendancy of this man! Three years ago and capricious fortune had no such plaything as Mirabeau. His father and his king did what they could to embitter his life. His country had no dwelling-place for him except in her dungeons, and in foreign lands he was not safe. His great heart had its affections all embittered into sublimated gall. Unwittingly the demon of French tyranny had been educating, by the most fiery discipline, the mightiest as well as the wickedest mind in France, to grapple in a death-struggle with hoary oppression.

France trembles as with the throes of dissolution, and lo! suddenly as a rocket exploding in darkness, Mirabeau blazes out on the vision of mankind. The tenant of dungeons becomes the idol of all oppressed men, and the foot-ball of fortune becomes the evil genius of kings and all oppressors. In a few brief days, not only a king of venerable ancestry trembles before him, but the stormy spirits of blood and disunion, Brissot, Marat, Robespierre, and Danton, fear him as their master. He binds men and things to his will. One shake of his "boar's head"-as he himself called it-cows the Jacobins, and one sharp word subdues the heroes of the Gironde. Scarce two years pass and the end draws on. Those years were crowded with such excesses of personal iniquity as would hardly be credible in the long life of a common man. And yet, iron man as he was, even he could not endure such an enormous draft on the powers of life. "The excesses of our youth are drafts on our old age, payable with interest, about thirty years after date." The corruption of Mirabeau was too enormous to admit of so long an extension of the debt to nature.

On the 27th of March, 1791, Mirabeau went to the Convention for the last time. The powers of nature were almost exhausted. He would strip the leeches from his neck, and then, swathed in bloody towels, be carried to the scenes of his tribunitial triumphs. On this occasion, as usual, he was attended by an immense rabble, who doted on him as their idol and defender. In the midst of his progress he fainted, and as his pale remains were carried to a friend's house, a wild shriek went up "he is dead, he is dead, the friend of the people is no more!"

In a short time he was restored, and undaunted, proceeds to the hall to speak the last time. His appearance in the street was hailed with the delighted acclamations of an immense concourse. A more striking object never took part in the doings of the living. His broad face was haggard, and the marks of the small-pox seemed more hideous than ever. His long hair hung in masses on his shoulders, and its frightfulness was set off by the bloody bandages about his neck. The eye alone proved his spirit unbroken.

The Jacobins clamored, and now perceiving the weakness of the only man they feared, attempted to carry some point peculiarly displeasing to him. The powers in him were stirred, and nerved by mental energy alone, he compelled his jaded body to carry him to the tribune. He had no strength to waste on preliminaries, and hurled a thunderbolt among his enemies, which annihilated their opposition.

They attempted to cry him down, but one shout, "Silence there, ye thirty tyrants !" stilled them. Some inferior men attempted to overcome his feebleness by various noises, but his inflamed eye blazing on them, and his "terrible head" shaken at them, subdued them. In the face of the pres

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ident's decision he spake, and wrung concession even from his enemies.

It was an eventful morning. Five times he spake, or rather thundered, and as often triumphed. Never had he seemed so grand, never had he been so imperious, and never had he proved himself more perfectly to be the greatest mind in France.

But even that scene of triumph was only a part of his dying agonies. To all human endurance there is a limit, and now Mirabeau was carried, fainting and dying, to his own house. The demagogues of the Convention had crouched before the lion for the last time.

Paris had never felt an event like this. "The great Mirabeau is dying!" rang from lip to lip. Business and amusement were suspended. The populace allowed no carriage to rumble over the stone pavements, lest it should disturb him. Those wild men were in tears and spake in whispers.

"Who will defend us now that Mirabeau is dying?" was the agonized question of one.

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Who will give us bread now?" asked another, fully believing this man to be the dispenser of food. Who will cut off the heads of these aristocrats, who are sucking out the blood of France?" asked another, with clenched teeth, as he remembered Mirabeau's apostrophes, which had shaken the privileged classes as an earthquake. It was a wonderful spectacle. The streets were crowded with anxious multitudes, silently and tearfully awaiting the issuing of the bulletins announcing the progress of the death-struggle.

But look. Yonder is a strange sight. The King of France has sent a special messenger, of noble birth, to inquire after the health of Mirabeau. The crowd gave way, and for once felt grateful to Louis for feeling so much for their favorite. The messengers of the Convention stood, with one from the king, at that door of death. Prostitutes, and the lowest of the Parisian mob, mingled with the high-born and the great before the house in which Mirabeau was dying. Scarcely could a greater tribute have been levied on the affections of that populous city.

"The over-wearied giant fallen down to die," was as great in death as an Atheist libertine could be. Look at this man, the victim corroded to dissolution by his own execrable vices, and from that scene let these words of his take their emphasis. It was the last time Dumont saw him, and he now flung his arms around the neck of his friend, and exclaimed in an agony of weeping:

"I would pass through a furnace heated seven times, to purify the name of Mirabeau! But for this name, so polluted, all France would be at

my feet!" Ponder that exclamation, ye corrupt libertines in high places; it is an aphorism of wisdom distilled from the experience of the greatest of such as you!

"Is this the end of my glory?" said Mirabeau. "I would restore France, but life is going out; yes, going out forever!"

Talleyrand stood by him. Mirabeau gazed in his face with a proud consciousness of his importance at that crisis, and yet with the mournful conviction that all was over.

"My friend," said he to Talleyrand. “I carry with me the last shreds of monarchy! In my heart I carry the death-dirge of the French monarchy; the dead remains of it will be spoils for the factious."

His feet had lost feeling, and death was creeping slowly up to the seat of life. Suddenly the peal of a distant cannon was heard, and starting up, he exclaimed, magnificently,

What! have we the funeral of Achilles already?" Truly, as Talleyrand said, "Mirabeau's death was a drama, the principal actor in which never failed to act his part in the grandest style."

His companion raised him in bed, and supported his head. His bodily anguish was forgotten a moment, as he said: "Yes, support that head, it is the greatest in France; would I could will it to you!"

He seemed to feel that Europe would exult over his death. "I would have given Pitt some trouble, but now he will do as he lists." There was much truth in his self-complacent words.

A Roman Catholic priest offered his ghostly services to Mirabeau, who declined them with a jest.

"I would gladly accept your offer, but I have been shriven by your ecclesiastical superior, my Lord Bishop of Autun alluding to Talleyrand, who had been with him.

Death was near, and he said to those about him, "Come, friends, sprinkle me with perfumes, and crown me with flowers, that I may thus enter upon eternal sleep!"

His agonies of body were so great as to master even his own resolution, and looking at his physician, he said, passionately, “I wish to sleep, give me opium to make me sleep!" A moment more he was dead. His physician, like a true Atheist, said, as he felt for the pulse, "he will suffer no more!" Was it so?

Paris was wild with grief, and did this man's remains such honors as no emperor ever had. A hundred thousand followed his body to the Pantheon, dedicated by "France to great men."

The gloomiest predictions of Mirabeau were fulfilled, and soon the Reign of Terror began.

I HAVE in my garden a choice rose-bush; I planted it there when a little one, a mere root, with one little shoot just peeping out. I planted it in the fairest and most auspicious spot I could find The soil is rich and mellow. It is sheltered from rough winds. Soft showers and gentle dews visit it. There the sun shines from morning till evening. Daily have I watched its growth. I have carefully plucked out the weeds as soon as they appeared. I have loosened the soil gently about its spreading roots. In a season of drought, I have daily watered it with the purest water. My cares and anxiety have been rewarded. How delighted I was when the first bud appeared! How that delight was increased as the delicate petals opened and disclosed the soft and beautiful hues! Then many buds put forth, and many flowers opened; the air was filled with fragrance, and this thing of life and beauty was perfected. Curious were the reflections which now arose in my mind. Nature had done the work, and yet my culture had aided nature. There was in the plant too, a vital force, and its own wonderful law. An action had been going on within its own bosom. The sunshine, the moisture, the genial earth, and the careful culture would all have been in vain, had not the vital force been busy drinking in all, assimilating all-had not the constructive law governed and determined all. The finger of God was there-it was his work-a work which no other than a Divine artist could produce. The rose-bush seemed to breathe of heaven. There was in and about it invisible ministries. It was an impulse of natural piety to kneel down beside it and exclaim, "Thy God is my God-beautiful flowers, ye are emblems of wisdom, love and beauty ineffable!"

I have another garden-a garden of human souls. One plant there appeared and promised fair. It was beginning to put forth its buds, when a night came, and an invisible hand removed it. Then another plant mysteriously appeared in its place, and that yet remains growing up in strength-but what it is to be is hid from me. And then another appeared, just smiling into life-it was like a sunbeam from heaven-a cloud passed over it, and I saw it no more. And then another was given, and it

yet remains a beautiful opening flower-dear to my heart. I have hope, but it is not given to me to prophesy. And then one more appeared, and five summer suns shone upon it, and it was most lovely and gentle-a spirit of heavenly thoughts and promises breathing into my heart: I hoped it was mine to keep and nurture; but a wintry storm passed over it, and it was gone. And yet that wintry storm, as it swept away, went up high into the heavens, where it melted into a soft and rose-like light, and showed an angel's wings and form as it disappeared.

And thus three are transplanted into a heavenly garden, where my care cannot reach them, and where they do not need my care. Is not the soil more genial there-are not the dews and showers more quickening-is not the sunshine brighter-have they not the ministry of angels— is not the smile of God ever upon them? Yes, I am content to have them there, although I have shed many tears over their loss. It is far better for them to grow in the garden of souls in heaven, than to take their lot in my garden of souls upon the earth.

But the two that I have remaining herewhat shall I do for them? O Parents! O Teachers! O Ministers of God! All ye that have gardens of souls on earth, weigh well the charge ye have. The nurture of souls, is not this the loftiest duty of human beings? And this is what we mean by Education. As the rose bush must be nurtured according to what it is-in view of its vital force and its constructive law, that it may have the most perfect growth, and produce the most beautiful flowers; so is it with the soul-it, too, must be nurtured according to what it is-in view of its true spiritual force and constructive law. It is made after the Divine likeness; God is its archetype. Its end, therefore, is reached only as it grows to be perfect as its Father in heaven is perfect. It is not a mere creature of the earth-earthly, to be prepared for mere earthly uses, and to be adorned with mere earthly accomplishments: it is constituted for an immortal growth, and in its growth to develope its divine form and measure. It may be left like a rose in the desert, to grow wildly and by accident, not without beauty and fragrance. Or it

may be distorted, choked with weeds, and trampled down. The great aim of education is to give it the most genial soil, the fairest sunshine and sufficient moisture; to remove hurtful weeds, to prevent inimical visitations, to provide all kindly influences, whereby it may grow into its true form, and by its inner power and law clothe itself with wisdom, beauty, and love. We must treat the soul as a soul; we must enkindle it to feel itself to be a soul, if we would have it to become a true and godlike soul.

Education, therefore, as a discipline, must begin by inspiring souls with a sense of their own worth and dignity; and that, in their education, as a process, intellectual and spiritual, are contained their great personal interest, hope, and well-being. Education is not a mere means to an end it is the end to which all things else should contribute as means. Education as a discipline, next provides means and influences, the best which earth can afford, or which have been gained from heaven, for instituting and conducting education as a process-a process of growth, developing form and properties; and which, while it scatters on every side deeds of usefulness like ever-budding flowers and perpetual fragrance, spreads abroad the fair boughs more and more; and carries them higher into the sunshine, until the time of transplanting come.

In pointing out specifically the true discipline, we must begin by stating specifically what the soul is. It is a creature of Intellect, of fine and beautiful sensibilities, of conscience and active will. Its education, therefore, must comprise a genial and fitting discipline and nurture of all these. Truth and exact methods of reasoning for the Intellect: the beautiful forms of nature and art for the Sensibilities: the religion of Christ for the Conscience: habits of attention, self-government, and energy for the Will:-these comprise all.

As to the order of discipline, we must follow the indications of nature. The faculties are to be cultivated in the order of their development. First, then, is the acquisition of languages orally; the cultivation of the senses by familiarizing them with their proper objects; the acquisition of descriptive knowledge, and an initiation into descriptive art. Next, the discipline of the intellect, gradually introduced, by exact and noble sciences, in connection with the higher forms of art, and the profounder study of language. This to be constantly accompanied with compositions in the vernacular tongue; the study of rhetoric and oratory, or the right use and utterance of language, and select readings in the vernacular literature. Last of all, mental philosophy, for not

until the mind has gone out in search of its proper objects, and thus developed itself to its own consciousness, is it prepared to know itself.

The discipline of the conscience and the will is to permeate the whole. It must begin with the first dawn of thought and feeling. It can never end. All other studies must be turned into discipline and aliment for these. But the religion of Christ, as an angel with outstretched wings, dropping gracious influences into the inner life, must hover over these growing souls all the while.

We often hear of accomplishments in distinction from education proper: but there is no just ground for the distinction. The arts of music and drawing, a knowledge of languages, and graceful manners, are really parts of a proper education; and all proper education consists in accomplishments of the soul. Whatever is foreign to the mind and heart is foreign to the human being. A disastrous use, however, is often made of this distinction, where it is attempted to cultivate certain aesthetical tastes, to acquire certain arts, to become familiar with a foreign language, and to acquire graceful manners, independently of the exact and thorough discipline of the intellectual functions. Education must aim at a well-balanced cultivation of our whole being. It is not for us, by neglect, to commit a suicide upon any faculty of our being. All that goes to make up the soul must grow in

the proper and And what can

harmonious growth of the soul. we hope for in the condition of that soul in which the high attributes of reason and conscience have been neglected--those attributes which govern and guide us, which unfold character, which bear the most resplendent marks of our divine original, which, more than all, make us souls, and reveal the light of truth, and contain the promises of immortality? Indeed here are the ideas which form the starting points of all beautiful arts. Hence this partial education must fail in its own sphere, because separated from those springs whence all grace and beauty flow.

The thoroughly disciplined mind will easily master the minor graces, for it has collected its strength in a higher region. But that mind which attempts nothing more than these, will often find itself inadequate to their mastery, for the very reason that it has not gained the full play of its powers. In conducting the educational process, two main principles are to govern us to grasp, with a clear and full understanding, whatever we undertake; and to allow full time for the growth of our thoughts. Imperfect acquisition begets superficial habits of thought, weakens the power of thinking, leaves no lasting fruits

in the memory, and creates a distaste for knowledge by shutting us out from its interior palaces of light and beauty; making us only dwellers on its cold threshold. But thorough acquisition marches through knowledge like a conqueror, gathering fresh strength; tastes the deep delights of truth, and makes for itself permanent possessions.

The necessity of sufficient time for the growth of thought is laid in the mind itself. I planted my rose-bush where it might receive all the quickening and nourishing influences and supplies of the heavens and the earth, and yet it could not grow faster, nor take to itself any other form, colors and fragrance, than had been provided for and determined by its own organic law. There might be a difference in the ministering influences and supplies, and these would make a difference in the growth and beauty of the flower. But this could be true only within a certain limit. The vital force would demand certain days and nights in which to work, and the organic law, under the most favoring clime, would permit the plant to drink no more moisture, to receive no gayer colors from the sunshine, to assimilate no more aliment than was required for the specific form and properties. So with the soul-childhood, youth, and manhood mark the stages of its growth -those stages which are symbolized by the corporeal structure in which it dwells. You cannot force it beyond the measure and form of its spiritual activity in the successive periods, nor minister more knowledge than the law of its thought will permit it to assimilate and make its own. As we must have the bud and the flower of a fruitbearing plant during their full time, before we have the fruit, and as the fruit must have its time for ripening; so the soul must have its budding, flowering, and fruit-bearing and ripening seasons.

You must feed the soul according to its own law of growth. It is possible, indeed, to make a great parade of educational apparatus; to make a great noise and bustle of carrying young minds through all sciences and accomplishments; you can make them turn over the leaves of many text books, hear many lectures, recite many lessons, and impose upon them and upon an unthinking community, the belief that they are educated. But are they indeed educated? Their minds have been excited, but they have not been at work in the quietness of thought. They have tasted everything at overloaded tables, but instead of digesting they have been sickened. You have been concentrating the sunshine upon your plants through burning-glasses; you have smothered them with your composts; you have deluged them with your watering, pots; you have violated, and

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not aided nature. There is time enough for the growth of the soul, if you will always let it be growing, and if you will minister to it aright. The great error is to hurry the soul on, by certain empirical and deceptive methods, to an imaginary point of development which is called a finished education, and there to leave it to grow no more. The task is accomplished-a disagreeable and toilsome task, because engaging an excited and hurried action about knowledge and accomplishments, without affording any opportunity for seeing into the heart of things, like a frightened humming-bird chased from flower to flower without dipping its bill into the honied cups: the task is accomplished; and now business and pleasure becomes the life, where the remembrance of the finished education only reacts in the direction of worldliness and folly. The soul has been teased, not disciplined. Had it ever known the delights of thought, it could never leave off thinking. But these wearisome pretenses it easily lays aside for engagements and enjoyments well suited to a garnished but uneducated being. Be not one of these. Make education the great business of life-as indeed, by the good man, it is contemplated as running through immortality itself. Let it be your highest personal interest; make it the noblest form of your benevolence to others; pursue it steadily in noble studies and holy duties. Be in no hurry, but be always doing with manful strength; seek not for easy methods, but for thorough methods; and believe that those tasks which seem the hardest at first, will yield most delight in the end, for the soul grows just as it puts forth its strength and wrestles for truth. Gain all the knowledge that you can gain well; but be more concerned for a harmonious development of your powers than for knowing many languages and sciences. We have an unending time in which to gain knowledge; but it is of infinite moment that we begin our immortal growth in a pure, rich soil, and under such influences as shall make us grow after our Divine archetype. And as the growth of the soul after its archetype comprises its highest hope and well being; and as it is acting most worthily for itself, when steadily, patiently, and with great energy acting for this end, a self-conscious spiritual plant exerting vital force, obeying its inner law, and revealing its beauty more and more; so there is nothing so noble and praiseworthy, and of such vast account, that a man can do for his day and generation, as to promote the growth of souls in any way that he best can. In taking care of thy own soul, therefore, forget not the souls which are growing around thee. Thou wilt grow most nobly thyself, while thou helpeзt others.