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    book-shelf . We think , by keeping history constantly before the mind , it might gradually and insensibly become interwoven with the common interests and vague , unmeaning occupations of every-day existence , and grow into a mental habit nearly as powerful and efficacious in its influence on the character as that of religion itself . It is , in fact , the religion of memory . Hope has her world to come ; and Memory has her ' s that is gone—on which even Hope herself is at times glad to repose her wearied pinions , and from whence she arises with freshened impulse and a reanimated spirit : and it is only in the power of religion to do so much , in urging and encouraging the mind onward in its course , or to promise more as to its recompense .

    It is beautifully told of Galileo , that , after his long incarceration , on being taken from his dungeon into noon-daylight , he fixed his eyes on the heaveas , simply uttering , " Yet it moves ! " Thus , in those seasons ( and such there have been to the most sanguine spirit ) when , from some party failure , or public disappointment , or national calamity , the mind becomes immured in the thick darkness of disappointed expectation , we turn from the present gloom , and fixing our eyes on a page bright as the heavens , and as clearly evincing that there has been no pause nor cessation in the advance of the world in the light of truth and happiness , exclaim with the philosopher of old , " Yet it moves !"

    Mr . Johns must forgive us this digression , while we congratulate him on what he has already done after our own hearts , if not his own , and done very well too . We think , indeed , that the ruling passion , taste rather , of his muse is historical ; and he cannot for his own sake , as well as that of others , do better than encourage it . As an appropriate hymn after our long homily , we will quote the concluding lines to some animated and well-sustained stanzas on the Eve of Salamis :

    " The men of Marathon are gone ; but vet Their trophies light the unforgotten plain : The sun that look'd on Salamis is set ; But who dare say its warriors lived in vain ? Greece , when she casts off her ignoble chain , Will call their spirits from the sacred wave , And turn to conquer on the same bright main . Hail aud farewell ! ye everlasting brave , Who there to servile life preferred a splendid grave I " Bend from your clouds , shades of the mighty dead ! Hear from your waves the music of your fame ! Soon o ' er the fields and seas , where orice ye bled , May loftier lyres than mine your praise proclaim . "

    As we are satisfied with what " the lyre" of Mr . Johns has done in this res pect , we will omit the remainder , more especially as we have already transgressed our limits ; yet we cannot forbear transcribing some really fine stanzas , in harmonious contrast , of the meditative class , with which we will bid him farewell .

    " STARLIGHT . " There come no seasons there : our earthly year Varies from prime to fall , from flowers to snow , And each new month fresh trophies still dotoh rear To Change , the victor of all fields below;—

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    Dews of Cast a lie . 181

• Citation
  • Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), March 2, 1829, page 181, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse-os.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2570/page/29/