which, so far as scholarship went, exposed him to a fate almost as sad as that of Icarus.

There is an element in language which is acquired with difficulty, or more commonly never acquired. A language can seldom be to a foreigner what it is to one who inherits it, and lisps it in the nursery. There is a spirit in the words which belongs to the nation and can rarely be transferred. A man must share the nature and temper and character which have expression in the words, or he cannot know their full meaning. Who but a Frenchman can sing the Marseillaise? Who but one to our manner born could pour out his patriotic soul in the Star Spangled Banner? This is as it should be, for a man has a claim on the songs of his own country which may not be contested. They are his own, and should be acknowledged. ashamed of his Galilean speech, for he was a Galilean born. It betrayed him, but he should have consented to such betrayal. Something is far wrong when a man is willing to disown his country or his town. If one changes his citizenship he should accept, as well as he can, the songs of his adopted land. It is given as a part of the description of those who find beyond the stars the country which is their own, that they sing, as it were, a new song, the song of the new country. So closely allied are the song and the

man.

Peter need not be

In another paper the matter of Words is more fully treated, but in this connection these suggestions are appropriate.

It is needful that we attach more importance not only to our words, but to the method of using them. They should express the man. They should be used accurately, as has been already said. They should also be spoken and written distinctly and boldly. They should be truthful, without evasion or compromise. We should not try by indistinctness to leave it uncertain on which side of the river we belong. Plain words, clearly used, and held to the truth, mark strength of character. These qualities in a man's use of words foster his self-respect, enlarge his force, and reward his honesty. A strong heart makes strong speaking; for out of the abundance, or poverty, of the heart come the words. On the other hand, plain, strong speaking promotes clear thinking, and increases the character behind it. Clear, firm utterance seems to summon wandering thoughts, infirm purposes, fragile desires, as the voice of a commander will rally his men for a charge. Commonly a man with vigorous character and robust intention refuses to whisper, and can be heard when he consents to speak. He opens his mouth when he would teach men and move them to his will. A boy is blamed because he misspells or mispronounces a word; but that is nothing in comparison with

the fault of a man who misuses his words, or lisps the sentiments he has not pluck enough to utter. No grammar or dictionary can make a man speak correctly unless he thinks correctly. If he be brave and honest, and have done his best, inelegancies and inaccuracies can be forgiven. "When affection guides the pen, he is a fool who would quarrel with the style or the spelling." For affection we can write sincerity, heartiness, helpfulness. This is no excuse for a man who consents to be inaccurate, and is willingly uncultured.

There is no good speaking which is not honest speaking. When a man is known to be true we give him liberty and indulgence. That is a fine story which is told of Mr. Mill. He had asserted in a public address that the working classes are not to be trusted; that they do not tell the truth. They were angry, and sent a delegation to ask if he had said this. He told them that he did say it, and from that moment they believed in him. They said that a man who would speak so fearlessly and stand to his word was a man to be trusted. If he had deceived or evaded they would have despised him. Cobden was a man of like spirit. He said that Palmerston was the worst minister England had ever had, and he was asked to join the Government. "You know what I have said against you and your measures." "Yes, but A. said the same

things and he has joined me." "Yes, Lord Palmerston, but I meant what I said." This brings to mind a tribute paid to one of our old New England ministers. A parishioner left him because he could not stand the doctrine. "But you have gone to a church which holds the same doctrine." "I know I have, but that man believes it." Probably one man believed it; but the other preached it as if he believed it. It is told of a minister who was known to have changed his belief, that when he was asked how he could continue to read what he did not believe, he replied, "I read it as if I did not believe it." To the praise of Gladstone it was said, that he spoke in italics. Much has been said of late about Oliver Cromwell, who after long waiting has obtained the honours he deserved. On what does his fame rest? On his sturdy character, his incorruptible patriotism, his unconquerable determination, his passion for freedom; but in addition, something is due to his articulation. He made men hear him and understand him. When he broke in upon the session of the Long Parliament and dissolved it, everybody understood him. These are given as his words. “I have come with a purpose of doing what grieves me to the very soul, and what I have earnestly, with tears, besought the Lord not to impose upon me. I would rather a thousand times be torn in piecemeal than to do it: but there is a

necessity which weighs upon me in order to the glory of God and the good of the nation. Your hour has come: the Lord has done with you: He who has taken me by the hand and who causes me to do what I do." The Speaker was forced from his seat, the hall was cleared, and Cromwell was left alone. He passed out and locked the doors behind him, and the world knows what he meant. When he listened to the pleading of his daughter for the Christians in Piedmont, and sent word that the persecution must stop, men knew that it would be done. So was it when he listened to George Fox, and to the teaching of the inner light, and responded, "It is true, it is true." If he had talked so that men could not make out whether he was saying Shibboleth or Sibboleth, his work would have perished with him, and he would have gained no remembrance from the reluctant centuries. Compare him for a moment with the King against whom he contended, who had a habit of speaking so that no one knew what he meant, and who said nothing upon which the people could depend. Sentences which could not be trusted revealed a character which could not trust itself. Sir Philip Warwick said of the Protector that his voice was "sharp and untunable," but he added that "his eloquence was full of fervour," and that he was "very much hearkened unto." He was heard and those who lis