Chapter III

Enters Trinity College — Letter firom Ber. Dr. Borfaidge — ArriTalia Dublin — Remarks on the University — Living for God — Diary — University life — Love of the Bible — Social interoonrse — His labours in the Sondi-ediool — Bemarks on its advantages — Exiration oT first College term — Hononrs in cla8sio» — Jonmal — Lidividnality — Death of his grandmamma-Yonth — Toor on the Continent-Letter to his &ther — Notes of travels — Criticisms on the fine arts — Betnm home.

In October, 1853, Whitmore closed his cnrricnlnm at the Leamington School, and entered his name as an nndergradnate of Trinity College, Dublin. Desirous of availing himself of the lectures, he took rooms in the University, and entered upon his higher studies under the able tutorage of the Rev. Dr. Carson. On relinquishing the school for the University, he bore with him some early, endeared and lasting friendships; and especially, the aflfectionate regards of the Principal, whose interest in his welfare continued to the close of his life, and who addressed to him the following valuable hints on his arrival at Dublin, the insertion of which in this place, may be useful to others who are about to enter upon their University career.

“Leamington College, Nov, 22ndf 1863.

“My Dear Winslow, — I thank you very much for your early announcement of your settlement in Dublin, which I can easily imagine must have been a very novel sensation to you. The first possession of a teapot is an era in life. In general, I am afraid, however, that one soon finds the dignity rather oppressive, — it is very well to pour out for one’s friends, but to pour out for oneself alone is not so agreeable. Your cousin’s society, however, will probably prevent your feeling the loneliness of the commencement of University life.

“I was very glad, of course, to hear that you experienced no difficulty in getting into your new post, but, in fact, I did not anticipate any. I shall be glad, however, to hear what sort of examination you were actually subjected to.

All particulars of your new life will be interesting to me, because I pvi8h to know how far it resembles Oxford and Cambridge. Tell me about the college, your rooms, habits, etc.; any facts, indeed, will be welcome to me. What are the habits of the men? That there is a reading and refined class I do not doubt, and that you will belong to it.

*’ It is a great satisfaction to me, indeed, to believe as entirely as I do that your course will be, in the main at leafit, all that your best friends could wish for you. If I make any qualification of my confidence, it is only such as must be made in the case of any young man of your age and circumstances. I say * circumstances ’ because, in fact, you have lived hitherto constantly under a powerful home influence, which leaves it quite possible that even you yourself don’t yet know fully what your natural character is. A nd, while I am quite persuaded that Christian principle has taken a strong hold of you, it is quite conceivable that new temptations, arising out of a position so different, may make self-regulation a less easy matter than it may have been hitherto.

‘’The cautions I should think most necessary to suggest refer to self-indulgence in the way of society, and of literary trifling. I think you might be led to miss the real discipline which you are sent to get by either of these temptations. Judge, however, for yourself, as you can better than any one else, and do not think that I mean to proscribe either the taking a share of society, or some relaxation in point of general literature; only don’t do too much either way, and especially the latter. To be really eminent in general literature may be a most legitimate object of ambition; but to achieve this nothing is so needful as strict mental discipline; and you especially require this, because you have a greater gift of words than most. And I am not depreciating this, but, on the contrary, I tell you it is a great advantage if you will learn to use it as such, but it will also betray you into the bottomless pit of rhodomontade, if you are not on your guard. Do not be tempted to magazine writing when you should be doing soberer work, although there is no harm in such exercise as play-work, And,^ above all, do not be too much pleased with any success you might get in that way, for, however good your productions may be, you may take my word for it they will look very poor to you ten years later, at least, if you in the interval grow as I hope you wilL

ENTEBS TRmnr COLLEGE. 87

‘’We are going on pretty much as usual here, except that the examination is beginning to loom large on the horizon, and is, I hope, causing a good deal of interest. By a development of the plan we have been following for the last two years, we have got to nine classes. I tell you these things, hoping you do not cease to take an interest in us. I look forward with great pleasure to the increase of the band of old Augustans — departed heroes.

“God bless you, my dear Winslow. Write to me whenever you are disposed; I shall always be glad to hear from you; and believe me, veiy faithfully your friend,

“T. BURBIDGE.”

His arrival in Dublin — where an affectionate and cordial welcome awaited him at the home of a beloved Christian friend — formed a new and strange era in bis history. It was truly by a peculiar and untried way God was now leading him, but not without having furnished him with resources equal to its demand. He had calmly and prayerfully surveyed his future path, and, in faith and hope, had girded himself for its high and solemn duties. The prospect of one day preaching the Saviour whom he loved, and of being instrumental in winning souls to Christ, for which he yearned, formed the pole-star which fixed his eye, guided and animated his course. Many a long and weary stage intervened ere the goal could be reached; but the love of Christ constramed him, and, borne onward by the irresistible force of this divine impnlse, far him to live was GhrisV

It may not be necessary A1II7 to state the reasons which decided in favour of an Irish University, as the scene of Whifcmore’s ftiture studies. Let it suffice to say, however, that the high reputation as a seat of learning of Dublin University, in which, particularly in science and divinity, it is not surpassed, if indeed equalled, by any other, went far to give it the preference. In addition to this, its sound Protestant character was not its least attraction and charm. The name of its learned and venerable head, in alliance with a staff of professors, eminent for their pure Christianity as for their ripe scholarship, forms a sufficient guarantee that neither Romish superstition nor German rationalism can be enthroned in the chair, or find a response in the class-room, of Trinity College, Dublin. The advantage of a thoroughly evangelical and spiritual ministry, combined with the highly intelligent, and cultivated character of Irish Society, completed the attractions of Dublin.

He was now folly lannclied upon his new and responsible career, determined in God’s strength to improve to its utmost this golden opportunity of becoming completely furnished for the sacred profession to which he had consecrated himself. His severe studies — for he united himself with the Honour course immediately on his entrance — often invading, injudiciously we think, the hours of sleep, prevented the daily record of the self-communings which he had been accustomed to observe; so that many months had elapsed ere we find any further jottings in his journal. On the back of one of his Mathematical papers, however, a brief sentence occurs, which sufficiently indicates the spiritual tone of mind with which he embarked in his new course.

“Sunday, January 28t, 1854. Trinity College, Dublin, — What a glorious motto for a man — * I live FOB €rOD!’ It is religion’s truest definition. It is a motto for a life. Can a man suppose that he was made for himself? Miserable thought! Yet the world acts upon this belief. They devise, and scheme, and accomplish apparently for others; but the spring of action and the end of action is — self. While I write; it is under the conviction that this is a course abhorrent to €rod and to myself.”

Reader! are you living for God? No other life is worthy the name — no other life is life He only truly lives who lives to glorify God here, animated with the blessed hope of enjoying God for ever hereafter. Again we ask, Are you living for Gt)d? Are your youth, talents, time, and service unreservedly consecrated and devoted to Him? If a true believer in the Lord Jesus, you will adopt the language of Paul, ‘None of us liveth to himself and no man dieth to himself. For whether we live we live imto the Lord; and whether we die we die unto the Lord; whether we live therefore or die we are the Lord’s.^

After the lapse of several months, we find him

returning to his diary.

“Wednesday, April 26th, 1854. Trinity College, Dublin. — What an inclination one sometimes feels to transcribe the thoughts that pass through the mind, especially when they relate to our spiritual feelings! Who would not preserve a thought that has winged its way from the throne of Grod, fragrant with the love <rf Jesus, and elevating the mind above the trifles below? Oh, to have it stamped upon the soul, shedding its sweetness continually. But alas! this is too much for earth. No sooner do we pause to give it permanence, than, as if shrinking from the contact with matter, it flies away and is gone. We endeavour to recall it, but how vain. Yet the attempt is not worthless. A thought preserved is a vein of gold. How blessed when one is low and downcast in mind and body, to feel a little up-FIVE minutes’ communion WITH GOD. 91

lifting and to trace, yet more blessed, the healing hand of the Great Physician. To see tlic Shcplicrd of the sheep stooping to take and embrace in Hih anns of love the weak and feeble lamb. * When nicn arc cast doion, then Thou shall say, There is lifting up,* Oli, tlic dolightfnl feeling, this ’ lifting up! ‘Who can ex press it but the man who has been down into the lowest doptlis, and then brought up so high that the world appears, as it were, a mere bubble, a toy, an insignificant nothing! The world no longer is visible to him — lost in tlic glorious light shed upon his soul by the sight of Jesus. We sometimes reason ourselves into the belief, that the world, with all its grandeur, beauty, and wonder, must be something worth our attention. But, oh! five minutes* communion with God, in spite of reason and of ourselves, convinces us that nothing but the object upon which our soul rests is truly great. Not true? Yes, it is a glorious truth — our souls attest it now, and heaven will confirm it hereafter.”

NATIONAL HUMILIATION AND PRAYER.

“One cannot help alluding to the peculiar significancy this day may have on after history. It has been set apart as a day of national humiliation and prayer for the blessing of God upon the British arms about to contend with the forces of Russia. The cloud is loweringf the future dark, and to all appearance the world has never witnessed a crisis so portentous. Some think the ’ end’ is drawing nigh — that Christ is at hand. One cannot tell, but it seems a terrible inauguration of the Millenniimi, and does not look much as if nations were about to ’ beat their swords into ploughshares, and to learn war no more.* But it is of little use speculating; we leave it to Him who lives and reigns, and holds all nations in the grasp of His hand. ‘Shall not the Judgt of all the earth do right? ‘”

“May 6th, — What a sublime thing for man to look unconcerned at the storm — dark, lowering, surprising, — and exclaim, ‘I fear it not! ‘But to look at the little petty annoyances of life with the same feeling is quite another matter. But the Christian can be calm. My Bible tells me, ‘Jesus reigns,’ and so I need not fear what man can do unto me. All things are Christ’s, and so all things are mine What! is this my state? Am I so honoured? Yes ’ and my experience confirms its truth. I have found Jesus strength, happiness, all. I may not feel this now; I may be in the depths, laid there by the will of my heavenly Father, as a chastisement for some sin. Nevertheless I will smile at difficulties, and trust and feel that all is for the best, though, oh how hard at times to feel this! We must have trust, perfect trust in God, and the cloud, however dark, will soon break in sunshine upon our heads.

“I doubt whether a man can be a stoic, except on extraordinary occasions; but a Christian can be as a Christian. Some individuals have susceptibility of mind to a greater degree than others. Their minds take in so much, see so much, feel so much. They may not utter a syllable, but their minds may be stretched to the utmost tension of feeling. Nevertheless, the Christian ought to be * careful for nothing (that is, be very anxious about nothing, as it might be rendered), but by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, make known his requests unto God,^ It is a hard matter to learn this, hut God’s Spirit can teach us everything. We are learners, and must expect to be till we reach heaven. Oh that blessed day!”

“June 7th, — It is a grand mistake which is generally made upon first entering the Christian career, that the serenity of mind and the imearthliness of feeling then prevailing, will for ever remain; and that the barrier is effectually raised against all future encroachments on the part of the world or the wicked one. It is, perhaps, a happy mistake, and one which we would not have removed at the time. The first bloom of heavenly youth is too transient to allow us to breathe a single breath that would mar its sweetness; but time and experience are realities which will make themselves felt, and unfold and reveal what, at first sight, would be inexpedient for the young heart to behold. Progression must be gradual, and though, through the variety and difference of its stages, it produces a like variety and difference of feeling in ourselves, it is apt, by its often painful lessons, to make us look back upon the past with a wistful eye. We ought to regard it in the light of an instructor opening up to us the knowledge of ourselves, our duty, and our destiny. Yes, we move along a difficult road; we tread a path of toil and danger; the thorns of which, the flowers of youthful feeling, joy, and hope, had covered and hidden with their beauty.”

University life is not, and, perhaps, ought not to be, prolific of varied and stirring incident. Its legitimate occupation — dry and monotonous

—has necessarily more to do with the inner than the outer world, with a man’s self rather than with his fellows, with the departed rather than with the living. An undergraduate, if he possess an enlightened and solemn conviction of his position, will feel that the great work for which he is now to employ every moment and task every energy is, — self-development That his soul is a rich mine of wealth, whose veins of thought he is deligently and prayerfully to explore; that his mind is crowded with pictures of a Divine Artist, upon which he is to unbar the closed windows and pour in the sunlight of truth and knowledge. Can any spectacle, then, be more lamentable than that of a nniversity man, with a position the finest in the world for study, and, perhaps, with powers capable of the highest culture and fitted for the greatest distinction and usefulness, committing the suicidal act of emasculating his intellectuskl and beclouding his moral facnlties by light and superficial reading; or wasting his golden hours in college convivialities, in social pastime, or in individual habits, the tendency of which must inevitably be to impede and bedwarf his intellectual and moral growth? Let the young men of our universities feel that they belong to their country, and that their country has need of them:

let the pious student feel that he belongs to the Church of Christ, and that the Charch has need of him; let all feel that they belqng to God, and that God holds them accountable — and let them act accordingly.

With close study Whitmore united the most vigilant and prayerful attention to the spiritual state of his own soul. Religion, with him, took the precedence of every other engagement. Ho sought first the Jcingdom of Ood and His righteous’ ness, There are many and peculiar temptations in college life unfavourable to growth in spirituality. The tendency of scholastic pursuits is not to help the soul heavenwards. There was much point and truth in a remark of Legh Richmond to his son at Cambridge: “Christ has often been crucified between the classics and mathematics.”

To maintain the life of God in the soul healthful — to preserve the tone of personal religion unimpaired — to keep the heart right with God in the midst of so much that is alluring — pure, where so much from heathen poets is defiling — to hold fast the simplicity of Gospel truth amidst the mystifying and bewildering mazes of philosophical research and metaphysical speculation, demand a constant and vigilant sentinel over the heart, a devotional, not critical, study of the Bible, and a close walk with God in the closet. Oh, what is the rp worth of all a man’s intellectual and scholasl attainments if upon their altar he sacrifices H life of God in his soul! Who have proved th most eminent and snccessfhl preachers of tht Gospel? not the most erudite and accomplished — not the most classical and intellectual but those the most thoroughly and spiritually instructed in the doctrines of grace, and the most deeply sanctified and filled with the Holy Ghost! Unsanctified learning has proved an untold bane to the Church of God. Let there be learning, let the mind be famished with ancient and modern lore, let the intellectual powers be cultivated to their utmost extent, but let ‘personal pUty be the groundwork, and in the advance of all. Let ardent love to Christ be cherished, let closet communion be maintained, let thirsting for holiness deepen, let sympathy with men and compassion for the lost be cultivated, and let the Christian undergraduate — the candidate for the holy ministry — be more ambitious of leaving the university an eminently spiriiual rather than an eminently learned man. Let him remember that, when in holy orders, and he ascends the pulpit, he is to preach — not philosophy, nor the classics, nor mathematics nor English Puseyism, nor German Bationalism

—but the pure, full Gospel of Jesus Christ, And woe unto him if he preach not the Gospel! And yet is not this well-nigh the very last thing in which many aspirants for the pulpit dream of being primarily and thoroughly instructed — a knowledge, experimental and spiritual, of the glorious Gk)spel of the blessed God?

In the midst of his exhausting studies Whitmore found time and occasion for the communion of saints’, and for plans of Christian usefulness. He was wont of an evening occasionally to steal away from his College rooms to the pleasant home in Upper Bagot-street that’ had first welcomed him to Ireland, and there, in sacred communion with a kindred spirit, unveil his hidden stores of thought and feeling, always closing the soul-refreshing hour with prayer. Up to the time of his departure for Dublin he had attached himself to the Sunday-school connected with my own congregation, and soon after his arrival in that city he took a class in a most destitute and desolate part of the town, with which he laboured for some time; he then transferred his labours to the Rev. 0. Wolseley’s Sunday-school; subsequently, and until he died, he taught a class at “Bethesda,” the Rev. John Alcock’s. There are few spheres of Christian labour from which a young man preparing for the F

98 lOKORIALS OF J. W. WINSLOW.

Gospel ministry will derive more practical advantage than the Sunday-scliool. In addition to the interest in young cHldren which the work inspires, and which is so essential an element in ministerial trainingy is the self-discipline which it promotes, the after results of which must be invaluable. A well-cultivated mind that can so simplify truth as to bring it within the range of a dhtld’s capacity, is fitted to mould the tiboughts and control the opinions of any order of intellect with which it may be brought into contact. But. even beyond these adjutages, its tendency to ‘. keep religion from becoming stagnant in the soil may be regarded as of the greatest moment to the pious student. Every means to the promotion of heart-piety should be sought and cultivated by him, whose future and solenm work it will be, by sound doctrine to save ottin, and by personal sanctity to afcve himself.

At the expiration of his first term at Dublin, Whitmore returned home to spend his vacation in the bosom of his family. God had crowned his studies thus far with success. Unknown to us he had been reading for honours, and with characteristic modesty he bore back the college certificate, which a^arded to him the second honour in classics.” Calculated as this distinction was to impart self-complacency and exuberance of spirits, we, however, observed a yet more marked development of bis quiet, reflective, lowly naiare. He bad become more than ever enclosed within the calm stillness of bis own soul, and, like the yonn patriarch, loved to retreat to the fields at eventide to meditate, always accompanied by some favourite author. But his journal, which on his return home he again resumed, unveils some of those hidden thougfais and feelings, which in lonely psasiveness now occupied Jiis mind: —

‘Leamington, Friday, July 4ih, 1854. — question the happiness of those who have minds of such exquisite sensibility that they retire, disgusted with mankind for leasonB which, to minds more stolid, would Msarcely attract observation, much less attract feeUng. But so’ it is, and the longer I live, the more I feel my lot to be inevitably cast witk’iiMBe sensitive beings; and although enjoying at tti i w an intensity and a refinement of pleasure in an atmosphere all my own, I yet know with them the acutcness of mental sufiering that appears to counterbalance this, giving a sadness to the spirit which others cannot comprehend, and leaving me ‘alone amongst the crowd.” This is but the result of a keen mental vision which sees too ‘deeply into men and things to allow of present gratification, which perceives the meaning of the slightest gesture, and fathoms motives and intentions which a surface view €tN|ld never reveal, and of course, in so doing, finds depi&^ ^w<«ft

others suspect it not, and when it is in some measure observed, magnifies it a hundred fold. How much this is the case with the generality of men I cannot confidently affirm; they may read us as we read them, but judging from outward appearances, the result of their observation lies tut from the truth; they are either satisfied with thdr examinations, or if unsatisfactory, determined to act as if ignorant of it. But, however this may be, it is certain that the minds of most men are not of that delicate texture which characterises the select few. They may have an equality of observation and knowledge, Imt they certainly have not an equality of feeling, and so we have no sympathy with them, or rather, they have none with us; and I can easily understand how impossible it is for those who do not feel with us to have any sympathy with us. Hence arises «a dislike of association with those unkindred minds; and shice those of our own stamp seldom cross our path, a love of solitude. Others cannot but observe this, and think us strange; wonder what enjoyment we can find in wanderinig alone to some ruial retreat, sitting down iA some ’ stupid book,’ and speaking to nobody except when occasion requires. They cannot imderstand us, and well, for their world is not ours. They are occupied with external objects, busy with the things that perish, their whole thoughts centred upon the present, while we love to commime with the soul, to search into the mysteries of Grod and of nature, and to have our eyes open to the future, not of this world, but of the next. We see so much to harass and distress us in things corporeal that we love to hold converse with things splrituaL

We revel in a world of thought; we escape £itpm the society of man to that of nature, and then expatiate amidst her loyeliness and purity, hold secret communion with her and with her Maker, and shut out external objects in a reverie of spiritual feeling. How natural that a mind so constituted should be disgusted with the fraud and folly, the selfishness and villany of the world, and even where these are not immediately presented, but where outwardly all is refinement and rectitude, sometimes even to puritanical strictness, how discouraging to find it is not a reality! To find the secret of the soul — those fedtogs that we naturally fegard as sacred, and which we scarcely dare speak about, except to the ears of Grod, rudely discoursed upon by the tongue — it shocks the feelings of a sensitive and religious mind; it gives an unhallowed character to religion; for I cannot but believe that what the heart deeply feels, the tongiM^ will be careful to conceal, for those thoughts and feel-^ j ings, especially in religion, which the heart feels to be its peculiar possessioil, and so sacred, it will anxiously avoid communicating. Hence the natuially sensitive mind has great reason to dislike society, and to create a world of its own, where it may enjoy that aliment which its spiritual nature can alone imbibe.

“Reflection, however, and an insight into the constitution of things, leads one to see that it is not exactly right to shut oneself up from the rest of the world; that though we are individuals we are but parts of a great whole. Much more does religion teach us that we are not only part of a great society, but that we are to live in a great measure to promote its weKare

102 ME&IOBIAJ^ OF J. W. WNSSfiiW’

that it is in lofi and mined conditlM^ andtnat all our e£forte, as soldieiif*bf a great Captain, should be bront forward to aid in its recovery. What, then, is one to do who is not so fitted for this fighting work as otheis are, whose mental constitution is of such a refined nature that it Hhrinks from mere contact with these opposing elements? This is my question, and it must be answered ere long, or my chance of ever doing anythiog will be lost for ever. I feel that now is the time that habits are formed; and unless I can overcome my natural reserve, and rush boldly into the battle, the day will be over, and I shall be foimd a ooward, or more than a coward, a deserter. O God, strengthen me! Thou hast been the guide of my youth; oh, be the general of my manhood! Under Thy banner may I boldly engage the enemy, and look forward to the crown — the crown of victory and glory.”

How few panse seriously to reflect upon their mdividualiiy! The great multitude of human beings, including a large proportion of religious professors, live as a society, and not as individuals. Thus it is that personal obligation, duty, and influence become transferred to associate and irresponsible bodies, and so are lost to the cburcb and the world, as streams in the ocean. Wbitmore was, through divine grace, a striking exception to this class. He resolved to live for Ood, and to act upon man — as on indmduaL Tbus he writes: —

«

A”, .^ flTDIVIDUALItjr. 103

JWy 1(M4. — ^I have been unable ^-flia&e off of late an almofll jpoinfol feeling of my responsibility as on individual. That we are, and that we shall be, seems a verity that gives litUe concern to men and yet it is a fact calcolated to excite the deepest interest in every human breast. Deathless existence! But a still more soul-Btirring truth is it in the relation it bears to other facts. Our souls, though unity and individuality itself, are yet most solemnly intertwined with the universe of being around us. We must act upon others. It is impossible to separate the fact that ve exist from the consequences of that existence. As sure as a certain and potent cause brings its effect, and that in due proportion, so our lives, being actual active verities, must influence other lives: and that influence will in time Teact upon ourselves with its appropriate good or eviL When the solemnity of this fact strikes the reflectiTO mind, the question immediately suggests itself — ‘What am I doing? Am I scattering around me the elements of good or of evil? Am I properly aware of the responsibility resting upon me for the influence I exert? ‘Oh, how conscience strikes a tremor through the inmost soul at the very thought, not only that this is true, but that its very truth necessitates a terrible amount of deficiency in our daily conduct. Oh, how we sinfully desire to throw off our individual responsibility! But it is impossible — it is the return required for the gift of life, d must be met by each individual Alas! how few will be able to meet it when they appear before the bar of God. But finding that we must influence others, and that we do not in the main influence them for gpod what are we to do? Are we required to perform that which we feel ourselves too weak to perform? It cannot be otherwise, for the conviction of our souls — than which nothing can be more trusted — is, that we are to influence for good, and therefore the thing must be possible. The fact of our weakness does not belie its possibility, but only urges us all the more to seek aid from God Himself. It shows us that we are dependent creatures, and that God’s law is that we shall not act independently of Him. Hence the necessity of a prayerful waiting upon Him for strength, that we may be able to live aright, and so exert a right influence. God, my Saviour, help me to do this! For while I am prone to be influenced by all evil, and so shall influence others, I need Thy influence most potently to bear upon my heart, that I may so influence others for good.”

The deep and tender interest in his spiritual advancement cherished by his grandmother — so characteristic of that eminent and venerable saint of Q-od — has been alluded to. To her instructions and prayers in early life Whitmore owed much. It was her wont to cluster around her in her room the younger branches of the family, and instil into their minds the essential and precious truths of the Gospel, explaining to them the plan of salvation by a child-like faith in the Lord Jesus, illustrating, in a way that deeply interested and engaged their young minds, hj scripture narrative, and occasionallj from striking incidents in her own eventfal life, the sacred lessons she taught. She has been known in this way to rivet and sustain their attention for hours. Prayer often closed these little domestic services. It was a touching and impressive spectacle, which has often met the eye of the writer, to witness this aged saint and the youthful subject of this memorial, sitting by her side with profound interest and respect, drinking in the sacred words that flowed from her lips. How soon were they to meet together before the throne of God and of the Lamb! It was her grandson’s privilege to be at home during the early part of her last illness, and to witness the sustaining power of her simple, firm faith in Jesus, as life drew near its close. He thus refers in his journal to this circumstance: —

“Sunday evening, July 22nd, 1854. — My dear grandmamma is not so well this evening; but oh, so bright, so palpably near heaven! I think I never saw it so sweet and true as when I had a short glance at her face just now, its expression speaking so gloriously of the beauties of holiness, and the reality of God’s redeeming love, though she herself uttered not a word. As I entered, she was remarking upon her astonishment that others did not see heaven so near and enjoy it as she did; that they did not join with her in constant bursts of rapturous anticipation; and then, as if reflecting upon the difference of situation, she remarked that, perhaps, she wearied us with her continued dwelling upon one subject, and so would be silent But certainly the glance I had of her aged, heaven-lit countenance spoke more eloquently to my heart than any words could do; which drew forth, as I left the room, an involuntary tear. Oh, what true sublimity does a long life of close walk with God confer and stamp upon the soul when just in view of heaven! It gathers not its beauty from language. As we gaze upon the saintly countenance, with its solemn but happy expression, we read thoughts which we feel no words could convey.”

The phases which Christian experience assumes are varied. Not the least remarkable is that sacred silence of the mind which the believer finds often the most appropriate exponent of his hidden feelings — when, indeed, his thoughts are too profound, his joy too sacred, his sorrow too deep, his soul-exercises too peculiar for utterance. This reserve may, also, in part arise from the want of a sympathetic mind, a kindred spirit, — one whose heart chords, like the Eolian answering to the gentlest breath of evening, can respond to the soul’s tender, trembling emotions; such a friend as the poet thus describes: — “His flne-toned Ytenri, like the harp of the winds. Answers in sweetness each breeze that sings; And the storm of grief; and the breath of J07, Draw nothing bat mnsio from its strings.”

Or, as another poet beaudfuUy expresses the
same sentiment: —

“And throbbing pulses silently
Moved heart to heart by sympathy.”

Sad, however, that the mind should thus feed upon itself! Bat what a gracious provision has the Gospel made for this state! If, amidst its silent musing, its lonely sorrow, the pensive heart ttmis to Jesus ‘it finds in an instant all for which its pantings craved. Here is a Friend of changeless love, of boundless sympathy; here is a Brother whom *adversUy* claimed as its own, and with whom

“Sorrow is a taered thing.”

To Him in the fullest confidence the believer can unveil His most sacred emotions, and tell his deepest thoughts. Oh, admit the Saviour to the full confidence of your heart, throw open the innermost shrine of your soul to His love, then shall your * peace flow like a river and your righteousness as the toa/oes of the seal This was happily Whitmore’s early experience. There is tme and toncliiiig eloquence in the following description of his feelings: —

“Monday f August Zrdf 1854. — Oh, how impossible to express the pungent feelings of the soul when under some powerful influence! Thoughts may btim and blaze within, and no conductor be found to convey their intensity. The soul assails itself. The heart leaps quick and high, but finds the casket that contains its treasures an imperious restraint upon its keen powers, and human language but an imperfect outlet for their expression and expansion. Alas! no soul meets mine, or exchanges the electric flow of thought and sympathy. I am alone. The sighs and breathings of my spirit meet no echo in the yielding air, but rise and evaporate, unseen, unfelt, perchance to return in cold dew upon my brow. O Melancholy! on some gentle spirits thou dost shed thine influence so strong, that even their joys are sad and pensive; the whole tenor of their life, a story of sorrow; their abiding motto — ‘All is vanity.’ Yes; but I am not quite alone. One heart beats in imison with mine — the heart of Jesus flows out in all its tenderness, and melts away the icy chill that gathers aroimd my spirit; and though in all things else I find an aching void, here is fulness, richness, love.”

There is much sage counsel and sound philosophy in the next remarks. Let the young reader of these pages ponder them. The ardour of youth is often such as to brook with impatience the long and tedious preparation and delay wliioh necessarily intervenes between the hopes and aspirations of the mind, and their actual realization. It is too much forgotten, that habits of thought must be formed, knowledge gained, character moulded, the reflective powers developed, the reasoning faculties disciplined, and the moml feelings trained and chastened before the battle of life begins. All this may demand years of laborious study, of patient, dogged application. Nevertheless, not a well-spent moment or a well-directed effort, in this severe process, is really lost, but, rather, will prove in the end so much actual gain. The substratum is now being formed, the foundation is now being laid for the fature fabric. Yoith is the germinating period of life — the bud is bursting — the blossom is blowing — the fruit is setting — the harvest, golden and rich, will be sickled by-and-by. Nothing, then, is a waste that is now employed. Q-od has given you powers, and it is your duty to train them to the highest pitch of culture, calmly, and in faith, waiting the moment when He will summon them upon the wide theatre of action. Once embarked on your calling in life, and you have no more time to v7ork at the base. All your energies are then devoted to rear the fabric of your nsefnlness and fame; and that fabric, in massiveness, loftiness, and beauty, will be in proportion to the breadtb and strength of the foundation which you laid in jonr College studies. Listen to the testimony of one who, forming in earliest youth a just and solemn estimate of life, was never known to waste in fiivolous engagements a moment; or to lose in trifling amusements an opportunity of informing his judgment, of enriching his mind, of cultivating those intellectual and moral powers without which, whatever his natural genius, no man can be truly good or eminently great: —

“August Sth, — To everything there is a season, and nature has given to each its right order. To displace it would be the most egregious folly. Who would make the blooming summer, or the rich autumn, precede the youthful spring? The very thought not only jars upon our conmion sense, but crushes at one blow a thousand natural feelings of the heart. Grod has made everything beautiful in its season. Beginning, progression, and then perfection, is the acknowledged law, as seen in all the works of EUs creative power, and that law cannot be transgressed without the most serious results. The young heart often rebels against this slow process, and would create perfection in a moment. Its energy, when only rising into conscious power, reaches forth into imaginary battle-fields, and with one fell stroke lays the world

IMPORTANCE OF YOUTH. Ill

conquered at its feet A splendid battle and a brilliant victory is all its bright eye gazes upon, as the immediate result of its youthful and fancied sortie on the marshalled plain of life. Ah! how many have seen, in the bright mirror of their imagination, this glowing and vigorous picture, but to find it all a dream! — a beautiful but delusive dreanu Those who contemplate the future, as clothed with the chastened colours of the past, — who observe the character and the changeableness of nature’s laws, are content for the present to sheathe the glittering sword and wait; to observe the contest, but refrain to strike until the arm is nerved with greater strength. Friends may chide our want of valour as sinful, and a suffering world may call loudly for our help — ^butour wisdom is to wait. Better a prospective and final victory, than a present and, perhaps, irrecoverable defeat. The time to learn is before the time to JlghV*

In bis deep consciousness of sin and infirmity, Wbitmore sought to regulate his steps according to the holy precepts of the Bible. He knew that all true sanctification was through a knowledge and experience of the truth as it is in Jesus.* His way as a young man was remarkably pure, because he * took heed thereto, according to Gods word,’ The indulgences peculiar to many young men — wine-drinking — revellings — smoking — practical jokes — frivolous conversation — levity of manners — were as foreign to his natural and refined taste, as they were opposed to his holy and beautiful religion. The Bible was the constant man of his counsel, the light that gleamed from its sacred page guided his youthful path. He read it often critically, and with prayer, was a firm believer in its plenary inspiration, and in all matters of religious faith and practice, bowed with the profoundest reverence to its Divine authority, and considered its decisions paramount and ultimate. The pocket Bible presented to him by his mother, on his birth-day, accompanied by the apostolical exhortation traced upon its fly-leaf, * Now therefore my son, he strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus, was his daily companion to the close of life; and its numerous underlinings indicate the care and judgment with which its sacred contents were studied. He thus refers to this subject: —

“Augtist ISth, — What a diflFerence there is in the way we read the Bible — taking it up sometimes as a matter of form and duty, perusing some of its most precious truths, and laying it down again without sensible benefit. There can be no mistake as to where the fault lies; a cold or worldly heart, an eye covered with the film of sensuous objects, are the real causes. At other times we rush to our Bibles as to a loved but neglected friend, yet one from whom we know we can derive pleasure and benefit; we open it with eagerness scarcely to be described, and the first and most simple truth we light upon, fills our delighted soul with inexpressible joy.”

During this his first vacation, he again set out on a short tour upon the Continent, accompanying the Christian fiiend to whom reference has already been made. In the society of one possessing so much congeniality of mind and feeling, and with new scenes and objects of interest unfolding to his eye, this little foreign travel formed one of the sunniest periods of his brief life. Its recollections, supplied by his friend, fully sustain all that might have been expected from his refined taste and Christian principles. Everywhere he was the witness for God, and a * living epistle of Christ,’ never concealing his discipleship, nor shrinking from a fearless yet gentle vindication of the truth. £Us was pre-eminentlj the ’ meekness of wisdom* “There are, to me,” says the companion of his travel, writing from Dublin,” many delightful reminiscences of the time we were together on the Continent. He never was ashamed to own whose he was, and when, too, it seemed to draw down upon hiA the smile of those who cared not for such things. His whole soul seemed

114 HEMOBIALS OF J.W. WINSLOW. moved within him as he tried to be of use to a jonng man with whom he became acquainted at Bieberich. They had been walking together

when Mr. opened his mind to Whitmore.

The last night we were at Bieberich was occupied

by him in writing to Mr., who promised

to correspond with him on his retnm to England. Very dear was Whitmore here. The Sabbath-school mourns for him still. On thinking over what he was, his character appears to me like some lovely model, chiselled in such beantifiil proportions that it is not easy to say what most strikes the eye — all was harmony and symmetry.” The records of Continental travel have become so familiar that we hardly feel justified in expanding these memorials by an extended notice of the present one. One or two letters, and a few jottings from his rapidly sketched jonmal, will serve to give the reader a general idea of his impressions of foreign travel, and sustain the thread of our narrative. It will be seen that his prevailing tone of piety was in the ascendant; that whether he gazed upon art or nature, he contemplated each object and scene with a ChrisUarCa eye — an eye, alas! so soon to close upon all earth’s beauty and to open upon the wonders and glories of heaven.

LfTTTEB TO HIS FATHER. 115 Ostend, Wednesday.” My DEAB Papa, — We amy«i here this morning about seven o’clock, after a rather rough passage; and though it was certainly not over pleasant, we were neither of us very much troubled with our old enemy. It was a splendid moonlight night, and I stayed upon deck a long time, enjoying it, flattering myself that I had for once conquered old Neptune. As soon as we got here, which was much later than we ought to have dcme — for, it being low tide, we had to come on shore in a small boat — we repaired to the Ship Hotel, and refreshed ourselves. I then went to the Custom-house, to see after our luggage, which I got without the least trouble. The man who examined our passport was the first to test my French. He inquired, ‘Est-elle votre me?’ I smiled at his ignorance of what our English word ‘Miss’ implied. I said she was ’ mon amie;’ at which he expressed himself satisfied, though I thought a little suspicious smile lurked on his countenance. Ostend is rather a pretty place, quite in the Flemish style, and resembling Leamington in its cleanly appearance. There is beautiful sea-bathing, and an •levated rampart, where you can walk and enjoy the sea-breezes for a long distance. The ladies, after bathing, stroll up here without their bonnets, their hair flowing loosely behind; but it looks tasteful and pretty. We leave here for Ghent, where we shall stop a few hours, and then go on to Brussels to-night, where I hope to find a letter telling me how grandma is. With

love to all,

Your affectionate Son,

“Whitmore.”

“Brussels, Bue Petit Sahlon, ‘’Deabest Mamma, — I have not had an opportonily of writing before, and did not think it was necessary, as I informed you of our safe passage across the Channel I have since been on a perpetual move, quite adverse for letter writing. I have commenced a journal nevertheless, so that all the interesting minutise of our tonr you shall have on my return home. I am rather proud of having made my way through five foreign cities with the aid of my little French, without the least difficulty, and to have obtained a considerable amount of information, and some new ideas. Our little trip to Paris with papa and aunty was very delightful, but we saw more of ourselves than of the people we went to visit, and did not derive one-half the benefit we might have done. This time, however, having to speak for myself and Miss

C, and to find out everything we wished to know

and see from others, I hope to do better. Even now I am perfectly bewildered with the thousand things we have seen, for we have travelled far too rapidly, though at the end of our first week we are only at Brussels.

If Miss R is at Leamington, tell her that Ghent fully

came up to her enthusiastic description. We visited the cathedral, the nunnery, and the chapel, where the nuns, all in white, were at service. We passed the most splendid structure of the kind I ever saw, viz., the ‘Town Hall,’ as our English ’ commissionaire ’ called it. It combines on one side Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian architecture in three tiers of pillars; but the most splendid part is the Gothic side, complete in itself. The whole structure seemed to look down upon you in conscious magnificence. The cathedral, too, has some splendid sculpture. You would be amused at the effect

it all has upon Miss C. Inwardly I am sure she

enjoys it, as she tells me afterwards; but she glides about timidly approaching this object and that, and cautiously patting her head into the various chapels of the cathedral, as if a priest were going to pounce upon her. And the feeling is natural, for the whole thing is intended to inspire you with awe and reverence; and if it has such an effect on an intelligent and Christian Protectant, it can easily be imagined how these poor ignorant Continentals are beguiled. We do not know what Popery really is in England. We imagine it to be something repulsive, and cannot conceive how people can be deceived by it. But once to witness it as it really is, with its gorgeous paraphernalia, you are admitted to the secret of its power. No system could possibly have been in-Tented more captivating to the senses, or better adapted to the natural heart. It allows its devotee free scope to sin, while covering him with a cloak of religion. Antwerp and Brussels have some splendid churches and exquisite paintings. At the former place I saw the grandest picture in the world: ‘The Descent from the CSross,’ by Rubens. Christ is the subject of most of the paintings and sculptures you see in the various churches and cathedrals, and everything reminds you of the glories of the Bible; yet how strange is the mixture of superstition! I saw a beautiful sculpture of Christ with the crown of thorns. His head bowed with grief, — it affected me to tears. Also a beautiful painting in one of the windows, of David, the sweet

Psalmist of Israel, singing with his whole soul, ‘In Thee, O LfOrd, is my salvation.’

Your affectionate Son,

“Whitmore.”

A few pencillings from his journal will conyey some idea of his impressions as he pnrsned his Continental travel. His observations, however, are chiefly confined to criticisms on the fine arts: —

*’ Monday y Sept, 4th, 1854 — Left Leamington in the morning under a most auspicious sky, having so settled an appearance as to promise the most delightful weather for our little trip on the Continent. Beached Paddington at eleven o’clock. I never yet entered London with exactly pleasurable emotions, but often the contrary. AU is dark, stem, and terrible. It teems with life in its fullest intensity, and your impression is, that crime is its predominant element. Every countenance is viewed with suspicion; the very houses seem from their murky appearance to have been excavations from Tartarus; and it is only a nearer acquaintance that pap •tially removes these unpleasant feelings, and in your intercourse with individuals enables you to see that you are amongst a common brotherhood, and the oppressive atmosphere around you may be the effect of the weight of greatness and sublimity as much as the presence of crime.

“Drove through this huge city at night when brilliantly illuminated; took our seats on the South-Eastern Railway, and proceeded to Dover and Ostend. Ostend is finer than I anticipated. The sea-bathing is good, and the rampart which overhangs the shore is admirably fitted for a promenade, and for enjoying the sea-breeze, it being so much above the level of the sea. On oar way to Ghent, spent a short time at Bmges, which enabled us to take a bird’s-eye view of this city of deserted splendour. In our first feelings of independence we scorned the hungry crowd of ‘commissionaires ’ that offered to conduct us, and forced our way alone to the Cathedral It was closed, so we contented ourselves with gazing upon the outside, which certainly struck us as grand and imposing, perhaps from being the first Flemish church we had yet seen, as one we saw afterwards in the market was certainly better, I think the finest in the city, admirably SLtuated and grand in height and construction. While we were looking at the cathedral, a little chagrined at not being able to see the interior, one of the officious knowledge vendors came up to tell us that was the Cathedral, a gratuitous piece of information, which rather annoyed us than otherwise, though it might have been meant as an introduction to something more interesting in detaiL We then proceeded through some of the best parts of the city, and got an idea of the Flemish style of building, which is certainly very striking. Everything is quaint and cleanly, though the mighty minds and vast wealth which made it all evidently find no resemblance in the present inhabitants. Splendour amidst poverty was the impression it conveyed. The characteristic difference between an

English city or town and a foreign one appeared to me to be this — that in point of greatness the one is actire and developing, the other passive and spent. The one i is bursting from the fetters of superstitious reverence for beautiful but material objects, which has raised these splendid Continental cathedrals, and inspired their painters and sculptors; the other has but little else to show as its criterion of existence or as its claims to the attention and admiration of mankind. England is working in thought and action the ideal and the moral, finding its results in right and truth, peace and happiness, in the minds of sovereign and peasant. Continental Europe is living a life certainly of intensity, but it is full of darkness, error, and misery. In a word, Continental Europe is enslaved and England is free.

“After two hours* visit of the city we left by train for Ghent, and on producing our tickets found our luggage had safely arrived. After dinner, under the escort of a * commissionaire,’ we proceeded to explore the city. Our anticipations were most fully realized. It is utterly impossible to depict upon paper any idea of this interesting place. The pleasant recollections, I fear, are all that will bear a written description. Ghent is a more active and lively city than Bruges. As we drove through it we became more and more excited as each wondrous pile of buildings passed before us. The spirit of the past seemed to pervade every structure; the Moors and the Spaniards, though ceasing to exist, have left these monuments of their skill and their power, still testifying to their name and their long-lost greatness; and as you gaze at the fine old houses, the splendid churches, with their massive but elegant steeples, and the gorgeous glory within faintly attempting to resemble the divine, your soul seems moved with a kindred sympathy, and you find a link connecting your mind with theirs, though yours is but the power to admire what they had the power to create. They evidently felt the superiority of their spiritual nature, and thought they could express it by material beauty; we have the same feeling, but take no pains to transmit it otherwise than by words; and as thought rises and holy emotions warm and well up, we spurn the cold and lifeless stone as too dull for our quickened feelings; and taking mind as our mould, pour into it the fused mass of glowing words and commanding actions, and find the result, not in additional life imparted to cold and inanimate objects, but to that noblest thing in man — the soul.

“We visited the church of St. Bavon, which contains nine splendid sculptures. One represents the first bishop of the place, being by far the finest, as it attempts to express more the man and less the drapery. The figures of the later bishops degenerate, from attempting the very reverse, veiling the man by the massive folds of the robe, to which, and the huge mitre upon their heads, the greatest prominence is given. The first bishop has his head uncovered, his hands well executed, and the veins sculptured with great beauty and accuracy. The pulpit of the church is the finest in Belgium, though it runs a very close race with the one in the cathedral of Brussels. St. Bavon is altogether a magnificent church, though to give the ratio between

G them all in the Tuioiis cities is exceedingly difiieiilt, .as all have something peculiarly their own in detail, though at the fint glance they appear somewhat alike in the general outline. Onr commissioniiiie pointed out an old castle, which had been inhabited by a count of Flanders in 874, but it is now used as a manufactoiy. But I think the most splendid building I ever saw was the Town Hall. The Crothic side of it — for it contains also Corinthian, Ionic, and Doric — is a series of piOars. This part of the building is complete in itself, and exquisitely beautifuL It has the minute and the grand, and certainly affected me more than any exterior of a building ever did. I may have to alter this assertion in the course of our journey, and I only hope it may be so, so far as it does not affect one’s sanity. We also went to the nunnery, which of course belies the private nature of these institutions; and the very first nun I saw, so far from having forgotten the world and the creatures thereof, actually presented me with a smile and a flower, while another advanced to fasten it to my button-hole. We then went to the church of the convent, where service was going on. The appearance was imposing, but the music very indifferent. We then drove through all the principal streets, which were exceedingly striking, and saw all that was essential to be seen; and although it was impossible to study much, yet I think we obtained some idea of the character of the place, and could imagine the splendour which once adorned and animated the whole.

“Started early the next morning for Antwerp, though the balance had been oscillating for some time between that and Brussels. Found the country very flat, as all Belgium appears to be, though it is certainly cultivated. I have discovered one of the reasons why railroad travelling is so much cheaper on the Continent than in England. The Continentals have nothing to do but to lay down the rails and build a few. indifferent stations. No hills to level or to pierce; but few aqueducts to erect, and, above all, no such valuable property to purchase as is necessary to make a railroad in England; and competition, moreover, is impossible, as the government manage the whole affair. A contrast here occurred to me, illustrating the character of the two nations. Our stations, with all their appurtenances, are in a style certainly significant and typical of great national wealth; but here they are very inferior, and are erected in the least expensive manner. Their carriages, however, form an exception. The second-class are superior to ours, and much more comfortable, and the higher grades of the community do not object to travel in them. There is, then, this difference between us — we adore the useful, and they the beautiful; mammon is our idol, pleasure theirs; we love the simple, they the gorgeous.

“Having arrived at Antwerp we crossed the river, and while looking after our luggage were accosted by a man in English, who had recognised our nation, and politely furnished us with information. I suppose we are as unmistakeable on the Continent as a foreigner is in England; and with all our excellent French it is Impossible to pass off for other than we are. I have seen a great many quafii-French, with moustaches and low-crowned hats, but never failed to detect them. The Americans make very good Frenchmen, and I have often mistaken them until they began to speak. On reaching the station for Brussels we found our guide had followed in the same carriage with us, and proving to be a ’ conmiissionaire, engaged him for the day. Depositing our luggage at the station, we took a carriage and started to see the lions of Antwerp. The first object was the church of St. Jacques, which is very fine, and which contained some master-pieces of art, both in painting and sculpture. There was one piece that struck me, representing the Separation of Peter and Paul for their different apostolical missions, bearing this significant motto, * In onmem terram exivitsonus eorum:’ * The sound of them has gone out through all the world.’ It was painted by John Victor. Near this picture a sculptured figure of Christ attracted my attention, and fixed it for some time. It was really beautiful, and affected me much. There was also a representation of the Last Day, by Benar Ven Orlie, executed nearly four hundred years ago: the anatomy good, but the ideas confused, as is to be expected in such a speculative subject; but it was void of any feeling of solemnity. We then went to the church of St. Paul, where is a curious imitation of Calvary, made by the monks in 1500. There is an artificial ascent on the outside of the church, at the top of which is Christ on His Cross, with a red iron bar reaching down from His side to a pitcher in the hand of Mary, to represent His flowing blood. Beneath, in descending grades, are eminent Scripture characters and Popish saints in strange conuningling. St Lazarus is represented not far from the cross, with a bishop’s mitre on his head. On various mounds are Samuel, David, Isaiah, Moses, &c, very well carved, and all done by the monks. There is also the ‘Sepulchre of Christ,’ modelled after the one at Jerusalem, which had been seen by one of the monks who had formed this, and conceived the idea of the whole thing. The most remarkable object, however, is their representation of Purgatory. You descend into a sort of dungeon, and there appear the souls of all grades and professions undergoing torment by fire, and stretching out their hands- to be released by kind friends above. This is the way Popery seeks to palm off fiction for truth, and so impresses the mind and works upon the passions of the people. There is a * Scourging of Christ,’ by Rubens. We then went to the Cathedral, which is very fine, but had been stripped of its wealth and most of its pictures by the French. There was a picture of Christ, with Father Erasmus and others sitting at his feet in the attitude of hearers, pondering the gracious words that fell from His lips — a romantic notion of the painter Frank, but certainly beautifuL He must have thought, ‘From whom could they have obtained those wonderful truths that have created such a reformation amongst mankind but from Christ Himself? ’ and so gave actuality to his idea. The ‘Last Supper,’ by Otto Venius, the master of Bubens, is good. Bubens of course far surpasses him. * The Resurrection of Lazarus,’ also by Otto Venius, four hundred years ago, is striking.

There is the ‘Marriage of the Viigin, a robed priest officiating — sach is the ridiculons way in which they obtmde themselves everywhere. When I put some questions to our guide upon these matters, he seemed to understand the absurdity, and said ‘Oh, it is only the fancy of the painter!’ A portrait of ‘John the Baptist,* I presumed by an early artist, but I was informed that it was done by a more modern Italian painter, Leonardo da Vind. There is also what our guide described as the finest modern picture in Europe — ‘The Disciples at Emmaus,* by Eorecus, a Belgian, and really fine. The table-cloth at the Supper, though an item, is exquisite in proportion and colour. There you see the advantage of a good modern picture over an ancient one, in the freshness, not too glowing or grand, but dear. At the entrance of the church is the cktfdoBuvre in the sculpture department of any I have yet seen, of ‘Christ’s Descent from the Cross,’ a subject which never seems to tire or exhaust the skill of the sculptor or painter. In Antwerp we saw the house of Rubens, who seems the idol of the place; also, the dwelling in which Vandyke was born. I asked the guide how long the Spaniards, in the times of Charles V. &c, held the country? He replied, ‘About two centuries. Ah! we belong to Spaniards, French, Dutch, everybody.” But now you belong to yourselves? ‘I said. ‘Yes, now we have our nationality.’ He spoke of the late queen, and how she was admired and loved by the people, and of her kindness to the poor. ‘She was our idol, Uke yoxu* queen of England. When she died, it was a great grief to the Belgians.’ ‘’He then conducted ns to the Antwerp Museum, meaning a collection of paintings. I made notes of most the best pictures, and the impression each gave me at the time. I am getting quite au fait at discriminating paintings, though I left knowing but little about them, and shall return quite a connoisseur. But the fact is, any one, not a thorough barbarian, can tell a good picture, if he but knows something of the reality and pathos of life; for it is only that which is unnatural that requires learned heads and mystic lore to detect its good qualities. To know a good picture and a good book requires very different capacities. To judge of the latter, you must know a thousand things to which that book constantly refers, besides being acquainted with the intricacies and versatility of language. To discriminate the former, you need only to have experienced pleasure and pain, joy and sorrow, the depth and the beauty of love, and shall I add, its strange contrast, the horrors of hate; to have witnessed the woes and the misfortunes of sin, and the power and grandeur of goodness, and to have studied no language but that of the heart. This is your data for judging a painting, and more than enough to convince you that man’s copy infinitely sinks beneath God’s original Art is first rude, and then, if ever, advances to perfection. Nature begins with perfection, but defies you to follow but her first steps, in her transcending flights beyond. But I must not allow the suggestive to take the place of the narrative.

“The picture of Bubens I just alluded to was the transfer of Christ from the cross to the tomb, and placed in the centre of the second chamber of the Museimu I overlooked its beauty at the first glance, bat, attracted by another picture near it, gave it a second inspection, and was riveted to the spot I had seen so many of that particular subject, that it began to grow monotonous, but upon a closer study of this picture, perceived the truth of the remark I had somewhere met, that that man possesses real genius who can do in a masterly way what the generality do welL What I have seen yet of Rubens* style, it struck me that its beauties can only be detected by close study, and your pleasure heightens the deeper you scrutinise. Some pictures by a sort of glare and boldness attract you immediately, but you soon discern their inferiority. I do not mean to say that some of Rubens* like other masters, do not strike all at once; but I mean that he will bear and require study, and still one may fail to detect by what means the artist gave soul-like reality to his canvas.

‘* Almost satisfied with the beauties of painting, we went back to the Cathedral to see the chefScsuvrt of Rubens, and the finest picture in the world — ‘The Descent from the Gross.’ It passes description, and stands forth in proof to the world of the perfection to which art can arrive. Here it can go, but no further, unless it leaves its proper domain. The enchantment of the artist is that which the spectator experiences — the enchantment of beauty. We gazed upon it with eyes almost weary with the wonders we had seen; but here the flagging fire revived — mind, heart, and soul received fresh impulse. The time selected by the artist was the silent beauty of twilight, rather than the grandeur and terror of night.

The highest idea of the painter seems to have been to converge around the most mysterious event in the history of the world, not sublimity, or divinity, but tenderness and sorrow. He has failed to enshroud that lovely manhood with the glory His Godhead would conspire to give; for this his genius could never read, nor his spirituality grasp. But his mind conceived and his pencil has executed the most exquisite transcript of human prostration, sorrow, and beauty the world can afford. Around one painful centre are grouped, not angels or devils, but a few sad and lonely women: His mother standing in the background, and gazing up in silent sorrow; Martha, near, waiting to render some assistance; and Mary, supporting on her shoulder, most exquisitely formed, the stiff, cold, bleeding foot of her Saviour, not shuddering with fear, but gazing in His face with softened delight at the sad honour of assisting at the burial of her Lord. The cold heartless world, that lately cried for His blood, are all shut out, and the Saviour is left alone with His friends. The men who are lifting Him from the cross seem fearful lest their precious burden should fall. But beyond the most exquisite beauty which the artist has contrived to throw around the scene, he does not go. Rubens forgot he was depicting an event in which all the world was most deeply concerned. The mysteries of redemption could never here be learnt; the victory over death is forgotten in the terrible prostration; and the awful grandeur which the presence of Deity and the conflicts of the elements must have given to the scene, is totally lost sight of, in the evident desire of the artist to portray human sorrow, grievance, and death, though in its most glorious representation. This picture and Milton*8 Paradise Lost both aim at depicting the two most transcending events, and are certainly two of the grandest attempts yet made. I consider Rubens to have come nearer to his subject than Milton, but both of them infinitely short. Milton’s work is too full of heathen mythology, Rubens’ of mere humanity. Others may think differently, and call each divine; but my own impression is, that the events themselves are far beyond our conception, and our conception, than any representation than man has yet made.

“Leaving this interesting city, we started for Brussels, and in two hours were comfortably ensconced in an English boarding-house. It seemed like home, to be again in English company. We remained here four days, seeing as much as possible; the first and foremost, of course, was Waterloo, then the Cathedral and the Museum. The latter is splendid, and too extensive for our thorough inspection. On Saturday morning we started with the Waterloo coach, and had a delightful drive. I sat beside a very agreeable American, but an inveterate smoker. He acknowledged that the habit was pernicious, but pleaded for it on the ground that the excitement of travelling required this agreeable sedative. We passed through the village of Waterloo some time before we reached the field, and saw the town where the Duke’s head-quarters were.”

Thus abruptly, while yet upon the threshold of his tour, we are compelled to close our extracts from his jonmal. He had evidently postponed the task of transcribing from his rough notes mitil he could command more leisure; and as they cannot now be found, we are unable to give his impressions of Switzerland, or to trace his course homeward through Germany and down the Rhine. The only passing allusion to Switzerland we can introduce, is contained in the following familiar letter addressed to his aunt.

“Latisanne Hotel, Gtlldn, September 25th,

My deAb. Auntie, — You would be amused if you saw me at this moment penning you a letter in the private boudoir of a strange lady at our hotel, of whom we know nothing, beyond the name. But such is the perfection to which travelling on the Continent has arrived, that every one is your friend from peasant to prince. From being alone, we have made acquaintances at almost everyplace where we have stopped, and have invariably found them nice people. I met some pleasant young ladies at our hotel, with whom we afterwards travelled in the same Diligence to Benie, and as they had no gentleman protector, I did my best in that way, and they in return were most gracious to us. Suspecting from something dropped that we were rather short of money, though not the slightest hint was given, one of the party came

to Miss C, and offered her funds until we had received

OTir letters at Lausanne. They knew nothing of us beyond our names, and I don’t think even that, so

132 M£MOBIALS OF J. W. WCfSLOW.

we had reason to be proud of sach unnoagfat confidence. We bade them good-bye as thou ire had met far years, and I have strong hopes of seeing them again, if not here, next at Chamonni. At present our traTelling companions consist of a young, and an old gentlemen and lady, in whose boudoir I am writing this. We are at ti pension close to Lausanne, but on e borders of the Lake of Geneva, and as we drove out last evening, beneath a beautiful moon, the whole scene was delitfid. A mist, however, rendered the Alps somewhat indistinct, and there was some difference of opinion between the old gentleman and myself as to which was Mont Blanc. It. was useless, however, to shed tears, as the distance at present is so great that an obscure glimpse is all you can get of the monarch of mountains. We found an order on the bank awaiting us here. We go to-morrow or next day to Chamouni by way of Geneva, steaming down the lake, which will be charming, as the weather is fine, and not so warm as in the middle of summer. I wish some of you wore hero to enjoy the beauties of Switzerland. I do not think Pa saw one-half. By the merest chance we stayed a night at Friberg. We heard such music as you could scarcely conceive of from the grandest organ in the world. We wended our way to the Cathedral at about dusk. A dim light which hung near the altar gave the church the appearance of some mysterious, unearthly place. There were only about twenty of us present, and all English. Amid the silence, which one seemed afraid to break, a soft note was touched, then another, and another, till the deep tones rolled out like thunder, and you were almost overpowered. It ceased,and you heard nothing,but the softest chordso exquisitely fine that every nerve waa stretched to catch the sound. It was one of the old hymns I had often heard bat the question suggested itself, ‘What is it that makes the difference?’ He played ‘God save the Queen, with numberless variations; and, ‘See the Conquering Hero comes, as a compliment to the English. A piece called ‘Thunder, ‘played by a German, was really astounding; it was wonderful how human fingers could produce

it When we returned. Miss C said, * Well, this is

worth coming all the way from England to hear, if we heard or saw nothing else.’ It is a strange and romantic city, and we were sorry to leave it.

“Your affectionate nephew,

“J. Whitmore Winslow.”

Tbrongb the good hand of God upon him he tetnmed to us, charmed and instmcted by all that he had seen and felt — his Christianity and his Protestantism confirmed, rather than shaken, by a closer acquaintance with the infidelity and popery with which he had been so constantly confronted abroad. The portrait which forms the frontispiece of this Yolnme is copied from a photographic sketch taken in the course of this little tour.