further legislation on the subject of temperance, and he dia not handle that question as good old Izaak Walton did the frog he used for a bait, touching it tenderly, as though he would put the hook into its mouth without hurting it. In this way he displeased the publicans and sinners more than he did the friends of the total abstinence cause. He is always right on this question, and deserves great credit for his devotion to the principles of the pledge, and his courageous advocacy of its doctrines. It is difficult for a politician to be a philanthropist, but he is more of the latter than the former. He is not a bogus republican, friendly on election days and forgetful at other times. He is not a hypocrite, who spreads palm leaves in the path of Jesus when he is popular in Jerusalem, and denies him after he is nailed to the cross. He believes men live in the deeds they do, and not in the noise they make; in the thoughts they have, and not in the breaths they draw; in the beatings of a good heart, and not in the throbbings of a gold repeater.

When the Hon. Edward Everett delivered the eulogy on the death of the lamented Adams, every little great man in the city, who had an opportunity to make a display, was bedizened with the tinselry, jewelry, and regalia of office; but the Governor, who is a wise man and a good man, wore a plain citizen's dress, marked with a simple badge of mourning. He knows that birth, genius, talent, learning, wealth, and personal attractions do not alone make one man better than another. A man may carry a silver headed cane and wear a wooden head. He may learn the time he squanders from a

gold watch, while his heart is as corrupt as a nest of unclean birds. He may have a soft hand at one end of his arm and a softer head at the other. A fool with a fortune is pretty sure to clothe his back more than he cultivates his brains.

Governor Briggs was apprenticed to the hatting business at an early period of his life, and although he afterwards became a lawyer, he never treated working men with disrespect. He loves to grasp the hand hardened by toil, and whether a man's face be bronzed at the plough or bleached in the mill, whether he be clad in ruffles or in rags, he is sure to meet with a warm and welcome and unostentatious reception when introduced to George N. Briggs. He is not so eminent a lawyer as he is a Governor, although he is considered an Aristides in his profession. He is an attractive speaker, and is always ready on all suitable occasions to give free utterance to his manly sentiments. He is more fluent than eloquent, more solid than brilliant, more inclined to elaborate arguments and relate facts than to round periods and polish sentences. When his voice is not hoarse, and his mind is roused, he will occasionally thrill the heart like a blast from a trumpet.

During his stay in Congress he organized a Congressional Temperance Society, which did a vast amount of good, but, unfortunately, it died out soon after he returned to Massachusetts. In the Sabbath School this distinguished man is

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at home." Let the nobles of the land copy his example in this respect, and make themselves useful in their day and generation.

Governor Briggs has, among his political opponents, many

personal friends. He doubtless has imperfections, but few public men have less. It is said that he has exercised too much clemency towards convicts whom he has pardoned; if this be a fault, it leans towards the side of virtue. Some think his course respecting the Mexican war reprehensible, but this is not the time nor the place to investigate that matter. Some complain that he has not sufficiently imbibed the spirit of anti-slavery, but as we are not all organized, nor educated, nor situated alike, we must make some allowance for differences of opinion. Whatever may be the opinion of some, he will long be remembered as a consistent Christian, and the model Governor of the Old Bay State.

THEODORE PARKER.

"This, like a public inn, provides a treat,

Where each promiscuous guest sits down to eat;

And such this mental food as we may call

Something to all men, and to some men all."

CRABBE.

LET the reader imagine it is Sunday morning. The bells are tolling, and the good church-going people of Boston are wending their way to the various places of worship which are open for religious services. Suppose we spend an hour this forenoon at the Melodeon, and hear the celebrated philanthropist who usually preaches there.

Mr. Parker is seated in an arm-chair on the platform. A Bible and a bunch of flowers are on the desk in front of him, and it is difficult to say beforehand from which of the two he will select his text. He will doubtless glorify the fragrant and beautiful blossoms, and condemn some parts of the inspired volume, before he concludes his address. See him rise slowly and walk gently toward the desk. He now leans upon it, closes his eyes, clasps his hands, and commences prayer, in an inaudible voice. Now the hoarse whisper becomes a low, murmuring sound. Now you hear words, and a whole sentence occasionally, and wish you had come earlier so as to have obtained a seat nearer the preacher.

Now, by opening your ears and watching his lips attentively, you can hear his prayer; but if God is not present, there is no one there who understands it. It abounds with smart maxims, deep philosophical reflections, pious acknowledgments, earnest invocations, and reverential promises.

He has taken his text and commenced reading his manuscript. His voice is rather husky, and his thick lips seem unwilling to part. He now speaks louder and more distinctly; his lead-like eyes begin to glow with genius, and his bald head seems to shine transparently with thought, while he utters, in choice and classical English, sentiments so new, so strange, so mighty, and so mad with radicalism, incorrigi ble conservatives are offended. He is a moral Columbus, who discovers whole continents of thought, and is sure to cause mutiny in the ship he sails in, because he ventures so far from the dry land on which most men build their hopes. Indeed, he is regarded as a theological corsair, and most of our great guns have been levelled at him, but he sails on uninjured, amid the roar of their opposition, although he frequently endangers his own immortal life by mistaking a whale's back for a green island. His philosophy and his divinity do not agree, for his philosophy is more divine than his divinity. He has but little faith in any part of Scripture that is not apparently susceptible of interpretations favorable to his peculiar views of religious duty, and does not hesitate to ridicule those passages which come in collision with his "utopian" doctrines. In this way he unintentionally destroys, in the minds of many, all reverence for