"If thou art living a righteous and a useful life, doing thy duty orderly and cheerfully where God has put thee, then thou art making sweeter melody in the ears of the Lord Jesus Christ than if thou hast the throat of the nightingale; for then thou, in thy humble place, art humbly copying the everlasting harmony and melody by which God made the worlds and all that therein is, and, behold, it was very good, in the day when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy over the new-created earth, which God made to be a pattern of his own perfection." The minstrel's heart in sadness Was wrestling with his fate; "Am I the sport of madness," He sighed, "and born too late?" "No gifts are ever given," A friendly voice replied, "On which the smile of Heaven Does not indeed abide. God's harmony is written All through, in shining bars, The soul his love has smitten, As heaven is writ with stars. The major notes and minor Are waiting for their wings; Pray thou the great Diviner To touch the secret springs. He may not give expression In any ocean-tide, But music, like confession, Will waft thee to his side; Where thou, as on a river, The current deep and strong, Shalt sail with him forever Into the land of song." * * * * * XXXII. THOMAS DE QUINCEY. (BORN 1786--DIED 1859.) A LIFE OF WONDER AND WARNING.