others use to attract applause, for he can afford to be simple. His again is the simplicity of wonder. “_Nil admirari_” is a maxim of none but common minds, who can contrive to wrap themselves up in self-sufficiency of intellect, while they trust in it and laugh at the absurdity and childishness of him who finds any thing at which to wonder. Thus such an one will exultingly go forth in the full pride of scientific attainment, esteeming all things as certain when he has ascribed them to the laws of nature; not thinking of the mysterious agency ever at work to maintain those laws. Such a mind has no wonder, because it has no powers to carry it forward into the mysterious and illimitable in the universe. Another feeling of the great mind in view of great objects, is that of simple ignorance. It has gone forth, and seen its own narrow limits, and then it pauses and is humble, conscious how like a child it is. Such are some of the features which a great mind exhibits, and such the results to which it tends, the expression of which is marked by that simplicity of which we have spoken. G. CONTENTMENT. Give me a heart with all its wants supplied, And those wants few--and I will ask no more; For thus, I’m at so proud an altitude On Fortune’s ladder, that I can look down Upon the proudest monarch of the globe. THE HEART. ADDRESSED TO MISS ----. “A lady asks the Minstrel’s rhyme.” The Minstrel hears--for his the prime When words are sweet as sweet bells’ chime, If Beauty calls; And Love keeps sentry for the time, In Faery halls. And Love peeps o’er the Minstrel’s shoulder-- Love makes the Minstrel’s spirit bolder-- And Love sighs that he is not older-- Else he, apart, Would weave a wreath of flowers, and fold her Into his heart. And Love is in his hey-day dress, And Love has many a soft caress; And laughing cheek, and glossy tress, And dimpled hand, Glance in the Minstrel’s eye, and bless His dreaming land. And softly swells, and sweet accords The melody that earth affords-- Glee, life, the melody of birds, And things that come Into the heart, like childhood’s words, Nestling at home. Then should the Minstrel mark the tone-- The look, the tongue would half disown-- The heart, when its disguise is thrown Freely away-- And chant his sweetest fytte, and own His lady’s sway. Soft was the melody it gave-- Soft, as a wind-dissevered wave-- Soft, as the melody the brave Hear, soothing, deep, When in the patriot’s earth-wept grave, They sink to sleep. Yet softer far than each, and all-- Than note of bird in forest hall-- Than angel hymns when patriots fall, Now be the lay; For Love _must_ answer Beauty’s call, And we obey.