2. Great nations resemble great men in this particular, that their greatness is seldom known until they get in trouble. 3. The gayeties of society can not medicine, for any length of time, a mind diseased. 4. To one unaccustomed to it, there is something inexpressibly lonely in the solitude of a prairie. 5. Where eminent talent is united to spotless virtue, we are awed and dazzled into admiration, but our admiration is apt to be cold and reverential; while there is something in the harmless infirmities of a good and great, but erring individual, that pleads touchingly to our nature; and we turn more kindly towards the object of our idolatry, when we find that, like ourselves, he is mortal and is frail. SENTENCES FROM HAMILTON. 1. A man of real merit is never seen in so favorable a light as through the medium of adversity. The clouds that surround him are shades that set off his good qualities. Misfortune cuts down the little vanities that in prosperous times serve as so many spots in his virtues, and gives a tone of humility that makes his worth more amiable. His spectators, who enjoy a happier lot, are less prone to detract from it through envy; and are more disposed by compassion to give him the credit he deserves, and perhaps even to magnify it. 2. The native brilliancy of the diamond needs not the polish of art; the conspicuous features of pre-eminent merit, need not the coloring pencil of imagination, nor the florid decorations of rhetoric. 3. It is an observation as just as it is common, that in those great revolutions which occasionally convulse society, human nature never fails to be brought forward in its brightest as well as in its blackest colors: and it has very properly been ranked not among the least of the ad vantages which compensate for the evils they produce, that they serve to bring to light talents and virtues which might otherwise have languished in obscurity, or only shot forth a few scattered and wandering rays. 4. To commemorate the talents, virtues, and exploits, of great and good men, is at all times a pleasing task to those who know how to esteem them. But when such men, to the title of superior merit, join that of having been the defenders and guardians of our country; when they have been connected with us as companions in the same dangers, sufferings, misfortunes, and triumphs; when they have been allied to us in the still more endearing character of friends; we recall the ideas of their worth with sensations that affect us yet more nearly, and feel an involuntary propensity to consider their fame as our own. We seem to appropriate to ourselves the good they have done; and to take a personal interest in the glory they have acquired; and to share in the very praise we bestow. THE SABBATH.-[WILLIS.] It was a pleasant morning, in the time When the leaves fall; and the bright sun shone out So quietly and calmly fell his light Upon a world at rest. There was no leaf By the harsh voice of man; and distant sound, As usual on the ear. One hour stole on, And then broke in the Sabbath chime of bells, And the old man and his descendants went 15 Together to the house of God. I joined The well-apparelled crowd. The holy man Rose solemnly, and breathed the prayer of faith: 1 And the gray saint, just on the wing for heaven; And the fair maid, and the bright-haired young man; 20 And the child of curling locks, just taught to close The lash of its blue eye the while ; 2—all knelt In attitude of prayer,—and then the hymn, To worship God. THE LOST CHILD.-[ABBOTT.] 3 25 1. Some centuries ago, a large, a very large company were travelling northwardly in early summer, through a lovely country whose hills and valleys were clothed with the fig-tree, olive, and the vine. X2. They journeyed slowly and with no anxiety or care, for their route lay through a quiet land, the abode of peace and plenty. Friends and acquaintances were mingled together in groups, as accident or inclination might dictate, until the sun went down, and the approach of evening warned them to make preparations for rest. 3. While the various families were drawing off together for this purpose, the attention and the sympathy of the multitude were excited by the anxious looks and eager inquiries of a female, who was passing from group to group, with sorrow and agitation painted on her countenance. 4. It was a mother, who could not find her son. It was her only son, and one to whom, from particular circumstances, she was very strongly attached. He had never disobeyed her; he had never given her unnecessary trouble, and the uncommon maturity of his mental and moral powers had probably led her to trust him much more to himself than in any other case would be justifiable. 1 Rule XXV., Remark 1. 2 Rule XXV., Rem. 3. 9 Rule XI. 5. He was twelve years1 old, and she supposed that he had been safe in the company, but now night had come, and she could not find him. She went anxiously and sorrowfully from family to family, and from friend to friend, inquiring with deep solicitude, "Have you seen my son ?" 6. He was not to be found. No one had seen him, and the anxious parents left their company, and inquiring carefully by the way, went slowly back to the city whence they had come. 7. With what anxious and fruitless search they spent the evening and the following morning, we do not know. They at last, however, ascended to the temple itself. They passed from court to court, now going up the broad flight of steps which led from one to the other, now walking under a lofty colonnade, and now traversing a paved and ornamented area. 8. At last, in a public part of this edifice, they found a group collected around a boy, and apparently listening to what he was saying: the feeling must have been mingled with interest, curiosity, and surprise. It was their son. His uncommon mental and moral maturity had by some means shown itself to those around him, and they were deeply interested in his questions and replies. THE SOLITARY REAPER.-[WORDSWORTH.] Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! 1 Rule XI. 5 Will no one tell me what she sings?— For old, unhappy, far-off things, 20 And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang Long after it was heard no more. THE WOUNDED HUSSAR.-[CAMPBELL.] 25 30 Alone to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube, "What voice did I hear? 'twas my Henry that sigh'd!" 5 1 Rule I. |