1. FULL many a light thought man may cherish, Yet not a deed or thought shall perish, 2. When by the wind the tree is shaken,91 By One that sees and governs all. 3. The tree may fall and be forgotten, 4. The world is with creation teeming, 5. And nature still unfolds the tissue Of unseen works by spirit wrought; With blessing or with evil fraught. 6. And thou mayst seem to leave behind thee Yet, O! be sure thy sin shall find thee, 131 THE mere lapse of years is not life. To eat, and drink, and sleep; to be exposed to darkness and the light; to pace around the mill of habit and turn the wheel103 of wealth; to make reason our book-keeper, and turn thought into an implement of trade,' this is not life. In all this, but a poor fraction of the consciousness of humanity is awakened; and the sanctities still slumber which make it most worth while to be. Knowledge, truth, love, beauty, goodness, faith, alone give vitality to the mechanism of existence. The laugh of mirth which vibrates through the heart; the tears which freshen91 the dry wastes within; the music which brings childhood back; the THOUGHTS TO DWELL ON. 85 prayer that calls the future near; the doubt which makes us meditate; the death which startles us with mystery; the hardships that force us to struggle; the anxiety that ends in trust, these are the true nourishments of our natural being. 2.. 91 ENDURING INFLUENCE OF HUMAN ACTIONS. We see not in life the end of human actions. The influence never dies. In ever widening circle it reaches beyond the grave. Death removes us from this to an eternal world; time determines what shall be our condition in that world. Every morning, when we go forth, we lay the moulding hand on our destiny; and every evening, when we have done, we have left a deathless impression upon our character. We touch not a wire but vibrates in eternity- -a voice but reports at the throne of God. Let youth especially think of these things; and let every one remember that in this world character is in its formation state — it is a serious thing to think, to speak, to act. "Now" is the constant syllable ticking from the clock of time. "Now" is the watchword of the wise, "Now" is on the banner of the prudent. Let us keep this little word always in our mind; and, whenever any thing presents itself to us in the shape of work, whether mental or physical, let us do it with all our might, remembering that "Now" is the only time for us. It is indeed a sorry way to get through the world by putting off a duty till to-morrow, saying, "Then I will do it." No! this will never answer. "Now" is ours; "then" may never be. 4. - FIDELITY IN LITTLE THINGS. Great virtues 95 are rare; the occasions for them are very rare; and, when they do occur, we are prepared for them: we are excited by the grandeur of the sacrifice; we are supported either by the splendor of the deed in the eyes of the world, or by the self-complacency that we experience from the performance of an uncommon action. Little things are unforeseen; they return every moment; they come in contact with our pride, our indolence, our haughtiness, our readiness to take offence; they contradict our inclinations perpetually. It is, however, only by fidelity in little things that a true and constant love to God can be distinguished from a passing fervor of spirit. 5. - IMPERCEPTIBLE FORMATION OF HABITS. Like flakes of snow that fall unperceived upon the earth, the seemingly unimportant events of life succeed one another. As the snow gathers together, so are our habits formed: no single flake that is added to the pile produces a sensible change; no single action creates,1 ,121 however it may exhibit, a man's character; but, as the tempest hurls the avalanche E down the mountain, and overwhelms 54 the inhabitant and his habitation, so passion, acting upon the elements of mischief, which pernicious habits have brought together by imperceptible accumulation, may overthrow the edifice of truth and virtue. 6. KINDNESS ITS OWN Reward. Good and friendly conduct may meet with an unworthy, with an ungrateful return, but the absence of gratitude on the part of the receiver cannot destroy the self-approbation which recompenses the giver. And we may scatter the seeds of courtesy and kindness around us at so little expense ! Some of them will inevitably fall on good ground, and grow up into benevolence in the mind of others, and all of them will bear fruit of happiness in the bosom whence they spring. Once blest are all the virtues always; twice blest sometimes. XXII. THE BOASTFUL SCHOLAR. ΕΙ 1. PROFESSOR PORSON, who was a very learn'ed 31 man, of somewhat odd character and appearance, was once travelling in a stage-coach, along with several persons who did not know who he was. A young student, from Oxford, E1 amused the ladies with a variety of talk, and, amongst other things, with a quotation, as he said, from Soph'o-cles." A Greek quotation, and in a coach too, roused the slumbering professor from a kind of dog sleep in a snug corner of the vehicle. ΕΙ 2. Shaking his ears, and rubbing his eyes, "I think, young gentleman," said he, "you favored us just now with a quotation from Sophocles; I do not happen to recollect it there." "O, sir,” replied our tyro,' EI" the quotation is word for word as I have repeated it, and in Sophocles, too; but I suspect, sir, that it is some time since you were at college." 3. The professor, applying his hand to his great-coat, and taking out a small pocket edition of Sophocles, quietly asked him if he would be kind enough to show him the passage in question in that little book. After rummaging the leaves for some time, the youth replied, "Upon second thoughts, I now recollect that the passage is in Eu-rip'í-dēs." "Then, perhaps, sir," said the professor, putting his hand again into his pocket, and handing " EL LEARNING TO WRITE. 87 him a similar edition of Euripides, "you will be so good as to find it for me in that little book." ΕΙ 66 4. The young Oxonian I returned again to his task, but with no better success. The tittering of the ladies informed him that he had got into a dilemma.EI At last, Bless, me, sir," said he, "how dull I am! I recollect now; yes, yes, I perfectly remember that the passage is in Æs'chylus." EI The inexorable professor returned again to his inexhaustible pocket, and was in the act of handing him an Eschylus* when our astonished student vociferated," Stop the coach! - holloa, coachman! let me out, I say, instantly, —let me out! There's a fellow here has got the whole Bodleian library in his pocket." ΕΙ EI ΕΙ 1. THE winter I was nine years old, I made another advance toward the top of the ladder, in the circumstance of learning to write. I desired and pleaded to commence the chirographical I art the summer, and, indeed, the winter before; for others of my own age were at it thus early. But my father said that my fingers were hardly stout enough to manage a quill from his geese; but that, if I would put up with the quill of a hen, I might try. This pithy săt'īre put an end to my teasing. 2. Having previously had the promise of writing this winter, I had made all the necessary preparations days before school was to begin. I had bought me a new 33 birch ruler, and had given a third of wealth my four cents- for it. To this I had appended, by a well-twisted flaxen string, a plummet of my own running, whittling, and scraping. I had hunted up an old pewter inkstand, which had come down from the ancestral eminence of my great-grandfather, for aught I knew; and it bore many marks of a speedier and less honorable descent, to wit, from table or desk to the floor. 3. I had succeeded in becoming the owner of a penknife; not that it was likely to be applied to its appropriate use, that winter, at least; for such beginners generally used the instrument to mar that kind of pens they wrote in, rather than to make or mend those they wrote with. I had selected one of the fairest quills out of an enormous bunch. Half a quire of foolscap had been folded into the shape of a writing book by the maternal hand, and covered with brown paper nearly as thick as a sheepskin. ΕΙ ΕΙ 4. Behold me now, on the first Monday in December, start *Pronounced ĕs'ky-lus. ing for school, with my new and clean writing-book buttoned under my jacket, my inkstand in my pocket, a bundle of necessary books in one hand, and in the other my ruler and swinging plummet, which I flourished in the air and around my head, till the sharpened lead made its first mark on my own face. long, white-feathered goose-quill was twisted into my hat-band, like a plumy badge of the distinction to which I had arrived, and of the important enterprise before me. My 5. On arriving at the school-house I took a seat higher up and more honorable than the one I occupied the winter before. At the proper time, my writing-book, which with my quill I had handed to the master on entering, was returned to me, with a copy set, and paper ruled and pen made. My copy was a single "A straight mark at the first corner of my sheet of paper. straight mark! who could not make so simple a thing as that?" thought I. I waited, however, to see how the boy next to me, a beginner also, should succeed, as he had got ready a moment before me. EI 6. Never shall I forget the first chirographical exploit of this youth. That inky image will never fade from my memory, so long as a single trace of early experience is left on its tablet. The fact is, it was an epoch EI in my life: something great was to be done, and my attention was intensely awake to whatever had a bearing on this new and important trial of my powers. I looked to see a mark as straight as a ruler, having its four corners as distinctly defined as the angles of a parallelogram.EI 7. But, O me! what a spectacle! What a shocking contrast to my anticipation! That mark had as many crooks as a ribbon in the wind, and nearer eight angles than four; and its two sides were nearly as rough and as notched as a fine handsaw; and, indeed, the mark somewhat resembled it in width, for the fellōw had laid in a store of ink sufficient to last the journey of the whole line. “Shame on him!" said I, internally. “I can beat that, I know." EI 8. I began by setting my pen firmly on the paper, and I brought a mark half-way down with rectilinear precision. But by this time my head began to swim, and my hand to tremble. I was, as it were, in vacancy, far below the upper ruling, and as far above the lower. My self-possession failed; my pen diverged to the right, then to the left, crooking all the remainder of its way, with as many zigzags as could well be in so short a distance. Mine was as sad a failure as my neighbor's. I covered it over with my fingers, and did not jog him with a 66 see there," as I had vainly anticipated. 9. So much for pains-taking, now for chance. By good luck - |