to save us from this death to give us the courage and the hope to begin.
The rough sketch shall hereafter become the finished picture: the artist
shall give it the last touch at his easel, the science we had just begun
shall be completed, and the incipient[252] destiny shall be achieved.
Fear not then to begin; thou hast eternity before thee in which to end.
[245] FROLˊ-ICS, wild pranks; scenes of mirth.
[246] DESˊ-O-LATE, lonely; comfortless.
[247] IMˊ-MOR-TAL-I-TY, endless existence hereafter.
[248] EX-CLAIMˊ, cry out.
[249] COM-PLEˊ-TION, fulfillment.
[250] A-CHIEVEDˊ, accomplished.
[251] COMˊ-PLE-MENT, that which completes.
[252] IN-CIPˊ-I-ENT, commencing; beginning.
XXX.—GOOD COUNSEL.
1. Never speak anything for a truth, which you know or believe to be
false. Lying is a great sin against God, who gave us a tongue to speak
the truth, and not falsehood. It is a great offense against humanity[253]
itself; for, where there is no regard to truth, there can be no safe
society between man and man.
2. And it is an injury to the speaker; for, beside the disgrace which
it brings upon him, it occasions so much baseness of mind, that he can
scarcely tell the truth, or avoid lying, even when he has no color of
necessity for it; and, in time, he comes to such a pass, that as other
people can not believe he speaks the truth, so he himself scarcely knows
when he tells a falsehood.
3. You must not equivocate[254] nor speak anything positively for which
you have no authority, but report, or conjecture, or opinion.
4. Let your words be few, especially, when your superiors or strangers
are present, lest you betray your own weakness, and rob yourselves of
the opportunity which you might, otherwise, have had to gain knowledge,
wisdom, and experience by hearing those whom you silence by your
impertinent talking.
5. Be not too earnest, loud, or violent in your conversation. Silence
your opponent with reason, not with noise.
6. Be careful not to interrupt another when he is speaking; hear him out,
and you will understand him the better and be able to give him the better
answer.
7. Consider before you speak, especially, when the business is of moment;
weigh the sense of what you mean to utter, and the expressions you
intend to use, that they may be significant, pertinent, and inoffensive.
Inconsiderate persons do not think till they speak; or they speak, and
then think.
8. Some people excel in husbandry, some in gardening, some in
mathematics. In conversation, learn, as near as you can, where the skill
or excellence of any person lies; put him upon talking on that subject,
observe what he says, keep it in your memory, or commit it to writing.
By this means, you will glean the worth and knowledge of every body you
converse with; and, at an easy rate, acquire what may be of use to you on
many occasions.
9. When you are in company with light, vain, impertinent persons, let
the observing of their failings make you the more cautious, both in
conversation with them and in your general behavior, that you may avoid
their errors.
10. If any one whom you do not know to be a person of truth, sobriety,
and weight, relates strange stories, be not too ready to believe or
report them; and yet unless he is one of your familiar acquaintances, be
not too forward to contradict him.
11. If the occasion requires you to declare your opinion, do it modestly
and gently, not bluntly nor coarsely; by this means, you will avoid
giving offense, or being abused for too much credulity.
[253] HU-MANˊ-I-TY, mankind.
[254] E-QUIVˊ-O-CATE, speak purposely so as to convey a false impression.
XXXI.—THE SISTER OF CHARITY.
GERALD GRIFFIN.
1. She once was a lady of honor and wealth,
Bright glowed on her features the roses of health;
Her vesture was blended of silk and of gold,
And her motion shook perfume from every fold:
Joy revelled around her—love shone at her side,
And gay was her smile, as the glance of a bride;
And light was her step in the mirth-sounding hall,
When she heard of the daughters of Vincent de Paul.
2. She felt, in her spirit, the summons[255] of grace,
That called her to live for the suffering race;
And heedless of pleasure, of comfort, of home,
Rose quickly like Mary, and answered, “I come.”
She put from her person the trappings[256] of pride,
And passed from her home, with the joy of a bride,
Nor wept at the threshold, as onwards she moved—
For her heart was on fire in the cause it approved.
3. Lost ever to fashion—to vanity lost,
That beauty that once was the song and the toast—
No more in the ball-room that figure we meet,
But gliding at dusk to the wretch’s retreat,
Forgot in the halls is that high-sounding name,
For the Sister of Charity blushes at fame;
Forgot are the claims of her riches and birth,
For she barters for heaven the glory of earth.
4. Those feet, that to music could gracefully move,
Now bear her alone on the mission of love;
Those hands that once dangled the perfume and gem,
Are tending[257] the helpless, or lifted for them;
That voice that once echoed the song of the vain.
Now whispers relief to the bosom of pain;
And the hair that was shining with diamond and pearl,
Is wet with the tears of the penitent girl.
5. Her down bed—a pallet; her trinkets—a bead;
Her lustre—one taper that serves her to read;
Her sculpture—the crucifix nailed by her bed;
Her paintings—one print of the thorn-crowned head;
Her cushion—the pavement that wearies her knees;
Her music—the psalm, or sigh of disease;
The delicate lady lives mortified[258] there,
And the feast is forsaken for fasting and prayer.
6. Yet not to the service of heart and of mind,
Are the cares of that heaven-minded virgin confined.
Like him whom she loves, to the mansions of grief
She hastes with the tidings of joy and relief.
She strengthens the weary—she comforts the weak,
And soft is her voice in the ear of the sick;
Where want and affliction on mortals attend,
The Sister of Charity _there_ is a friend.
7. Unshrinking where pestilence scatters his breath,
Like an angel she moves, ’mid the vapor of death;
Where rings the loud musket, and flashes the sword,
Unfearing she walks, for she follows the Lord.
How sweetly she bends over each plague-tainted face,
With looks that are lighted with holiest grace;
How kindly she dresses each suffering limb,
For she sees in the wounded the image of Him.
8. Behold her, ye worldly! behold her, ye vain!
Who shrink from the pathway of virtue and pain;
Who yield up to pleasure your nights and your days,
Forgetful of service, forgetful of praise.
Ye lazy philosophers—self-seeking men,—
Ye fireside philanthropists, great at the pen,
How stands in the balance your eloquence weighed
With the life and the deeds of that high-born maid?
[255] SUMˊ-MONS, a call.
[256] TRAPˊ-PINGS, ornaments.
[257] TENDˊ-ING, attending; keeping.
[258] MORˊ-TI-FIED, subdued; humbled.
XXXII.—REPROOF TO AN AFFECTED[259] SPEAKER.
LA BRUYERE.
1. What do you say? _What?_ I _really_ do not understand you. Be so good
as to explain yourself again. Upon my word, I do not. O, _now_ I know!
you mean to tell me it is a cold day. Why did you not say at once: “It
is cold to-day.” If you wish to inform me it rains or snows, pray say:
“It rains,” “it snows;” or, if you think I look well, and you choose to
compliment[260] me, say, “I think you look well.”
2. “But,” you answer, “that is so common, and so plain, and what every
body can say.” Well, and what if they can? Is it so great a misfortune to
be understood when one speaks, and to speak like the rest of the world?
I will tell you what, my friend; you and your fine-spoken brethren want
_one_ thing—you do not suspect[261] it, and I shall astonish[262] you—you
want _common sense_.
3. Nay, this is not all; you have something _too_ much; you possess an
opinion that you have _more_ sense than others. That is the source of all
your pompous[263] nothings, your cloudy sentences, and your big words
without a meaning. Before you accost[264] a person, or enter a room, let
me pull you by your sleeve, and whisper in your ear: “Do not try to show
off your sense; have none at all; that is your part. Use plain language,
if you can; just such as you find others use, who, in your idea, have no
understanding; and then, perhaps, you will get credit for having some.”
[259] AF-FECTˊ-ED, not natural.
[260] COMˊ-PLI-MENT, praise, flatter.
[261] SUS-PECTˊ, mistrust.
[262] AS-TONˊ-ISH, to amaze.
[263] POMPˊ-OUS, ostentatious.
[264] AC-COSTˊ, speak to; address.
XXXIII.—MY BIRTHDAY.
THOMAS MOORE.
1. “My birthday!”—what a different sound
That word had in my youthful ears!
And how, each time the day comes round,
Less and less white the mark appears!
When first our scanty years are told,
It seems like pastime to grow old;
And, as youth counts the shining links
That Time around him binds so fast,
Pleased with the task, he little thinks
How hard that chain will press, at last.
2. Vain was the man, and false as vain,
Who said: “Were he ordained[265] to run
His long career[266] of life again,
He _would do_ all that he _had done_.”
Ah! ’tis not thus the voice that dwells
In sober birthdays, speaks to me;
Far otherwise—of time it tells
Lavished[267] unwisely, carelessly,
Of counsel mocked—of talents made,
Haply,[268] for high and pure designs,
But oft, like Israel’s incense, laid
Upon unholy, earthly shrines,
Of nursing many a wrong desire,
Of wandering after Love too far,
And taking every meteor fire
That crossed my path-way, for his star!
3. All this it tells, and I could trace[269]
The imperfect picture o’er again,
With power to add, retouch,[270] efface[271]
The lights and shades, the joy and pain,
How little of the past would stay!
How quickly all should melt away,
_All_—but that freedom of the mind,
Which hath been more than wealth to me;
Those friendships in my boyhood twined,[272]
And kept till now unchangingly.[273]
And that dear home, that saving ark,
Where love’s true light at last, I’ve found,
Cheering within when all grows dark,
And comfortless, and storm around.
[265] OR-DAINˊ-ED, appointed.
[266] CA-REERˊ, race, course.
[267] LAVˊ-ISHED, wasted.
[268] HAPˊ-LY, perhaps, perchance.
[269] TRACE, delineate, draw.
[270] RE-TOUCHˊ, improve by new touches.
[271] EF-FACEˊ, erase, blot out.
[272] TWINˊ-ED, closely united.
[273] UN-CHANGˊ-ING-LY, unvaryingly.
XXXIV.—LABOR.
FRANCES OSGOOD.
1. Pause not to dream of the future before us;
Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o’er us;
Hark! how creation’s deep musical chorus,[274]
Unintermitting,[275] goes up into Heaven!
Never the ocean-wave falters[276] in flowing,
Never the little seed stops in its growing,
More and more richly the rose-hart keeps glowing,
Till from its nourishing stem it is riven.[277]
2. “Labor is worship!”—the robin is singing;
“Labor is worship!”—the wild bee is ringing;
Listen! that eloquent whisper upspringing,
Speaks to thy soul from out nature’s heart.
From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower;
From the rough sod comes the soft-breathing flower;
From the small insect, the rich coral bower;
Only man, in the plan, ever shrinks from his part.
3. Labor is life!—’Tis the still water faileth;
Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth[278],
Keep the watch wound; for the dark dust assaileth[279]
Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon.
Labor is glory!—the flying cloud lightens;
Only the waving wing changes and brightens;
Idle hearts only the dark future frightens;
Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune.
4. Labor is rest—from the sorrows that greet us;
Rest from all petty vexations[280] that meet us;
Rest from sin-promptings[281] that ever entreat us;
Rest from world Sirens[282] that lead us to ill.
Work—and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow;
Work—thou shalt ride o’er care’s coming billow;
Lie not down wearied ’neath woe’s weeping willow:
Work with a stout heart and resolute[283] will.
5. Droop not, though shame, sin, and anguish[284] are round thee;
Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee;
Look on yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee;
Rest not content in thy darkness,—a clod.[285]
Work for some good,—be it ever so slowly;
Cherish some flower,—be it ever so lowly;
Labor!—all labor is noble and holy;
Let thy great deeds be a prayer to thy God.
[274] CHOˊ-RUS, a singing together.
[275] UN-IN-TER-MITˊ-TING, unceasing.
[276] FALˊ-TERS, hesitates; fails.
[277] RIVˊEN, rent; torn off.
[278] BE-WAILˊ-ETH, bemoans; laments.
[279] AS-SAILˊ-ETH, invades; attacks.
[280] VEX-Aˊ-TIONS, troubles.
[281] SIN-PROMPTˊ-INGS, temptations to sin.
[282] WORLD-SIRENS, attractions of the world.
[283] RESˊ-O-LUTE, firm; unbending.
[284] ANˊ-GUISH, extreme pain.
[285] CLOD, dull, stupid fellow; dolt.
XXXV.—OUR MISERIES OFTEN OUR FAULT.
BLAIR.
1. We find man placed in a world, where he has, by no means, the disposal
of the events that happen. Calamities[286] sometimes befall the worthiest
and the best, which it is not in their power to prevent, and where
nothing is left them, but to acknowledge and to submit to the high hand
of Heaven. For such visitations of trial, many good and wise reasons can
be assigned[287], which the present subject leads me not to discuss.[288]
2. But, though those unavoidable[289] calamities make a part, yet they
make not the chief part, of the vexations and sorrows that distress human
life. A multitude of evils beset[290] us, for the source of which we must
look to another quarter. No sooner has any thing in the health or in the
circumstances of men, gone cross[291] to their wish, than they begin to
talk of the unequal distribution[292] of the good things of this life;
they envy the condition of others; they repine[293] at their own lot, and
fret against the Ruler of the world.
3. Full of these sentiments, one man pines under a broken
constitution.[294] But let us ask him, whether he can fairly and honestly
assign no cause for this but the unknown decree of Heaven? Has he duly
valued the blessing of health, and always observed the rules of virtue
and sobriety?[295] Has he been moderate in his life, and temperate in all
his pleasures? If now he is only paying the price of his former, perhaps,
his forgotten indulgences, has he any right to complain, as if he were
suffering unjustly?
4. Were we to survey the chambers of sickness and distress, we should
often find them peopled with the victims of intemperance and sensuality,
and with the vicious children of indolence and sloth. Among the
thousands who languish there, we should find the proportion of innocent
sufferers to be small. We should see faded youth premature[296] old age,
and the prospect of an untimely grave, to be the portion of multitudes
who, in one way or other, have brought those evils on themselves; while
yet these martyrs of vice and folly have the assurance to arraign[297]
the hard fate of man, and to “fret against the Lord.”
5. But you, perhaps, complain of hardships of another kind; of the
injustice of the world; of the poverty which you suffer, and the
discouragements under which you labor; of the crosses and disappointments
of which your life has been doomed to be full. Before you give too much
scope to your discontent, let me desire you to reflect impartially
upon your past train of life. Have not sloth, or pride, or ill-temper,
or sinful passions, misled you often from the path of sound and wise
conduct? Have you not been wanting to yourselves in improving those
opportunities which Providence offered you, for bettering and advancing
your state?
6. If you have chosen to indulge your humor or your taste, in the
gratifications[298] of indolence and pleasure, can you complain because
others, in preference to you, have obtained those advantages which
naturally belong to useful labors and honorable pursuits. Have not
the consequences of some false steps, into which your passions, or
your pleasures, have betrayed you, pursued you through much of your
life; tainted[299], perhaps, your character, involved[300] you in
embarrassments[301], or sunk you into neglect?
7. It is an old saying, that every man is the artificer[302] of his own
fortune in the world. It is certain, that the world seldom turns wholly
against a man, unless through his own fault. “Religion is,” in general,
“profitable unto all things.” Virtue, diligence, and industry, joined
with good temper and prudence, have ever been found the surest road to
prosperity; and, where men fail of attaining it, their want of success is
far oftener owing to their having deviated from that road, than to their
having encountered insuperable barriers in it.
8. Some by being too artful, forfeit the reputation of probity. Some,
by being too open, are accounted to fail in prudence. Others, by being
fickle and changeable, are distrusted by all. The case commonly is, that
men seek to ascribe their disappointments to any cause, rather than to
their own misconduct; and, when they can devise no other cause, they lay
them to the charge of Providence. Their folly leads them into vices;
their vices into misfortunes; and, in their misfortunes, they “murmur
against Providence.”
9. They are doubly unjust toward their Creator. In their prosperity, they
are apt to ascribe their success to their own diligence, rather than to
His blessing; and, in their adversity, they impute their distresses to
His providence, not to their own misbehavior. Whereas, the truth is the
very reverse of this. Every good gift and every perfect gift cometh from
above; and of evil and misery, man is the author to himself.
[286] CA-LAMˊ-I-TIES, misfortunes.
[287] AS-SIGNˊ-ED, given; specified.
[288] DIS-CUSSˊ, debate, reason on.
[289] UN-A-VOIDˊ-A-BLE, inevitable.
[290] BE-SETˊ, surround; besiege.
[291] CROSS, adverse; contrary.
[292] DIS-TRI-BUˊ-TION, dispensation.
[293] RE-PINEˊ, murmur.
[294] CON-STI-TUˊ-TION, corporeal frame.
[295] SO-BRIˊ-E-TY, temperance.
[296] PREˊ-MA-TURE, too early.
[297] AR-RAIGNˊ, call in question.
[298] GRAT-I-FI-CAˊ-TIONS, indulgences.
[299] TAINTˊ-ED, stained; corrupted.
[300] IN-VOLVˊ-ED, entangled.
[301] EM-BARˊ-RASS-MENT, perplexity.
[302] ART-IFˊ-I-CER, inventor.
XXXVI.—TRUE PATRIOTISM.[303]
SIR WILLIAM JONES.
1. What constitutes[304] a State?
Not high raised battlements[305] or labored mound,[306]
Thick wall or moated[307] gate;
Nor cities proud, with spires and turrets[308] crowned;
Not bays and broad-armed ports,
Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies[309] ride;
Not starred and spangled courts,
Where low-browed baseness[310] wafts perfume to pride.
2. No; men, high-minded[311] men,
With powers as far above dull brutes endued[312],
In forest brake, or den,
As beasts excel[313] cold rocks and brambles[314] rude;
_Men_ who their duties know,
But know their rights, and knowing, dare maintain;[315]
Prevent the long aimed blow,
And crush the tyrant while they rend[316] the chain;
_These_ constitute a State;
And Sovereign[317] Law, that State’s collected[318] will,
O’er thrones and globes elate,[319]
Sits empress, crowning good, repressing[320] ill.
[303] PAˊ-TRI-OT-ISM, love of country.
[304] CONˊ-STI-TUTES, makes; forms.
[305] BATˊ-TLE-MENTS, breastworks.
[306] MOUND, rampart; bank of earth.
[307] MOATˊ-ED, surrounded by a ditch.
[308] TURˊ-RETS, little towers.
[309] NAˊ-VIES, fleets of ships.
[310] BASEˊ-NESS, meanness.
[311] HIGHˊ-MIND-ED, magnanimous.
[312] EN-DUˊ-ED, furnished; endowed.
[313] EX-CELˊ, exceed; surpass.
[314] BRAMˊ-BLES, prickly shrubs.
[315] MAIN-TAINˊ, defend; support.
[316] REND, part asunder.
[317] SOVˊ-ER-EIGN, supreme.
[318] COL-LECTˊ-ED, congregated.
[319] E-LATEˊ, raised; lofty.
[320] RE-PRESSˊ-ING, quelling.
XXXVII.—INFLUENCE OF RELIGION ON THE TYROLESE.
ALISON.
Sir Archibald Alison, although not himself a Catholic, eloquently
sets forth, in the following lesson, the refining and civilizing
influences of the Catholic Church.
1. What is it, then, which has wrought so surprising a change in
the manners and habits of Europe, of the inhabitants of the great
mountain-girdle of the earth? What is it which has spread cultivation
through wastes deemed, in ancient times, inaccessible[321] to
improvement, and humanized[322] the manners of a people, remarkable only,
under the Roman sway, for the ferocity and barbarism of their customs?
2. What but the influence of religion; of that faith which has calmed the
savage passions of the human mind, and spread its beneficial influence
amongst the remotest[323] habitations of men, and which prompted its
disciples to leave the luxuries and comforts of southern civilization
to diffuse[324] knowledge and humanity through inhospitable realms, and
spread, even amidst the regions of desolation, the light of knowledge,
and the blessings of Christianity.
3. Impressed with these ideas, the traveler, in crossing the St. Bernard,
and comparing the perfect safety with which he now can explore the most
solitary parts of these mountains, with the perils[325] of the passage,
attested by votive[326] offerings, even in the days of Adrian, and the
Antonines, will think with thankfulness of the religion by which this
wonderful change has been effected, and with veneration of the saint
whose name has, for a thousand years, been affixed to the pass where his
influence first reclaimed the people from their barbarous life; and in
crossing the defile of Mount Brenner, where the Abbey of Wilten first
offered an asylum to the pilgrim, he will feel, with a late amiable and
eloquent writer, “how fortunate it is that religion has penetrated these
fastnesses, impervious[327] to human power, and, where precautions are
impossible and resistance useless, spread her invisible ægis[328] over
the traveler, and conducts him, secure under her protection, through all
the dangers of his way!”
4. When in such situations he reflects upon his security, and recollects
that these mountains, so savage, and so well adapted to the progress of
murderers and banditti[329], have not in the memory of man been stained
with human blood, he ought to do justice to the cause, and gratefully to
acknowledge the influence of religion.
5. Impressed with these ideas, he will behold with interest the crosses
which frequently mark the brow of a precipice, and the little chapels
hollowed out of the rock, where the road is narrowed; he will consider
them as so many pledges of security, and rest assured, that so long as
the pious mountaineer continues to adore the “Good Shepherd,” and to
implore the power of the “Afflicted Mother,” he will never cease to
befriend the traveler, nor to discharge the duties of hospitality.
[321] IN-AC-CESSˊ-I-BLE, beyond reach of.
[322] HUˊ-MAN-IZE, to render human.
[323] RE-MOTˊ-EST, most distant.
[324] DIF-FUSEˊ, to spread, to extend in all directions.
[325] PERˊ-ILS, dangers.
[326] VOˊ-TIVE, given by vow, devoted.
[327] IM-PERˊ-VI-OUS, not to be penetrated or passed through.
[328] ÆGIS, shield, protection.
[329] BAN-DITˊ-TI, outlaws, highwaymen, robbers.
XXXVIII.—HYMN OF THE MOUNTAINEERS.
MRS. HEMANS.
Mrs. Felicia Dorothea Hemans was born in England in 1794, and
died in 1835. Her poetry is not only remarkable for purity and
delicacy of feeling, but is often marked by ardent and vigorous
expression.
1. For the strength of the hills we bless thee, our God, our fathers’
God!
Thou hast made Thy children mighty, by the touch of the mountain sod.
Thou hast fixed our ark of refuge[330] where the spoiler’s foot ne’er
trod;
For the strength of the hills we bless Thee, our God, our fathers’ God!
2. We are watchers of a beacon[331] whose light must never die;
We are guardians of an altar midst the silence of the sky,
The rocks yield founts of courage, struck forth as by Thy rod;
For the strength of the hills we bless Thee, our God, our father’s God.
3. For the dark-resounding caverns,[332] where Thy still, small voice is
heard;
For the strong pines of the forests, that by Thy breath is stirred;
For the storms on whose free pinions[333] Thy spirit walks abroad;
For the strength of the hills we bless Thee, our God, our fathers’ God!