tears-I felt as if I were acting a barbarous part in standing by 'and gazing idly on this scene of maternal anguish. I wandered to another part of the church-yard, where I remained until the funeral train had dispersed. 8. When I saw the mother slowly and painfully quitting the grave, leaving behind her the remains of all that was dear to her on earth, and returning to silence and destitution, my heart achel for her. What, thought I, are the distresses of the rich? They have friends to soothe-pleasures to beguile-a world to divert and dissipate their griefs. What are the sorrows of the young? Their growing minds soon close above the woundtheir elastic spirits soon rise beneath the pressure—their green and ductile affections soon twine around new objects. But the sorrows of the poor, who have no outward appliances to soothe— the sorrows of the aged, with whom life, at best, is but a wintery day, and who can look for no after-growth of joy-the sorrows of a widow, aged, solitary, destitute, mourning over an only son, the last solace of her years,—these are the sorrows which make us feel the impotency of consolation. 9. It was some time before I left the church-yard. On my way homeward, I met with the woman who had acted as comforter she was just returning from accompanying the mother to her lonely habitation, and I drew from her some particulars connected with the affecting scene I had witnessed. 10. The parents of the deceased had resided in the village from childhood. They had inhabited one of the neatest cottages, and, by various rural occupations, and the assistance of a small garden, had supported themselves creditably and comfortably, and led a happy and a blameless life. They had one son, whe had grown up to be the staff and pride of their age. "O, sir!" said the good woman, "he was such a likely lad, so sweet-tem. pered, so kind to every one around him, so dutiful to his parents. It did one's heart good to see him of a Sunday, drest out in his best, so tall, so straight, so cheery, supporting his old mother to church, for she was always fonder of leaning on George's arm, than on her good man's; and, poor soul, she might well be proud of him, for a finer lad there was not in the country round." 11. Unfortunately, the son was tempted, during a year of scarcity and agricultural hardship, to enter into the service of one of the small craft that plied on a neighboring river. He had not been long in this employ, when he was entrapped by a press-gang, and carried off to sea. His parents received the tidings of his seizure, but beyond that they could learn nothin It was the loss of their main prop. The father, who was already infirm, grew heartless and melancholy, and sunk into his grave. 12. The widow, left lonely in her age and feebleness, could no longer support herself, and came upon the parish. Still there was a kind feeling toward her throughout the village, and a certain respect, as being one of the oldest inhabitants. As no one applied for the cottage in which she had passed so many happy days, she was permitted to remain in it, where she lived solitary and almost helpless. The few wants of nature were chiefly supplied from the scanty productions of her little garden, which the neighbors would now and then cultivate for her. 13. It was but a few days before the time at which these circumstances were told me, that she was gathering some vegetables for her repast, when she heard the cottage-door, that faced the garden, suddenly opened. A stranger came out, and seemed to be looking eagerly and wildly around. He was dressed in seaman's clothes, was emaciated and ghastly pale, and bore the air of one broken by sickness and hardships. He saw her, and hastened toward her; but his steps were faint and faltering: he sank on his knees before her, and sobbed like a child. The poor woman gazed upon him with a vacant and wandering eye—“O my dear, dear mother! don't you know your son! your poor boy, George!" It was, indeed, the wreck of her once noble lad; who, shattered by wounds, by sickness, and foreign imprisonment, had, at length, dragged his wasted limbs homeward, to repose among the scenes of his childhood. 14. I will not attempt to detail the particulars of such a meeting, where joy and sorrow were so completely blended: still he was alive!—he was come home!—he might yet live to comfort and cherish her old age! Nature, however, was exhausted in him; and, if anything had been wanting to finish the work of fate, the desolation of his native cottage would have been suffi cient. He stretched himself on the pallet where his widowed mother had passed many a sleepless night, and he never rose from it again. 15. The villagers, when they heard that George Somers had returned, crowded to see him, offering every comfort and assistance that their humble means afforded. He, however, was too weak tɔ talk―he could only look his thanks. His mother was his constant attendant, and he seemed unwilling to be helped by any other hand. 16. There is something in sickness, that breaks down the pride of manhood; that softens the heart, and brings it back to the feelings of infancy. Who that has suffered, even in advanced life, in sickness and despondency-who that has pined on a weary bed in the neglect and loneliness of a foreign land—but has thought on the mother "that looked on his childhood," that smoothed his pillow, and administered to his helplessness! 17. Oh! there is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to a son, that transcends all other affections of the heart. It is neither to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his convenience; she will surrender every pleasure to his enjoyment; she will glory in his fame, and exult in his prosperity; and, if adversity overtake him, he will be the dearer to her by misfortune; and, if disgrace settle upon his name, she will still love and cherish him; and, if all the world besides cast him off, she will be all the world to him. 18. Poor George Somers had known well what it was to be in sickness and none to soothe-lonely and in prison, and none to visit him. He could not endure his mother from his sight; if she moved away, his eye would follow her. She would sit for hours by his bed, watching him as he slept. Sometimes he would start from a feverish dream, look anxiousty up until he saw her venerable form bending over him, when he would take her hand, lay it on his bosom, and fall asleep with the tranquil. lity of a child. In this way he died. EXERCISE CXII. THE splendid eulogy which follows, forms the close of an oration delivered before the Legislature of Massachusetts, at their request, on the Hundredth Anniversary of the Birthday of George Washington. EULOGY (EU, well, and LOGY, a speaking) signifies a speaking well of, that is, a speech in praise of some particular person; a formal address laudatory of the virtues of an individual. See Sanders and McElligett's Analysis of English Words, page 74. EULOGY ON WASHINGTON. FRANCIS C. GRAY. 1. The eye of posterity, in looking back on the pyramid of a nation's glory, less to scrutinize its structure, than to contemplate its lofty grandeur, will always involuntarily rest upon its - summit. And, if it behold there, not a gigantic phantom, gifted with power and genius, indeed, yet distorted by ambition, or polluted by crimes, but a majestic form, erect and serene; of exact proportions and severe simplicity; without a fault for censure, an extravagance for ridicule, or a blemish for regret,-on that it will delight to linger, to that it will direct the admiration of mankind. 2. Rapidly as the prosperity of America has advanced, the name of Washington has risen still faster. Already it overtops every other belonging to the new world, and equals the greatest in the old. The opinions of his countrymen may be partial. But his character is every where venerated. The once great ornament of the English bar,-—the champion of the rights of juries, and the master of their hearts, who had no competitor in forensic eloquence, and who has been followed by no equal,— long ago declared, that this one man was the only human being, of whom he ever stood in awe. 3. Philosophy, too—whose decisions are more calm, but quite as durable as those of eloquence-philosophy has rendered her tribute to his fame. The most distinguished living philosopher in Great Britain, an illustrious father's not less illustrious son, in a recent work worthy of his genius, while contending against the asserted inferiority of the moderns to the ancients, holds up the three chief lights of modern science as equal to the three greatest of their philosophers; and, at the same time, points singly to Washington, as not inferior in virtue and in patriotism, to the brightest examples of antiquity. But why cite the opinions of individuals, however eminent? Wherever the name of America is known, wherever liberty, or the desire of liberty, dwells upon the earth, there his praise is familiar. 4. Thus much has been already gained. This harvest of glory, at least, is secure, ripe, reaped, garnered, hid in the sacred treasure of the past. O, for a prophet's eye to look into the future! If it be the destiny of America to administer with fidelity, wislom and success, her free institutions, and, especially, that Union which is the great security of all the rest, and to spread them over the whole continent,-filling it with a numerous, enlightened, industrious, moral, and contented people-one in name, one in government, one in power-and thus realizing the prophetic vision of Berkeley,* to build up here an empire the last and the noblest offspring of Time,-this whole accumulated greatness will constantly tend to exalt higher and higher in the estimation of mankind him, who will forever be deemed the Founder of it all. 5. Above all, if it shall be found, that under the full development of a system, thus equally distributing political power, and perfectly securing private right, so as to leave to every individual the free and unincumbered exercise of the faculties which God has given him, those faculties breathing the pure air of liberty, and growing up and expanding in all their native vigor, will be capable of achieving splendid triumphs; and that the equal protection of the rights of all, best tends to bring about that noblest *The reference is to the famous lines of the celebrated Bishop Berkeley (born 1684, died 1753) which follow: "Westward the course of empire takes its way; The four first acts already past; A fifth shall close the drama with the day; |