Tutor. A laudable ambition; only remember that a popular author may often be a superficial and inferior author. An author who aims at enduring fame, and would influence genera tions unborn, must often give up all hope of present popularity. and write books that are slow in winning their way to a profitable circulation. Robert. Well, sir, I would be successful in the highest sense of the word. I would have the consciousness of having written for a permanent fame, rather than a present fleeting popularity. Tutor. The choice is honorable to you. And what would you be, John? John. An artist, sir; a great painter, worthy to have his paint ings hung by the side of those of Titian, and Reynolds, and Allston. Tutor. A high ambition, and a worthy one! But look out for years of labor, many failures, many disappointments, before your triumph. And now, Henry, let me hear from you. -- Henry. I hope to be an extensive farmer, sir: to have any number of acres under cultivation; several hundred cows; sev. eral thousand sheep; and horses and colts without number. Tutor. A little extravagant; but the life of an active, intelligent farmer, is one that offers as fair a prospect for health and happiness as any in the whole circle of human occupations. -And how is it with your inclination, George? George. Above all things, I would be a great orator. Tutor. And would you show your talents in the pulpit, or at the bar, or in the political assembly? George. I have not decided that point yet, sir. But I would delight in being esteemed the most eloquent man of my time. Tutor. Would you simply be esteemed eloquent, or would you have your eloquence an instrument of good in overcoming mis'chievous errors, and insuring hospitality for great truths? George. I have not got far enough to decide on that sir. Tutor. Eloquence without principle is but armed injustice. The orator whose only aim is reputation and effect may be a popular, but never a great orator. — Well, Benjamin Franklin, we come to you the last, as you are the youngest. What do you hope to be? Benjamin. A great general, sir, like Hannibal, Cæsar and Napoleon Bonaparte. Tutor. Indeed! I did not dream that we had a man of such immense martial ambition among us. You would gain great victories, I suppose ? Benjamin. I would like to have the whole world at war with me, conquer every nation in succession, and then whip them all together. case. Tutor. Really, I do not see how we are to provide for your Our country is happily at peace now, and likely to remain So. What would your great namesake say to such an ambition? He hated war, as, indeed, all good men must. We will hopo that as you grow older you will see cause to alter your views, and aspire to a more tranquil and honorable career. And now, boys, let me tell you that it will not be so difficult and improbable as you may imagine for you to attain in life. precisely what you aim at. A steady, eager perseverance, the vigilant pursuit of all our opportunities, the exercise of an average degree of common sense and sagacity, will generally lead to the attainment of what we have earnestly at heart The sacred words, "Seek, and ye shall find," are almost as true of worldly success as of spiritual and heavenly. But let me warn you of one thing: you must not complain if, when you have earned the one prize you set out for, you find yourselves destitute of other things, that may then seem better and more important. For instance, Charles wishes to be rich, he can become rich, no doubt, by giving his entire time and thoughts to that one object; but let him not repine if, when h.. has attained to wealth, he find himself destitute of those tastes and resources which alone can point to its rational enjoyment. Let him not complain of an utter mental and spiritual barren ness; a soul which cannot see beyond the horizon of the counting. room; an enthusiasm which can only be roused at the sight of money-bags. Another it is Paul, I believe - hopes to be a great philos opher. When he has accomplished himself so far as to deserve the name, he will not murmur if his neighbor — an uneducated, illiterate man, with a stunted mind and a closed heart-should ro!] oy him in a splendid carriage, while he (Paul) is obliged to trudge along the highway on foot. Each made his choice, and each has his compensation. Unless the philosopher would change his mind, as well as his worldly condition, for the rich man's, he has no business to complain of his lot, or to suppose that the rich man is better off. By pursuing a certain course of political action, and trimming his sails according to the shifting breezes of popular favor, Arthur, who aspires to mere success, independent of merit, if he do not rise to be president, may come pretty near it; for, alas! our presidents now-a-days are not always selected because of their preeminent virtue and ability, as were Washington and others. But Arthur must not complain if he find himself, when at the height of his political ladder, despised by good men and true, his conscience stained and seared, and his self-respect vanished. He will have selected his prize, and won it. Let him not covet the prizes of other people. I might go on, and illustrate my meaning by reference to what the rest of you have said. But the shower is over, and I must end. The true course is this: first seek to be good, devout, moral, intelligent, generous and just; and then, whatever mode of life you may choose, you may be pretty sure to avoid its dangers, at the same time that you may reap from it all the benefits that a reasonable man should aspire to. You may be comfortably rich, without being sensual, selfish and mentally deficient; famous, without losing your uprightness; learned, without cultivating the mind at the expense of the heart. To Robert, who aspires to be a great author, I would recall a little incident in the life of the most successful author of his day, Sir Walter Scott. A few minutes before he sank into the state of unconsciousness which preceded his death, he called his son-in-law and biographer, Lockhart, to his bed-side, and said: Lockhart, I may have but a minute to speak to you. My dear, be a good man,-be virtuous, be religious, be a good man. Nothing else will give you any comfort when you come to lie bare." 06 Osborne. LVII. THE SEVENTH PLAGUE OF EGYPT. 1. "T WAS morn the rising splendor rolled On marble towers and roofs of gold; ΕΙ A dazzling ring round Pharaoh's throne. 2. There came a man the human tide Shrank backward from his stately stride: Told the dark king what step was near; 3. He stooped not at the foot-stool stōne, He clasped not sandal, kissed not throne; His only words "Be just, O king!" Yet on the chief of Israël No arrow of his thousands fell; All mute and moveless as the grave Stood chilled the satrap and the slave. 4. "Thou 'rt come," at length the monarch spoke, Haughty and high the words outbroke: "Is Israel weary of its lair, The forehead peeled, the shoulder bare? Go, reap the wind! go, plough the sand? Go vilest of the living vile, 5 Shouted in pride the turbaned peers, King! thou and thine are doomed! -- Behold!' The prophet spoke - the thunder rolled! Along the pathway of the sun Sailed vapory mountains, wild and dun. What art thou, man, to war with Heaven?" 6. There came no word the thunder broke! Thick, lurid, stifling, mixed with flame, EI Flew the proud pageant, prince and slave: ΕΙ Lay, corpse-like, on the smouldering ground. 7 Echoed from earth a hollow roar Like ocean on the midnight shore! |