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No instance can be adduced, in which he was actuated by a sinister motive, or endeavored to attain an end by unworthy means. Truth, integrity, and justice, were deeply rooted in his mind; and nothing could rouse his indignation so soon, or so utterly destroy his confidence, as the discovery of the want of these virtues in any one whom he had trusted. Weaknesses, follies, indiscretions, he could forgive; but subterfuge and dishonesty he never forgot, rarely pardoned.

He was candid and sincere, true to his friends, and faithful to all, neither practicing dissimulation, descending to artifice, nor holding out expectations which he did not intend should be realized. His passions were strong, and sometimes they broke out with vehemence; but he had the power of checking them in an instant. Perhaps self-control was the most remarkable trait of his character. It was, in part, the effect of discipline; yet he seems by nature to have possessed this power to a degree which has been denied to other men.

A christian in faith and practice, he was habitually devout. His reverence for religion is seen in his example, his public communications, and his private writings. He uniformly ascribed his successes to the beneficent agency of the Supreme Being. Charitable and humane, he was liberal to the poor, and kind to those in distress. As a husband, son, and brother, he was tender and affectionate. Without vanity, ostentation, or pride, he never spoke of himself or his actions, unless required by circumstances which concerned the public interests.

As he was free from envy, so he had the good fortune to escape the envy of others, by standing on an elevation which none could hope to attain. If he had one passion more powerful than another, it was love of his country. The purity and ardor of his patriotism were commensurate with the greatness of its object. Love of country in him was invested with the sacred obligation of a duty; and from the faithful discharge of this duty he never swerved for a moment, either in thought or deed, through the whole period of his eventful career.

Such are some of the traits in the character of Washington, which have acquired for him the love and veneration of mankind. If they are not marked with the brilliancy, extravagance, and eccentricity, which, in other men, have excited the

astonishment of the world, so neither are they tarnished by the follies, nor disgraced by the crimes of those men. It is the happy combination of rare talents and qualities, the harmonious union of the intellectual and moral powers, rather than the dazzling splendor of any one trait, which constitute the grandeur of his character. If the title of great man ought to be reserved for him who cannot be charged with an indiscretion or a vice; who spent his life in establishing the independence, the glory, and durable prosperity of his country; who succeeded in all that he undertook; and whose successes were never won at the expense of honor, justice, integrity, or by the sacrifice of a single principle,-this title will not be denied to WASHINGTON.

J. SPARKS.

LESSON CLXXXV.

THE MOTHER OF WASHINGTON.

[On laying the corner-stone of a monument to her memory.]

LONG hast thou slept unnoted. Nature stole

In her soft ministry around thy bed,

Spreading her vernal tissue, violet-gemmed,

And pearled with dews. She bade bright Summer bring
Gifts of frankincense, with sweet song of birds,

And Autumn cast his reaper's coronet

Down at thy feet, and stormy Winter speak
Sternly of man's neglect. But now we come
To do thee homage, mother of our chief!
Fit homage, such as honoreth him who pays.

Methinks we see thee, as in olden time,
Simple in garb, majestic and serene,
Unmoved by pomp or circumstance, in truth
Inflexible, and, with a Spartan zeal
Repressing vice, and making folly grave.
Thou didst not deem it woman's part to waste
Life in inglorious sloth; to sport awhile
Amid the flowers, or on the summer wave,
Then fleet, like the ephemeron, away,
Building no temple in her children's hearts.
Save to the vanity and pride of life

Which she had worshiped. For the might that clothed
His "Country's Father," for the glorious deeds
That make Mount Vernon's tomb a Mecca shrine
For all the earth, what thanks to thee are due.
Who, 'mid his elements of being, wrought,
We know not: Heaven can tell.

Rise, sculptured pile!

And show a race unborn who rests below;
And say to mothers, what a holy charge
Is theirs; with what a kingly power their love
Might rule the fountains of the new-born mind.
Warn them to wake at early dawn, and sow
Good seed before the world hath sown her tares;
Nor in their toil decline; that angel bands

May put the sickle in, and reap for God,
And gather to his garner.

Ye, who stand,

With thrilling breast, to view her trophied praise,
Who nobly reared Virginia's godlike chief;
Ye, whose last thought upon your nightly couch,
Whose first at waking, is your cradled son;
What though no high ambition prompts to rear
A second Washington; or leave your name
Wrought out in marble with a nation's tears
Of deathless gratitude: yet may you raise
A monument above the stars; a soul

Led by your teachings and your prayers to God.

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

LESSON CLXXXVI

NEW ENGLAND.

LAND of the forest and the rock,

Of dark blue lake and mighty river,

Of mountains reared aloft to mock
The storm's career, the lightning's shock,
My own green land forever!

Land of the beautiful and brave,

The freeman's home, the martyr's grave,

The nursery of giant men,

Whose deeds have linked with every glen,
And every hill and every stream,

The romance of some warrior-dream!
O! never may a son of thine,
Where'er his wandering steps incline,
Forget the sky which bent above
His childhood like a dream of love;
The stream beneath the green hill flowing,
The broad-armed trees above it growing,
The clear breeze through the foliage blowing:

Or hear unmoved the taunt of scorn
Breathed o'er the brave New England born;
Or mark the stranger's jaguar-hand
Disturb the ashes of thy dead,
The buried glory of a land

Whose soil with noble blood is red,
And sanctified in every part,

Nor feel resentment like a brand, Unsheathing from his fiery heart!

O! greener hills may catch the sun

Beneath the glorious heaven of France; And streams, rejoicing as they run

Like life beneath the day-beam's glance,

May wander where the orange-bough
With golden fruit is bending low;
And there may bend a brighter sky
O'er green and classic Italy,
And pillared fane and ancient grave
Bear record of another time,

And over shaft and architrave

The green, luxuriant ivy climb;
And nearer to the rising sun

The palm may shake its leaves on high,
Where flowers are opening, one by one,
Like stars upon the twilight sky;
And breezes soft as sighs of love
Above the broad banana stray,

And through the Brahmin's sacred grove
A thousand bright-hued pinions play!

Yet unto thee, New England, still

Thy wandering sons shall stretch their arms, And thy rude chart of rock and hill

Seem dearer than the land of palms;

Thy massy oak, and mountain-pine

More welcome than the banian's shade!

And every free, blue stream of thine

Seem richer than the golden bed
Of oriental waves, which glow
And sparkle with the wealth below!

J. G. WHITTIER.

LESSON CLXXXVII.

THE WESTERN HUNTER.

Ay, this is freedom! These pure skies
Were never stained with village smoke;
The fragrant wind, that through them flies,
Is breathed from wastes by plow unbroke.
Here, with my rifle and my steed,

And her who left the world for me,
I plant me, where the red deer feed
In the green desert-and am free.

For here the fair savannas know

No barriers in the bloomy grass:
Wherever breeze of Heaven may blow,
Or beam of Heaven may glance, I pass.
In pastures measureless as air,

The bison is my noble game;

The bounding elk, whose antlers tear
The branches, falls before my aim.

Mine are the river fowl that scream
From the long line of waving sedge;
The bear that marks my weapon's gleam,
Hides vainly in the forest's edge;
In vain the she-wolf stands at bay;
The brindled catamount, that lies
High in the boughs to watch his prey,
Even in the act of springing, dies.

With what free growth the elm and plane
Fling their huge arms across my way!
Gray, old, and cumbered with a train

Of vines as huge, and old, and gray!
Free stray the lucid streams, and find

No taint in these fresh lawns and shades: Free spring the flowers that scent the wind

Where never scythe has swept the glades.

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