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 And Autumn cast his reaper's coronet Down at thy feet, and stormy Winter speak Methinks we see thee, as in olden time, Which she had worshiped. For the might that clothed Rise, sculptured pile! And show a race unborn who rests below; May put the sickle in, and reap for God, Ye, who stand, With thrilling breast, to view her trophied praise, 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 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, The romance of some warrior-dream! Or hear unmoved the taunt of scorn Whose soil with noble blood is red, 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 And over shaft and architrave The green, luxuriant ivy climb; The palm may shake its leaves on high, And through the Brahmin's sacred grove 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 J. G. WHITTIER. LESSON CLXXXVII. THE WESTERN HUNTER. Ay, this is freedom! These pure skies And her who left the world for me, For here the fair savannas know No barriers in the bloomy grass: The bison is my noble game; The bounding elk, whose antlers tear Mine are the river fowl that scream With what free growth the elm and plane Of vines as huge, and old, and gray! No taint in these fresh lawns and shades: Free spring the flowers that scent the wind Where never scythe has swept the glades. |