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Believe me, the talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do well.—From Hyperion.

If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each man’s life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.—From Kavanagh.

 

NATURE’S BOOK.

*****And Nature, the old nurse, took
The child upon her knee,
Saying: “Here is a storybook
Thy Father has written for thee.”

“ Come, wander with me,” she said;
“Into regions yet untrod;
And read what is still unread
In the manuscripts of God.”

So he wandered away and away
With Nature, the dear old nurse,
Who sang to him night and day
The rhymes of the universe.

And whenever the way seemed long.
Or his heart began to fail,
She would sing a more wonderful song.
Or tell a more marvelous tale.
*****

—Longfellow—“ The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz. ”

CHARITY.

The little I have seen of the world and know of the history of mankind, teaches me to look upon the errors of others in sorrow, not in anger. When I take the history of one poor heart that has sinned and suffered, and represent to myself the struggles and temptations it has passed—the brief pulsations of joy, the feverish inquietude of hope and fear, the tears of regret, the feebleness of purpose, the pressure of want, the desertion of friends, the scorn of a world that has little charity, the desolation of the soul’s sanctuary and threatening voices within—health gone, happiness gone, even hope, that stays longest with us, gone,—I have little heart for aught else than thankfulness that it is not so with me, and would fain leave the erring soul of my fellow-man with Him from whose hands it came.—From Hyperion.

 

THE THREE STATUES OF MINERVA.

In ancient times there stood in the citadel of Athens three statues of Minerva. The first was of olive-wood, and according to popular tradition had fallen from heaven. The second was of bronze, commemorating the victory of Marathon; and the third of gold and ivory,—a great miracle of art, in the Age of Pericles. And thus in the citidel of Time stands Man himself. In childhood, shaped of soft and delicate wood, just fallen from heaven; in manhood, a statue of bronze, commenorating struggle and victory; and, lastly, in the maturity of age, perfectly shaped in gold and ivory,—a miracle of art!—From Hyperion.