Oh, ingenuous young maid or man, if such you are,—if not, then lot me dream you such,—seek you this beauty, complete perfection of a man, and having this, go hold the purse, the office, or the pen, as suits you best ; but out of that life, writing, voting, acting, living in all forme, you shall pay men back for your culture, and in tho scholar's noble kind, and represent tho higher facts of human thought. Will men still say, " This wrong is consecrated; it has stood for ages, and shall stand for over!" Tell them, "No. A wrong, though old as sin, is not now sacred, nor shall it stand!" Will they say, "This right can never be; that excellence is lovely, but impossible!" Show them the fact, who will not hear the speech ; the deed goes where the word fails, and life enchants where rhetoric cannot persuade.
Past ages offer their instruction, much warning, and a little guidance, many a wreck along the shore of time, a beacon here and there. Far off in the dim distance, present as possibilities, not actual as yet, future generations, with broad and wishful eyes, look at the son of genius, talent, educated skill, and seem to say, "A word for us; it will not be forgot!" Truth and Beauty, God's twin daughters, eternal both, yet ever young, wait there to offer each faithful man a budding branch,—in their hands budding, in his to blossom and mature its fruit,—wherewith he sows the field of time, gladdening the millions yet to come.
