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executed by the government. To this occupation the youthfu Washington, not yet sixteen years of age, and well furnished with the requisite mathematical knowledge, zealously devoted himself. Some of his family connections possessed titles to large portions of public land, which he was employed with them in surveying.

2. Thus, at a period of life when, in a more advanced stage of society, the intelligent youth is occupied in the elementary studies of the schools and colleges, Washington was carrying the surveyor's chain through the fertile valleys of the Blue Ridge and the Alleghany Mountains; passing days and weeks in the wilderness, beneath the shadow of eternal forests; listening to the voice of the waterfalls, which man's art had not yet set to the healthful music of the saw-mill or the trip-hammer; reposing from the labors of the day on a bear-skin, with his feet to the blazing logs of a camp-fire; and sometimes startled from the deep slumbers of careless, hard-working youth, by the alarm of the Indian war-whoop.

3. This was the gymnastic" school in which Washington was brought up; in which his quick glance was formed, destined to range hereafter across the battle-field, through clouds of smoke and bristling rows of bayonetsthe school in which his senses, weaned from the taste for those detest'able indulgences, miscalled pleasures, in which the flower of adolescence" so often languishes and pines away, were early braced up to the sinewy manhood which becomes the

"Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye."

4. There is preserved among the papers of Washington a letter, written to a friend while he was engaged on his first surveying tour," and when he was, consequently, but sixteen years of age. I quote a sentence from it, in spite of the homeliness of the details', for which I like it the better, and because I wish to set before you, not an ideal hero, wrapped in cloudy generalities and a mist of vague panegyr'ic, but the real, identical man, with all the peculiarities of his life and occupation.

5. "Your letter," says he, "gave me the more pleasure, as I received it among barbarians and an uncouth set of people. Since you received my letter of October last, I have not slejt above three or four nights in a bed; but, after walking a good deal all the day, I have lain down before the fire, upon a little hay, straw, fodder, or a bear-skin, — whichever was to be had,— with man, wife, and children, like dogs and cats; and happy is he who gets the berth nearest the fire. Nothing would make it pass off tolerably but a good reward. A doubloon" is my conetant gain, every day that the weather will permit my going out, and sometimes six pistoles.""

6. If there is an individual in the morning of life who has not yet made his choice between the flowery path of indulgence and the rough ascent of honest industry, — if there is one who is ashamed to get his living by any branch of honest labor, — let him reflect that the youth who was carrying the theod'olite" and surveyor's chain through the mountain passes of the Alleghanies, in the month of March, sleeping on a bundle of hay before the fire, in a settler's log-cabin, and not ashamed to boast that he did it for his doubloon a day, is George Washington; that the life he led trained him up to command the armies of United America; that the money he earned was the basis of that fortune which enabled him afterwards to bestow his services, without reward, on a bleeding and impoverished country.

7. For three years was the young Washington employed, the greater part of the time, and whenever the season would permit, in this laborious and healthful occupation; and I know not if it would be deemed unbecoming, were a thoughtful student of our history to say that he could almost hear the voice of Providence, in the language of Milton, announce its high purpose,

"To exercise him in the wilderness;
There shall he first lay down the rudiments
Of his great warfare, ere" I send him forth
To conquer!"



1. Mv first sight of Vesuvius" was from the upper end of the street To-le'do, in Naples. From that point the prospect is uninterrupted. Your eye passes directly to the mountain, over the tops of the streets, houses, churches, palaces, of the intervening villages, to the summit of the crater. The clear, transparent air, and the inky blackness of the whole hill, — its only tint, — bring it so near to you that you almost start as it is first revealed. It seems to hang over and threaten the city. It is eight miles distant, yet you would think it scarce three.

2. Every roughness, the deep ravines' and fissures with which the face of the mountain is everywhere seamed, the rude piles of extinct lavas, the ragged angular masses of fallen and shattered rocks, are all visible at that distance; and the effect is as of some vast natural ruin — a wide scene of fearful desolation. The soft, green turf, the richly-variegated shrubbery, the almost tropical vegetation, the gentle elevations and depressions of the Boil, which must once have clothed the hill with an unequalled loveliness—and such is the testimony of antiquity to its appearance before the eruption of 79 — of all this, now, not a leaf, not a tint remains. Neither man, nor beast, nor insect, can inhabit there — and the solitary bird could not light in hope of a single berry or worm.

3. But it must be — not described—but by your own imaginations represented, in one other aspect, as it appeared, after a long repose of centuries, when, in the year 79 of our era, in the reign of Titus, it suddenly was converted to a mountain of fire; burying the surrounding territories, in first the thickest darkness for several days, then from beneath the canopy of cloud pouring out from its sides rivers of lava and other melted substances, which with more than the light of the sun illuminated the earth and the overhanging clouds, and, making their way down the mountain, overwhelmed the city of Hercula'neum, burying it to a depth of from sixty to a hundred feet below the molten mass; and at the same time destroying Pompeii and Stabiae by successive showers of stifling ashes.

4. The younger Pliny, living at that time, describes the terrific scene in a letter to the historian Tac'Itus.46 His uncle, Pliny the naturalist, stationed at Mi-se'-num, twenty miles from the mountain, as commander of the Roman fleet at that place, drawn first by a scientific curiosity to witness nearer the dreadful scene, then by a sentiment of compassion for the multitudes whom he saw perishing in the most miserable manner, and venturing too near the scene of danger, was himself overtaken by blasts of the suffocating smokes and gas'es that raged everywhere around the hill, and perished among those whom he went to save.

5. Pliny addresses two letters to Tac'itus; in the first confining himself chiefly to the circumstances attending the death of his uncle, in the second relating his own experiences and observations during the eruption of the mountain. From this I make an extract: "There had been," he says, "many days before, shocks of an earthquake, which the less surprised us as they are extremely frequent in Campania; but they were so particularly violent this night, that they not only shook everything about us, but seemed indeed to threaten universal destruction. My mother flew to my chamber, where she found me rising, in order to awaken me. We went out into a small court belonging to the house, which separated the sea from the buildings.

G. "Though it was now morning, the light was extremely faint and languid; the buildings all around tottered, and though

Sinks to the grave with unpthe leaves that are serest,
While resignation gently slop?n blighting was nearest. —
And, all his prospects brighten!?1 ia cumber,1'
His heaven commences ere the wi.*by slumber;

foam on the river,
'gone, and forever!
4. The Oln Man By The Brook. — K

Down to the vale this water steers, how merrily

T will murmur on a thousand years, and ilow as no „

A id here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose but

How oft, a vigorous man, I lay beside this fountain's brin*.

My eyes are filled with childish tears, my heart is idly stirred.

For the same sound is in my ears that in those days I heard

5. Freenom.Bryant.

O Freedom! thou art not, as poets dream,

A fair youDg girl, with light and delicate limbs,

And wavy tresses gushing from the cap

With which the Roman master crowned his slave,

When he took off the gyves.50 A bearded man,

Armed to the teeth, art thou: one mailed hand

Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow,

Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred

With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs

Are strong and struggling. Power at thee has launched

His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee;

They could not quench the life thou hast from heav -u!

6. The Folly or Procrastination.

To-morrow's action! can that hoary wisdom,
Borne down with years, still .dote upon to-morrow
That fatal mistress of the young, the lazy,
The coward, and the fool, condemned to lose
An useless life in waiting for to-morrow,
To gaze with longing eyes upon to-morrow,117
Till interposing death destroys the prospect!
Strange! that this general fraud from day to day
Should fill the world with wretches undetected.
The soldier, laboring through a winter's march,
Still sees to-morrow drest in robes of triumph;
Still to the lover's long-expecting arms
To-morrow brings the visionary bride.
But thou, too old to bear another cheat,
Learn that the present hour alone is man's.

7. Practical Charity. Crabbe.

An ardent spirit dwells witli Christian love, —
The eagle's vigor in the pitying dove:

soil, which must once have clrwe with sorrow sigh,

loveliness—and such is the to( pleading121 man supply;

ance before the eruption c •% wltn sufferers feel,

not a tint remains. wlth°u* a viehm to hfl: ~ • u U-j. Il j iu -e; to sickness, pam, and woe,

inhabit there — and the - -t. 1 r ..;

*u .i/iv >"*v Bpirlt ioveg ^ith aid to go ;118

a single berry or worj 80Ught) wait8 not for Want to plead

o. But it mus^s the duty,—nay, prevents the need,—

aginations repr-utmost aid to every ill applies,

a long repos-nd plants relief for coming miseries.

the reyr

fire 8. Tue Guiltv Conscience. Byron.

The mind that broods o'er guilty woes

Is like the scorpion girt by fire:
In circle narrowing as it glows,
The flames around their captive close;
Till, inly searched by thousand throes,

And maddening in her ire,
One, and a sole relief she knows:
The sgng she nourished for her foes —
Whose venom never yet was vain,
Gives but one pang, and cures all pain —
She darts into her desperate brain.
So do the dark in soul expire,
Or live like scorpion girt by fire;
So writhes the mind remorse hath riven,
Unfit for earth, undoomed for heaven:
Darkness above, despair beneath.

Around it flame, within it death

9. Prater.Alfred Tennyson.

More things are wrought by prayer
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice
Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
For what are men better than sheep or goats,
That nourish a blind life within the brain,
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer,
Both for themselves and those who call them friend
For so, the whole round earth is every way
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.

10. Coronach.^' Scott.

He is gone on the mountain, he is lost to the forest,
Like a summer-dried fountain, when our need was the sorest
The fount, reappearing, from the rain-drops shall borrow,
But to us comes no cheering, to Duncan no morrow!
The hand of the reaper takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper wails manhood in glory;

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