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Vigor from toil, from trouble patience grows.
The weakly blossom, warm in summer bower,
Some tints of transient beauty may disclose,

But, ah! it withers in the chilling hour.
Mark yonder oaks! Superior to the power

Of all the warring winds of heaven they rise, And from the stormy promontory tower,

And toss their giant arms amid the skies, While each assailing blast increase of strength supplies.




THOUGH low my lot, my wish is won,
My hopes are few and staid,

All I thought life would do, is done,

The last request is made.
If I have foes, no foes I fear,
To God I live resigned;

I have a friend, I value here,
And that's a quiet mind.

I wish not it were mine to wear
Flushed honor's sunny crown;
I wish not I were Fortune's heir,
She frowns, and let her frown.
I have no taste for pomp and strife,
Which others love to find:

I only wish the bliss of life,
A meek and quiet mind.

The trumpet's taunt in battle-field,
The great man's pedigree,

What peace can all their honors yield?
And what are they to me?.

Though praise and pomp, to eke the strife,

Rave like a mighty wind;

What are they to the calm of life,
A still and quiet mind?

I see the world pass heedless by,
And pride above me tower;

It costs me not a single sigh
For either wealth or power;
They are but men, and I'm a man
Of quite as great a kind,
Proud, too, that life gives all she can,
A calm and quiet mind.

And come what will of care or woe,
As some must come to all,
I'll wish not that they were not so,
Nor mourn that they befall:
If tears for sorrow start at will,

They're comforts in their kind;
And I am blest, if with me still
Remains a quiet mind.

When friends depart, as part we must,
And love's true joys decay,
That leave us like the summer dust,
Which whirlwinds puff away,
While life's allotted time I brave,
Though left the last behind;
A prop and friend I still shall have,
If I've a quiet mind.





POLITENESS is the just medium between form and rudeness. It is the consequence of a benevolent nature, which shows itself to general acquaintance in an obliging, unconstrained civility, as it does to more particular ones in distinguished acts of kindness. This good nature must be directed by a justness of sense, and a quickness of discernment, that knows how to use every opportunity of exercising it, and to proportion the instances of it to every character and situation. It is a restraint laid by reason and benevolence upon every irregularity of the temper, which, in obedience to them, is forced to accommodate itself even to the fantastic cares, which custom and fashion have established, if, by these means, it can procure, in any degree, the satisfaction or good opinion of any part of man

kind; thus paying an obliging deference to their judgment, so far as it is not inconsistent with the higher obligations of virtue and religion.

This must be accompanied with an elegance of taste, and a delicacy observant of the least trifles, which tend to please or to oblige; and, though its foundation must be rooted in the heart, it can scarce be perfect without a complete knowledge of the world. In society, it is the medium that blends all different tempers into the most pleasing harmony; while it imposes silence on the loquacious, and inclines the most reserved to furnish their share of the conversation. It represses the desire of shining alone, and increases the desire of being mutually agreeable. It takes off the edge of raillery, and gives delicacy to wit.

To superiors, it appears in a respectful freedom. No greatness can awe it into servility, and no intimacy can sink it into a regardless familiarity. To inferiors, it shows itself in an unassuming good nature. Its aim is to raise them to you, not to let you down to them. It at once maintains the dignity of your station, and expresses the goodness of your heart. Το equals, it is every thing that is charming; it studies their inclinations, prevents their desires, attends to every little exactness of behavior, and all the time appears perfectly disengaged and careless.

Such and so amiable is true politeness; by people of wrong heads and unworthy hearts, disgraced in its two extremes; and, by the generality of mankind, confined within the narrow bounds of mere good breeding, which, in truth, is only one instance of it.

There is a kind of character, which does not, in the least, deserve to be reckoned polite, though it is exact in every punctilio of behavior; such as would not, for the world, omit paying you the civility of a bow, or fail in the least circumstance of decorum. But then these people do this merely for their own sake: whether you are pleased or embarrassed with it, is little of their care. They have performed their own parts, and are satisfied.





THOUGH Nature weigh our talents, and dispense
To every man his modicum of sense,
And conversation, in its better part,
May be esteemed a gift, and not an art,
Yet much depends, as in the tiller's toil,
On culture and the sowing of the soil.
Words learned by rote a parrot may rehearse,
But talking is not always to converse;
Not more distinct from harmony divine,
The constant creaking of a country sign.

Ye powers, who rule the tongue,-if such there are,— And make colloquial happiness your care, Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate, A duel in the form of a debate. Vociferated logic kills me quite;

A noisy man is always in the right;

I twirl my thumbs, fall back into my chair,
Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare,
And, when I hope his blunders are all out,
Reply discreetly; "To be sure, no doubt!"

Dubius is such a scrupulous, good man;
Yes, you may catch him tripping if you can.
He would not, with a peremptory tone,
Assert the nose upon his face his own;
With hesitation admirably slow,
He humbly hopes, presumes, it may be so.
His evidence, if he were called by law
To swear to some enormity he saw,
For want of prominence and just relief,
Would hang an honest man, and save a thief.
Through constant dread of giving truth offense,
He ties up all his hearers in suspense;
Knows what he knows as if he knew it not;
What he remembers seems to have forgot;
His sole opinion, whatsoe'er befall,
Centering, at last, in having none at all.

A story, in which native humor reigns,
Is often useful, always entertains:
A graver fact, enlisted on your side,
May furnish illustration, well applied;

But sedentary weavers of long tales
Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails.
'Tis the most asinine employ on earth,
To hear them tell of parentage and birth,
And echo conversations, dull and dry,
Embellished with, "He said," and "So said I."
At every interview their route the same,
The repetition makes attention lame:
We bustle up, with unsuccessful speed,
And, in the saddest part, cry, "Droll indeed!"

I pity bashful men, who feel the pain
Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain,
And bear the marks, upon a blushing face,
Of needless shame, and self-imposed disgrace.
Our sensibilities are so acute,

The fear of being silent makes us mute.
True modesty is a discerning grace,

And only blushes in the proper place;

But counterfeit is blind, and skulks, through fear,
Where 'tis a shame to be ashamed t' appear;

Humility the parent of the first,
The last by vanity produced and nursed.

The circle formed, we sit in silent state,
Like figures drawn upon a dial-plate;

"Yes, ma'am," and "No, ma'am," uttered softly, show,
Ev'ry five minutes, how the minutes go;
Each individual, suffering a constraint
Poetry may, but colors cannot paint,
As if in close committee on the sky,
Reports it hot or cold, or wet or dry;
And finds a changing clime a happy source
Of wise reflection and well-timed discourse.
We next inquire, but softly, and by stealth,
Like conservators of the public health,
Of epidemic throats, if such there are,

And coughs, and rheums, and phthisics, and catarrh.
That theme exhausted, a wide gap ensues,
Filled up, at last, with interesting news.

And now, let no man charge me that I mean
To clothe in sable every social scene;
To find a medium asks some share of wit,
And therefore 'tis a mark fools never hit.


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