With How Many Things Are We On

I Cherished Hope, It Is True, But It Vanished When My Person Reflected . . .

Nothing Is So Painful To The Human Mind As A Great And Sudden Change. The Sun Might Shine, Or The Clouds Might Lour: But Nothing Could Appear To Me As It Had Done The Day Before.

We Could Almost Believe That We Are Destined By Providence To An Unsettled Position On The Globe, So Invariably Is A Love Of Change Implanted In The Young. It Seems As If The Eternal Lawgiver Intended That, At A Certain Age, Man Should Leave Father, Mother, And The Dwelling Of His Infancy, To Seek His Fortunes Over The Wide World.

Oh! Grief Is Fantastic; It Weaves A Web On Which To Trace The History Of Its Woe From Every Form And Change Around; It Incorporates Itself With All Living Nature; It Finds Sustenance In Every Object; As Light, It Fills All Things, And, Like Light, It Gives Its Own Colors To All.

The Careful Rearer Of The Ductile Human Plant Can Instil His Own Religion, And Surround The Soul By Such A Moral Atmosphere, As Shall Become To Its Latest Day The Air It Breathes.