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THE LOVER'S SEAT,

&c.

CHAPTER XII.

A HAPPY day is soon gone. Few need be told that; though the Pythagorean bard thinks it necessary to proclaim it in solemn verse, saying,

"Yet ah! how short the vernal hour

Allow'd for mortal bliss to blow!

Fate from the stem soon shakes the fluttering flower
That droops and dies below *."

He denies even that one can find

"The day's delight that brings no morrow's pangst."

A happy day however lasts in the memory, and often suffices to sooth and enlighten by dispelling prejudices for happiness, yea, and pleasure too, however short, can be sometimes as great a teacher as sorrow-the whole remainder of our lives. The day itself swiftly passes. The thoughts it awakened at the Lover's Seat flash through two minds in a brief space, when a song or a look comprises endless things; but to write those thoughts down and develop them afterward require a long leisure. It is thus that I would explain how a little whispering in this bower on a

* Pyth. viii.

VOL. II.

† Ol. vii.

B

holiday, a mere point of time, as delicious as it is brief, when it comes to be reported requires two volumes, and perhaps, as some will say, tedious ones.

We left our light couple of philosophers listening to what was advanced in favour of many common things in relation to virtue until they both very unceremoniously dropped fast asleeptruly, as some one perhaps will maliciously say, a very natural conclusion to such a volume-but natural or not, so it was; and I could not help it. However now that the flies, which at this season can make themselves be felt even through our stockings, have roused them up a little, let us pick up our book from the ground, and see what we can gather from it to help us in making out our next point; for I propose that we should now inquire whether virtue itself, which needs no pains to show it off, be not a common thing—a daily fact submitted to the view of every one, however he may through a habit of inattention pass it by unnoticed.

There are, I am aware, grave persons to whom the proposition that virtue is a common thing, even though it were expressed with theological precision and ascribed expressly to a sanctifying influence, will appear bold and paradoxical, if not savouring of impiety; but if they were really as thoughtful as their brows might seem to indicate, they would not be startled or offended at it; nor should we have any reason to fear their verdict. If virtue be not a common fact, I should like to know how they can account for any thing in human life around them. "The whole existing order of things," as an eloquent writer says, “is one vast monument to the supremacy of mind. The exterior appearance of human life is but the material embodiment, the substantial expression, of thought-the hieroglyphic writing of the soul." If there were not a wide diffusion of virtue by means of that supremacy, the world could not get on for a single day without an immense and overwhelming catastrophe that would confound all things. But so it is: your grave people often avert their eyes ungenerously from things before them, close at hand, and tangible, to which they are themselves immensely indebted, in order to concentrate their view upon some ideal creation of their own brains, the improbability, not to say impossibility, of which would strike the first young man or woman that should hear it announced, and appear to them as not even proposed

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