There has just reached us, it may be, the
nobleness of some such silent behavior, not to be forgotten, not
to be remembered, and we shudder to think how it fell on us cold,
though in some true but tardy hour we endeavor to wipe off these
scores.
In my experience, persons, when they are made the subject of
conversation, though with a Friend, are commonly the most prosaic
and trivial of facts. The universe seems bankrupt as soon as we
begin to discuss the character of individuals. Our discourse all
runs to slander, and our limits grow narrower as we advance. How
is it that we are impelled to treat our old Friends so ill when
we obtain new ones? The housekeeper says, I never had any new
crockery in my life but I began to break the old. I say, let us
speak of mushrooms and forest trees rather. Yet we can sometimes
afford to remember them in private.
Lately, alas, I knew a gentle boy,
Whose features all were cast in Virtue's mould,
As one she had designed for Beauty's toy,
But after manned him for her own strong-hold.
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