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with pleasure? And who that has been brought up in a respectable family, and educated as becomes a freeman, is not offended with baseness as such, though it may not be likely to injure him personally?

3. Who can keep his equanimity while looking on a man who, he thinks, lives in an impure and wicked manner? Who does not hate sordid, fickle, unstable, worthless men ? But what shall we be able to say (if we do not lay it down that baseness is to be avoided for its own sake ) is the reason why men do not seek darkness and solitude, and then give the rein to every possible infamy, except that baseness of itself detects them by reason of its own intrinsic foulness ? Innumerable arguments may be brought forward to support this opinion; but it is needless, for there is nothing which can be less a matter of doubt than that what is honorable ought to be sought for its own sake; and, in the same manner, what is disgraceful ought to be avoided.

4. But after that point is established, which we have previously mentioned, that that which is honorable is the sole good, it must unavoidably be understood that that which is honorable is to be valued more highly than those intermediate goods which we derive from it. But when we say that folly and rashness and injustioe and intemperance are to be avoided on account of those things which result from them, we do not speak in such a manner that our language is at all inconsistent with the position which has been laid down, that that alone is evil which is dishonorable.

LXXXI.-THE BURIAL OF MOSES.

ANONYMOUS. "And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Beth-peor: but no man knoweth of his sepulcher to this day."-Deut. XXXIV:6.

1. By Nebo's lonely mountain,

On this side Jordan's wave,

In a vale in the land of Moab,

There lies a lonely grave;
But no man dug that sepulcher,

And no man saw it e'er,
For the angels of God upturned the sod

And laid the dead man there.

2. That was the grandest funeral

That ever passed on earth; But no man heard the tramping,

Or saw the train go forth; Noiselessly as the day-light

Comes when the night is done, And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek

Grows into the great sun,3. Noiselessly as the spring-time

Her crown of verdure weaves, And all the trees on all the hills

Open their thousand leaves,So, without sound of music

Or voice of them that wept, Silently down from the mountain crown

The great procession swept. 4. Perchance the bald old eagle,

On grey Beth-peor's height, Out of his rocky eyrie,

Looked on the wondrous sight; Perchance the lion, stalking,

Still shuns the hallowed spot: For beast and bird have seen and heard

That which man knoweth not.

5. Lo when the warrior dieth,

His comrades in the war,

With arms reversed and muffled drum,

Follow the funeral car.
They show the banners taken,

They tell his battles won,
And after him lead his masterless steed,

While peals the minute gun.

6. Amid the noblest of the land

Men lay the sage to rest,
And give the bard an honored place,

With costly marble dressed,
In the great minster transept,

Where lights like glories fall,
And the choir sings and the organ rings

Along the emblazoned wall.

7. This was the bravest warrior

That ever buckled sword; This the most gifted poet

That ever breathed a word;
And never earth's philosopher

Traced, with his golden pen,
On the deathless page, truths half so sage

As he wrote down for men.

8. And had be not high honor ?

The hill side for his pall;
To lie in state while angels wait

With stars for tapers tall;
And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes,

Over his bier to wave;
And God's own hand, in that lonely land,

To lay him in the grave,

9. In that deep grave, without a name,

Whence his uncoffined clay

Shall break again-0 wondrous thought !

Before the judgment day,
And stand with glory wrapped around

On the hills he never trod,
And speak of the strife that won our life

With the incarnate Son of God.

10. O lonely tomb in Moab's land,

O dark Beth-peor's hill,
Speak to these curious hearts of ours,

And teach them to be still.
God hath his mysteries of grace, -

Ways that we cannot tell;
He hides them deep, like the secret sleep

Of him he loved so well.

LXXXII.—THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.

ALEXANDER POPE.
1. Vital spark of heavenly flame!

Quit, О quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
O the pain, the bliss of dying !
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,

And let me languish into life!
2. Hark! they whisper; angels say,

“Sister spirit, come away!”
What is this absorbs me quite ?
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ?

Tell me, my soul, can this be death ?
3. The world recedes; it disappears !

Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears

With sounds seraphic ring;
Lend, lend your wings! I mount ! I fly!
O Grave ! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?

LXXXIII.-HISTORIC DOUBTS.

RICHARD WBATELY. 1. Still it will be said, that unless we suppose a regularly preconcerted plan, we must at least expect to find great discrepancies in the accounts published. Though they might adopt the general outlines of facts one from another, they would have to fill up the detail for themselves; and in this, therefore, we should meet with infinite and irreconcilable variety.

2. Now this is precisely the point I am tending to; for the fact exactly accords with the above supposition; the discordance and natural contradictions of these witnesses being such as alone throw a considerable shade of doubt over their testimony. It is not in minute circumstances alone that the discrepancy appears, such as might be expected to appear in a narrative substantially true; but in very great and leading transactions, and such as are intimately connected with the supposed hero. For instance, it is by no means agreed whether Bonaparte led in person the celebrated charge over the bridge of Lodi (for celebrated it certainly is, as well as the siege of Troy, whether either event really took place or no), or was safe in the rear while Augereau performed the exploit.

3. The same doubt hangs over the charge of the French cavalry at Waterloo. The peasant Lacoste, who professed to

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