We need more examples of a mode of living which shall not alone be a success in view of some ulterior object, but which shall be, in its nobleness and healthfulness, successful every moment as it passes on.  Navigating a wholly new temperament through history, this American race must of course form its own methods and take nothing at second-hand; but the same triumphant combination of bodily and mental training which made human life beautiful in Greece, strong in Rome, simple and joyous in Germany, truthful and brave in England, must yet be moulded to a higher quality amid this varying climate and on these low shores.  The regions of the world most garlanded with glory and romance, Attica, Provence, Scotland, were originally more barren than Massachusetts; and there is yet possible for us such an harmonious mingling of refinement and vigor, that we may more than fulfil the world’s expectation, and may become classic to ourselves.

* * * * *

LAND-LOCKED.

  Black lie the hills, swiftly doth daylight flee,
  And, catching gleams of sunset’s dying smile,
  Through the dusk land for many a changing mile
  The river runneth softly to the sea.

  O happy river, could I follow thee! 
  O yearning heart, that never can be still! 
  O wistful eyes, that watch the steadfast hill,
  Longing for level line of solemn sea!

  Have patience; here are flowers and songs of birds,
  Beauty and fragrance, wealth of sound and sight,
  All summer’s glory thine from morn till night,
  And life too full of joy for uttered words.

  Neither am I ungrateful.  But I dream
  Deliciously, how twilight falls to-night
  Over the glimmering water, how the light
  Dies blissfully away, until I seem

  To feel the wind sea-scented on my cheek,
  To catch the sound of dusky flapping sail,
  And dip of oars, and voices on the gale,
  Afar off, calling softly, low and sweet.

  O Earth, thy summer-song of joy may soar
  Ringing to heaven in triumph!  I but crave
  The sad, caressing murmur of the wave
  That breaks in tender music on the shore.

TWO OR THREE TROUBLES.

If there are only two or three, I am pretty sure of a sympathetic hearing.  If there were two-and-twenty, I should be much more doubtful:  for only last night, on being introduced to a tall lady in deep mourning, and assured that she had been “a terrible sufferer,” that her life, indeed, had been “one long tragedy,” I may as well confess, that, so far from being interested in this tall long tragedy, merely as such, I stepped a little aside on the instant, on some frivolous pretence, and took an early opportunity to get out of the way.  Why this was I leave to persons who understand the wrong side of human nature.  I am ashamed of it; but there it is,—­neither worse nor better.  And I can’t expect others to be more compassionate than I am myself.