e goodness,
uprightness, and generosity. We now allude to these admirable qualities,
because we must observe, that with him, as with almost all who possess
them, they were not, and could not be, united with an energetic and
resolute character. Admirably persevering in good deeds, the influence
of this excellent man, was insinuating rather than commanding; it was
not by the bold energy and somewhat overbearing will, peculiar to other
men of great and noble heart, that Hardy had realized the prodigy of his
Common Dwelling-house; it was by affectionate persuasion, for with him
mildness took the place of force. At sight of any baseness or injustice,
he did not rouse himself, furious and threatening; but he suffered
intense pain. He did not boldly attack the criminal, but he turned
away from him in pity and sorrow. And then his loving heart, so full of
feminine delicacy, had an irresistible longing for the blessed contact
of dear affections; they alone could keep it alive. Even as a poor,
frail bird dies with the cold, when it can no longer lie close to its
brethren, and receive and communicate the sweet warmth of the maternal
nest. And now this sensitive organization, this extremely susceptible
nature, receives blow after blow from sorrows and deceptions, one of
which would suffice to shake, if it did not conquer, the firmest and
most resolute character. Hardy's best friend has infamously betrayed
him. His adored mistress has abandoned him.

The house which he had founded for the benefit of his workmen, whom he
loved as brethren, is reduced to a heap of ashes. What then happens? All
the springs of his soul are at once broken. Too feeble to resist
such frightful attacks, too fatally deceived to seek refuge in other
affections, too much discouraged to think of laying the first stone
of any new edifice--this poor heart, isolated from every salutary
influence, finds oblivion of the world and of itself in a kind of gloomy
torpor. And if some remaining instincts of life and affection, at
long intervals, endeavored to rouse themselves within him, and if,
half-opening his mind's eye, which he had kept closed against the
present, the past, and the future, Hardy looks around him--what does he
see? Only these sentences, so full of terrible despair:

"Thou art nothing but dust and ashes. Grief and tears art thy portion.
Believe not in any son of man. There are no such things as friendship or
ties of kindred. All human affections are f