eir works abide and they not
be recognized in them, that their words may be echoed in many tongues
while the writer is put out of the question almost as entirely as he who
carved the first hieroglyph on the archaic stone. It will ever be found,
whether in works or words, that what touches the heart rather than what
strikes the fancy, what draws the tear rather than excites the smile,
will embalm the memory of the man of genius. But of all posthumous
distinctions the noblest is that awarded to the philanthropist; even the
meed of the man of science, which consists in the complete working of
some great discovery skilfully applied, falls short of the reward of
those who have contributed their utmost to the physical improvement and
social elevation of man,--from the munificent endowment whose benefits
increase and multiply in each succeeding generation, to the smallest
seed of charity scattered by the frailest hand, as sure as the strong to
gather together at the harvest its countless sheaves. To fill a niche in
a heart, or a niche in each of a thousand hearts,--_either_ a holier
place than that of the poet, who lives in the imagination he renders
restless, or that of the hero, who renders the mind more restless still
for his suggestion of the glory which may surround a name, a glory
rather to be dreaded than desired,--too often, in such cases, must evil
be done or tolerated that good may be brought forth.

Then there is consolation for those not gifted either with worldly means
or powers of mind or healthful daring. Some will ever remember and
regret the man or woman who carries true feeling into the affairs of
life, important or minute: gentle courtesies, heart-warm words, delicate
regards,--as surely part of consummate charity as the drop is a portion
of the deep whose fountains it helps to fill. Precious, too, is
self-denial, not austerely invoked from conscience by the voice of duty,
but welling from the heart as a natural and necessary return for all it
owes to a Power it cannot reward. It has been said, that, to be
respected in old age, one should be kind to _little children_ all one's
life. May we not, therefore, show just such helpful tenderness to the
childlike or appealing weakness of every person with whom we have to
do?--for few hearts, alas! have not a weak string. Then no burden shall
be left to the last hour, except that of mortality, of which time itself
relieves us kindly,--nor shall we have an account to s