I delight to come to my bearings,--not walk in procession with pomp and parade, in a conspicuous place, but to walk even with the Builder of the universe, if I may,--not to live in this restless, nervous, bustling, trivial Nineteenth Century, but stand or sit thoughtfully while it goes by. What are men celebrating? They are all on a committee of arrangements, and hourly expect a speech from somebody. God is only the president of the day, and Webster is his orator. I love to weigh, to settle, to gravitate toward that which most strongly and rightfully attracts me;--not hang by the beam of the scale and try to weigh less,--not suppose a case, but take the case that is