What I
very much prize is a true friend, and yet no friend approaches with a
word of sympathy or encouragement; would that some would counsel me, as
to how I may better my condition." Thus far had Arthur Wilton proceeded
in his soliloquy, when his eyelids were weighed down by drowsiness, and
he soon sank into a deep slumber. In his dream an aged man, with a most
mild and venerable countenance stood before him, who, addressing him by
name, said: "Thy heart is full of sorrow; but if you will listen to, and
profit by my words, your sorrow shall be turned into joy. You have been
grieving over the hours which have been run to waste, without pausing to
reflect, that while you have been occupied with these unavailing
regrets, another hour has glided away past your recall forever; and will
be added to your already lengthened list of opportunities misimproved.
You grieve that your name is not placed on the lists of fame. Cease from
thy fruitless longings. Discharge faithfully your present duties, and if
you merit fame it will certainly be awarded you. You also complain that
no friend is near you. Have you ever truly sought a friend, by the
unwearied exercise of those affections, and in the performance of those
numberless offices of kindness by which alone friendship is secured and
perpetuated?
'All like the _purchase_, _few_ the _price_ will pay;
And this makes friends such miracles below.
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