"That is why I like them, sir. There is sublimity in their hardy independence, taking root, as you say, where pampered, or less robust vegetation would perish, and with never-furling banners, stretching up boldly towards the stars." "They are emblems to you--of what?" asked the Doctor. "Of the few really great ones, who have demonstrated that human nature is not of necessity, vile or imbecile, or yet a debtor to accident, for its spice of good." "The gifted,--or the fortunate?" "The _resolute_,--sir. They, who have riven the shackles of low birth or poverty, and made for themselves a glorious name--out of nothing!--have done it by the naked force of _will_. Call it 'talent' or 'genius,' if you choose;--upon analyzation, you will resolve it into this one element of character." "It is a sorry task to pick flaws in your beautiful analogy," said the old gentleman. "You may not be aware that your pine, sturdy as it appears, is less fitted than any other tree, for standing alone; its roots running out laterally from the trunk; and lying near the surface of the earth. Cut down the outer row which have kept off the tempests, and helped to support him, and the first hard wind is apt to lay him low." "And so there are fates, against which the mightiest of mortal energies are powerless. Leave the pine unprotected, and if it survive one blast, it strikes its roots deeper and deeper into the ground, until it has strength to brave an hundred winters. Adversity, if it does not kill--strengthens." "Do you favor the philosophy, which teaches that a certain amount of trouble is necessary for the complete development of character?" "Whether necessary or not--it comes. That is not a matter of hypothesis; but I have seen some, who, I did not think, required discipline; and many more, who wanted softening, instead of hardening." "Is hardening the legitimate effect of sorrow?" asked he, more gravely. "When the chastening is guided by love, does it not melt and refine? Are strength and hardness synonymous?" "I question the difference, sir,--as the world goes." "Instead of referring to 'the world,' in an abstract sense--judge we of the influence of trials, by what we know of ourselves. I never tasted real happiness, until I learned to bear grief, by submitting to the will of Providence." "And one affliction has embittered life for me!" returned Ida, gloomily. "Poor child!" then recollecting himself, he addressed Carry in a jesting tone. "And you--Miss Carry--what is your vote upon this important question?" "I have had no trouble, sir," replied she, lightly, "except school-quarrels. You would not class them in the category of tribulations." There was sadness in her father's look of love, as he answered, "I hope you may long be able to say so, dear!" Carry brushed away the mist from her lashes. "'A consummation devoutly to be desired,'--as Charley, or Shakspeare would say. Where is he, father?" "Who? Shakspeare or Charley?"