justice. People are perpetually squabbling about what will be best to do, or easiest to do, or advisablest to do, or profitablest to do; but they never, so far as I hear them talk, ever ask what it is just to do. And it is the law of Heaven that you shall not be able to judge what is wise or easy, unless you are first resolved to judge what is just, and to do it. That is the one thing constantly reiterated by our Master-the order of all others that is given oftenest"Do justice and judgment." That's your Bible order; that's the "Service of God," 10 not praying nor psalm-singing. You are told, indeed, to sing psalms when you are merry, and to pray when you need anything, and by the perversion of the Evil Spirit we get to think that praying and psalm-singing are "service." If a child finds itself in want of anything, 15 it runs in and asks its father for it-does it call that doing its father a service? If it begs for a toy or a piece of cake-does it call that serving its father? That, with God, is prayer, and He likes to hear it: He likes you to ask Him for cake when you want it; but He doesn't 20 call that "serving Him." Begging is not serving: God likes mere beggars as little as you do-He likes honest servants, not beggars.

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Alas! unless we perform divine service in every willing act of our life, we never perform it at all. The one 25 divine work-the one ordered sacrifice-is to do justice; and it is the last we are ever inclined to do. Anything rather than that! As much charity as you choose, but no justice. Nay," you will say, "charity is greater than justice." Yes, it is greater-it is the summit of justice-it is the temple of which justice is the foundation. But you can't have the top without the bottom; you cannot build upon charity. You must build upon justice, for this main reason, that you have not, at first,

charity to build with. It is the last reward of good work. Do justice to your brother (you can do that, whether you love him or not), and you will come to love him. But do injustice to him, because you don't love him, and you will come to hate him. It is all very fine 5 to think you can build upon charity to begin with; but you will find all you have got to begin with begins at home, and is essentially love of yourself. . . .

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Supposing, then, we have it determined with appropriate justice who is to do the hand-work, the next ques-10 tions must be how the hand-workers are to be paid, and how they are to be refreshed, and what play they are to have. Now, the possible quantity of play depends on the possible quantity of pay; and the quantity of pay is not a matter for consideration to hand-workers only, but to all workers. Generally, good, useful work, whether of the hand or head, is either ill-paid, or not paid at all. I don't say it should be so, but it always is so. People, as a rule, only pay for being amused or cheated, not for being served. Five thousand a year to your talker, 20 and a shilling a day to your fighter, digger, and thinker, is the rule. None of the best head-work in art, literature, or science, is ever paid for. How much do you think Homer got for his Iliad? or Dante3 for his Paradise? only bitter bread and salt, and going up and down oth-25 er people's stairs. In science, the man who discovered the telescope, and first saw heaven, was paid with a dungeon; the man who invented the microscope, and first saw earth, died of starvation, driven from his home: it is very clear indeed that God means all thoroughly good 30 work and talk to be done for nothing. Baruch, the scribe, did not get a penny a line for writing Jeremiah's second roll for him, I fancy; and St. Stephen' did not get bishop's pay for that long sermon of his to the

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Pharisees-nothing but stones; for, indeed, that is the world-father's proper payment. So surely as any of the world's children work for the world's good, honestly, with head and heart, and come to it saying, "Give us a little bread, just to keep the life in us,” the world-father · answers them," "No, my children, not bread; a stone if you like, or as many as you need to keep you quiet.”

But the hand-workers are not so' ill off as all this comes to. The worst that can happen to you is to break stones; not to be broken by them. And for And for you there 10 will come a time for better payment; some day, assuredly, more pence will be paid to Peter the Fisherman, and fewer to Peter the Pope; we shall pay people not quite so much for talking in Parliament and doing nothing, as for holding their tongues out of it and doing 15 something; we shall pay our ploughmen a little more and our lawyers a little less, and so on: but, at least, we may even now take care that whatever work is done shall be fully paid for—and the man who does it paid for it, not somebody else; and that it shall be done in 20 an orderly, soldierly, well-guided, wholesome way, under good captains and lieutenants of labor; and that it shall have its appointed times of rest, and enough of them; and that in those times the play shall be wholesome play, not in theatrical gardens, with tin flowers and gas 25 sunshine, and girls dancing because of their misery; but in true gardens, with real flowers and real sunshine, and children dancing because of their gladness; so that truly the street shall be full (the "streets," mind you, not the gutters) of children playing in the midst thereof.

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LXI.

ODE.

INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD.

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.'

THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight,

To me did seem

Apparelled in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;
Turn wheresoe'er I may,

By night or day,

The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

The rainbow comes and goes,

And lovely is the rose;

The moon doth with delight

Look round her when the heavens are bare;

Waters on a starry night

Are beautiful and fair;

The sunshine is a glorious birth;

But yet I know, where'er I go,

That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound,

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To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,

And I again am strong.

The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng;
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
And all the earth is gay;

Land and sea

Give themselves up to jollity,
And with the heart of May

Doth every beast keep holiday.

Thou child of joy,

Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy

shepherd-boy!

Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make; I see

The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My heart is at your festival.

My head hath its coronal,

The fulness of your bliss, I feel-I feel it all.
O evil day, if I were sullen

When Earth herself is adorning

In a thousand valleys far and wide,

Fresh flowers, while the sun shines warm,

And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm!
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear !—
But there's a tree, of many one,

A single field which I have looked upon,

Both of them speak of something that is gone;

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