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The “ jeft” hand, as distinguished from the right, is the hand which we “leave;” inasmuch as for twenty times we use the right hand, we do not once employ the left; and it obtains its name from being « left” unused so often. “ Wild" is the parti. ciple past of “to will ;” a “wild ” horse is a “willed” or seif. willed horse, one that has never been tamed, or taught to submit its will to the will of another; and so with a man.
8. Do not suffer words to pass you by which at once provoke and promise to reward inquiry. Here is a conscience, '91 a solemn word, if there be such in the world. This word is from the Latin words “con,” with, and “ scirë,” to know. But what does that “con” intend ? “ Conscience " is not merely that which I know, but that which I know with some one else ; for this pre'fix82 cannot, as I think, be esteemed super'fluous, or taken to imply merely that which I know with or to myself. That cther knower whom the word implies is God, - his law making itse.f known and felt in the heart.
9. What a lesson the word “diligence” contains! How prof. itable is it for every one of us to be reminded, — as we arese reminded when we make ourselves aware of its derivation from “diligo,” to love, – that the only secret of true industry in our work is love of that work!
10. These illustrations are amply enough to justify what I have asserted of the existence of a moral element in words. Must we not own, then, that there is a wondrous and mysterious world, of which we may hitherto have taken too little account, around us and about us ; and may there not be a deeper meaning than hitherto we have attached to it lying in that solemn declaration, “ By thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned ” 159
R. C. TRENCH.
XLVII. — THE STREAM THAT WAS MADE TO WORK.
1. That stream which runs through my garden gushes from the side of a furze-covered hill. For a long time it was a happy little stream ; it traversed meadows where all sorts of lovely wild-flowers bathed and mirrored themselves in its waters; then it entered my garden, and there I was ready to receive it. I had prepared green banks for it; on its edge and in its very bed I had planted those flowers which 138 all over the world love to bloom on the banks and in the bosom of pure streams.
2. It flowed through my garden, murmuring its plaintive song; then, fragrants with my flowers, it left the garden, crossed
another meadow, and flung itself into the seas over the precipi. tous sides of a cliff which it covered with foam. It was a happy stream; it had literally nothing to do beyond what I have said, - to flow, to bubble, to look limpid, to murmur amid flowers and sweet perfumes. But the world is ever jealous of the happiness of gentle indolence.
3. One day my brother Eugene, and Savage, the clever i engineer, were talking together on the banks of the stream, and to a certain degree abusing it. “There," said my brother, “is a fine good-for-nothing stream for you, forsooth! winding and daw. dling about, dancing in the sunshiu and revelling in the grass, instead of working and paying for the place it takes up, as an honest stream should. Could it not be made to grind coffee or pepper ?”—“ Or tools ?” added Savage.—" Or to saw boards ?” said my brother. I trembled for the stream, and broke off the conversation, complaining that they were trampling on my forgetme-not bed. Alas! it was against these two alone that I could protect the devoted streamlet.
4. Before long there came into our neighborhood a man whom I noticed more than once hanging about the spot where the stream empties itself into the sea. The fellow, 24 I plainly saw, was neither seeking for rhymes nor indulging in rev'eries upon its banks; he was not lulling thought to rest with the gentle murmur of its waters. “My good friend," he was saying to the stream, “there you are, idling and meändering about, singing to your heart's content, while I am working and wearing myself out. I don't see why you should not help me a bit; as yet you know nothing of the work to be done, but I will soon show you. You will soon know how to set about it. You must find it dull to stay in this way, doing nothing; it would be a change for you to make files or grind knives.”
5. Very soon!38 wheels of all kinds were brought to the poor stream. From that day forward it has worked and turned a great wheel, which turns a little wheel, which turns a grîndstone: it still sings, but no longer the same gently-monotonous song in its peaceful melancholy. Its song is loud and angry now; it leaps and froths and works now, - it grinds knives! It still crosses the meadow, and my garden, and the next meadow; but there the man is on the watch for it, to make it work. I have done the only thing I could do for it. I have dug a new bed for it in my garden, so that it may idle longer there, and leave me a little later; but, for all that, it must go at last and grind knives. Poor stream! thou didst not sufficiently conceal thy happiness in obscurity; — thou hast murmured too audibly thy gentle music.
FROM THE FRENCH OF ALPHONSE KARB.
XLVIII. - A RETROSPECTIVEES REVIEW.
1. O, WHEN I was a tiny boy,
My mates were blithe and kind!
To cast a look behind !
2 A hoop was an eternal round
A top a joyous thing;
And careful thoughts the string !
3. My kite,131 how fast and far it flew ! Whilst I, a sort of Franklin, Ei drew
_My pleasure from the sky! 'T was papered o'er with studious themes, The tasks I wrote, - my presentoi dreams
Will never soar so high !
4. My joys are wingless all and dead;
My flights soon find a fall.
And seldom with a call !
5. My football 's laid upon the shelf ;
The world knocks to and fro ;
My arrows and my bow!
6. No more in noontide sun I bask ;
My head 's ne'er out of school.
And friends grow strangely cool !
7. No skies so blue or 80 serene
As clothed the playground tree;
That change resides in me!
8. O, for the garb that marked the boy
Well inked with black and red ,
Repose upon my head !
9. O, for the lessons learned by heart !
Should mark those hours again ;
Some sugar in the cane !
My mates were blithe and kind !
XLIX. — ADDRESS TO THE INDOLENT.
From “ THE CASTLES OF INDOLENCE." 1. Is not the field with lively culture green
A sight more joyous than the dead morăss?
2. It was not by vile loitering in ease
That Greeceti obtained the brighter palm 57 of art,
3. Had unambitious mortals minded naught
But in loose joy their time to wear away,-
Rude Nature's state had been our118 state to-day ;
4. But should your hearts to fame unfeeling be,
If right I read, you pleasure all require :
5. Ah! what avail the largest gifts of Heaven, 80
When drooping health and spirits go amiss ?
6 0, who can speak the vigorous joy of health,
Unclogged the body, unobscured the mind ?
7. There are 168 I see, who listen to my lay,
Who wretched sigh for virtue, yet despair.
8. Would you, then, learn to dissipate the band
Of these huge threatening difficulties dire, 156