before their inferiors in age, station, and understanding, so as to become very objects of pity, is as strange as it is lamentably true. And that this should come to pass so frequently merely to pander to a vitiated appetite, or from the lack of exercising that simple resolution which should say, "Hold! enough!" before the monitory voice within has lost the reins of government, is a sad stigma on philosophy as well as morality.

Take the same men, and accuse them of any other weakness-of any shortcomings of a commercial character, or of exhibiting pusillanimity in any transaction requiring strength of will and energy of purpose, and they would be ready to knock you down for your base insinuation. But only to "get over the score a bit-that is, to commit themselves so that their usual strong sense is turned into maudlin silliness, or that kind of boisterous and yet more ridiculous braggadocio which lays bare those egotistical traits of character which sober reason would ever suppress-is thought nothing at all of, or even laughed at, as something rather pleasing to reflect on.

Oh for a faithful mirror, which for once would show to the sensualist the contemptible figure he cuts before the same community, and I verily think he would hesitate before he again submitted himself to the pity of his fellow-men.

Dr. Young says that "all men think all men mortal but themselves," and I really think this must be the case with many who do not seem to know how they commit themselves before society when over-indulgence has elated, or rather we will say degraded them. They are aware, doubtless, how contemptible Brown, Jones, and Robinson appear under such circumstances; but they hang to a fond delusion that they themselves always manage to preserve such a decorum that no one will think much the worse of them for being, as they imagine, only a little more sprightly and animated than usual. It is not to be much wondered at if a fool or a drunkard thinks he is by far the cleverest fellow in the company; but it is rather surprising that a man, when he has again recovered his sound sense, should continue to think everybody was duped as well as himself, and that he did not lower himself after all, even to those whose brains were in no way obfuscated by alcoholic stimulants.

It is very humiliating to think how few things any of us really do that are in any way worthy of ourselves, our opportunities, and our times. How seldom is it that we can look back upon a performance well executed, on which we have thrown our best energies and talents, and can, with anything like a feeling of personal satisfaction, say that it is very good!

There is, in general, rather more than a suspicion that the work in question is in no way worthy of the man or his means. We can

tell how we might have given it more excellence if we had not flagged a little, and slackened our hand here and there; and the best parts serve to remind us how the whole might have been much better if we had only thrown lustily more of our being into it. The masterpieces of great minds show us what the human will can accomplish when all the energies of mind and body are concentrated to one focus.

In looking at a great work of human agency, whether it be an artistic design, executed so as to endure for long centuries-such as the Nineveh sculptures, the Elgin marbles, the grand masonic piles of Michael Angelo, or the sublime productions of Raphael; whether it be a philosophical record, such as the papyrus roll of Aristotle, unfolding treatise upon treatise to guide the learned of generations yet unborn; or the Principia of Newton, those leading thoughts which profess to take their start where most of us leave off; or whether it be the pouring of the soul into harmonious verse, as Homer and Shakspere did;-in all these works we see that, to attain to what was ever after to be deemed a worthy memorial of their greatness, these men gave themselves, as it were, to their high emprise; and, unless all that we do is hereafter to rank among the "things not worthy," we must follow in their track, and whatever we put our hands unto, "do it with our might."

It is said of some lion-hearted fellows that the word impossible was not admitted into their vocabulary, and that they had the audacity to imagine that they could accomplish nearly everything they undertook. Such intrepidity may often lead a man to act unadvisedly, and cause him to rush with rash impetuosity at difficulties which he discovers are insurmountable by ordinary patient toil. But though we would not have our fervid spirits charge madly to achieve impossibilities, only to come out of the fray like the gallant cavalry brigade at Balaclava, covered with glory, but broken and shattered, without any good end accomplished; yet in all things it behoves us well to consider that we have strong faculties of one kind or other, and talents of a high or low order, and with these we can perform, if not the noblest deeds, still some work worthy of this active body and sentient spirit.

Though we may often rank among the unsuccessful candidates, and our ablest efforts be found by the world at large things not worthy of cognizance, there is yet time and opportunity for doing good unto all men, and retrieving the time we have wasted away. And, too, there are prizes to be won yet, if we bend ourselves to the task with manly zeal, and so use our slender talents that in the very application of them we increase our store of knowledge, and at the same time labour towards one definite end, which, if it be worthy of our honest ambition, will shine before us as a guiding star, to lure us on through dangers and difficulties, until our object is achieved. If we

stumble and fall, and give up before reaching the goal of our hopes, we reflect but little credit on our nature, our nation, or our Maker; for, doubtless, we are made with qualities which will cause our efforts to ripen into fruition, if we have not altogether mistaken our vocation, and are trying to sail against wind and tide. How many there are who, on walking over an ill-cultivated farm, can tell oracularly how this rushy piece wants efficiently draining, that furzy pasture cleaning, and the other parts ploughing deeper, and putting under a better system of tillage, before ever any crops will be realized at all adequate to the quantity and quality of the land under cultivation, who yet at the same time are looking for success to attend their own efforts when their mental culture is greatly neglected, and while parts of their mind, once fertile, are now lying fallow, other parts never probed to the requisite depth, and their brain estate generally worked without order and system! This is bad farming indeed. If one thing more than another is worthy of our attention, we should not rank as least the pleasure of ascertaining something like the range and power of our mental faculties.

And in the process we may discover new fields susceptible of good tilth, and deep soundings where we expected shallow water; and, learning better to know ourselves, may "put the right foot foremost" towards acquiring a more comprehensive knowledge of things in general. If, on the other hand, this investigation into our private capacities reveals to our inmost selves the naked fact that what appeared to others, and perhaps even to us, of a subtle and profound character, is altogether airy and superficial, and that there is in reality no solid substratum of knowledge on which we dare think of erecting a temple to Fame, we may at least learn not to make our folly conspicuous, nor to dishonour wisdom by drawing false bills on an empty exchequer. There are few things more unworthy of a man, with any pretensions to magnanimity, than the desire publicly to appear well versed on subjects about which he really is densely ignorant. A man with good tact and versatile conversational power may brave the deception, but a home question from one who really is thoroughly conversant thereon will easily make a big rent in such a bagful of moonshine, and the parader of false philosophy or assumed wisdom sinks (or at least should do so) to his proper level.

Looking out of the window from where I am writing, I see an old white horse with a chain round his neck, the end of which is not fastened to the ground, but drags after him to prevent his straying too far. He classes now among the things not worthy, yet he looks as though he had seen better days; and when his ribs were well covered and his pasterns less swollen, he may have cantered gaily along the highway, neighing with very joy, and as light-hearted as the bonny lassie who, with ruddy cheeks and waving tresses,

revelled in her morning's ride. There is something rather saddening in the thought that when we, too, get old and grey, and rather shaky about the legs, we may have to drag a chain of some sort or other about with us, and, ranking among the "things not worthy " of the world's approving smile, become an object for pitiful contemplation.

But "let us now be up and doing," and, recognizing our position mentally, socially, and nationally, strive to make the best of the implements and faculties given us to work with; nor let it ever be said of us that we neglected our opportunities, or scorned the use of small means for the attaining of great ends. If we can boast of high endowments, let us show that we know how to employ them; and if our natural gifts are few, let us tell the world how to make the most of a little, and prove that we do not despise the meanest of God's blessings, nor dare to rank them among things not worthy.

C. W. P.

BREAD UPON THE WATERS.

NO. I. THE MAGDALEN HOSPITAL.

"And Jesus said unto her, . . . Go, and sin no more."

WHEN I commenced the labours which have since become the leading occupation, as they are the chief pleasure of my life, I had been bowed to the very earth by a heavy and crushing sorrow. As in diseases of the body there is a culminating period, a crisis which either kills the patient or enables him to shake off his fell enemy and become hale and well; so in disorders of the mind there is a climax of agony, a depth of blank, hopeless, helpless wretchedness, beyond which there is no passing, and after which the sufferer-I am speaking of the men of this world—is left panting, weary, and heart-sore, and with a more than half-indifferent curiosity as to the phase of torture he will be called upon to endure next. The capacity for suffering is limited, like the other powers of humanity; and while he who has most heart knows most sorrow, and while any one capable of a real sorrow is capable of good, if the sad incidents of life were massed together at one time, their aggregate weight would be enough to bow the proudest head and break the strongest spirit. And yet, as an American writer wisely and eloquently says, "suffering comes to us through and from our whole nature. It cannot be winked out of sight. It cannot be thrust into a subordinate place in the picture of human life. It is the chief burden of history. . It gives to fictions their deep interest. It wails through much of our poetry. A large part of human vocations are intended to shut up some of its avenues. It has left traces on every human countenance over which years have passed. It is to not a few the most vivid recollection of life." And this is the more obvious when we peer below the surface of what good old Archbishop Leighton called "the delusive hopes and false joys of this our wretched state." Who among my readers cannot recall a time when the sunshine lost its brightness, when the beautiful uniformity of nature seemed an aggravation of the bitterness within; and when, after summing up the crosses, trials, and vexations on every side, and crying, like the patriarch of old, "All these things are against me," the ever-absorbing desire has been to creep out of sight, like some wounded deer, and leave a world wherein the thorns are so cruel and the wounds so bitterly severe? It is at such a time as this when the undisciplined and unregenerate heart rebels most against the previsions of the Inscrutable, and is impiously disposed to question the wisdom of the All-wise. This is the time when the suicide loads the pistol