There are pompous talkers, solemn, oracular, and dull. Track them from society to solitude; and there ye find them fools.

There are light-hearted jesters, taking up with company for pastime;

How speed they when alone?-serious, wise, and thoughtful.

And wherefore? both are actors, saving when in soli

tude,

There they live their truest life, and all things show sin

cere:

But the fool by pomposity of speech striveth to be counted wise,

And the wise, for holiday and pleasance, playeth with the fool's best bauble.

The solemn seemer, as a rule, will be found more ignorant and shallow

Than those who laugh both loud and long, content to hide their knowledge.

For thee; seek thou Solitude, but neither in excess, nor morosely;

Seek her for her precious things, and not of thine own

pride.

For there, separate from a crowd, the still small voice will talk with thee,

Truth's whisper, heard and echoed by responding con

science:

There, shalt thou gather up the ravelled skeins of

feeling,

And mend the nets of usefulness, and rest awhile for

duties;

There, thou shalt hive thy lore, and eat the fruits of

study,

For Solitude delighteth well to feed on many thoughts; There, as thou sittest peaceful, communing with fancy, The precious poetry of life shall gild its leaden cares; There, as thou walkest by the sea, beneath the gentle stars,

Many kindling seeds of good will sprout within thy

soul;

Thou shalt weep in Solitude,-thou shalt pray in Soli

tude,

Thou shalt sing for joy of heart, and praise the grace of Solitude.

Pass on, pass on!-for this is the path of wisdom:

God make thee prosper on the way; I leave thee well with Solitude.

Every beginning is shrouded in a mist, those vague ideas beyond,

And the traveller setteth on his journey, oppressed with many thoughts,

Balancing his hopes and fears, and looking for some order in the chaos,

Some secret path between the cliffs, that seem to bar his

way:

So, he commenceth at a clue, unravelling its tangled

skein,

And boldly speedeth on to thread the labyrinth before

him.

Then as he gropeth in the darkness, light is attendant on his steps,

He walketh straight in fervent faith, and difficulties vanish at his presence;

The

very flashing of his sword scattereth those shadowy foes;

Confident and sanguine of success, he goeth forth conquering and to conquer.

Every middle is burdened with a weariness,—to have to go as far again,

And Diligence is sick at heart, and Enterprize foot

sore:

That which began in zeal, bursting as a fresh-dug

spring,

Goeth on doggedly in toil, and hath no help of nature: Then, is need of moral might, to wrestle with the animal

reaction,

Still to fight, with few men left, and still though faint pursuing.

The middle is a marshy flat, whereon the wheels go heavily,

With clouds of doubt above, and ruts of discouragement

below:

Press on, sturdy traveller, yet a league, and yet a

league!

While every step is binding wings on thy victorious feet.

Every end is happiness, the glorious consummation of

design,

The perils past, the fears annulled, the journey at its

close:

And the traveller resteth in complacency, home-returned at last:

Work done may claim its wages, the goal gained hath won its prize:

While the labour lasted, while the race was running,

Many-times the sinews ached, and half refused the struggle:

But now,

all is quietness, a pleasant hour given to repose;

Calmness in the retrospect of good, and calmness in the prospect of a blessing.

Hope was glad in the beginning, and fear was sad mid

way,

But sweet fruition cometh in the end, a harvest safe and

sure.

That which is, can never not have been: facts are solid as the pyramids :

A thing done is written in the rock, yea, with a pen of

iron.

Uncertainty no more can scare, the proof is seen com

plete,

Nor accident render unaccomplished, for the deed is

finished.

Thus the end shall crown the work, with grace, grace, unto the topstone,

And the work shall triumph in its crown, with peace, peace, unto the builder.

I have written, as other some of old, in quaint and meaning phrase,

Of many things for either world, a crowd of facts and fancies:

And will ye judge me, men of mind?—judge in kindly calmness;

For bitter words of haste or hate have often been re

pented.

Deep dreaming upon surface reading; imagery crowded over argument;