_If Time be of all Things the most precious, wasting Time must be, as Poor Richard_ says, _the_ _greatest Prodigality_; since, as he elsewhere tells us, _Lost Time is never found again; and what we call Time enough, always proves little enough_: Let us then up and be doing, and doing to the Purpose; so by Diligence shall we do more with less Perplexity. _Sloth makes all Things difficult, but Industry all easy_, as _Poor Richard_ says; and _He that riseth late must trot all Day, and shall scarce overtake his Business at Night; while Laziness travels so slowly, that Poverty soon overtakes him_, as we read in _Poor Richard_, who adds, _Drive thy Business, let not that drive thee_; and _Early to Bed, and early to rise, makes a Man healthy, wealthy, and wise._ _Industry need not wish, and he that lives upon Hope will die fasting._ _There are no Gains without Pains._ _He that hath a Trade hath an Estate; and he that hath a Calling, hath an Office of Profit and Honor_; but then the _Trade_ must be worked at, and the _Calling_ well followed, or neither the _Estate_ nor the _Office_ will enable us to pay our Taxes. What though you have found no Treasure, nor has any rich Relation left you a Legacy, _Diligence is the Mother of Good-luck_, as _Poor Richard_ says, _and God gives all Things to Industry_. _One To-day is worth two To-morrows_, and farther, _Have you somewhat to do To-morrow, do it To-day_. If you were a Servant, would you not be ashamed that a good Master should catch you idle? Are you then your own Master, _be ashamed to catch yourself idle_. Stick to it steadily; and you will see great Effects, for _Constant Dropping wears away Stones_, and by _Diligence and Patience the Mouse ate in two the Cable_; and _Little Strokes fell great Oaks_. Methinks I hear some of you say, _Must a Man afford himself no Leisure_? I will tell thee, my friend, what _Poor Richard_ says, _Employ thy Time well, if thou meanest to gain Leisure; and, since thou art not sure of a Minute, throw not away an Hour_. Leisure, is Time for doing something useful; this Leisure the diligent Man will obtain, but the lazy Man never; so that, as _Poor Richard_ says, _A Life of Leisure and a Life of Laziness are two things_. _Keep thy Shop, and thy Shop will keep thee_; and again, _If you would have your business done, go; if not, send.

I will not excuse you; you shall not be excused; excuses shall not be admitted; there is no excuse shall serve; you shall not be excused.... Some pigeons, Davy, a couple of short-legged hens; a joint of mutton; and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell 'William Cook.'" I now bade a reluctant farewell to the old hall. My mind had become so completely possessed by the imaginary scenes and characters connected with it that I seemed to be actually living among them. Everything brought them as it were before my eyes, and as the door of the dining-room opened I almost expected to hear the feeble voice of Master Silence quavering forth his favorite ditty: "'Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all, And welcome merry Shrove-tide!" On returning to my inn I could not but reflect on the singular gift of the poet, to be able thus to spread the magic of his mind over the very face of Nature, to give to things and places a charm and character not their own, and to turn this "working-day world" into a perfect fairy-land. He is indeed the true enchanter, whose spell operates, not upon the senses, but upon the imagination and the heart. Under the wizard influence of Shakespeare I had been walking all day in a complete delusion. I had surveyed the landscape through the prism of poetry, which tinged every object with the hues of the rainbow. I had been surrounded with fancied beings, with mere airy nothings conjured up by poetic power, yet which, to me, had all the charm of reality. I had heard Jaques soliloquize beneath his oak; had beheld the fair Rosalind and her companion adventuring through the woodlands; and, above all, had been once more present in spirit with fat Jack Falstaff and his contemporaries, from the august Justice Shallow down to the gentle Master Slender and the sweet Anne Page. Ten thousand honors and blessings on the bard who has thus gilded the dull realities of life with innocent illusions, who has spread exquisite and unbought pleasures in my chequered path, and beguiled my spirit in many a lonely hour with all the cordial and cheerful sympathies of social life! As I crossed the bridge over the Avon on my return, I paused to contemplate the distant church in which the poet lies buried, and could not but exult in the malediction which has kept his ashes undisturbed in its quiet and hallowed vaults.

Well I will see said the obliging earl and he once more disapeared. I dont know why you should turn against me Ethel said Mr Salteena in a low tone. Ethel patted her hair and looked very sneery. Well I call it very mystearious you going off and getting a title said Ethel and I think our friendship had better stop as no doubt you will soon be marrying a duchess or something. Not at all said Mr Salteena you must know Ethel he said blushing a deep red I always wished to marry you some fine day. This is news to me cried Ethel still peevish. But not to me murmered Mr Salteena and his voice trembled in his chest. I may add that I have always loved you and now I seem to do so madly he added passionately. [Pg 85] But I dont love you responded Ethel. But if you married me you might get to said Mr Salteena. I think not replied Ethel and all the same it is very kind of you to ask me and she smiled more nicely at him. This is agony cried Mr Salteena clutching hold of a table my life will be sour grapes and ashes without you. Be a man said Ethel in a gentle whisper and I shall always think of you in a warm manner. Well half a loaf is better than no bread responded Mr Salteena in a gloomy voice and just then the earl reappeard with a very brisk lady in a tight silk dress whose name was called Lady Gay Finchling and her husband was a General but had been dead a few years. So this is Miss Monticue she began in a rarther high voice. Oh yes said Ethel and Mr Salteena wiped the foaming dew from his forehead. Little did Lady [Pg 86] Gay Finchling guess she had just disturbed a proposal of marrage. The Earl chimed into the conversation now and again and Lady Gay Finchling told several rarther witty stories to enliven the party. Then Bernard Clark came up and said they had better be going. Well goodbye Clincham he said I must say I have enjoyed this party most rechauffie I call it dont you Ethel. Most cried Ethel I suppose you often come she added in a tone of envy to Lady Gay Finchling. Pretty often said Lady G.

Genius is something which “men of genius” take upon themselves; it is the greatest exertion and the greatest pride, the greatest misery and the greatest ecstasy to a man. A man may become a genius if he wishes to. But at once it will certainly be said: “Very many men would like very much to be ‘original geniuses,’” and their wish has no effect. But if these men who “would like very much” had a livelier sense of what is signified by their wish, if they were aware that genius is identical with universal responsibility--and until that is grasped it will only be a wish and not a determination--it is highly probable that a very large number of these men would cease to wish to become geniuses. The reason why madness overtakes so many men of genius--fools believe it comes from the influence of Venus, or the spinal degeneration of neurasthenics--is that for many the burden becomes too heavy, the task of bearing the whole world on the shoulders, like Atlas, intolerable for the smaller, but never for the really mighty minds. But the higher a man mounts, the greater may be his fall; all genius is a conquering of chaos, mystery, and darkness, and if it degenerates and goes to pieces, the ruin is greater in proportion to the success. The genius which runs to madness is no longer genius; it has chosen happiness instead of morality. All madness is the outcome of the insupportability of suffering attached to all consciousness. Sophocles derived his idea that a man might wish to become mad for this reason, and lets Aias, whose mind finally gives way, give utterance to these words: εν τω φρονειν γαρ μηδεν ἡδιστος βιος. I shall conclude this chapter with the solemn words, similar to the best moments of Kant’s style, of Johann Pico von Mirandola, to whom I may bring some measure of recognition. In his address “on the dignity of man” the Supreme Being addresses the following words to man: “Nec certam sedem, nec propriam faciem, nec munus ullum peculiare tibi dedimus, O Adam: ut quam sedem, quam faciem, quae munera tute optaveris, ea pro voto, pro tua sententia, habeas et possideas. Definita caeteris natura intra praescriptas a nobis leges coercetur; tu nullis angustiis coercitus, pro tuo arbitrio, in cuius manu te posui, tibi illam praefinies.