plunges into the stream, dashes his boat against the crumbling piles, and rescues the terror-stricken family. All applaud him, and the count throws down to him the purse of gold. Give it, sir count,' says the brave man, 'to those who have lost their all; I do not want it: I never put my life against gold.' Such work as this, or any work that is quite truthful, only needs a moderate reward to make a man rich. As a rule, the higher the work the less the reward. Some men indeed work for posterity, and never get paid in this life. Others cannot be rewarded. What patient can thoroughly repay a good doctor who saves his life? What pupil can ever repay an excellent schoolmaster ? Who can repay the father and mother who have honesty of purpose, and goodness? Who can repay the writer, who, bending over his desk hour after hour, gives back the sweetness of the flowers of thought that he has plucked, instilling firmness, goodness, faith, and noble thoughts, and amidst a base and degenerating world stands firm and true in his devotion to goodness? All such men are above mere payment. They can afford to let those who live out of the earnings of the industrious grow rich and live in big houses, and be honoured of men, while they will be applauded by an innocent conscience, and seek the reward of the Great Master. Such men indeed are beyond money, and beyond price, and most truly uphold the Dignity of Labour.

taught us religion,

AN EMPTY REWARD.

R

A Last Infirmity-Different Estimates-Washington-Elizabeth-Raleigh's History-Fame merely Report—Its Emptiness -What True Fame should be.

AME is a high-sounding word, which has led many astray. It is, says Milton, 'that last infirmity of noble mind;' but whether it be so, or the first health, many seem to doubt. It is one of those passions which seem very pure and very noble at first, but it has led many great men into deplorable crimes, and has caused more widows' tears and orphans' cries than almost any other. Some persons fancy that a love of Fame (Young's Universal Passion,' by the way,) should be classed amongst the crimes or the sins of humanity; but this, as in everything else in this world, has its two sides; or rather, like a well-cut dia

mond, cut in that way which makes it a 'brilliant,' it has
many facets, and each of these little faces reflects a
different colour. We envy a man who has a fair and an
unstained fame, a man of good report; and if we could,
like the Athenians of old, we should probably ostracise
him; but we pity him of whom Fame speaks evil; and
yet one is just as much fame as the other. Jack Sheppard
lives in story, while many a noble, virtuous man and
woman, many a saint once on earth, and now a saint in
Heaven, is unknown and unheard of.
Fame is repre-
sented as a woman, flying on the wings of the wind, and
carrying her own trumpet, and she is capricious in her
favours.

The aspiring youth that fired the Ephesian dome
Outlives in fame the pious fool that raised it.

So it is we know the name, which we will not repeat, of him who set fire to the wonder of the world-the Temple of Ephesus; the names of its builders have escaped. So again Fame is very forgetful. We know not whether we call the pyramids by their right names. 'Doting in their antiquity,' says Fuller, in his quaint way, 'they have forgotten the names of their owners.' 'Was Cheops or Chyphrenes architect of either pyramid that bears his name?' asks a poet, with mocking satire. Who knows? We look at a history and it tells us so and so; but soon there comes a man who will re-write that history,