is practised. It is well for a man in reading, sleeping, walking, eating, and drinking, sometimes to limit himself, sometimes to indulge; to take care that he at no time becomes a slave to one passion, or to one habit, by rigorously repressing any, even the slightest, indication that way. If he is fond of wine, let him abandon it for a month or so; if his pipe becomes an indulgence, let him throw it away; if he finds an increasing love of rest and sitting, let him rise and walk. It is no merit in him to be a hard drinker, or a continual smoker, or to sleep after dinner; but it is a merit to keep the animal within him under control. A railway driver, who found that he could not stop nor stay his engine, nor reverse its action when he wanted, would soon find out the reason, and go to the engineer and have the matter looked to. When our habits are our slaves we can respect ourselves; when we are slaves to our habits no one will respect us. In this category of habits let us place indulgence in certain feelings and actions. It will be as well at times rigidly to control the tongue, to determine, let us say for a whole day, to say no more of Jones than we actually know, and to say that good-naturedly; to bridle and manage the thoughts, so as easily to banish evil thoughts, ill-nature, despondency, doubt, &c., and to correct want of charity and kindliness by forcing ourselves to be charitable and kind. What a mean opinion must a man have of himself if he has to confess, 'Well, I cannot be truthful, nor good-natured, nor honest, if I try! My tongue always runs away with me: I never speak well of anybody; I do not do any good; I have left no kindly remembrance in the hearts of any one.' This must indeed be a terrible confession. In Richard Rolle's 'Pricke of Conscience,' written about 1340, the good monk, surnamed the Hermit of Hampole, thus pictures the end of man's life: The last ende of man's life es hard, Than er men in dout and noght certayn begin, in fact, as we do now, to reckon up 'the poor dying man'; but, at the same time, the conscience within is at the same work, and its deadliest 'pricke' must be that which condemns a man's self; for it is the very pivot and centre of Christian faith that a man shall pronounce his own doom, and so 'accusing and excusing' himself, may know how his account lies. Unable as he is of himself to boast of any merit, he will know whether he has done his best, and whether he can claim that guerdon which will be based on self-respect. Why Justice is blind-British Elections-Too much TalkRight will conquer—Advice of Mr. Ruskin—Nobility of Labour-Deiight in Work-Future of England-The Rights of Man-Few real Wants--Money and its Worth. B EFORE the awful throne of Zeus,' said Hesiod, 'Diké stands and weeps wheneve the earthly judge decides wrongly ; ' that is, to translate the passage from Grecian into English nomenclature, Justice, standing before the throne of God, laments at the wickedness, prejudice, or discord of human judgments. 'No wonder, then,' adds a caustic clergyman, remembering the judgments of county magistrates, that our modern sculptors represent Justice on town halls with a bandage on her eyes: she has seen so much injustice that she has gone weeping blind.' |