great German, Goethe, I have no doubt, meant this circumstance to suggest the fact that ladies are most captivating when seen in the discharge of useful domestic duties. The great poet's ideas on this matter are seen as clear as day in his "Faust," when Mephistopheles charms Faust with the perfections of woman's graces. The first words that the fair one speaks are—

"I am no lady, sir.

How can you kiss

A hand so coarse, so hard as this?

What work am I not always forced to do?
Indeed, my mother, sir, is too severe !
Our house-'tis true-is small,

But still must be attended to.
We have no maid, all on me lies,-
I sweep, cook, sew, up soon and late;
My mother, too, is so precise,
In everything so accurate!
Not that she is obliged to be
Confined in all so sparingly;
We might do more than many do,-
My father left us, of our own,
A little house and garden, too,
A pretty place beside the town.
However, now the days with me
Pass over pretty peacefully;
My brother's for a soldier gone

And my poor little sister's dead,—
Much trouble with her have I known,
Yet all the anxious sorrow sped,

Mine joyfully again should be,
So dear the infant was to me!
She loved me, oh, so fondly! I
Had brought her up entirely;
After my father's death 'twas born,
My mother, too, had nearly died,-
All hope, indeed, we had forgone,
Her sickness was so sore to bide;
So sad the state in which she lay,
So slow her bettering day by day,
That she herself could never think

Of suckling it, poor little thing!

MARGARET HAIL.

And so I nursed it,-give't its drink,
Its milk and tender nourishing;
And brought it up, thus all alone,
Till it became, as 'twere, mine own;

Within my arm and bosom, on my knee,

It grew and sprawl'd, and laugh'd so prettily!
But yet with many anxious hours of care.

All night the infant's cradle stood
Beside my bed,- -nor ever could

I move, but it would waken'd be;-
Now I must rise and give it food,
Then take it into bed with me!

Then, when it would not rest, must rise and go,
Dancing it in the chamber to and fro;

And still must rise at early day,
To stand beside the washing-tray,
Then to the market go, to see
For all our home's necessity;
And thus, from day to day, the same
To do whene'er the morrow came.
When 'mid such things as this one lives,
The spirits are not always good;

But, then, 'tis true, the labour gives
A relish both to rest and food."

59

The Devil knew right well that this was the sort of woman to charm any man. The fair tempters of our time seem as if counselled by Mrs. Malaprop to make no delusions to domestic affairs in their conversations with young men; but to talk only of the last great dissembly and the hopra. Now, while speaking thus, I would not have it understood that I in any way undervalue the fashionable accomplishments of the fair. No; I would only hint that these accomplishments should not in any case be looked upon as the chief business of life. I would have them ever come second to the more useful branches of home education. Mrs. Gaskell, the gifted author of "Ruth," "North and South," and other well-told tales, illustrates well the dignity of woman's labour. Margaret Hail is quite a model for all young ladies of moderate means; while poor Ruth Hilton points out to our erring daughters how, by diligent application to labours of useful

60

FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.

ness and charity, they may work out characters so radiant with the glory of goodness that with these they will be as acceptable in the sight of heaven as with the innocent purity they had lost. But I need not go to the pages of fiction for illustrations of the dignity of woman's labour. All the great names of fiction grow dim when we mention the name of one true Englishwoman,- -a name that will live in our nation's heart in all future time, ever inspiring England's daughters to deeds of love and mercy. I cannot better take leave of the dignity of woman's work than by the simple mention of the soldier's friend-Miss Florence Nightingale.

Whilst speaking of the dignity connected with the various branches of productive labour, I said nothing regarding the mercantile portion of our community. I would not, however, have it thought that I undervalue, or even think little of our distributive labourers: they are just as essential as the producers. If any of you for a moment doubt the usefulness, and consequently the dignity, of that class who supply our city with the various necessaries of life, just picture to yourself the strange mess we would soon be in if we wanted our shopkeepers. If your imagination is dull, and does not readily furnish you with the picture of a city without merchants, perhaps you may meet with some poor fellow who spent that dread winter before Sebastopol, where naked, starving men were walking about amongst unopened bales of greatcoats; where raw pork and green coffee berries were the handiest things agoing; and, as the poor frost-bitten soldier goes on with his story, you will perhaps begin to get a glimpse of the dignity of the shopkeeper's labour.

Much might be said of the usefulness and importance of this large class of workmen; but this passing hint must suffice to indicate our appreciation of their labours. I can give, too, but one word in passing to those great workers, the dignity of whose labours all our hearts confess-the la

CHILDREN OF GENIUS.

61

borious children of genius, whose deep research and fertile brains have given to the world those grand creations which shall live and bloom till latest time, as verdant bowers on life's hard road, where weary pilgrims shall ever find rest and refreshment. We must never forget the fact, that ere any of our master-works were born to the world, heavenly genius had to be wooed and won by persevering earthly labour. Just glance at the works of Avon's Bard, at those of the Poet of Paradise, and the huge pile of our own Sir Walter; and while you think of the genius of these great men, you will certainly remember the true dignity of their labours. There is still another class of workmen whom I have deferred noticing until now that I am about to take leave of this subject for the present, believing it the best arrangement to give my parting words to those workers to whom I believe are due the most exalted honours. I refer now to those men who, having by birth and fortune all that wealth and rank can give them, refuse to rest idly on the tempting lap of luxurious ease, but bravely labour for the world's weal in every field of usefulness. Although I can well appreciate the lines of our national bard,—

"See yon birkie ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that,

Though hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a cuif for a' that,"-

although, I say, I can appreciate these lines, I am far from thinking them anything like universally applicable. I believe the natural capacities of the various grades of society are very much alike. We have peasant "cuifs," middle-class "cuifs," and lord "cuifs," just about in proportion to their respective numbers. I believe, however, that men born to be rocked in silver cradles are in circumstances most likely to develop the "cuif" in them. When, therefore, we see the heirs of title and fortune assuming the part of the laborious student, working diligently in the cultivation of their intel

lectual resources, thereby fitting themselves for doing good service to the state, I for one most willingly assign to them the first position of honour. I never look upon a man of this class without inly conning the words, "Honour to whom honour is due." When, a few years ago, I read the wise words spoken to the Glasgow Athenæum by the comparatively youthful Duke of Argyle, my heart did homage to that young nobleman; and when, on a recent occasion, I looked into his face, bearing the traces of hard thinking and hard working, that face had true dignity in my eyes. It was not alone that I saw in him the worthy head of one of our most noble Scottish families, but that in his position, at so early an age, as a British minister, I read clearly the dignity of his labour. I sometimes spend a leisure hour reading, in an old bundle of newspapers, the Parliamentary debates previous to the passing of the Reform Bill, and the thought that is ever uppermost in my mind after such perusal is the true dignity of Earl Russell's labours in the cause of Reform. There he is, night after night, commanding the "listening senate as he exhibits corruption and points out the remedy —soon making law a measure at least as radical as that for speaking of which Muir, Palmer, and Gerald were enrolled amongst our Scottish martyrs. I have told you that on reading these old debates I am ever impressed with the greatness of Earl Russell's labours; and when I turn from my old favourites to the wet broadsheet of the morning, and find my model man extinguished in a slashing leader, the statesman's life of labour rises up before me, and I have a dreamy notion that such modern leaders are but the dust raised by the chariot wheels of the champion of the Reform Bill as he passes on to immortality. His Lordship halting by the way to lecture to the young men of London will not certainly impede his progress onward and upward.

There is one other great worker of whom I must speak. I have but to mention his name to bring before you many