music-I wanted more instruments playing togetherI wanted voices to be fuller and deeper.

I think I should have no other mortal wants, if I could always have plenty of music. It seems to infuse strength into my limbs, and ideas into my brain. Life seems to go on without effort, when I am filled with music. At other times one is conscious of carrying a weight.

I think I am quite wicked with roses-I like to gather them and smell them till they have no scent left.

If we use common words on a great occasion, they are the more striking, because they are felt at once to have a particular meaning, like old banners, or everyday clothes, hung up in a sacred place.

I've never any pity for conceited people, because I think they carry their comfort about with them.

It always seemed to me a sort of clever stupidity only to have one sort of talent-almost like a carrierpigeon.

'The Pirate'-O, I began that once; I read to where Minna is walking with Cleveland, and I could never get to read the rest. I went on with it in my own head, and I made several endings; but they were all

unhappy. I could never make a happy ending out of that beginning. Poor Minna! I wonder what is the real end. For a long while I couldn't get my mind away from the Shetland Isles-I used to feel the wind blowing on me from the rough sea.

It is with me as I used to think it would be with the poor uneasy white bear I saw at the show. I thought he must have got so stupid with the habit of turning backwards and forwards in that narrow space, that he would keep doing it if they set him free. One gets a bad habit of being unhappy.

(To her brother Tom).—I know I've been wrong— often, continually. But yet, sometimes when I have done wrong, it has been because I have feelings that you would be the better for, if you had them. If you were in fault ever-if you had done anything very wrong, I should be sorry for the pain it brought you; I should not want punishment to be heaped on you. But you have always enjoyed punishing me—you have always been hard and cruel to me: even when I was a little girl, and always loved you better than any one else in the world, you would let me go crying to bed without forgiving me. You have no pity: you have no sense of your own imperfection and your own sins. It is a sin to be hard: it is not fitting for a mortal—for a Christian. You are nothing but a Pharisee. You thank God for nothing but your own virtues-you think they are great enough to win you everything else. You have not even a vision of feelings by the side of which your shining virtues are mere darkness !

We can't choose happiness either for ourselves or for another: we can't tell where that will lie. We can only choose whether we will indulge ourselves in the present moment, or whether we will renounce that, for the sake of obeying the divine voice within us—for the sake of being true to all the motives that sanctify our lives. I know this belief is hard: it has slipped away from me again and again; but I have felt that if I let it go for ever, I should have no light through the darkness of this life.

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Our life is determined for us-and it makes the mind very free when we give up wishing, and only think of bearing what is laid upon us, and doing what is given us to do.

Maggie. I used to think I could never bear life if it kept on being the same every day, and I must always be doing things of no consequence, and never know anything greater. But, dear Philip, I think we are only like children, that some one who is wiser is taking care of. Is it not right to resign ourselves entirely, whatever may be denied us? I have found great peace in that for the last two or three years-even joy in subduing my own will.

Philip Wakem.--Yes, Maggie, and you are shutting yourself up in a narrow self-delusive fanaticism, which is only a way of escaping pain by starving into dulness all the highest powers of your nature. Joy and peace are not resignation: resignation is the willing endurance of a pain that is not allayed-that you don't expect to be allayed. Stupefaction is not resignation :

fellow-men

and it is stupefaction to remain in ignorance—to shut up all the avenues by which the life of your might become known to you.

The worst of all hobbies are those that people think they can get money at. They shoot their money down like corn out of a sack then.

You see, Tom, the world goes on at a smarter pace now than it did when I was a young fellow. Why, sir, forty years ago, when I was much such a strapping youngster as you, a man expected to pull between the shafts the best part of his life, before he got the whip in his hand. The looms went slowish, and fashions didn't alter quite so fast: I'd a best suit that lasted me six years. Everything was on a lower scale, sir— in point of expenditure, I mean. It's this steam, you see, that has made the difference: it drives on every wheel double pace, and the wheel of fortune along with 'em, as our Mr. Stephen Guest said at the anniversary dinner (he hits these things off wonderfully, considering he's seen nothing of business). I don't find fault with the change, as some people do. Trade, sir, opens a man's eyes; and if the population is to get thicker upon the ground, as it's doing, the world must use its wits at inventions of one sort or other. I know I've done my share as an ordinary man of business. Somebody has said it's a fine thing to make two ears of corn grow where only one grew before; but, sir, it's a fine thing, too, to further the exchange of commodities, and bring the grains of corn to the mouths that are hungry.

And that's our line of business; and I consider it as honourable a position as a man can hold, to be connected with it.

The world isn't made of pen, ink, and paper, and if you're to get on in the world, young man, you must know what the world's made of.

It wasn't by getting

I'll tell you how I got on. astride a stick, and thinking it would turn into a horse, if I sat on it long enough. I kept iny eyes and ears open, sir, and I wasn't too fond of my own back, and I made my master's interest my own.

If I got places, sir, it was because I made myself fit for 'em. If you want to slip into a round hole, you must make a ball of yourself—that's where it is.

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You'll have to begin at a low round of the ladder, let me tell you, if you mean to get on in life.

You youngsters now-a-days think you're to begin with living well and working easy: you've no notion of running afoot before you get on horseback.

You must remember it isn't only laying hold of a rope-you must go on pulling. It's the mistake you lads make that have got nothing either in your brains