It might be well to stop and ask how little it were worth:

Thou hast not solicited his suffrage,-let him not force thee to refuse it;
Look to it, man, thy fence is foiled, and thus we spoil the plot.
Self-knowledge goeth armed, girt with many weapons,

But carrieth whips for flattery, to lash it like a slave:
But the dunce in that great science goeth as a greedy tunny,

To gorge both bait and hook, unheeding all but appetite :

He smelleth praise and swalloweth,-yea, though it be palpable and plain;

Say unto him, Folly thou art Wisdom,—he will bless thee for thy lie.

FLATTERER, thou shalt rue thy trade, though it hath many present

gains;

Those varnished wares may sell apace, yet shall they spoil thy credit.
Thine is the intoxicating cup, which whoso drinketh, it shall nauseate;
Thine is trickery and cheating; but deception never pleased for long.
And though, while fresh, thy fragrance seemed even as the dews of

charity,

Yet afterward it fouled thy censer, as with savour of stale smoke.

For the great mind detected thee at once, answering thine emptiness with pity,

He saw thy self-interested zeal, and was not cozened by vain-glory:
And the little mind is bloated with the praise, scorning him who gave it,
A fool shall turn to be thy tyrant, if thou hast dubbed him great:
And the medium mind of common men, loving first thy music,

After, when the harmonies are done, shall feel small comfort in their echoes;

For either he shall know thee false, conscious of contrary deservings,
And, hating thee for falsehood, soon will scorn himself for truth;

Or, if in aught to toilsome merit honest praise be due,

Though for a season, belike, his weakness hath been raptured at thy

witching,

Shall he not speedily perceive, to the vexing of his disappointed spirit,

That thine exaggerative tongue hath robbed him of fair fame ?

Thou hast paid in forgers' coins, and he had earned true money:

For the substance of just praise thou hast put him off with shadows of

the sycophant

Thou art all things to all men, for ends false and selfish,

Therefore shalt be nothing unto any one, when those thine ends are seen.

TURN aside, young scholar, turn from the song of Flattery!

She hath the Siren's musical voice, to ravish and betray.

Her tongue droppeth honey, but it is the honey of Anticyra;

Her face is a mask of fascination, but there hideth deformity behind;
Her coming is the presence of a queen, heralded by courtesy and beauty,
But, going away, her train is held by the hideous dwarf, Disgust.

KNOW thyself, thy evil as thy good, and flattery shall not harm thee:
Yea, her speech shall be a warning, a humbling, and a guide.

For wherein thou lackest most, there chiefly will the sycophant commend thee,

And then most warmly will congratulate, when a man hath least deserved.

Behold, she is doubly a traitor; and will underrate her victim's best,
That, to the comforting of conscience, she may plead his worse for better.

THEREFORE is she dangerous,-
-as every lie is dangerous:
Believe her tales, and perish; if thou act upon such counsel.
Her aims are thine, not thee, thy wealth and not thy welfare,
Thy suffrage not thy safety, thine aid and not thine honour.
Moreover, with those aims insured, ceaseth all her glozing;
She hath used thee as a handle,—but her hand was wise to turn it.
Thus will she glorify her skill, that it deftly caught thy kindness,
Thus will she scorn thy kindness, so pliable and easy to her skill.
And then, the flatterer will turn to be thy foe, the bitterest and hottest,
Because he oweth thee much hate to pay off many humblings.
Thinkest thou now that he is high, he loveth the remembrance of his low
liness,

The servile manner, the dependent smile, the conscience self-abased?
No, this hour is his own, and the flatterer will be found a busy mocker;
He that hath salved thee with his tongue shall now gnash upon thee with

his teeth,

Yea, he will be leader in the laugh,—silly one, to listen to thy loss,
We scarce had hoped to lime and take another of the fools of flattery.

Ar the last; have charity, young scholar,-yea, to the sycophant con

victed;

Be not a Brutus to thyself, nor stern in thine own cause.
Pardon exaggerated praise; for there is a natural impulse
Spurring on the nobler mind, to colour facts by feelings :
Take an indulgent view of each man's interest in self,

Be large and liberal in excuses; is not that infirmity thine own?
Search thy soul and be humble; and mercy abideth with humility;

So that, yea, the insincere, may find thee pitiful, and love thee.

Mildly put aside, without rudeness of repulse, the pampering hand of flattery,

For courtesy and kindness have gone beneath its guise, and ill shouldst thou rebuke them.

THOU art incapable of theft: but flowers in the garden of a friend

Are thine to pluck with confidence, and it were unfriendliness to hesitate:
Thou abhorest flattery: but a generous excess in praise

Is thine to yield with honest heart, and false were the charity to doubt it:
The difference lieth in thine aim; kindliness and good are of charity,
But selfish, harmful, vile, and bad, is flattery's evil end

OF NEGLECT.

GENEROUS and righteous is thy grief, slighted child of sensibility;
For kindliness enkindleth love, but the waters of indifference quench it;
Thy soul is athirst for sympathy, and hungereth to find affection,
The tender scions of thy heart yearn for the sunshine of good feeling,
And it is an evil thing and bitter, when the cheerful face of Charity,
Going forth gaily in the morning to woo the world with smiles,
Is met by those wayfaring men with coldness, suspicion, and repulse,
And turneth into hard dead stone at the Gorgon visage of Neglect.
O brother, warm and young, covetous of others' favour,

I see thee checked and chilled, sorrowing for censure or forgetfulness
Let coarse and common minds despise-that wounding of thy vanity,
Alas, I note a sorer cause, the blighting of thy love;

Let the callous sensual deride thee,-disappointed of thy praise,
Alas, thou has a juster grief, defrauded of their kindness:

It is a theme for tears to feel the soft heart hardening,

The frozen breath of apathy sealing up the fountain of affection;

It is a pang keen only to the best, to be injured well-deserving,

And slumbering Neglect is injury,—could ye not watch one hour?
When God himself complained, it was that none regarded,

And indifference bowed to the rebuke, Thou gavest Me no kiss when I

came in.

MOREOVER, praise is good; honour is a treasure to be hoarded;

A good man's praise foreshadoweth God's, and in His smile is heaven:
But men walk on in hardihood, stealing their sinfulness to censure,
And where rebuke is ridiculed, the love of praise were an infirmity;

The judge thou heedest not in fear, cannot have deep homage of thy hope, And who then is the wise of this world, that will own he trembleth at his

fellows?

Calm, careless, and insensible, he mocketh blame or calumny,

Neither should his dignity be humbled to some pittance of their praise :

The rather, let false pride affect to trample on the treasure

Which evermore in secret strength unconquered Nature prizeth ;
Rather, shall he stifle now the rising bliss of triumph,

Lest after, in the world's Neglect, he must acknowledge bitterness.

FOR lo, that world is wide, a huge and crowded continent,

Its brazen sun is mammon, and its iron soil is care,

A world full of men, where each man clingeth to his idol;

A world full of men, where each man cherisheth his sorrow;

A world full of men, multitude shoaling upon multitude,

A surging sea, where every wave is burdened with an argosy of self, A boundless beach, where every stone is a separate microscopic world, A forest of innumerable trees, where every root is independent.

WHAT then is the marvel or the shame, if units be lost among the million, Canst thou reasonably murmur, if a leaf drop off unnoticed?

Wondrous in architecture, intricate and beautiful, delicately tinged and

scented,

Exquisite of feeling and mysterious in life, none cared for its growth, or

its decay:

None? yea, no one of its fellows,-nor cedar, palm, nor bramble,—
None? its twinborn brother scarcely missed it from the spray :

None?-if none indeed, then man's neglect were bitterness;
And life a land without a sun, a globe without a God!
Yea, flowers in the desert, there be that love your beauty,

Yea, jewels in the sea, there be that prize your brightness;
Children of unmerited oblivion, there be that watch and woo you,
And many tend your sweets, with gentle ministering care:
Thronging spirits of the happy, and the everpresent Good One
Yearning seek those precious things man hath not heart to love,
Gems of the humblest or the highest, pure and patient in their kind,`
The souls unhardened by ill-usage, and uncorrupt by luxury