Thus he left the poor man:  and at his coming to his musical friends at Salisbury, they began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, who used to be so trim and clean, came into that company so soiled and discomposed; but he told them the occasion.  And when one of the company told him “he had disparaged himself by so dirty an employment,” his answer was:  “That the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight; and that the omission of it would have upbraided and made discord in his conscience, whensoever he should pass by that place; for if I be bound to pray for all that be in distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far at it is in my power, to practise what I pray for.  And though I do not wish for a like occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass one day of my life without comforting a sad soul, or showing mercy, and I praise God for this occasion.”

IZAAK WALTON’S Lives.

* * * * *

THE HORSE.

    Hast thou given the horse strength? 
    Hast thou clothed his neck with his trembling mane? 
    Hast thou taught him to bound like the locust? 
    How majestic his snorting! how terrible! 
    He paweth in the valley; he exulteth in his strength,
    And rusheth into the midst of arms. 
    He laugheth at fear; he trembleth not,
    And turneth not back from the sword. 
    Against him rattle the quiver,
    The flaming spear, and the lance. 
    With rage and fury he devoureth the ground;
    He will not believe that the trumpet soundeth. 
    At every blast of the trumpet, he saith, Aha! 
    And snuffeth the battle afar off,—­
    The thunder of the captains, and the war-shout.

Job, chap. 39, NOYES’ Translation.

* * * * *

THE BIRTH OF THE HORSE.

FROM THE ARABIC.

    When Allah’s breath created first
      The noble Arab steed,—­
    The conqueror of all his race
      In courage and in speed,—­

    To the South-wind He spake:  From thee
      A creature shall have birth,
    To be the bearer of my arms
      And my renown on earth.

    Then to the perfect horse He spake: 
      Fortune to thee I bring;
    Fortune, as long as rolls the earth,
      Shall to thy forelock cling.

    Without a pinion winged thou art,
      And fleetest with thy load;
    Bridled art thou without a rein,
      And spurred without a goad.

BAYARD TAYLOR.

* * * * *

TO HIS HORSE.

    Come, my beauty! come, my desert darling! 
      On my shoulder lay thy glossy head! 
    Fear not, though the barley-sack be empty,
      Here’s the half of Hassan’s scanty bread.

    Thou shalt have thy share of dates, my beauty! 
      And thou know’st my water-skin is free: 
    Drink and welcome, for the wells are distant,
      And my strength and safety lie in thee.