“God is a worker, He has thickly strewn
     Infinity with grandeur.  God is love;
     He yet shall wipe away Creation’s tears,
     And all the worlds shall summer in His smile.”

FAILURE IN LIFE.

     Macbeth.  If we should fail—­
     Lady Macbeth.  We fail! 
     But screw your courage to the sticking-place,
     And we’ll not fail.—­Shakspeare.

You see that scrag over in the woods there?  Crack! goes the lightning!  The scrag has been hit again!  Unfortunate!  Now, perhaps you know somebody who is a scrag in society.  When the thunder storms of life roll and rumble, tell him to look well to himself.  He is very liable to another dose of disaster.  Why is this?  The reason is plain.  There is some particular attraction for the bolt which hits him.  There is a loadstone of reason in the earth at his roots for this constant attack of misfortune.  However badly off he may be, something still worse will happen to him.  If he have something profitable to do with his hands, he will get a felon on his finger.  If he have walking to do, he will get a peeled heel.  If he have only to sit and attend to a certain thing, he will get the brain fever.  If he be expected at seven in the morning, his child will suffer an attack of croup at 6:45.  The lightning is darting around him silently all the time, a good deal like the movements of a snake’s tongue.  After all, it is a scrag that has been struck, and everybody laughs and seems to think it a good joke.  It is, indeed, close to the ridiculous to see the number of undoubted afflictions which will beset

“A REAL OLD FAILURE IN LIFE.”

He is a good old fellow.  He hates with a mortal hate only one thing, and that is hard work; that will make him deliriously ill inside of three days.  The boils, and felons, and fevers, and chilblains, and fractures, and bereavements he has had are enough to fill an encyclopedia.  He never has worked long at any one thing, and he never will.  He can relate to you how the lightning broke off his biggest limb, knocked off his bark, broke him off half-way up, finally split him clear through the trunk, and never hit another tree in the whole piece of timber!  This will bring tears to his eyes, for it seems so strange to him.  But if you get tears in your eyes, also, hire him by the day for a while, and look into “the pulse of the machine,” you will soon understand the wonderful workings of society, and the nicety of that order of things which separates the wheat from the tare.  When the winds of adversity sweep down upon us,

IT IS THE CHAFF WHICH RISES ON THE GALE.

Many a man with a bilious attack coming upon his system goes to his work, sets his blood dancing, and, drives away the intruder before the reinforcements of the disease arrive.  The failure goes out to the enemy, makes a weak parley, and opens his gates to the first squad that will enter.