ility, or upon any measure of happiness as
a right to be demanded, we are in position to take the second step;
namely, to make wise use of life's advantages:

M_id all thy hopes and all thy cares, mid all thy wraths and fears_,
T_hink every shining day that dawns the period to thy years_.
T_he hour that comes unlooked for is the hour that doubly cheers_.

Because there are many things to make life a pleasure. There is the
solace of literature; Black Care is lessened by song. There are the
riches of philosophy, there is the diversion of moving among men. There
are the delights of the country and the town. Above all, there are
friends with whom to share the joy of mere living in Italy. For what
purpose, if not to enjoy, are the rose, the pine, and the poplar, the
gushing fountain, the generous wine of Formian hill and Massic slope,
the villa by the Tiber, the peaceful and healthful seclusion of the
Sabines, the pleasing change from the sharp winter to the soft zephyrs
of spring, the apple-bearing autumn,--"season of mists and mellow
fruitfulness"? What need to be unhappy in the midst of such a world?

And the man who is wise will not only recognize the abounding
possibilities about him, but will seize upon them before they vanish.
Who knows whether the gods above will add a tomorrow to the to-day? Be
glad, and lay hand upon the gifts of the passing hour! Take advantage of
the day, and have no silly faith in the morrow. It is as if Omar were
translating Horace:

"W_aste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit_
0_f This and That endeavor and dispute;_
B_etter be jocund with the fruitful Grape_
T_han sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit._

"A_h! fill the Cup: what boots it to repeat_
H_ow Time is slipping underneath our Feet:_
U_nborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,_
W_hy fret about them if today be sweet!"_

The goods of existence must be enjoyed here and now, or never, for all
must be left behind. What once is enjoyed is forever our very own. Happy
is the man who can say, at each day's close, "I have lived!" The day is
his, and cannot be recalled. Let Jove overcast with black cloud the
heavens of to-morrow, or let him make it bright with clear sunshine,--as
he pleases; what the flying hour of to-day has already given us he never
can revoke. Life is a stream, now gliding peacefully onward in
mid-channel to the Tuscan sea, now tumbling upon its swirling bosom the
wreckage of flood and storm. T