g down every precaution, and build a fate for us of which we
never dream? Of what avail for us to erect our sand-castle when every
chance blast of air may blow it into nothing, and drift another into
form that we have no power to move? Life hinges upon hazard, and at
every turn wisdom is mocked by it, and energy swept aside by it, as the
battled dykes are worn away, and the granite walls beaten down by the
fickle ocean waves, which, never two hours together alike, never two
instants without restless motion, are yet as changeless as they are
capricious, as omnipotent as they are fickle, as cruel as they are
countless! Men and mariners may build their bulwarks, but hazard and the
sea will overthrow and wear away both alike at their will--their wild
and unreined will, which no foresight can foresee, no strength can
bridle.

Was it not the mere choice between the saddle and the barouche that day
when Ferdinand d'Orleans flung down on second thoughts his riding-whip
upon the console at the Tuileries, and ordered his carriage instead of
his horse, that cost himself his life, his son a throne, the Bourbon
blood their royalty, and France for long years her progress and her
peace? Had he taken up his whip instead of laying it aside, he might be
living to-day with the sceptre in his hand, and the Bee, crushed beneath
his foot, powerless to sting to the core of the Lily! Of all strange
things in human life, there is none stranger than the dominance of
Chance.

* * *

He landed and went into Silver-rest in the morning light. Far as the eye
could reach stretched the deep still waters of the bay; the white sails
of his yacht and of the few fishing skiffs in the offing stood out
distinct and glancing in the sun; over the bluffs and in all the clefts
of rock the growing grass blew and flickered in the breeze; and as he
crossed the sands the air was fragrant with the scent of the wild
flowers that grew down to the water's edge. But to note these things a
man must be in unison with the world; and to love them he must be in
unison with himself. Strathmore scarce saw them as he went onward.

* * *

If a military man's friend dies who had the step above him, his first
thought is "Promotion! deucedly lucky for me!" His next, "Poor fellow,
what a pity!" always comes two seconds after. I understand Voltaire. If
your companion's existence at table makes you have a dish dressed as you
don't like it, yo