Sometimes, however, when we work,--when we perform some special round of duty more or less monotonous, we are unlike the rest of the working Universe. The Universe works without any grumbling at its work--but we--well!--we rather like to grumble. We want every one to know how hard our work is, and how badly paid we are. Many of us, who are men, would like to pass entire days, loafing about, our hands in our pockets, our pipes in our mouths, serving no purpose whatever in the world save that of replenishing the till of the nearest public-house. Others of us who are women, would love to dress up for all we are worth and meander through the streets, staring into shop-windows and coveting goods we have no money to buy. We forget that while we are wasting time in this fashion, we are consuming some of the very energy that should be at work to obtain for us whatever we desire. And we are also apt to forget that very often those who possess what we envy,--who hold all that we would win--have worked for it. It is of course quite true that some workers are well rewarded while others get little if any reward at all. But to understand the cause of this inequality we must examine the character of the work implied, and the spirit in which that work is done. Is it undertaken with cheerfulness and zeal? Or is it merely accepted as a “grind,” to be shirked whenever possible and only half accomplished? I venture to think that the man who loves his work,--who is content to begin at the lowest rung of the ladder in order to master all the minutest details of his particular trade or profession--whose Work is dearer to him than either his wages or his dinner--is bound to be rewarded, bound to succeed in whatever calling of life he may be. It is the half-hearted worker who fails. It is the “scamp” worker who sticks in the rut. Every man should do his utmost best. When he does only his half or quarter best, he wrongs his own capability and intelligence even more than he wrongs his employer. To “scamp” even the simplest kind of work proves him to be out of tune with Nature. For in the natural world we find no “scamping.” Each tiny leaf, each humble insect is as perfect in its way as the planet itself. A midge’s wing seen through the microscope is as brilliant and beautiful as that of a butterfly. And so,--“looking up through Nature unto Nature’s God” we hear everywhere the Divine command--“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy Might.”