"Are you sure you have no poetry in your life?" asked Sir Albert, pleasantly--he was anxious to make friends with a man Margaret liked and respected. "It is difficult to say where it comes into my life," said Mr. Stevens, more politely, melting a little under the influence of so pleasant a voice and manner. "I am manager in a manufactory, and work is the order of the day. Till we leave off and I go out home I never breathe the fresh air or see the sun shine." "But they greet you, then," said Sir Albert, earnestly; "the play of the sunshine upon the river, the ripple of the brook, the endless stories found in every leaf and blossom, the song of the birds, all these sweet gifts are nature's poems given to make us better and wiser men, and happier ones too," he added in a lower voice. "Put in that way," began Mr. Stevens; and then, a little ashamed of being influenced so soon by a man he had never seen before, he said more abruptly, "I think bringing sentiment into work is the ruin of every thing--what do we want with it? If we use our faculties, and work to the best of our ability, I conceive that is all that is expected of us. I think life is an easy enough problem, though philosophers try and make it out otherwise. We are given two paths, a right one and a wrong one; the right one is often difficult, the wrong one frequently pleasant; it is our own fault if we choose it, and it leads us to disaster." "_If we use our faculties_," repeated Margaret, in her gentle voice, with a certain emphasis on the words. "Do we use our faculties, Mr. Stevens, if we shut our eyes (that are given to us to make use of) and do not observe what is lovely and fair around us?" Mr. Stevens was a little staggered by this question. "Looking at flowers and mountains and listening to birds singing, is not poetry," he said, obstinately. "But if we read a poem and appreciate it, if we listen to music, if we see a fine painting, in short, if we see the poetry in other people's work, it has a good influence on our minds." Sir Albert spoke earnestly. "I don't see that at all. Working people have no time for poetry and pretty things. Their lives are very different."