“Ease it!” he said; “doesn’t it feel every day and every hour that it must burst, unless I tell what I am suffering? I walk among the men here, and they pass me as cold and stiff, when, God knows, I’m on fire inside; I’m burning up, burning up, here,” added he, pressing his hand on his brain. This was enough. The buckles were unstrapped, the burden would follow. The first thing that roused us was the tap of the drum for supper. The long hours of that sunny summer’s afternoon had slipped by, as I listened to a story, which, in Victor Hugo’s hands, would be worked into a romance quite as thrilling as anything he has ever penned; whilst in mine it must remain forever,--a deposit sacred as the grave. My object was accomplished. With a smile, he rose--the first I had ever seen on his face--saying, “You were right about that moral knapsack; my heart feels lighter than I ever thought it could again.” “And you will do as I say?” “I will try.” “And you will try too, won’t you, to remember my first advice, some time since, and learn to laugh a little more?” “Indeed I will; and it seems as if it might be possible now, but let me tell you----” “Nothing more to-day,” said I, laughing; “I must refuse any further confidence;” and running down stairs to our room, I was complimented upon the promptitude with which I performed an errand. No matter, thought I;--if one sad soul has found comfort in pouring out the bitter sorrows of a life, the hours have not rolled by in vain. Are we not all responsible for each day, nay, for each hour, as it passes? Not alone for the right use of time in improving our own souls, but for the manner in which we act upon others. Influence! The language scarcely holds a more solemn word,--the mind scarcely receives a more fearful thought! How has this power been exerted? We all possess it in greater or less degree. We all shall have to render an account for the use or misuse of such a terrible talent. “The deeds we do, the words we say, Into still air they seem to fleet; We count them ever past, But they shall last;-- In the dread judgment, they And we shall meet!” Time was, when, to my mind, it seemed only humility to believe that such a speck in God’s creation--such an atom, great in no one thing, mentally, morally, or physically--must be without power for good or evil--without influence upon any single soul. It will not do. Humility is doubtless a great gift; Truth is a greater. No mortal being into whom God has breathed the breath of life, can live upon this earth and not act upon his fellow mortals in some manner. We cannot be merely negative; we are, we must be positive. “Where we disavow Being keeper to our brother, we’re his Cain.”