Only it’s soon in the morning. Away! if to teach be your calling, It is no play, but a business: off! go teach and be paid for it. Lady Sophia’s so good to the sick, so firm and so gentle. Is there a nobler sphere than of hospital nurse and matron? Hast thou for cooking a turn, little Lady Clarissa? in with them, In with your fingers! their beauty it spoils, but your own it enhances For it is beautiful only to do the thing we are meant for. This was the answer that came from the Tutor, the grave man, Adam When the armies are set in array, and the battle beginning, Is it well that the soldier whose post is far to the leftward Say, I will go to the right, it is there I shall do best service? There is a great Field-Marshal, my friend, who arrays our battalions; Let us to Providence trust, and abide and work in our stations. This was the final retort from the eager, impetuous Philip. I am sorry to say your Providence puzzles me sadly; Children of Circumstance are we to be? you answer, On no wise! Where does Circumstance end, and Providence, where begins it? What are we to resist, and what are we to be friends with? If there is battle, ’tis battle by night, I stand in the darkness, Here in the mêlée of men, Ionian and Dorian on both sides, Signal and password known; which is friend and which is foeman? Is it a friend? I doubt, though he speak with the voice of a brother. Still you are right, I suppose; you always are, and will be; Though I mistrust the Field-Marshal, I bow to the duty of order. Yet is my feeling rather to ask, where is the battle? Yes, I could find in my heart to cry, notwithstanding my Elspie, O that the armies indeed were arrayed! O joy of the onset! Sound, thou Trumpet of God, come forth, Great Cause, to array us, King and leader appear, thy soldiers sorrowing seek thee. Would that the armies indeed were arrayed, O where is the battle! Neither battle I see, nor arraying, nor King in Israel, Only infinite jumble and mess and dislocation, Backed by a solemn appeal, ‘For God’s sake, do not stir, there!’ Yet you are right, I suppose; if you don’t attack my conclusion, Let us get on as we can, and do the thing we are fit for; Every one for himself, and the common success for us all, and Thankful, if not for our own, why then for the triumph of others, Get along, each as we can, and do the thing we are meant for. That isn’t likely to be by sitting still, eating and drinking. These are fragments again without date addressed to Adam. As at return of tide the total weight of ocean, Drawn by moon and sun from Labrador and Greenland, Sets-in amain, in the open space betwixt Mull and Scarba, Heaving, swelling, spreading the might of the mighty Atlantic; There into cranny and slit of the rocky, cavernous bottom Settles down, and with dimples huge the smooth sea-surface Eddies, coils, and whirls; by dangerous Corryvreckan: