not at the entire chain, but at each successive link of it; we know, of course, that each link will be succeeded by the next; but we should think of them one at a time. Do not say, _wait the end_, is a maxim of Paul Louis Courier’s, who declares that, saving the respect due to the ancients, nothing is more false than that rule. “The evil of to-morrow shall never deprive me of the good of to-day,” is one of the brilliant Frenchman’s resolves. Another brilliant but highly bilious Frenchman testifies from observation and experience to the necessity, in the long run, of living from day to day, without indulgence either in unavailing regrets or anxious forecast, “on s’aperçoit qu’il faut vivre au jour le jour, oublier beaucoup, enfin éponger la vie à mésure qu’elle s’écoule.” But it may too truly be said of this philosopher that he wrote, and lived, as one having no hope, and without God in the world. Horace was in his placid _Il Penseroso_ mood when he counselled the acceptance of each new-born day as possibly one’s last, and appropriating it accordingly: “Inter spem curamque, timores inter et iras, Omnem crede diem tibi diluxisse supremum: Grata superveniet quæ non sperabitur hora.” We might suggest suggestive parallels by the score, as this from a play of Leigh Hunt’s, “One day—could you not try one day and then Enjoy or fear another as it suited? Ay, one—one—one. Try but one day, and then Trust me if one day would not give you strength,” for morrows in store. Or this, from a poem of Owen Meredith’s: “Be quiet! Take things as they come; Each hour will draw out some surprise. With blessing let the days go home: Thou shalt have thanks from evening skies.” _MEDICAMENTAL MUSIC._ 1 SAMUEL xvi. 23. In the days when Saul loved David greatly, and found comfort in the constant presence of his favourite, it sometimes “came to pass that when the evil spirit from God was upon Saul, that David took an harp, and played with his hand: so Saul was refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him.” That there is something more than ordinary in music, Bishop Beveridge, in his “Private Thoughts,” infers from this fact—that David made use of the harp for driving away the evil spirit from Saul, as well as for bringing the good spirit upon himself. The gentle prelate therefore recognises in music a sort of secret and charming power, such as naturally dispels “those black humours which the evil spirit is apt to brood upon,” and such too as composes the mind into a more regular, sweet, and docile disposition, thereby rendering it “the fitter for the Holy Spirit to work upon, the more susceptive of Divine grace, and more faithful messenger to convey truth to the understanding.” And he cites his personal experience—_experto crede_—in favour of this view.