MAN is only a reed, the weakest plant of nature, but he is a thinking reed. It is not necessary that the whole universe should be in arms to crush him. A vapor, a drop of water is sufficient to put him out of existence. But even though the universe could crush him to atoms, man would still be more noble than that which kills him, because he is conscious that he is dying, and of the advantage which the universe has over him; the universe knows nothing.—_Pascal._ * * * * * NOTHING is so dangerous as an ignorant friend; a wise enemy is worth much more.—_La Fontaine._ WHERE LIES THE MUSIC? By ALICE C. JENNINGS. [When Paganini once rose to amuse a crowded auditory with his music, he found that his violin had been removed, and a coarser instrument substituted for it. Explaining the trick, he said to the audience, “Now I will show you that the music is not in my violin, but in me.”—CHAUTAUQUAN _for December, 1882_.] An artist once, whose magic could command That sound its deepest secrets should unfold, Had found his instrument by evil hand Exchanged for one of meaner, coarser mould. Yet, like the clashing tongue of vibrant bells, The hindrance but a greater power revealed. “See, I will show thee that the music dwells In _me_, and not the instrument I wield.” He turns, and sweetly, grandly, at his call, The violin its richest music flings. The instrument is naught—the player all— The power is in the touch, and not the strings. A coarse, rude instrument, this world, at best: Its strings made tense by selfishness and pride; If by its discords music be expressed, The music in our fingers must reside. Remember this: in tune keep heart and hand, And to earth’s music thou shalt hold the key, And from its discords sweetest tones command, Unknown and unimagined, save by thee. WAVERLEY NOVELS. By WALLACE BRUCE. When Walter Scott, one morning before breakfast, while looking for fishing-tackle, came upon his long neglected manuscript of Waverley, and decided to publish it, he baited his hook, so to speak, with a plump literary angle-worm, and carefully concealing himself, dropped it cautiously into one of the quiet and almost stagnant pools which here and there break the flow of the eighteenth century.