wed tree became a boat,
held together with iron nails. The boat became a galley, a ship, a
paddle-boat, a screw steamer, and the world was opened up for
colonization and civilization.

Man would have continued uncivilized, but for the results of the useful
labours of those who preceded him. The soil was reclaimed by his
predecessors, and made to grow food for human uses. They invented tools
and fabrics, and we reap the useful results. They discovered art and
science, and we succeed to the useful effects of their labours.

All nature teaches that no good thing which has once been done passes
utterly away. The living are ever reminded of the buried millions who
have worked and won before them. The handicraft and skill displayed in
the buildings and sculptures of the long-lost cities of Nineveh,
Babylon, and Troy, have descended to the present time. In nature's
economy, no human labour is altogether lost. Some remnant of useful
effect continues to reward the race, if not the individual.

The mere material wealth bequeathed to us by our forefathers forms but
an insignificant item in the sum of our inheritance. Our birthright is
made up of something far more imperishable. It consists of the sum of
the useful effects of human skill and labour. These effects were not
transmitted by learning, but by teaching and example. One generation
taught another, and thus art and handicraft, the knowledge of mechanical
appliances and materials, continued to be preserved. The labours and
efforts of former generations were thus transmitted by father to son;
and they continue to form the natural heritage of the human race--one of
the most important instruments of civilization.

Our birthright, therefore, consists in the useful effects of the labours
of our forefathers; but we cannot enjoy them unless we ourselves take
part in the work. All must labour, either with hand or head. Without
work, life is worthless; it becomes a mere state of moral coma. We do
not mean merely physical work. There is a great deal of higher work--the
work of action and endurance, of trial and patience, of enterprise and
philanthropy, of spreading truth and civilization, of diminishing
suffering and relieving the poor, of helping the weak, and enabling them
to help themselves.

"A noble heart," says Barrow, "will disdain to subsist, like a drone,
upon others' labours; like a vermin to filch its food out of the public
granary; or, like a shark, to prey upon the le