urg. Yet it is but one of
several strong forts which are to protect the single harbor of Weymouth
Bay. Was this Titanic work reared in the spirit of trust? Does it speak
of England's hope of abiding friendship with France? No; it tells us
that beneath seeming amity a deadly struggle is going on,--that every
dock hollowed, every ship launched, every colony seized, and every
fortress reared, is but another step in a silent, but real, contest for
supremacy.

When this hidden fire shall burst forth into a devouring flame, when
this seeming alliance shall change into open enmity and bitter war, no
one can prophesy. But no doubt sooner or later. For between nations, as
well as in the bosom of communities, there are irrepressible conflicts,
which no alliances, no compacts, and no motives of wisdom or interest
can forever hold in check. And when it shall burst forth, no one can
foretell what its end shall be. That dread uncertainty, more than all
these things else, keeps the peace. We can but think that the naval
preeminence of England has grown out of the real character of her people
and of their pursuits,--and that the same causes which, in the long,
perilous conflicts of the past, have enabled her to secure the
sovereignty of the seas, will strengthen her to maintain that
sovereignty in all the conflicts which in the future may await her. But,
whatever may be the result, to whomsoever defeat may come, nothing can
obliterate from the pages of history the record of the sagacity,
perseverance, and courage with which the French people and their ruler
have striven to overcome a maritime inferiority, whose origin, perhaps,
is in the structure of their society and in the nature of their race.

* * * * *

SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE.

Labor with what zeal we will,
Something still remains undone,
Something, uncompleted still,
Waits the rising of the sun.

By the bedside, on the stair,
At the threshold, near the gates,
With its menace or its prayer,
Like a mendicant it waits:

Waits, and will not go away,--
Waits, and will not be gainsaid.
By the cares of yesterday
Each to-day is heavier made,

Till at length it is, or seems,
Greater than our strength can bear,--
As the burden of our dreams,
Pressing on us everywhere;

And we stand from day to day
Like the dwarfs of times gone by,
Who, as Northern l