ife is to be independent. Is this, then,
the road to it?"

"You 're tryin' to be what no man ever was, or will be, to the world's
end, then," said Billy. "Sure it's the very nature and essence of our
life here below that we are dependent one on the other for kindness, for
affection, for material help in time of difficulty, for counsel in time
of doubt. The rich man and the poor one have their mutual dependencies;
and if it was n't so, cowld-hearted and selfish as the world is, it
would be five hundred times worse."

"You mistake my meaning," said Massy, sternly, "as you often do, to read
me a lesson on a text of your own. When I spoke of independence, I meant
freedom from the serfdom of another's charity. I would that my life
here, at least, should be of my own procuring."

"_I_ get mine from _you_," said Traynor, calmly, "and never felt myself
a slave on that account."

"Forgive me, my dear, kind friend. I could hate myself if I gave you a
moment's pain. This temper of mine does not improve by time."

"There's one way to conquer it. Don't be broodin' on what's within.
Don't be magnifyin' your evil fortunes to your own heart till you come
to think the world all little, and yourself all great. Go out to your
daily labor, whatever it be, with a stout spirit to do your best, and a
thankful, grateful heart that you are able to do it. Never let it out of
your mind that if there's many a one your inferior, winnin' his way up
to fame and fortune before you, there's just as many better than you
toilin' away unseen and unnoticed, wearin' out genius in a garret, and
carryin' off a Godlike intellect to an obscure grave!"

"You talk to me as though my crying sin were an overweening vanity,"
said the youth, half angrily.

"Well, it's one of them," said Billy; and the blunt frankness of the
avowal threw the boy into a fit of laughing.

"You certainly do not intend to spoil me, Billy," said he, still
laughing.

"Why would I do what so many is ready to do for nothing? What does the
crowd that praise the work of a young man of genius care where they 're
leading him to? It's like people callin' out to a strong swimmer,
'Go out farther and farther,--out to the open say, where the waves is
rollin' big, and the billows is roughest; that's worthy of you, in your
strong might and your stout limbs. Lave the still water and the shallows
to the weak and the puny. _Your_ course is on the mountain wave, over
the bottomless ocean.' It's