POETRY.

A PARADOX P—TO "F. C. H."

(A CONVERSATION RECAPITULATED.)

To FIND OUT WHAT YOU CANNOT DO,

AND THEN TO GO AND DO IT:

There lies the golden rule : but few I ever found above the ground, Except myself, who knew it.

You bid me do from day to day The single thing I can do ; I can't do what I can't, you say ?

Indeed I can ; why, hang it, man !

I solve it ambulando.

I cannot draw the simplest thing : I cannot guess a riddle : I cannot dance, or skate, or sing : I can't compose, and, goodness knows, I cannot play the fiddle.

And yet, to take a single case, Of all an illustration, At thirty-two (to my disgrace ?) I did begin the violin, By way of recreation.

The way to go to work is taught By precept and correction ; To do it nearly as you ought You learn by force of pains,—of course I don't suggest perfection.

"But, ah ! you can't acquire an ear, If Nature don't bestow it :" Excuse me: try before you sneer : The pains you take an " ear " will make, As practice make a poet.

The sounds, by Nature's laws, are there ; And all one's education Is just to catch them in the air : Success is due entirely to Attentive observation.

"Trained ear : trained fingers,—net result, A tenth-rate fiddler." Granted!

Plus hours well spent in patient cult Of music, which you own is rich In gifts not else implanted.

Well ! so with all the other things : You can learn how to do them : You're born with rudiments of wings : You'll fly in time, and—end sublime !— You get a pleasure through them.

"Ah, well!" you answer, "be it so :" Although of course it's not so : You've learned to scrape a fiddle-bow ;

And what remains? Your addled brains

Collapse: men die forgot so! "You've done the thing you couldn't do : You're just a dilettante : Yes, that's about the truth of you : You'll end, I'm sure, an amateur, A mere pococurante !"

Ah! there, my friend, I know you're wrong r

For what you're best at doing, Law, painting, science, speech or song, Is just what you are bound to do, Whate'er beside pursuing.

The small pursuits you undertake For innocent diversion, No earthly difference will make : The work goes on till life be gone : I stand by that assertion!

Although a modest man, my friend, I'll make you this confession :

I feel that I have got an " End "— A telos, eh ? as you would say—

My mitier, my profession : Which is—. well, never mind the name; But, Frank, I do assure you, Whatever other little game

I chance to play from day to day—

(I hope I do not bore you?

I'm aiming at a certain chat I had with you, and therefore

You must attend, my worthy friend)—

Will not effect the least neglect Of what I really care for. J. K. S.