Part 9

Yet, wherefore choose, when Nature doth not choose? Our mistress, our preceptress? _She_ brings forth Her brood with equal care, loves all alike, And to the meanest as the greatest yields Her sunny splendors and her fruitful rains. Love _all_ flowers, then. Be sure that wisdom lies In every leaf and bloom; o'er hills and dales; And thymy mountains; sylvan solitudes Where sweet-voiced waters sing the long year through; In every haunt beneath the Eternal Sun, Where Youth or Age sends forth its grateful prayer, Or thoughtful Meditation deigns to stray.

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French Eulogy has always been prone to run riot. One M. Philoxene Boyer, in a grave work which has just published, in Paris, thus addresses Victor Hugo:--"You, Victor Hugo, will become not only President of the French Republic, but President of the Universal Republic, Chief of the Oecumenic Council of Nations, Intellectual Pope reigning in your Paris, whilst the Pope of Religion, united with you and Jesus Christ, the common master, will continue to reign in his Rome."