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"Weston-super-Mare. "Sunday night, 20th Feb., 1881. "My dear Anna, "Many thanks for your kind interest in the approval of my writings. "I have come to a pause in another matter. My Libyan dictionary is as complete as I can make it.... What next? I ask myself; for to be idle is soon to be miserable. I do not quite say with Clough, 'Qui laborat, orat' No!
"Secreti loquimur: tibi nunc hortante Camena Excutienda damus praecordia: quantaque nostrae Pars tua sit Cornute animae, tibi, dulcis amice, Ostendisse iuvat ... Teneros tu suscipis annos Socratico Cornute sino. Tune fallere sollers Apposita intortos extendit regula mores, Et premitur ratione animus vincique laborat, Artificemque tuo ducit sub pollice vultum."
"Young man," resumed the archdeacon, "at the king's last entry, there was a young gentleman, named Philippe de Comines, who wore embroidered on the housings of his horse this device, upon which I counsel you to meditate: Qui non laborat, non manducet." The scholar remained silent for a moment, with his finger in his ear, his eyes on the ground, and a discomfited mien.
"Qui laborat, orat," said Sybil with a smile, "is the privilege of the people." "Of whom I am one," said Hatton bowing, well recollecting that he was addressing the daughter of a chartist delegate. "But is your labour, their labour," said Sybil.
Ergo hominum genus incassum frustraque laborat Semper, et in curis consumit inanibus aevum. Lucret. 'Tis midnight! Round the lamp which o'er My chamber sheds its lonely beam, Is wisely spread the varied lore Which feeds in youth our feverish dream The dream the thirst the wild desire, Delirious yet divine-to know; Around to roam above aspire And drink the breath of Heaven below!
Seneca declares that folly is its own burden, omnis stultitia laborat fastidio sui, a very true saying, with which may be compared the words of Jesus, the son of Sirach, The life of a fool is worse than death . And, as a rule, it will be found that a man is sociable just in the degree in which he is intellectually poor and generally vulgar.
Would you have famine bite me with its jaws which are gaping in front of me, blacker, deeper, and more noisome than a Tartarus or the nose of a monk?" Dom Claude shook his wrinkled head: "Qui non laborat " Jehan did not allow him to finish. "Well," he exclaimed, "to the devil then! Long live joy! I will live in the tavern, I will fight, I will break pots and I will go and see the wenches."
"Qui laborat, orat," said Hatton in a silvery voice, "is the gracious maxim of our Holy Church; and I venture to believe my prayers and vigils have been accepted, for I have laboured in my time," and as he was speaking these words, he turned and addressed them to Sybil.
All at once he turned round to Claude with the agile quickness of a wagtail. "So, my good brother, you refuse me a sou parisis, wherewith to buy a crust at a baker's shop?" "Qui non laborat, non manducet." At this response of the inflexible archdeacon, Jehan hid his head in his hands, like a woman sobbing, and exclaimed with an expression of despair: "Orororororoi."
SECT. II. Scelotyrbe festinans: est peculiaris scelotyrbes species in qua ægri solito more dum gradi volunt currere coguntur, quod videre est apud D. Carquet, et observavit Leydæ illustr. Gaubius. Patholog. instit. 751, et in loquela hæc volubilitas dicitur quâ lingua præcurrit mentem. Video actu mulierem sexagenariam hoc affectam morbo siccitati nervorum tribuendo; laborat enim rheumatismo sicco, seu ab acrimonia sanguinis, dolores nocte a calore recrudescunt,
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