486 
Wisconsin State Agricultural Society. 
life; and certainly lie needs this comforting reflection, for his pe¬ 
cuniary remuneration is likely to be meager enough. 
Man, through his work, becomes a creator and thus secures the 
exalted pleasure that comes from the exercise of creative energy. 
Every finished product that leayes his hands is a fresh expression of 
his power, and, as such, an object of satisfaction. 
Infinite permutations are possible with the materials fitted £o 
our use and a joy akin to the divine joy, that well repays the severest 
struggle, comes into the heart of every original worker. The car¬ 
penter who has conscientiously wrought his thought and strength, 
a part of his very being, into the frame-work of a dwelling, that 
shall be used as a human home, has left a monument of his creative 
skill instinct with his own life. The author, who molds old truths 
into new forms and sends it forth with the added meaning his new 
view imparts, is exercising creative force, and finds a present re¬ 
ward in the joy of invention. 
Work is indispensable to happiness, and happiness is the one 
thing all desire but very few obtain, because they seek it in every di¬ 
rection but the right one. It conies not save as the attendant of 
right living—of working with God—and it conies surely as such. 
Would you know the import of all [the glad voices in nature, the 
gleeful twitter of birds, the thrify hum of bees, the babbling of 
running brooks, and the song that the wind is singing in the waving 
treetops? Would you know the reason of the baby’s happy laugh 
and the secret of the school-bov’s lively whistle? Seek an answer 
in the ceaseless activity that conies from fulness and exuberance of 
life, and which is both a necessity and a joy. Happiness is coy; it 
shrinks from those who follow in eager pursuit, but seeks and 
nestles in the bosom of those that quietly walk in the way of duty. 
We have seen some of the blessings of toil, but as performed to¬ 
day it is by no means an unmixed good. They who come from 
their accustomed tasks with stiffened limbs, wearied nerves, and 
dizzy brains, too tired even to sleep, and in whose faces to-morrow’s 
sun will reveal lines of care which the night's rest shall have but 
half-effaced, can know little joy in work. I make no plea for 
drudgery. I draw no rosy-hued picture of a tread-mill existence. 
Happily machinery is relieving us more and more of routine work, 
and procuring us freedom to engage in the highest activity of which 
we are capable. The old Greeks had the truth when they believed 
