In all thy quarrels leave open the door of reconciliation.
To quarrel with one person to please another, is to meet what we merit,—the displeasure of both.
He that blows the coals in quarrels he has nothing to do with, has no right to complain if the sparks fly in his face.
If you wish a wise answer you must put a rational question.
WHEN IT RAINS.
The rain is coming down in sheets; It makes me sad to think about The mud that will be in the streets And all the crops and things washed out.
This rain will wash the dirt away, And leave the pavements nice and clean; I needn't use the hose to-day To keep the front yard looking green.
My high birth suffocates me. If thou love me, mother, thou wilt not on all occasions quote my high rank; it is those only who have no peculiar good in their own nature who are constantly speaking of their noble birth.
A man who attempts to read all the new publications must do as the fly does—skip.
Man is not the prince of creatures, But in reason. Fail that, he is worse Than horse, or dog, or beast of wilderness.
When a man has not a good reason for doing a thing, he has one good reason for letting it alone.
—Sir Walter Scott.
"Live and let live" was his rule: no more I'll say.
There is one word which may serve as a rule of practice for all one's life, that word is reciprocity;
What you do not wish done to yourself, Do not do to others.
The bow cannot possibly stand always bent, nor can human nature subsist without recreation.
Regret.—It is folly to shiver over last year's snow.
Relaxation above produces remissness below. (In authority.)
A religion that costs nothing, does nothing.
They who doubt the blessings of religion because they find no Christian who is perfect, might as well deny the existence of the sun because it is not always noonday.
—Marchioness de Spadara.
Religion is good for nothing one day in the week, unless it is also good for all the seven days.
Religion is the knowledge of the most excellent truths; the contemplation of the most glorious objects, and the hope of the most ravishing pleasures, and the practice of such duties as are most servicable to our happiness, our peace, our health, our honor, our prosperity, and our eternal welfare. Virtue needs no outward pomp; her very countenance is so full of majesty, that the proudest pay her respect, and the profanest are awed by her presence.
It is rare to see a rich man religious; for religion preaches restraint, and riches prompt to unlicensed freedom.
Religion lies more in the walk than in the talk.
Religion presents few difficulties to the humble, Many to the proud, Insuperable ones to the vain.
Religion, if in heavenly truths attired, Needs only to be seen to be admired.
I will to-morrow, that I will, I will be sure to do it; To-morrow comes, to-morrow goes, And still thou art to do it. Thus still repentance is deferred, From one day to another: Until the day of death is come, And judgment is the other.
'Tis not, to cry God mercy, or to sit And droop, or to confess that thou hast fail'd: 'Tis to bewail the sins thou didst commit; And not commit those sins thou hast bewail'd, He that bewails and not forsakes them too; Confesses rather what he means to do.
Profanity Gently Reproved.—It is related that the excellent John Wesley, having to travel some distance in a stagecoach, was thereby brought into the company of an intelligent and gentlemanly officer of the British army. The officer was very social with his traveling companions; but the enjoyment, which his society would otherwise have afforded to those with him, was sadly lessened by the profane expressions he used.
While stopping at a station, Mr. Wesley called the officer to one side, and, after expressing the satisfaction he had enjoyed in his company, told him he felt encouraged to ask of him a very great favor. "I shall take great pleasure in obliging you," replied the officer, "as I am certain you would not make an unreasonable request."—"Then," said Mr. Wesley, "as we are to travel together for some days, I beg that if I should so far forget myself as to use any profane language, you will kindly reprove me." The officer immediately perceived how faithfully and how delicately his own conduct stood reproved, and, smiling, said, "No one but Mr. Wesley could administer reproof in such manner."
After I have named the man, I need say no more.
It is reported of a person who, being ill, was asked whether she was willing to live or die; she answered—"Which God pleases." "But," said one, "if God should refer it to you, which would you choose?" "Truly," replied she, "I would at once refer it to Him again."
Some seek bread—no more—life's mere subsistence, And some seek wealth and ease—the common quest; And some seek fame that hovers in the distance; But all are seeking rest.
OUR PRESENT NEED.
Pray, give us rest. A little rest From peace-destroying hurry; A moment of the quietest, As balm for work and worry.
Pray, give us rest. A little rest For people and for nation; A moment's time to stop and test The purpose of creation.
—Wm. J. Lampton.
Rest is sweet to those who labor.
Take Rest.—A field that has rested gives a bountiful crop.
The man who goes easiest and best, Is he who gives his tongue Vast quantities of rest.
"If I rest too much, I rust,"—says the key.
Quick resolves are often unsafe.
Irresolute people often let their soup grow cold between the plate and the mouth.
Sleep over it and you will come to a resolution.
Those who act in a disinterested way seldom miss their reward.
One knows not for whom he gathers.
It is wealth to a man to be able to live contentedly upon a frugal store.
RUSKIN MEETS SOME TOURISTS.
"I was fated the other day to come from Venice to Verona with a family—father and mother and two girls—it matters not what country they came from—presumably rich—girls fifteen and eighteen. I never before conceived the misery of people who had evidently spent all their lives in trying to gratify themselves. It was a little warm—warmer than was entirely luxurious—but nothing in the least harmful. They moaned and fidgeted and frowned and puffed and stretched and fanned, and ate lemons, and smelled bottles, and covered their faces, and tore the cover off again, and had not one thought or feeling during five hours of traveling in the most noble part of all the world except what four poor beasts would have had in their end of a menagerie, being dragged about on a hot day. Add to this misery every form of polite vulgarity, in methods of doing and saying the common things they said and did. I never yet saw humanity so degraded (allowing for external circumstances of every possible advantage) given wealth, attainable education and the inheritance of eighteen centuries of Christianity."
—Letter to Charles E. Morton in the Atlantic.
They call him rich; I deem him poor; Since, if he dares not use his store, But saves it for his heirs, The treasure is not his, but theirs.
The generous should be rich, and the rich should be generous.
Very rich men seldom or never whistle; poor men always do.
Who is truly rich? He who is satisfied with what he possesses.
—From The Talmud.
It is difficult to gather a heap in a long time, but it is easy to squander the whole in a day.
Sir Thomas Sutton, the founder of the Charter House, was one of the wealthiest merchants of his day. Fuller tells how he was overheard one day praying in his garden: "Lord, Thou hast given me a large and liberal estate; give me also a heart to make use of it."
The Influence of Riches.—A respectable widow lady, with a very small income, which she was obliged to eke out by the produce of her own industry and ingenuity, was remarkable for her generous liberality, especially in contributing to the cause of religion. When any work of pious benevolence was going forward, she was always ready to offer a donation equal to those of persons in comparative affluence. In process of time this lady came into the possession of an ample fortune, greatly to the joy of all who knew her willing liberality. But she no longer came forward unsolicited towards the cause of Christ, and when applied to, she yielded her aid but coldly and grudgingly, and sometimes excused herself from giving at all. On one occasion she presented a shilling to the same cause to which she had formerly given a guinea when in a state of comparative poverty. Her minister felt it his duty to expostulate with her, and reminded her of her former generosity when her means were so circumscribed. "Ah! sir," she affectingly replied; "then I had the shilling means, but the guinea heart, now I have the guinea means, but only the shilling heart. Then I received day by day my daily bread, and I had enough and to spare; now, I have to look at my ample income, but I live in constant apprehension that I may come to want!"
Riches and care are as inseparable as sun and shadow.
As riches and favor forsake a man, we discover him to be below mediocrity, but nobody could find it out in his prosperity.
I remember when Mr. Locke first came over from Italy. Old Dr. Moore, who had a high opinion of him, was crying up his drawings, and asked me if I did not think he would make a great painter? I said, "No, never!" "Why not?" "Because he has six thousand a year."
Few men are both rich and generous; fewer are both rich and humble.
Riches serve a wise man but command a fool.
'Tis strange, the miser should his cares employ To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy.
Riches:—We see how much a man has, and therefore we envy him; did we see how little he enjoys, we would rather pity him.
My riches consist not in the greatness of my possessions, but in the smallness of my wants.
Every one who rightly considers it, may know, that eminence and opulence in the world are not real divine blessings, notwithstanding man, from the pleasure he finds in them, calls them so; for they pass away, and also seduce many, and turn them away from heaven; but that eternal life, and its happiness, are real blessings, which are from the Divine: this the Lord also teaches in Luke: 12 ch., 33-34. "Make to yourselves a treasure that faileth not in the heavens, where the thief cometh not, nor the moth corrupteth; for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."
—Emanuel Swedenborg, 1688-1772.
Without frugality none can become rich, and with it, few would become poor.
No man has a right to do as he pleases, except when he pleases to do right.
Late Rising.—He who rises late, must trot all day, and will scarcely overtake his business at night.
To wish for anything that is unattainable is worthless, and a poor road to travel.
He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen, Let him not know't, and he's not robb'd at all.
One roof and two winds—i. e., persons of opposite tempers living together.
Water and protect the root; Heaven will watch the flower and fruit.
If a man could make a single rose, we should give him an empire; yet roses, and flowers no less beautiful, are scattered in profusion over the world, and no one regards them.
Royalty is but a feather in a man's cap; let children enjoy their rattle.
There cannot be a greater rudeness than to interrupt another in the current of his discourse.
No rumor wholly dies, once bruited wide.
—Hesiod, a Greek, 850 B. C.
He who ordained the Sabbath loved the poor.
—O. W. Holmes.
Those persons who are in the habit of avoiding worldly cares on the Sabbath, are the most remarkable for the perfect performance of their duties during the week. The influence of a change of thought on the Sabbath upon the minds of such persons, resembles that of a change of food upon the body. It seems to give a fresh spring to the mental operations, as the latter does to the physical.
Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day: On other days the man of toil is doom'd To eat his joyless bread—the ground Both seat and board—screen'd from the winter's cold And summer's heat, by neighboring hedge or tree; But on this day, embosom'd in his home, He shares the frugal meal with those he loves.
A well-spent Sabbath on earth, prepares us for the spending of a better one in heaven.
Better a little in safety, than an abundance, surrounded by danger.
More can be said in one minute than can be forgotten in a lifetime.
When Henry Drummond was traveling in tropical Africa, he found that salt was regarded by the natives as a rare luxury. Often he offered the native boys the choice between a pinch of salt and a lump of sugar, and they always chose the salt. Once he presented the head man of a village with a spoonful of salt. The chief twisted a leaf into a little bag, into which he poured the salt. Then he held out his hand to the children who crowded around, and each was allowed one lick of his empty palm.
A NAME ON THE SEA SAND.
Alone I walked the ocean strand: A pearly shell was in my hand; I stooped and wrote upon the sand My name, the year, the day. As onward from the spot I passed, One lingering look behind I cast; A wave came rolling high and fast And washed my lines away. And so, methought, 'twill shortly be With every mark on earth from me.
The above pretty lines are only superficially true. No man can live on earth without leaving, "footprints on the sands of time," which will influence those who come after him for good or evil.
EMULATION IN A SCHOOL.
More is learned in a public than in a private school from emulation: there is the collision of mind with mind, or the radiation of many minds pointing to one centre.
Here first I entered, though with toil and pain, The low vestibule of learning's fane: Entered with pain, yet soon I found the way, Though sometimes toilsome, many a sweet display. Much did I grieve, on that ill-fated morn, When I was first to school reluctant borne; Severe I thought the dame, though oft she tried To soothe my swelling spirits when I sighed; And oft, when harshly she reproved, I wept, To my lone corner broken-hearted crept, And thought of tender home, where anger never kept.
* * * * * * * *
But soon inured to alphabetic toils, Alert I met the dame with jocund smiles; First at the form, my task forever true, A little favorite rapidly I grew: And oft she stroked my head with fond delight, Held me a pattern to the dunce's sight; And as she gave my diligence its praise, Talked of the honors of my future days.
—Henry Kirke White.
It has been remarked that some [1694:A]duxes at school and prizemen at the university have run too soon to seed, and in after-years been heard of no more; while on the contrary,—comforting fact for the parents of dull boys—not a few who have become distinguished men made no figure at all in their educational career.
—From Memoir of Dr. Guthrie.
[1694:A] Top of the class.
EARLY TRIALS OF DISTINGUISHED SCHOLARS.
It is related of Dr. Adam, the celebrated rector of the High School of Edinburgh, that when at college he had to be content with a penny roll for his dinner. Similar, though more severe, were the early trials of Samuel Drew, also of Edinburgh. At the age of ten he was apprenticed to a shoemaker, a calling which he continued to follow long after he had become celebrated as an author. For days and days together in his early life he was too poor to spend even a penny for his dinner; and he was accustomed, when dinner-time came, to tie his apron-string tighter to lessen the pang of hunger, and go on with his work till evening. Through years of hardship and drudgery his courage never forsook him; amidst ceaseless labor he strove unremittingly to improve his mind, studying astronomy, history, and metaphysics; and finally, from the humblest circumstances, he rose to occupy a conspicuous place as an author, a philosopher, and a metaphysician.
The life of Balzac too, the French author, whose brilliant abilities won for him at last such wealth, fame and influence in France, is a type of many a literary career. At the age of twenty his wealthy parents wished to make him a notary. He announced his determination to become an author. "But" urged the father, "do you not know to what state the occupation of a writer will lead you? In literature a man must be either king or a hodman." "Very well," replied Balzac, "I will be king!" The family left town; the youth was left to his fate in a garret, with the magnificent allowance of twenty-five francs a month. The first ten years he fought with poverty and all its evils; the second decade made him his own master. These ten years, says a writer in a British magazine, were years of glory, wealth, and luxury. He had won the literary crown, as in youth he predicted. His later residences were palaces, richly decorated, and full of rare pictures, statuary, and valuable curiosities.
—From "Getting on in the World." —By William Mathews, LL. D.
Scotland:—With a rigorous climate and a small country, much of it wild and untillable mountain and moor, and with fewer people in the whole country than in the city of London, and to-day she wields an influence in the world out of all proportion to her population and resources. In fact, the Scotch are in many respects the greatest people of modern times.
—From "A Year in Europe." —By Walter W. Moore, D. D., LL. D.
Love the sea? I dote upon it—from the beach.
How sweet it is, mother, to see the sea from the land, when we are not sailing!
THOUGHTS AT SEA.
There is something grand, even to awfulness, in the thought of utter helplessness which you feel at sea. Sky and water—with no living thing visible over the vast expanse—for days together just your own vessel with its human freight—and God! To a thoughtful mind there is no surer teaching both of humility and trust.
Old people see best in the distance.
'Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
A secret is seldom safe in more than one breast.
What is known to three is usually known to everybody.
Those who enquire much into the affairs of others are seldom capable of retaining the secret that they learn; Therefore,
Shun the inquisitive and curious man, For what he hears, he will relate again.
To keep your own secrets is wisdom; but to expect others to keep them is folly.
Secrets make a dungeon of the heart, and a jailer of its owner.
Where secrecy or mystery begins, vice or roguery is not far off.
Be able at all times to yield your personal preference.
Be what your friends think you are; avoid being what your enemies say you are.
Wouldst thou be crowned monarch of a little world, command thyself.
CONCEIT OF SELF REBUKED.
"When I was younger than I am now," says a lawyer who is still somewhat this side of middle age, "I had a position in the office of a man who has a big reputation. Naturally, I felt my responsibility. It was plain to me that the head of the firm had outlived his usefulness, and I used to feel sorry to think what would happen to him if I ever left him. Sheer magnanimity made me overlook a lot of things.
"I wasn't treated in that office with all the deference due me, but I stood it till one day somebody went too far. Then I marched into the old gentleman's private office and laid down the law to him. I told him I wasn't going to endure such treatment another day. I was going to quit, that was what I was going to do, and I was going to quit right then and there. I unburdened my mind freely, and then I stopped to give him a chance to apologize and beg me not to ruin him by leaving. He didn't look up from his desk. He said to me in a polite kind of way, 'Please don't slam the door when you go out.'"
They that do much themselves deny, Receive more blessings from the sky.
Teach self-denial and make its practice pleasurable, and you create for the world a destiny more sublime than ever issued from the brain of the wildest dreamer.
—Sir Walter Scott.
Two things are difficult for man to do; 'Tis to be selfish and honest, too.
Give us something to admire in yourself, not in your belongings.—(To one who boasts of his ancestry.)
Do you want to know the man against whom you have most reason to guard yourself? Your looking glass will give you a very fair likeness of his face.
Don't support yourself on others; If the column falls, where are you?
We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done.
The personal pronoun "I" should be the coat of arms of some individuals.
He that is warm is apt to think all are so.
The Lord doesn't look so much at what you've given, as to what you have left.
—An Old Writer.
If solid happiness we prize, Within our breast this jewel lies, From our own selves our joys must flow, And that dear hut, our home.
Self-interest is the compass by which some men Do set the course of their opinions.
Remember that self-interest is more likely to warp your judgment than all other circumstances combined, therefore, look well to your duty when your interest is concerned.
The world is very much ruled by interest alone.
The least that one can say of himself is still too much.
He that falls in love with himself will have no rival.
No one can disgrace us but ourselves.
On their own merits modest men are dumb.
It is more easy to be wise for others, than for ourselves.
No man fights a harder battle than the man who overcomes himself.
To me, there is none like you but yourself.
—From the address of a grateful Hindoo to Sir Wm. Jones.
One always knocks one's self on the sore place.
—From the French.
You say, not always wisely, Know thyself! Know others, ofttimes is the better maxim.
—Menander, Born 342 B. C.
No object is more pleasing to the eye than the sight of a man whom you have obliged; nor any music so agreeable to the ear, as the voice of one that owns you for his benefactor.
Self-laudation abounds among the unpolished, but nothing can stamp a man more sharply as ill-bred.
We know what we are, but know not what we may be.
Some persons have a prudent consideration for Number—one.
Some persons can neither stir hand nor foot without making it clear they are thinking of themselves, and laying little traps for approbation.
We hardly find any persons of good sense, save those who agree with us!
We find few sensible people, except those who are of our way of thinking.
Never trouble another for what you can do yourself.
The question was asked, "Why can we see other people's failings sooner than our own? and why can we give advice to others easier than follow it ourselves?" A sensible man asked in reply, "Why can our eyes see everything else but themselves?"
What others say of me, matters little. What I myself say and do, Matters much.
Self-interest is but the survival of the animal in us. Humanity only begins for man with self-surrender.
Did it ever strike you that continual mourning was multiplied selfishness?
Take the selfishness out of the world and there would be more happiness than we should know what to do with.
—H. W. Shaw.
"There is no harm in being respected in this world, as I have found out," said Thackeray, "and if you don't brag a little for yourself, depend on it there is no person of your acquaintance who will tell the world of your merits, and take the trouble off your hands."
Common sense among men born to fortune is rare.
He lacks sense who broods over the past.
2 Kings x, 16.—"Jehu said, Come with me, and see my zeal for the Lord."
John Fox, the author of the "Book of Martyrs," was once met by a woman who showed him a book she was carrying, and said, "See you not that I am going to a sermon?" The good man replied, "If you will be ruled by me, go home, for you will do little good to-day at church." "When, then," asked she, "would you counsel me to go?" His reply was, "When you tell no one beforehand."
A CRUSHING ARGUMENT AGAINST MANUSCRIPT SERMONS.
A clergyman thought his people were making rather an unconscionable objection to his using a manuscript in delivering a sermon.
They urged, "What gars ye tak' up your bit papers to the pu'pit?"
He replied "that it was best, for really he could not remember his sermons, and he must have the paper."
"Weel, weel, minister, then dinna expect that we can remember them."
A leading Welsh minister—and Welsh ministers are, I think, among the best preachers—was invited to preach an anniversary sermon before one of the great societies in London. Naturally anxious to disregard no propriety, he consulted the proper authority, the secretary. "Should I read my sermon?" "Oh, it is no matter, only bring some of your Welsh fire with you." "But you cannot, my dear sir, carry fire on paper." "No, that is true; but you may use the paper to kindle the fire."
—Rev. John Hall.
A SCOTCH PREACHER.
The Rev. John Brown, of Haddington, rose from a poor shepherd boy to become a distinguished minister, and afterwards a celebrated professor, author of the "Self-Interpreting Bible," and many other works. Robert Turnbull said of him in one of his books:—"When a poor shepherd boy, he conceived the idea of learning Latin and Greek, and having procured a few old books, actually accomplished the task, while tending his cattle on the hills. So successful was he that some of the old and superstitious people in the neighborhood concluded that he must have been assisted by 'the evil spirit.' On one occasion he went to Edinburgh, plaided and barefoot, walked into a bookseller's shop, and asked for a Greek Testament. 'What are you going to do with a Greek Testament?' said the bookseller. 'Read it,' was the prompt reply. 'Read it!' exclaimed the sceptical bookseller with a smile; 'ye may have it for nothing if ye'll read it.' Taking the book, he quietly read off a few verses, and gave the translation; on which he was permitted to carry off the Greek Testament in triumph."
THE BEST SERMONS.
If we would give ourselves only half an hour's reflection at the close of every day, we would preach to ourselves the best sermons that could be uttered every week.
Oh ponder well! be not severe!
What shadows we are! what shadows we pursue!
THE LOST SHEEP.
"Oh, gentle Shepherd, climbing rugged mountains, And crossing waters deep, How long wouldst Thou be willing to go homeless, To find a wandering sheep?" "I count not time," the Shepherd gently answered, "As thou dost count and bind The days in the weeks, the weeks in months; My count is just until I find. And that should be the limit of my journey, I'd cross the waters deep, And climb the hill-slopes with untiring patience, Until I found my sheep."
—Luke xv, 4v.
Sickness is every man's master.
—From the Danish.
No duns outside, and no doctors within. (Absence of sickness and debt.)
Out of sight, out of mind.
Silence is the safest response for all the contradiction that arises from impertinence, vulgarity, or envy.
Silence is the best resolve for him who distrusts himself.
Silence is the consummate eloquence of sorrow.
Of keeping silence few have paid the cost; Of having said too much, a countless host.
Silence is often an answer.
The silence often of pure innocence, Persuades, when speaking fails.
There is a sure reward for faithful silence.
He knows much who knows how, and when, to be silent.
Plated silver. (Sarcastically applied to pretenders.)
Most rare is now our old simplicity.
Commit a sin twice, it will seem a sin no longer.
—From The Talmud.
Men's sins are before our eyes: our own, behind our backs.
Many a man will give another man a letter of recommendation, though he would hardly lend the applicant a dollar.
A HAPPY USE OF SINGING.
An excellent clergyman, possessing much knowledge of human nature, instructed his large family of daughters in the theory and practice of music. They were all observed to be exceedingly amiable and happy. A friend inquired if there was any secret in his mode of education. He replied—"When anything disturbs their temper, I say to them sing, and if I hear them speaking against any person, I call them to sing to me; and so they have sung away all causes of discontent, and every disposition to scandal."
He who stands still in mud,—sinks.
SLANDER AND EVIL SPEAKING.
A lady who had been in the habit of spreading slanderous reports once confessed her fault to St. Philip Neri, who lived several hundred years ago. She asked him how she could cure it. "Go," he said in reply, "to the nearest market-place, buy a chicken just killed, pluck its feathers all the way, and come back to me." She was greatly surprised, wondering in what way a dead chicken could help her overcome her evil habit; but she did as he bade her, and came back to him with the plucked chicken in her hand. "Now go back," he said, "and bring me all the feathers you have scattered." "But this is impossible," she replied: "I cast the feathers carelessly, and the wind carried them away; how can I recover them?" "That," he said, "is exactly like your words of slander. They have been carried about in every direction. You cannot recall them. Go and slander no more." It was a striking way of teaching a very important lesson.
He who slanders his neighbors makes a rod for himself.
He will always be a slave, who does not know how to live upon a little.
Slaves cannot breathe in Britain; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free; They touch our country, and their shackles fall.
O execrable son! so to aspire Above his brethren, to himself assuming Authority usurp'd, from God not given. He gave us only over beast, fish, fowl, Dominion absolute; that right we hold By His donation; but man over men He made not lord; such title to Himself Reserving, human left from human—free.
Sleep.—I never take a nap after dinner, but when I have had a bad night, and then the nap takes me.
We are all equals when we are asleep.
If you want the night to seem a moment to you, sleep all night.
O sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole.
Sleep.—Even sleep is characteristic. How charming are children in their lovely innocence! How angel-like their blooming hue! How painful and anxious is the sleep and expression in the countenance of the guilty.
—W. Von Humboldt.
When I go to sleep, I let fall the windows of mine eyes.
The sleep of a laboring man is sweet, whether he eat little or much: but the abundance of the rich will not suffer him to sleep.
—Eccles. v, 12v.
Heaven trims our lamps while we sleep.
Sleep! to the homeless, thou art home, The friendless find in thee a friend; And well is, wheresoe'r he roams, Who meets thee at his journey's end.
A RESTFUL PREACHER.
Dean Ramsey relates that the Earl of Lauderdale was alarmingly ill, one distressing symptom being a total absence of sleep, without which the medical men declared he could not recover. His son, who was somewhat simple, was seated under the table, and cried out, "Sen' for that preaching man frae Livingstone, for fayther aye sleeps in the kirk." One of the doctors thought the hint worth attending to, and the experiment of "getting a minister till him" succeeded, for sleep came on and the earl recovered.
Come sleep, O sleep! the certain knot of peace, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, The indifferent judge between the high and low!
—Sir P. Sidney.
Sleep. Do not omit the heavy offer of it; It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, It is a comforter.
Sleep, thou patron of mankind, Great physician of the mind, Who dost nor pain nor sorrow know, Sweetest balm of every woe.
—Sophocles, born 496 B. C.
Sleep has often been mentioned as the image of death, so like it, that we should not trust it without prayer.
MYSTERY OF SLEEP.
What mortal knows Whence came the tint and odor of the rose? What probing deep Has ever solved the mystery of sleep?
—T. B. Aldrich.
SMILES ALWAYS ATTRACTIVE.
Whether seen playing upon the face of young innocence, or upon the furrowed visage of venerable age, smiles are always attractive and blissful. He who wears a smiling face is a practical philanthropist. He dispels the clouds of gloom that overshadow the brows of care, and the hearts of sorrow he meets in his life-paths, as the sun dispels the misty clouds of morning from the face of nature.
A smile is ever more bright and beautiful with a tear upon it.
Put a smile on your face when you go out for a walk, and it will be surprising how many pleasant people you will meet.
Who can tell the value of a smile? It costs the giver nothing, but is beyond price to the erring and relenting, the sad and cheerless.
WHEN ADAM SMITH PROPOSED.
A new story of Adam Smith was told recently at a convention in Kirkaldy, Scotland, the birthplace of the economist. The professor fell in love and proposed. The offer was refused. Next day the lady met Smith in Princess street, Edinburgh, and reopened the question of the proposal, about which she had been thinking. "You remember what I said?" the lady inquired, and the philosopher replied that he did. "Well," added the lady, "I was only joking." "You remember what I asked?" said Smith. "Yes" replied the lady. "Well," said Smith, "I was only joking too."
It is said that Sir Walter Raleigh once made a wager with Queen Elizabeth that he could weigh the smoke from his tobacco pipe. He weighed the tobacco before smoking, and the ashes afterwards. When Elizabeth paid the wager, she said, "I have seen many a man turn his gold into smoke, but you are first who has turned his smoke into gold."
Among unequals what society Can sort, what harmony, or true delight?
Society is built upon trust, and trust upon confidence of one another's integrity.
Society is no comfort To one not sociable.
If you wish to appear agreeable in society, you must consent to be taught many things which you know already.
Society is ever ready to worship success, but rarely forgives failure.
Johnson:—"Sir, your levellers wish to level down as far as themselves; but they cannot bear levelling up to themselves. They would all have some people under them; why not then have some people above them?"
The true art of being agreeable is to appear well pleased with all the company, and rather to seem well entertained with them, than to bring entertainment to them.
LONGING FOR SOLITUDE.
Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumor of oppression and deceit, Might never reach me more! my ear is pain'd, My soul is sick, with every day's report Of wrong and outrage, with which earth is fill'd.
Something.—To do something, however small, to make others happier and better, is the highest ambition, the most elevating hope, which can inspire a human being.
TO MY DEAR SON.
On his 21st Birthday, with a Silver Lamp, "Fiat Lux." —Lady Dufferin, 1807-1867.
How shall I bless thee? Human love Is all too poor in passionate words; The heart aches with a sense above All language that the lip affords: Therefore a symbol shall express My love,—a thing not rare or strange, But yet—eternal—measureless— Knowing no shadow and no change. Light! which of all the lovely shows To our poor world of shadows given, The fervent prophet-voices chose Alone, as attribute of heaven!
At a most solemn pause we stand, From this day forth, for evermore, The weak but loving human hand Must cease to guide thee as of yore. Then, as thro' life thy footsteps stray, And earthly beacons dimly shine, "Let there be light" upon thy way, And holier guidance far than mine! "Let there be light" in thy clear, clear soul, When passion tempts and doubts assail; When grief's dark tempests o'er thee roll, "Let there be light" that shall not fail!
So, angel-guarded, may'st thou tread The narrow path which few may find, And at the end, look back, nor dread To count the vanished years behind! And pray that she, whose hand doth trace This heart-warm prayer,—when life is past— May see and know thy blessed face, In God's own glorious light at last!
—From the Victorian Anthology, —by Sir M. E. Grant Duff.
A clever man once said to his son: "John, when you chase the dollars, all right; but look out, my boy, when the dollars chase you."
Send your son into the world with good principles, a good education, and industrious habits, and he will find his way in the dark.
TO MY SON.
Some of the rarest gems and most beautiful flowers are often found in out-of-the-way places. Here is one.
Do you know that your soul is of my soul, such part, That you seem to be fibre and core of my heart? None other can pain me as you, dear, can do; None other can please me or praise me as you. Remember the world will be quick with its blame If shadow or stain ever darken your name. "Like mother, like son," is a saying so true, The world will judge largely of "mother" by you. Be yours then the task, if task it shall be, To force this proud world to do homage to me; Be sure it will say, when its verdict you've won. "She reaps as she sowed, lo, this man is her son."
HIS FATHER'S ABILITY.
At ten years of age a boy thinks his father knows a great deal;
At fifteen he knows as much as his father;
At twenty he knows twice as much;
At thirty he is willing to take his advice;
At forty he begins to think his father knows something, after all;
At fifty he begins to seek his advice;
And at sixty, after his father is dead, he thinks he was the smartest man that ever lived.
A son who loves his home is a joy to his parents.
A man who has got a good son-in-law, has gained a son; but he who has found a bad one, has lost a daughter.
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopped, doth burn the heart to cinders.
Sorrow's best antidote is employment.
There are people who are always anticipating trouble, and in this way they manage to enjoy many sorrows that never really happen to them.
—H. W. Shaw.
The love of the poor, to the poor, is often remarked: Privation and sorrow knit hearts as no bands of gold can.
—Thos. D. Brown.
If hearty sorrow Be a sufficient ransom for offense, I tender it here; I do as truly suffer As e'er I did commit.
When sorrow is asleep wake it not.
All sorrows are bearable if there is bread.
Let your thoughts dwell on your blessings, and you will forget your miseries.
BRIEF PULSATIONS OF JOY.
The little that I have seen in the world, and known of the history of mankind, teaches me to look upon their errors in sorrow, not in anger. When I take the history of one poor heart that has sinned and suffered, and represent to myself the struggles and temptations it passed through, the brief pulsations of joy, the tears of regret, the feebleness of purpose, the scorn of the world that has little charity, the desolation of the soul's sanctuary, and threatening voices within, health gone, happiness gone,—I would fain leave the erring soul of my fellow-man with Him from whose hands it came.
Sum up at night what thou hast done by day, And in the morning what thou hast to do. Dress and undress thy soul, mark the decay And growth of it; since we shall be Most surely judged, make thy accounts agree.
Somewhere, beyond the limitless space, That mantles the stars, there is a place; A beautiful place, where angels dwell. Somewhere—but just where, no one can tell.
Nowhere on this realm, from pole to pole, Did God appoint a home for the soul; Yet "somewhere," above yon starry dome There's a "house not made with hands," a home.
There, all is fragrant with sweet perfume That falls from flowers which ever bloom; In that far-off unknown land so fair. Where the great Redeemer dwells—'tis there.
When you can say nothing good of a man, change the subject.
Gentle speech and courteous mood Cost nothing, and are always good.
Loose thinking leads to inaccurate speech.
Forbear sharp speeches to her. She's a lady So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes, And strokes death to her.
Everything that one says too much, is insipid and tedious.
It is unbecoming in inferiors to assume boldness of speech.
Have more than thou showest; Speak less than thou knowest; Spend less than thou ownest.
Obedience.—The man who has lost his purse will go wherever you wish.
STORY OF A STANZA.
Many years ago Dr. Valpy, a well known English scholar, wrote a little verse of four lines as the longing of his heart and the confession of his faith. This was the simple stanza:—
"In peace let me resign my breath, And Thy salvation see; My sins deserve eternal death, But Jesus died for me."
Some time afterwards he gave this verse to his friend Dr. Marsh, and it became a great blessing to him. Dr. Marsh read the lines to his friend Lord Roden, who was so impressed with them that he got the doctor to write them out, and then fastened the paper over the mantlepiece in his study, and there, yellow with age, they hung for many years.
—By Canon Dyson Hague, in London Record.
Stars.—Those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air.
MAN'S LITTLENESS IN PRESENCE OF THE STARS.
Thou, proud man, look upon yon starry vault, Survey the countless gems which richly stud The night's imperial chariot;—Telescopes Will show the myriads more, innumerous As the sea-sand:—each of those little lamps Is the great source of light, the central sun Round which some other mighty sisterhood Of planets travel,—every planet stocked With living beings impotent, as thee. Now, proud man—now, where is thy greatness fled? What art thou in the scale of universe? Less, less than nothing!
—Henry Kirke White.
The stars govern men, but God governs the stars.
No man can be expected to be wise on an empty stomach.
The more violent the storm, the sooner it is over.
If a man be gracious unto strangers, it shows he is a citizen of the world, and his heart is no island cut off from other lands, but a continent that joins them.
Be willing to pity the misery of the stranger! Thou givest to-day thy bread to the poor; to-morrow the poor may give it to thee.
THE PASSING STRANGER.
He passed me on the street, And never guessed The strength he gave my heart, And needed rest.
His noble face so shone With holiness, The very sight of it Could not but bless.
I met him only once Upon my way, Many years ago, And yet to-day
That face of light and strength Still dwells with me; The man "had been with God"— 'Twas plain to see.
—Edith Campbell Babbitt.
Men of age * * * content themselves with a mediocrity of success.
Experience shows that success is due less to ability than to zeal. The winner is he who gives himself to his work.
If you would go to the top, first go to the bottom.
The worst use that can be made of success is to boast of it.
—Sir Arthur Helps.
Mediocrity succeeds best in the world.
FOOD FOR THOUGHT.
At a gathering in Australia, not long since, four persons met, three of whom were shepherds on a sheep-farm. One of these had taken a degree at Oxford, another at Cambridge, the third at a German university. The fourth was their employer, a squatter, rich in flocks and herds, but scarcely able to read and write, much less to keep accounts.
SUCCESSFUL MEN WHO WERE NOT RICH.
A sense of the power and luxury in money, beyond all the wonder tales, has suddenly come to us.
In times like these, it is good to remember Agassiz, who refused to lecture at five hundred dollars a night because he was too busy to make money; Spurgeon, who refused to go to America to deliver fifty lectures at one thousand dollars a night, saying he could do better—he could stay in London and try to save fifty souls; and Emerson, who steadfastly declined to increase his income beyond one thousand two hundred dollars because he wanted his time to think.
—F. Bellamy in Everybody's Magazine.
Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt, Nothing's so hard but search will find it out.
Those who accomplish great things always begin with little things.
That success costs too dear, which is attained by any sacrifice of truth, honor, or justice.
He who waits to be absolutely sure of the success of an undertaking, will never undertake it.
The poor have little,—beggars, none; The rich too much,—enough, not one.
The man who has a sufficiency, generally smiles at the artificial wants of others.
The summer day Endures not ever: toil ye while ye may.
—Hesiod, a Greek, 850 B. C.
Sun.—The glorious lamp of heaven; with one eye vieweth all the world.
When the sun shines on you you see your friends.
Sundays observe: think when the bells do chime, 'Tis angel's music; therefore come not late.
FOR LITTLE BOYS AND GIRLS TO KNOW.
A boy of twelve, said to his little companion: "Do you know why Sunday was instituted from the seventh to the first day of the week." "No, I don't," replied the little boy, "I wish you would tell me." "Well, I will, and I know it is true, for my father told me: It was instituted from Saturday to Sunday in remembrance of Christ's resurrection from the dead on the first day of the week."
The ways of superiors, are generally carried by inferiors, to excess.
It is easy to swim when another holds up your head.
—From the Danish.
Sympathy is the golden key that unlocks the hearts of others.
A GOOD TEST.
A respectable merchant of London having become embarrassed in his circumstances, and his misfortunes being one day the subject of conversation in the Royal Exchange, several persons expressed the great sympathy they felt for him; whereupon a foreigner who was present, said, "I feel five hundred pounds for him; what do you feel?"
A clasp of hands will oft reveal A sympathy that makes us feel Ourselves again; we lose our care: And in our heart's first glad rebound At tender sympathy new found, The world once more seems bright and fair.
I LAY IN SORROW, DEEP DISTRESSED.
I lay in sorrow, deep distressed: My grief a proud man heard; His looks were cold, he gave me gold, But not a kindly word. My sorrow passed,—I paid him back The gold he gave to me; Then stood erect and spoke my thanks, And blessed his charity.
I lay in want, in grief and pain: A poor man passed my way; He bound my head, he gave me bread, He watched me night and day. How shall I pay him back again, For all he did to me? Oh, gold is great, but greater far Is Heavenly Sympathy.
The human heart sighs for sympathy and solace, in the dark hour of suffering and sorrow.
—Rev. Thos. M. McConnell.
These two complain, but no one sympathizes with them: He who lends money without witnesses; And he who is lorded over by his wife.
For him who does everything in its proper time, one day is worth three.
There is nothing like addressing men at the proper time.
The world is always ready to receive talent with open arms.
—O. W. Holmes.
Talent is something, but tact is everything.
All talk at once, to none respect is shown.
Talking.—What a spendthrift is he of his tongue!
They always talk who never think.
He who talks much is sometimes right.
The talker sows, the listener reaps.
You can doubtless name a number of people who talk too much—including yourself!
A man of sense talks little, and listens much.
A Quiet Rebuke.—When Washington's secretary excused himself for the lateness of his attendance, and laid the blame on his watch, his master quietly said—"Then you must get another watch, or I another secretary."
The cost takes away the taste: I should really like the thing, but I dislike the expense.
To teach is to learn twice over.
Nothing dies sooner than a tear.
Do not make woman weep, for God counts her tears.
—From The Talmud.
He has strangled His language in his tears.
There are few things more beautiful than tears, whether they are shed for ourselves or others; they are the meek and silent effusions of sincere feeling.
Tears sometimes have the weight of words.
Tears are the diamonds of the eye.
See the tide working upward to his eye, And stealing from him in large silent drops, Without his leave.
Control your temper, for if it does not obey you, it will govern you.
Good temper is like a sunny day.
If you have a good temper, keep it; if you have a bad one, don't lose it.
When you're in the right you can afford to keep your temper, and when you're in the wrong you can't afford to lose it.
Some temptations come to the industrious, but all temptations attack the idle.
Toil is a foil against temptation.
ONE VIEW OF THEATRES.
The chief reason why no Christian should attend the theatre is the character of a large majority of plays put on the stage.
Listen to what the play-writers and actors themselves say:
M. Dumas, a French writer of plays, wrote: "Never take your daughter to the theatre; it is not merely the work that is immoral, it is the place."
W. C. Macready, the great actor, said: "None of my children shall ever, with my consent, enter a theatre, or have any visiting connection with actors or actresses."
Edwin Booth, the great tragedian, wrote: "My knowledge of the modern theatre is so very meagre that I never permit my wife or daughter to witness a play without previously ascertaining its character. The theatre is permitted to be a mere shop for gain, open to every huckster of immoral adventures,—jimcracks."
Fanny Kemble, the actress, confessed that life on the stage was unhealthy to morals, and said: "I never presented myself before an audience without a shirking feeling of reluctance, or without thinking the excitement I had undergone unhealthy, and the personal exhibition odious."
An ounce of practice is worth a ton of theory.
Everything that has a beginning comes to an end.
Do little things now; so shall big things come to thee by and by asking to be done.
Don't despise a slight wound, or a poor relative.
Never despise small things, for we were all infants before we became men, and pupils, ere we became teachers.
Thought.—How often must we repeat it?—rules the world.
At a dinner when Daniel Webster was Secretary of State, after a period of silence which fell upon the company of some twenty gentlemen who were present, one of the guests said, "Mr. Webster, will you tell us what was the most important thought that ever occupied your mind?" Webster slowly passed his hand over his forehead, and in a low tone enquired of one near him, "Is there any one here who does not know me?" "No; all are your friends." "The most important thought that ever occupied my mind," said Webster, "was that of my individual responsibility to God." And after speaking on this subject in the most solemn strain for fully ten minutes, he silently rose from the table and retired to his room. This incident serves to illustrate the attitude of great minds towards eternal things. Great men are not scoffers. The men of flippant jeers and godless jests are invariably men of small calibre and shallow intellect.
First thoughts are not always the best.
In matters of conscience, first thoughts are best; in matters of prudence last thoughts are the best.
—Rev. Robert Hall.
To be without evil thoughts is God's best gift.
It is said, the thumb is stronger than all the other fingers together.
THUNDER.—A LOVER OF
Such was the spirit of a venerable [1913:A]patriarch—who shed on a very humble station the lustre of brilliant graces—that, when the storm sent others in haste to their homes, he was wont to leave his own, and to stand with upturned face, raised eye, and with his grey head uncovered, to watch the flash and listen to the music of the roaring thunder. How fine his reply to those who expressed their wonder at his aspect and attitude—"It's my Father's voice, and I like well to hear it!" What a sublime example of the perfect love that casteth out fear?
—From Memoir of Guthrie.
[1913:A] Jamie Stewart, Dr. Guthrie's first preceptor.
There is scarcely any one who may not, like a trout, be taken by tickling.
Time is a great master, he sets many things right.
With thee conversing I forget all time.
The happier the time, the quicker it passes.
—Pliny, the Younger.
Since time is not a person we can overtake when he is past, let us honor him with mirth and cheerfulness of heart while he is passing.
How noiseless falls the foot of time.
—W. R. Spencer.
An hour lost in the morning is never found all day.
Time passes like the wind.
Spare moments are the gold dust of time.
Time unveils truth.
ONE WAY OF ACQUIRING A TITLE.
"From time immemorial," said Judge Asher Carruth, of London, "Southern people have been lavish in bestowing titles. I think there is something in the Southern temperament which explains this. I didn't start out on this, however, for a philosophical disquisition, but rather to tell how a certain Kentucky gentleman established valid title to the rank of Colonel. He went to Cincinnati once with a friend, who enjoyed many acquaintances there; and who introduced him to every one as Colonel Brown. Everything went along smoothly until finally one Cincinnatian asked of the introducer:
"I suppose your friend Colonel Brown was in the Confederate army?"
"No, sir; he was not."
"Well, then, he fought on the Union side?"
"You are wrong there, too."
"Oh, I see now; he got his title by serving in the State militia?"
"No, he never entered the militia."
"Then, how did he get to be a colonel?"
"He drew a sword, sir, at a church fair!"
Tobacco-takers.—Dr. Caldwell says that there are but three animals that can abide tobacco, namely:—The African rock goat—the most loathsome creature on earth, The foul tobacco worm, And the rational creature, man!
Talk less about the years to come— Live, love and labor more to-day.
Better be preparing for tomorrow, than regretting yesterday.
To-morrow is, ah, whose?
—D. M. Mullock.
What cannot be told, had better not be done.
Never hold any one by the button or the hand, in order to be heard out; for if people are unwilling to hear you, you had better hold your tongue than them.
Though we have two eyes, we are supplied with but one tongue. Draw your own moral.
If you will control the tongue, you will soon be able also to control the mind.
Tongue.—When we advance a little into life, we find that the tongue creates nearly all the mischief of the world.
The tongue is the instrument of the greatest good and the greatest evil that is done in the world.
Let mildness ever attend thy tongue.
It is more necessary to guard the mouth than the chest.
—From the German.
It is related that a peasant once came to a monk to be taught the Scriptures. The holy man began with the Psalm, 39 chapter, 1st verse: "I said, I will take heed to my ways, that I sin not with my tongue."
The peasant went his way to practice this and never returned. Lifelong was the lesson, and lifelong the endeavor to master it.
The tongue's not steel, yet it often cuts.
A sharp tongue is the only edged tool that grows keener with constant use.
There are tourists who so busy themselves in traveling that they see nothing.
He'll seldom need aid Who has a good trade.
A useful trade may be said to be like a mine of gold.
I see that conscience, truth, and honesty are made To rise and fall, like other wares of trade.
He who has a trade may travel through the world.
—From the Spanish.
INFLUENCES OF FOREIGN TRAVEL.
One of the remarks which an American is expected to make on returning from a foreign tour, especially his first return, is: "Well I'm a better American for having gone abroad," meaning that foreign travel has increased his love for his own country—in other words, has toned up his patriotism. * * * * * * * *
Foreign travel will make any intelligent American a better citizen, because an increase of knowledge is a betterment. One honored resident of Washington, a gentleman past middle life, recently returned from his first European tour, and on being asked if he could make the stereotyped report of having been "made a better American," replied: "Yes; I think I am a better American for having had a deal of conceit knocked out of me." That was a profitable experience.
From Baltimore Sun, November, 1906.
He that would make his travels delightful, must first make himself delightful.
It will be observed, that when giving me (Boswell) advice as to my travels, Dr. Johnson did not dwell upon cities, and palaces, and pictures, and shows. He was of Lord Essex's opinion, who advises his kinsman, Roger, Earl of Rutland, "rather to go a hundred miles to speak with one wise man, than five miles to see a fair town."
Deuteronomy xxxiii, 19—"They shall suck of the abundance of the seas, and of the treasures hid in the sand."
Among the hardships experienced by the first settlers in North America, they were sometimes greatly distressed for food, which led the women and the children to the sea side to look for a ship which they expected with provisions, but no ship appeared for many weeks; they saw in the sand, however, vast quantities of shellfish, since called clams, a species of muscle. Hunger impelled them to taste, and at length they fed wholly upon them, and were as cheerful and well as they had been before in England, enjoying the best provision. It is added, that a good man, after they had all dined one day on clams, without bread, returned thanks to God for causing them to "suck of the abundance of the seas, and of treasures hid in the sand." This text, which they had never before observed particularly, was ever after endeared to them.
THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION.
O leave this barren spot to me: Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! Though bush or floweret never grow My dark unwarming shade below; Nor summer bud perfume the dew, Of rosy blush, or yellow hue! Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-born, My green and glossy leaves adorn; Nor murmuring tribes from me derive Th' ambrosial amber of the hive; Yet leave this barren spot to me: Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
Thrice twenty summers I have seen The sky grow bright, the forest green; And many a wintry wind have stood In bloomless, fruitless solitude, Since childhood in my pleasant bower First spent its sweet and sportive hour, Since youthful lovers in my shade Their vows of truth and rapture made; And on my trunk's surviving frame Carved many a long-forgotten name. Oh! by the sighs of gentle sound, First breathed upon this sacred ground; By all that Love has whisper'd here, Or Beauty heard with ravished ear; As Love's own altar honor me: Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
(This piece was written for Miss Mary Campbell, the poet's sister; it appeared first in the Morning Chronicle.
The tree, the subject of the lines still ornaments the grounds at Ardwell, in Scotland, the seat of James Murray McCulloch, Esq.)
Like a tree, am I sheltering others by my life?
The greater the difficulty the more glory in surmounting it. Skilful pilots gain their reputation from storms and tempests.
When I waken in the morn I'm sad, I must confess, To think that ere I can go out I must get up and dress.
Deuteronomy xxii, 4.—"Thou shalt not see thy brother's ox or ass fall down by the way, and hide thyself from them; thou shalt surely help him lift them up again."
Mr. George Herbert, the poet, when walking to Salisbury, saw a poor man, with a poorer horse, fallen under his load. Mr. Herbert perceiving this, put off his canonical coat, and helped the poor man to unload, and after to load his horse. The poor man blessed him for it, and he blessed the poor man, and gave him money to refresh both himself and his horse; and told him, "If he loved himself, he should be merciful to his beast." At his coming to his musical friends at Salisbury, they began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, who used to be so clean, came in such a condition; but he told them the occasion; and when one of the company told him, "he had disparaged himself by so dirty an employment," his answer was, "That the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight; and the omission of it would have upbraided and made discord in his conscience, whensoever he should pass by the place."
I wrote down my troubles every day; And after a few short years, When I turned to the heart-aches passed away, I read them with smiles,—not tears.
To tell our troubles, is often the way to lighten them.
PERFECT TRUST AND RESIGNATION.
During the Rabbi's absence from home, two of his sons died. Their mother hiding her grief, awaited the father's return, and then said to him. "My husband, some time since two jewels of inestimable value were placed with me for safe keeping. He who left them with me called for them to-day, and I delivered them into His hands." "That is right," said the Rabbi approvingly. "We must always return cheerfully and faithfully all that is placed in our care." Shortly after this, the Rabbi asked for his sons, and the mother, taking him by the hand, led him gently to the chamber of death. Meir gazed upon his sons, and realizing the truth, wept bitterly. "Weep not, beloved husband," said his noble wife; "didst thou not say to me we must return cheerfully, when called for, all that has been placed under our care? God gave us these jewels; He left them with us for a time, and we gloried in their possession; but now that He calls for His own, we should not repine."
In Boswell's Life of Johnson, he says:—Next morning, while we were at breakfast, Johnson gave a very earnest recommendation of what he himself practised with the utmost conscientiousness: I mean a strict attention to truth, even in the most minute particulars. "Accustom your children," said he, "constantly to this: If a thing happened at one window, and they, when relating it, say that it happened at another, do not let it pass, but instantly check them; you do not know where deviation from truth will end."
Dare to be true: Nothing can need a lie.
TRUTH, CONTRASTED WITH FALSEHOOD.
I once asked a deaf and dumb boy, "What is truth?" He replied by thrusting his finger forward in a straight line. I then asked him "What is falsehood?" when he made a zigzag with his finger. Try to remember this; let whoever will, take a zigzag path,—go you on in your course as straight as an arrow to its mark, and shrink from falsehood, as you would from a viper.
Truth has such a face and such a mien, As to be loved needs only to be seen. Vice is a monster of such hideous mien, As to be hated needs but to be seen.
The dignity of truth is lost With much protesting.
Not to believe the truth, is of all ills the worst.
A woman stopped a divine in the streets of the metropolis with this salutation: "There is no truth in the land, sir! There is no truth in the land." "Then you do not speak the truth, good woman," replied the clergyman. "Oh, yes, I do," returned she, hastily. "Then there is truth in the land," rejoined he, as quickly.
I cannot tell how the truth may be; I say the tale as 'twas said to me.
—Sir Walter Scott.
Truth, like the sun, submits to be obscured; but, like the sun, only for a time.
To love truth for truth's sake, is the principal part of human perfection in this world, and the seed-plot of all other virtues.
Truth, when not sought after, sometimes comes to light.
A thousand probabilities don't make one truth.
TRUE TO TRUTH.
In an Eastern land a boy once set out from his mother's home for a distant city, where he was to begin life and earn his livelihood. Before parting with him, his mother gave him forty gold dinars, which, for safety, she sewed inside his waistcoat. Her last counsel to him was, to seek and to follow always the truth. On his way he had to cross part of a desert, infested by robbers. One of these saw him and came galloping up "Boy, what money have you got?" he sternly demanded. The boy looked up at him, and said, "I have forty gold dinars sewed up in my waistcoat." The robber burst into a fit of laughter; he thought the boy was joking. And, turning his horse, he galloped back to his troop. By-and-by, another horseman rode up to the boy as he trudged on, and made the same demand: "Boy, what have you got?" "Forty gold dinars, sewed up in my waistcoat," said the boy again. This robber, too, burst out laughing, and turned away, thinking the boy was making fun of him. They had some talk in their band about the boy's strange reply. Their leader turning it over in his mind, said he would like to see him, and, leaving the troop, soon overtook the young traveler. He put the same question as the others, and again the boy gave the same answer. The captain leapt off his horse, and began to feel the boy's clothes, till he counted—one, two, three—the forty gold dinars just as he had been told. "What made you tell the truth, my boy?" he asked. "My God and my mother, sir," was the reply. "Wait for me here a little," said the captain, and galloped back to his troop. In a few minutes he returned, but so changed that the boy hardly knew him. By removing a false beard and other disguises, his appearance was quite altered. "Come with me, my lad," he said; and he pointed to the spires of a distant city. "I cannot go with you," said the boy; "you are a robber!" "I was," the man said, "but all that is over now! I have given it up forever. I have a large business in yonder city, and I wish you to come with me and share it." And so they went on together; and when they arrived at the city the boy entered his employment, and ultimately became very wealthy and influential.
My aim is not so much to say things that are new, as things that are true.
Seize upon the truth, where'er 'tis found, Among your friends, among your foes, On Christian or on heathen ground, The flower's divine, where'er it grows.
Better suffer for truth, than profit by falsehood.
—From the Danish.
A TOUCHING SCENE AT SEA.
Two weeks ago on board an English steamer, a little ragged boy, aged nine years, was discovered on the fourth day of the voyage out from Liverpool to New York, and carried before the first mate, whose duty it was to deal with such cases. When questioned as to his object of being stowed away, and who brought him on board, the boy, who had a beautiful sunny face, and eyes that looked like the very mirrors of truth, replied that his step-father did it, because he could not afford to keep him, nor pay his passage out to Halifax, where he had an aunt who was well off, and to whose house he was going. The mate did not believe the story, in spite of the winning face and truthful accents of the boy. He had seen too much of stow-aways to be easily deceived by them, he said; and it was his firm conviction that the boy had been brought on board and provided with food by the sailors. The little fellow was very roughly handled in consequence. Day by day he was questioned and re-questioned, but always with the same result. He did not know a sailor on board, and his father alone had secreted him and given him the food which he ate. At last the mate, wearied by the boy's persistence in the same story, and perhaps a little anxious to inculpate the sailors, seized him one day by the collar, and, dragging him to the fore, told him that unless he would tell the truth in ten minutes from that time, he would hang him from the yard-arm. He then made him sit down under it on the deck. All around him were the passengers and sailors of the midway watch, and in front of him stood the inexorable mate, with his chronometer in his hand, and the other officers of the ship by his side. It was the finest sight, said our informant, that he ever beheld—to see the pale, proud, sorrowful face of that noble boy, his head erect, his beautiful blue eyes bright through the tears that suffused them. When eight minutes had fled, the mate told him he had but two minutes to live, and advised him to speak the truth and save his life; but he replied with the utmost simplicity and sincerity by asking the mate if he might pray. The mate said nothing, but nodded his head and turned deadly pale, and shook with trembling like a reed with the wind, and there, all eyes turned on him, the brave and noble little fellow, this poor waif, whom society owned not, and whose own step-father could not care for him—there he knelt, with clasped hands, and eyes turned to heaven, while he repeated audibly the Lord's prayer, and prayed the Lord Jesus to take him to heaven. Sobs broke from strong, hard hearts, as the mate sprang forward to the boy, and clasped him to his bosom, and kissed him and blessed him, and told him how sincerely he believed his story, and how glad he was that he had been brave enough to face death and be willing to sacrifice his life for the truth of his word.
He who does not fully speak the truth is a traitor to it.
—From the Latin.
REWARD OF TRUTHFULNESS.
When Aristotle, the Grecian philosopher, who was tutor to Alexander the Great, was asked what a man could gain by uttering falsehoods, he replied, "Not to be credited when he shall tell the truth." On the other hand, it is related that when Petrarch, the Italian poet, a man of strict integrity, was summoned as a witness, and offered in the usual manner to take an oath before a court of justice, the judge closed the book, saying, "As to you, Petrarch, your word is sufficient."
Nature hath appointed the twilight as a bridge to pass us out of night into day.
The unexpected often happens.
The unfinished is nothing.
There is a chill air surrounding those who are down in the world, and people are glad to get away from them, as from a cold room.
"Please buy my penny songs!" cried a feeble voice in one of the streets of a great city. The day was very cold, and little Katie had left her cheerless home to earn, if possible, a few pennies. Poor Katie! Her little voice was feeble because her heart was sad, for so many passed her by unnoticed; and she felt almost discouraged.
Soon she found herself in a music store, standing near a beautiful lady, who was sitting there selecting music. She again uttered her little cry, "Please buy a penny song!" but the lady, not hearing what she said, turned towards her, and, with the kindest, sweetest smile, said gently, "What is it, darling?" at the same time putting a piece of money in her hand. Katie, not thinking what she did, laid her head in the lady's lap, and cried as though her heart would break. The lady tried to soothe her; and soon Katie said, "O lady! I cry, not because you gave money, but because you spoke so kindly to me."
He who serves the unfortunate, serves God.
Everybody and everything unknown are often magnified.
Things unreasonable are never durable.
Whatever hath been written shall remain, Nor be erased nor written o'er again; The unwritten only still belongs to thee: Take heed, and ponder well what that shall be.
TRIUMPH OF VICISSITUDES.
But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world; now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence.
I had rather be the first man in the village than the second man in Rome.
If you have performed an act of great and disinterested virtue, conceal it; if you publish it, you will neither be believed here nor rewarded hereafter.
If there's a virtue in the world at which we should always aim, it is cheerfulness.
—Sir Edward B. Lytton.
Our virtues disappear, said Rochefoucauld, when put in competition with our interests, as rivers lose themselves in the ocean.
Virtue, not pedigree, should characterize nobility.
—From the Latin.
The tones of human voices are mightier than strings or brass to move the soul.
THE TONE OF VOICE.
It is not so much what you say, As the manner in which you say it; It is not so much the language you use, As the tones in which you convey it.
PALACE AND SWEATSHOP.
A lady sits in her boudoir Languid with leisure's disease, World-weary and worn with ennui— Society fails to please; She craves fresh scenes more alluring But where is anything new? She's tired of luxury's gilding, Weary of nothing to do.
Her life seems empty and useless, A played out, frivolous game, Where fawning counterfeits friendship And love is only a name; Heart-sick she sulks in seclusion And scans in mental review, Her social realm and the follies She knows are weak and untrue.
Thus over her life she ponders, Scorning, rebellious in vain, Till impelled by social custom She resumes her mask again; Her world must not find her sighing— She brilliantly plays her part, And bravely the queen of pleasure Smiles still with an aching heart.
Nearby, but a few blocks distant From plenty's palatial homes, There is a contrasting picture Of strenuous life in the slums; A pale girl toils in a garret, From dawn till the sunset's glow, And the sweat-shop wolf is prowling For aye in the street below.
Stitch, stitch all day without ceasing, Knowing no rest or delay. Humanity pleads for mercy— * * * * *
—Margaret Scott Hall.
We are ruined, not by what we really want But by what we think we want; Therefore never go abroad in search of your wants; If they be real wants, They will come home in search of you; For he that buys what he does not want, Will often want what he cannot buy.
The Source of Wants.—It is not from nature, but from education and habits, that our wants are chiefly derived.
He cannot provide for the wants of others, whose own are numerous and craving.
A BEAUTIFUL CHERRY TREE.
When George Washington was a boy, a beautiful cherry tree was killed in his father's garden, by some violent hand stripping its bark. Mr. Washington said he would not have taken five guineas for the tree, and he would like to know the offender. Shortly after, seeing George with an axe in his hand, he asked him if he knew who had killed the cherry tree. George hesitated for a moment, then said, "I cannot tell a lie, father, I cannot tell a lie. I cut it with the hatchet." "Come to my arms," said his father; "you have paid for it a thousand times." Such an act of heroism in telling the truth he valued more than a thousand cherry trees.
Hundreds would never have known want if they had not first known waste.
He who plays with dollars in his youth, will be apt to have to beg for farthings in his age.
When you take out, and do not put in, expect to reach the bottom.
EXPLANATION OF THE WATER-CURE.
About three-fourths of the weight of the human body consists of water; and as it is constantly being thrown off by the skin, lungs, etc., it requires to be continually renewed, and water is therefore an essential alimentary principle, and more necessary to our existence than even solid food.
I am glad to find your great wealth has not changed you. "Well," responded Mr. Preston, "it has changed me a trifle. I'm eccentric where I used to be impolite, and delightfully sarcastic where I used to be rude—so they tell me."
Extreme wealth brings excessive care; for the average man a moderate competence is best.
Golden roofs break men's rest.
Much on earth, little in heaven.
Ability is the poor man's wealth.
Many a lout is wealthy, and a clever man, hard put to.
It is some relief to weep; grief is satisfied and carried off by tears.
To say you are welcome, would be superfluous.
A warm welcome after all, is the best cheer.
Who comes seldom is welcome.
You're as welcome as the flowers in May.
Dig a well before you are thirsty. (Be prepared against contingencies.)
The following verses were sent to a graduate of Wheaton Seminary of the class of 1866 by John G. Whittier, on the receipt of two pairs of long stockings, which the young woman had knit. She was a frequent visitor in the Whittier home, and often assisted in the entertainment of guests of honor. Mr. Whittier regarded the verses as doggerel, and expressed his intention of writing something worth while for his youthful admirer. But the poem reveals a humorous side of his character, differing from what one finds in his published poetry, and it is probable that neither Mr. Whittier nor his young friend, who died in her early womanhood, would have objected to the publication of the verses.
—Editors of Youth's Companion.
My neighbor Acres said to me, "I lead a lonesome life. There's something lacking all the time, I think I need a wife.
"I'm weary of my empty rooms And stockings never mended. If you could think of some nice girl I'd feel myself befriended."
I sat and pondered for a space, And then I spake up gaily: "You just go down the Ferry road And ask for Mary Bailey.
"She's bright as is a new-made cent And smart as any steel trap; I tell you grass will never grow Beneath her restless heel-tap.
"A wiser little head than hers Was never found a hat in; She reads a thousand books a year, And talks in Dutch and Latin.
"She always has a stylish dress, And dainty slippered feet, She's money in the savings-bank Her every want to meet."
He sadly mused, "That sort of thing Will never do, you see. A wife that's all accomplishments Is not the wife for me."
A lucky thought was mine. I kicked Right off my old brogan, And pulled my trousers to the knee. "Look here, you foolish man!
"These stockings by her hands were knit." "Why, sakes alive," cried he. "The modern girl who knits like that Is just the girl for me."
—By John Greenleaf Whittier.
Who sows thorns should not go barefoot.
Advice to a Wife.—O woman! thou knowest the hour when the goodman of the house will return, when the heat and burden of the day are past; do not let him at such time, find upon his coming to his habitation, that the foot which should hasten to meet him is wandering at a distance, that when he is weary with toil and jaded with discouragement, the soft hand which should wipe the sweat from his brow, is knocking at the door of other houses.
A stubborn wife is a mat rolled up—i. e., useless.
ADVICE TO A WIFE.
Fie! fie! unknit that threat'ning, unkind brow, And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor; It blots thy beauty, as frost bite the meads; Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds; And in no sense is meet or amiable. A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance commits his body To painful labour both by sea and land; To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe, And craves no other tribute at thy hands, But love, fair looks, and true obedience: Too little payment for so great a debt. Such duty as one owes a prince, Even such, a woman oweth to her husband: And when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour, And not obedient to his honest will, What is she but a foul contending rebel And graceless traitor to her loving lord? I am asham'd that women are so simple To offer war, where they should kneel for peace; Or seek for rule, supremacy and sway, When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.
I AM YOUR WIFE.
Oh, let me lay my head to-night upon your breast, And close my eyes against the light, I fain would rest, I'm weary, and the world looks sad; this worldly strife Turns me to you; and, oh I'm glad to be your wife! Though friends may fail or turn aside, yet I have you And in your love I may abide, for you are true— My only solace in each grief and in despair, Your tenderness is my relief; it soothes each care. If joys of life could alienate this poor weak heart From yours, then may no pleasure great enough to part Our sympathies fall to my lot. I'd e'er remain Bereft of friends, though true or not, just to retain Your true regard, your presence bright, thro' care and strife And, oh! I thank my God to-night, I am your wife!
I have often had occasion to remark the fortitude with which women sustain the most overwhelming reverses of fortune. Those disasters which break down the spirit of a man, and prostrate him in the dust, seem to call forth all the energies of the softer sex, and give such intrepidity and elevation to their character, that at times it approaches to sublimity. Nothing can be more touching, than to behold a soft and tender female, who had been all weakness and dependence, and alive to every trivial roughness, while threading the prosperous paths of life, suddenly rising in mental force to be the comforter and supporter of her husband under misfortune and abiding with unshrinking firmness, the bitterest blasts of adversity.
As the vine which has long twined its graceful foliage about the oak, and been lifted by it into sunshine, will, when the hardy plant is rifted by the thunder-bolt, cling round it with its caressing tendrils, and bind up its shattered boughs; so it is beautifully ordered by Providence, that woman who is the mere dependent and ornament of man in his happier hours, should be his stay and solace when smitten with calamity; winding herself into the rugged recesses of his nature, tenderly supporting the drooping head, and binding up the broken heart.
I was once congratulating a friend, who had around him a blooming family, knit together in the strongest affection. "I can wish you no better lot," said he, with enthusiasm, "than to have a wife and children. If you are prosperous, there they are to share your prosperity; if otherwise, there they are to comfort you." And, indeed, I have observed that a married man, falling into misfortune, is more apt to retrieve his situation in the world than a single one; partly because he is more stimulated to exertion by the necessities of the helpless and beloved beings who depend upon him for subsistence; but chiefly because his spirits are soothed and relieved by domestic endearments, and his self-respect kept alive by finding, that though all abroad is darkness and humiliation, yet there is still a little world of love at home, of which he is the monarch. Whereas, a single man is apt to run to waste and self-neglect; to fancy himself lonely and abandoned, and his heart to fall to ruin, like some deserted mansion, for want of an inhabitant.
These observations call to mind a little domestic story, of which I was once a witness. My intimate friend, Leslie, had married a beautiful and accomplished girl, who had been brought up in the midst of fashionable life. She had, it is true, no fortune, but that of my friend was ample; and he delighted in the anticipation of indulging her in elegant pursuit, and administering to those delicate tastes and fancies that spread a kind of witchery about the sex.—"Her life," said he, "shall be like a fairy tale."
The very difference in their characters produced a harmonious combination; he was of a romantic and somewhat serious cast; she was all life and gladness. I have often noticed the mute rapture with which he would gaze upon her in company, of which her sprightly powers made her the delight; and how, in the midst of applause, her eye would still turn to him, as if there alone she sought favor and acceptance. When leaning on his arm, her slender form contrasted finely with his tall, manly person. The fond confiding air with which she looked up to him seemed to call forth a flush of triumphant pride and cherishing tenderness, as if he doted on his lovely burden for its very helplessness. Never did a couple set forward on a flowery path of early and well-suited marriage with a fairer prospect of felicity.
It was the misfortune of my friend, however, to have embarked his property in large speculations; and he had not been married many months when, by a succession of sudden disasters, it was swept from him, and he found himself reduced to almost penury. For a time he kept his situation to himself, and went about with a haggard countenance and a breaking heart. His life was but a protracted agony; and what rendered it more insupportable was the necessity of keeping up a smile in the presence of his wife; for he could not bring himself to overwhelm her with the news. She saw, however, with the quick eyes of affection, that all was not well with him. She marked his altered looks and stifled sighs, and was not to be deceived by his sickly and vapid attempts at cheerfulness. She tasked all her sprightly powers and tender blandishments to win him back to happiness; but she only drove the arrow deeper into his soul. The more he saw cause to love her, the more torturing was the thought that he was soon to make her wretched. A little while, thought he, and the smile will banish from that cheek—the song will die away from those lips—the lustre of those eyes will be quenched with sorrow—and the happy heart which now beats lightly in that bosom will be weighed down, like mine, by the cares and miseries of the world.
At length he came to me one day, and related his whole situation in a tone of the deepest despair. When I had heard him through, I inquired, "Does your wife know all this?" At the question he burst into an agony of tears. "For God's sake!" cried he, "if you have any pity on me, don't mention my wife; it is the thought of her that drives me almost to distraction!"
"And why not?" said I:—"She must know it sooner or later: you cannot keep it long from her, and the intelligence may break upon her in a more startling manner than if imparted by yourself; for the accents of those we love soften the harshest tidings. Besides, you are depriving yourself of the comforts of her sympathy; and not merely that, but also endangering the only bond that can keep hearts together—an unreserved community of thought and feeling. She will soon perceive that something is secretly preying upon your mind; and true love will not brook reserve: it feels undervalued and outraged, when even the sorrows of those it loves are concealed from it."
"Oh, but my friend! to think what a blow I am to give to all her future prospects—how I am to strike her very soul to the earth, by telling her that her husband is a beggar!—that she is to forego all the elegancies of life—all the pleasures of society—to shrink with me into indigence and obscurity! To tell her that I have dragged her down from the sphere in which she might have continued to move in constant brightness—the light of every eye—the admiration of every heart!—How can she bear poverty? She has been brought up in all the refinements of opulence * * *"