W
Reading edition
1993
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.
1994
OUR WANTS.
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.
—Colton.
1995
The Source of Wants.—It is not from nature, but from education and habits, that our wants are chiefly derived.
—Fielding.
1996
He cannot provide for the wants of others, whose own are numerous and craving.
—Plutarch.
1997
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.
1998
Hundreds would never have known want if they had not first known waste.
—Spurgeon.
1999
He who plays with dollars in his youth, will be apt to have to beg for farthings in his age.
—Hone.
2000
When you take out, and do not put in, expect to reach the bottom.
—Modern Greek.
2001
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.
—Dr. Turnbull.
2002
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."
—Detroit Tribune.
2003
Extreme wealth brings excessive care; for the average man a moderate competence is best.
2004
Golden roofs break men's rest.
—Seneca.
2005
Much on earth, little in heaven.
—Spanish.
2006
Ability is the poor man's wealth.
—Matthew Wren.
2007
Many a lout is wealthy, and a clever man, hard put to.
—Spanish.
2008
It is some relief to weep; grief is satisfied and carried off by tears.
—Ovid.
2009
To say you are welcome, would be superfluous.
—Shakespeare.
2010
A warm welcome after all, is the best cheer.
2011
Who comes seldom is welcome.
—Italian.
2012
You're as welcome as the flowers in May.
2013
Dig a well before you are thirsty. (Be prepared against contingencies.)
—Chinese.
2014
A RECOMMENDATION.
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.
2015
Who sows thorns should not go barefoot.
—French.
2016
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.
—W. Irving.
2017
A stubborn wife is a mat rolled up—i. e., useless.
—Chinese.
2018
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.
—Shakespeare.
2019
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!
—Old Clipping.
2020
THE 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 * * *"
I saw his grief was eloquent, and I let it have its flow; for sorrow relieves itself by words. When his paroxysm had subsided, and he had relapsed into moody silence, I resumed the subject gently, and urged him to break his situation at once to his wife. He shook his head mournfully, but positively.
"But how are you to keep it from her? It is necessary she should know it, that you may take the steps proper to the alteration of your circumstances. You must change your style of living—nay," observing a pang to pass across his countenance, "don't let that afflict you. I am sure you never placed your happiness in outward show—you have yet friends, warm friends, who will not think the worse of you for being less splendidly lodged; and surely it does not require a palace to be happy with Mary—" "I could be happy with her," cried he convulsively, "in a hovel! *"
"Believe me, my friend," said I, stepping up, and grasping him warmly by the hand, "she can be the same with you. Ay, more: it will be a source of pride and triumph to her—it will call forth all the latent energies and fervent sympathies of her nature; for she will rejoice to prove that she loves you for yourself. There is in every true woman's heart a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity; but which kindles up, and beams and blazes in the dark hour of adversity." I finished by persuading him to go home and unburden his sad heart to his wife.
I must confess, notwithstanding all I have said, I felt some little solicitude for the result. Who can calculate on the fortitude of one whose whole life has been a round of pleasures? Her gay spirits might revolt at the dark downward path of low humility, suddenly pointed out before her, and might cling to the sunny regions in which they had hitherto reveled.
In short, I could not meet Leslie next morning without trepidation. He had made the disclosure.
"And how did she bear it?"
"Like an Angel! It seemed rather to be a relief to her mind, for she threw her arms around my neck, and asked if this was all that had lately made me unhappy."
Some days afterwards, he called upon me in the evening. He had disposed of his dwelling-house, and taken a small cottage in the country, a few miles from town. He had been busy all day in sending out furniture. The new establishment required few articles, and those of the simplest kind. All the splendid furniture of his late residence had been sold, excepting his wife's harp. That, he said was too closely associated with the idea of herself; it belonged to the little story of their loves; for some of the sweetest moments of their courtship were those when he had leaned over that instrument, and listened to the melting tones of her voice. I could not but smile at this instance of romantic gallantry in a doting husband.
He was now going out to the cottage, where his wife had been all day superintending its arrangement. My feelings had become strongly interested in the progress of this family story, and as it was a fine evening, I offered to accompany him.
He was wearied with the fatigues of the day, and as we walked out, fell into a fit of gloomy musing.
"Poor Mary!" at length broke, with a heavy sigh, from his lips.
"And what of her," asked I, "has anything happened to her?"
"What," said he, darting an impatient glance, "is it nothing to be reduced to this paltry situation—to be caged in a miserable cottage—to be obliged to toil almost in the menial concerns of her wretched habitation?"
"Has she then repined at the change?"
"Repined! she has been nothing but sweetness and good humor. Indeed, she seems in better spirits than I have ever known her; she has been to me all love and tenderness and comfort!"
"Admirable girl!" exclaimed I, "You call yourself poor, my friend; you never were so rich—you never knew the boundless treasures of excellence you possessed in that woman."
"Oh! but, my friend, if this first meeting at the cottage were over, I think I could then be comfortable. But this is her first day of real experience: she has been introduced into an humble dwelling—she has been employed all day, in arranging its miserable equipments—she has for the first time known the fatigues of domestic employment—she has for the first time looked around her on a home destitute of everything elegant—almost of everything convenient; and may now be sitting down, exhausted and spiritless, brooding over a prospect of future poverty."
There was a degree of probability in this picture that I could not gainsay, so we walked on in silence.
After turning from the main road, up a narrow lane, so thickly shaded by forest trees as to give it a complete air of seclusion, we came in sight of the cottage. It was humble enough in its appearance for the most pastoral poet; and yet it had a most pleasing rural look. * * * * * Just as we approached we heard the sound of music—Leslie grasped my arm; we paused and listened. It was Mary's voice singing, in a style of the most touching simplicity, a little Scotch air of which her husband was peculiarly fond.
I felt Leslie's hand tremble on my arm. He stepped forward to hear more distinctly. His step made a noise on the gravel walk. A bright beautiful face glanced out at the window and vanished—a light footstep was heard—and Mary came tripping forth to meet us. She was in a pretty rural dress of white; a few wild flowers were twisted in her fine hair; a fresh bloom was on her cheek; her whole countenance beamed with smiles—I had never seen her look so lovely.
"My dear George," cried she, "I am so glad you are come; I have been watching and watching for you; and running down the lane and looking out for you. I've set out a table under a beautiful tree behind the cottage; and I've been gathering some of the most delicious strawberries, for I know you are so fond of them—and we have such excellent cream—and everything is so sweet and still here.—Oh!" said she, putting her arm within his, and looking up brightly in his face, "Oh, we shall be so happy!"
Poor Leslie was overcome. He caught her to his bosom—he folded his arms around her—he kissed her again and again—he could not speak for the tears gushed into his eyes.
He has often assured me that though the world has since gone prosperously with him, and his life has indeed been a happy one, yet never has he experienced a moment of more exquisite felicity than the time when I accompanied him to the little cottage in the country.
—Washington Irving.
2021
Better a fortune in a wife, than with a wife.
2022
A GOOD WIFE.
The good wife is none of our dainty dames, who love to appear in a variety of suits every day, new; as if a gown like a stratagem in war, were to be used but once. But our good wife sets up a sail according to the keel of her husband's estate; and if of high parentage, she doth not so remember what she was by birth, that she forgets what she is by—match.
Fuller.
2023
Of earthly goods, the best is a good wife; A bad, the bitterest curse of human life.
—Simonides.
2024
HUSBAND AND WIFE.
Be joined to thy equal in rank, Or the foot of pride will kick at thee; Let no one have thy confidence, O wife, Saving thy husband: Have not a friend more intimate, O husband, Than thy wife.
2025
WIFE.
What thou bidd'st, Unargued, I obey; so God ordains: God is thy law; thou mine: to know no more, Is woman's happiest knowledge, and her praise.
—Milton.
2026
When Sir Albert Morton died, his wife's grief was such that she shortly followed him, and was laid by his side. Wotton's two lines on the event have been celebrated as containing a volume in seventeen words:
"He first deceased; she for a little tried To live without him, liked it not, and died."
Certainly there are few higher tributes in the world to a good husband than this.
2027
The wife is the key of the house.
2028
A man's best fortune—or his worst—is a wife.
2029
WIFE.
A modest, chaste, and an obedient wife, Lifts her poor husband to a knightly throne: What though the livelong day with toils be rife, The solace of his cares at night's his own. If she be modest and her words be kind, Mark not her beauty, or her want of grace; The fairest woman, if deformed in mind Will in thy heart's affections find no place: Dazzling as Eden's beauties to the eye, In outward form: foul is her face within. Better in dungeon, bound with chains, to lie, Than, with at home, a wife of frowning mien. Better bare feet than pinching shoes. The woes Of travel are less hard than broils at home. Contentment's door upon that mansion close, Whence wrangling women's high-pitched voices come.
—From Littell's Living Age.
2030
When a man has secured a good wife he can rest on his laurels; the world has no greater prize to offer him.
2031
When the will is ready, the feet are light.
2032
When the will is prompt, the legs are nimble.
—Italian.
2033
Where there is a will, there is a way.
2034
WILLS.
What you leave at your death, let it be without controversy, else the lawyers will be your heirs.
—Osborn.
2035
I hear the wind among the trees Playing celestial symphonies; I see the branches downward bent, Like keys of some great instrument.
—H. W. Longfellow.
2036
God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.
—Henri Estienne.
2037
Winter finds out what Summer lays up.
—Hans Andersen.
2038
It is always safe to learn, even from our enemies—seldom safe to venture to instruct, even our friends.
2039
To know how to grow old, is the master work of wisdom, and one of the most difficult chapters in the great art of living.
—Amiel.
2040
Youth is not the era of wisdom; let us therefore have due consideration.
—Rivarol.
2041
He who pursues an idle wish But climbs a tree to catch a fish.
—Chinese.
2042
Best wishes! What avails that phrase, unless Best services attend them.
—Plautus.
2043
Wishing, of all employments, is the worst.
—Young.
2044
You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come, Knock as you please, there's nobody at home.
—Pope.
2045
An eye witness outweighs others.
—From the Latin.
2046
No greater woe Can be, than to remember happy days In misery.
2047
By telling our woes we often assuage them.
—Danish.
2048
A fashionable woman is always in love—with herself.
2049
A WOMAN'S QUESTION.
Before I trust my fate to thee, Or place my hand in thine, Before I let thy future give Color and form to mine, Before I peril all for thee, Question thy soul to-night for me. I break all slighter bonds, nor feel A shadow of regret: Is there one link within the past That holds thy spirit yet? Or is thy faith as clear and free As that which I can pledge to thee? Does there within thy dimmest dreams A possible future shine, Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe, Untouched, unshared by mine? If so, at any pains or cost, Oh, tell me before all is lost. Look deeper still. If thou canst feel Within thy inmost soul, That thou hast kept a portion back, While I have staked the whole,— Let no false pity spare the blow, But in true mercy tell me so. Is there within thy heart a need That mine cannot fulfil? One cord that any other hand Could better wake or still? Speak now—lest at some future day My whole life wither and decay.
—Adelaide Anne Proctor.
2050
A WOMAN'S NOBLEST STATION.
Seek to be good, but aim not to be great; A woman's noblest station is retreat: Her fairest virtues fly from public sight; Domestic worth,—that, shuns too strong a light.
2051
Kindness in women, Not their beauteous looks, Shall win my love.
—Shakespeare.
2052
Alas! I am but woman, fond and weak Without even power my proud, pure love to speak; But oh, by all I fail in, love not me For what I am, but what I wish to be.
2053
Manners, not jewels, are a woman's ornament.
2054
The woman who really wishes to refuse an aspirant to her hand contents herself with saying, No. She who explains, wants to be convinced.
2055
Her voice was ever soft, Gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman.
—Shakespeare.
2056
In Dr. Johnson's opinion, "a woman was well dressed, when, after seeing her, one could not remember what she had on."
2057
A beautiful woman without fixed principles, may be likened to those fair but rootless flowers which float in streams, driven by every breeze.
2058
Where is the man who has the power and skill To stem the torrent of a woman's will? For if she will, she will, you may depend on't, And if she won't, she won't, and there's an end on't.
—Aaron Hill.
2059
A woman possessing nothing but outward advantages, is like a flower without fragrance, a tree without fruit.
2060
The happiest women, like the happiest nations, have no history.
—George Eliot.
2061
Learn above all, how to manage women: their thousand Ahs! and Ohs! so thousand-fold, can be cured, but how,—I cannot tell.
—Goethe.
2062
Pretty women without religion are like flowers without perfume.
2063
In women we love that which is natural, We admire that which is acquired, And shun that which is artificial.
2064
TAKE TO THE WOODS.
If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrow that thou wouldst forget; If thou wouldst read a lesson that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills!—No tears Dim the sweet looks that Nature wears.
—Longfellow.
2065
How many a day has been damped and darkened by an angry word!
2066
No word He hath spoken Was ever yet broken.
—Anon.
2067
Many a word at random spoken, May soothe or wound a heart that's broken.
—Sir Walter Scott.
2068
It is as easy to draw back a stone thrown with force from the hand, as to recall a word once spoken.
2069
The unspoken word never does harm.
2070
For want of a word, lives often drift, and remain apart.
2071
RASH, ANGRY WORDS.
Rash, angry words, and spoken out of season, When passion has usurped the throne of reason, Have ruined many. Passion is unjust, And for an idle transitory gust Of gratified revenge dooms us to pay, With long repentance at a later day.
Theognis, a Greek. —Translated by Frere.
2072
An able man shows his spirit by gentle words and resolute actions: he is neither hot nor timid.
—Chesterfield.
2073
Words are but wind, but writing may rise up in judgment.
2074
Stay longer—are two charming words in a friend's vocabulary.
2075
Fair words gladden many a heart.
—Longfellow.
2076
To a good listener few words will do.
2077
Hard words break no bones, but they sometimes break hearts.
2078
He that would be well spoken of, Must not speak ill of others.
2079
Kind words are the music of the world.
—F. W. Faber.
2080
Kind words are a bright oasis in life's great desert.
—The Coming Age.
2082
My words fly up, my thoughts remain below, Words, without thoughts, never to Heaven go.
—Shakespeare.
2083
Words are but pictures of our thoughts.
—Dryden.
2084
If word of mine Have harmed thee, rashly spoken, let the winds Bear all remembrance of it swift away.
2085
There are words which cut like steel.
—Balzac.
2086
If you think twice before you speak once, you will speak twice the better for it.
2087
Thy words have darted hope into my soul, And comfort dawns upon me.
—Southern.
2088
A word and a stone let go, cannot be recalled.
2089
Like a beautiful flower, full of colour, but without perfume, are the fine, but fruitless words, of him who does not act accordingly.
—Buddha.
2090
It would perhaps be well for many of us to have in sight the following little sentiment when writing letters:—
Words spoken are light as air; Words written are always there.
2091
AN ILL-TEMPERED LETTER.
An ill-tempered letter, once sent, will sometimes embitter a life-time. We once saw an old gentleman, with a wise, fine head, calm face, and a most benevolent look, beg of a postmaster to return him a letter which he had dropped into the box. To do so, as everybody knows, is illegal; but won over by the old gentleman's importunity, the postmaster complied, upon full proof, in comparing the writing etc. being given. Then, with a beaming face, the old gentleman tore the letter into fragments, and, scattering them to the winds, exclaimed—"Ah! I've preserved my friend." The fact is, he had written a letter in a state of irritation, which was probably unjust and hurtful, but which he had wisely recalled. "Written words remain," is not only a proverb, but a very grave caution; and hence the advice—never write in anger, or, at any rate, keep your letter till next morning, when you probably will be cool and in a better frame of mind.
2092
A good beginning is half the work.
—Euripides.
2093
Art little? Do thy little well: And for thy comfort know The great can do their greatest work No better than, just so.
—Goethe.
2094
He who is willing to work finds it hard to wait.
2095
Never be ashamed of honest work. It is far better to be a good blacksmith than a bad lawyer.
2096
YOUTH AND OLD AGE.
Youth is the seed-time, old age the harvest. If we lay nothing up for old age it will be as related in the fable; namely: A cricket came to the ant, and said, "Give me something to eat?" The ant asked, "What did you in the summer?" "I whistled," said the cricket. "Then," said the ant, "if you whistled in summer while I was working, you may dance in the winter," and gave her nothing.
2097
We are best known by what we do.
2098
One's work is the best company.
—French.
2099
I am often tired in, but never of, my work.
—Whitefield.
2100
We often hear of people breaking down from over-work, but nine cases out of ten they are really suffering from worry or anxiety.
—Sir John Lubbock.
2101
Unless a man works, he cannot find out what he is able to do.
2102
I cannot abide to see men throw away their tools the minute the clock begins to strike, as if they took no pleasure in their work, and was afraid o' doing a stroke too much. The very grindstone 'll go on turning a bit after you loose it.
—George Eliot.
2103
THE TENT.
When my bier is borne to the grave And its burden is laid in the ground Think not that Rumi is there, Nor cry, like the mourners around, He is gone,—all is over—farewell! But go on your ways again, And forgetting your own petty loss, Remember his infinite gain. For, know that this world is a tent, And life but a dream in the night, Till death plucks the curtain apart And awakens the sleeper with light.
—R. H. Stoddard, From the Persian.
2104
The knowledge of the world is only to be acquired in the world, and not in the closet.
2105
FROM "EVERY DAY CHRISTIAN LIFE."
Shall I tell you what a princess wrote—the Princess Amelia, who was an aunt of our good Queen Victoria, and who after a long and painful sickness and trial died at an early age?—
"Unthinking, idle, wild, and young, I laughed and danced, I talked and sung, And proud of health, of freedom, vain, Dreamt not of sorrow, care, or pain. Oh! then, in those bright hours of glee, I thought the world was made for me. But when the hour of trial came, And sickness shook my feeble frame, And folly's gay pursuits were o'er, And I could sing and dance no more— Oh! then, I thought how sad 'twould be, Were only this world made for me."
—F. W. Farrar, D. D.
2106
A man's quarrel with the world, is only a quarrel with himself.
2107
All my theology is reduced to this narrow compass—Jesus Christ came into this world to save sinners.
—A. Alexander.
2108
The world does not seem to care for honorable lives as much as it does for a good bank-account.
2109
He who would enjoy many friends, and live happy in the world, must often be deaf, dumb, and blind, to its vices and follies.
2110
IMPORTANCE OF ATTENDING PUBLIC WORSHIP.
Said the Rev. W. J. Dawson: "I know in my own heart how soon the spirit of devoutness fades when from any cause I am deprived of public worship for any length of time. And when I see a youth to whom religious worship has been the atmosphere of his childhood, gradually withdrawing himself from the means of grace, I tremble for him, because I have seen what that means. I can think of men whom I loved, and who now lead wretched and degraded lives, and all their misery began when they forsook the tabernacles of their God."
2111
A soft answer turneth away wrath.
—Proverbs xv, 1v.
2112
Call not that man wretched, who, whatever ills he suffers, has a child to love.
—Southey.
2113
A good life keeps off wrinkles.
—German.
2114
What is writ, is writ— Would it were worthier.
2115
HANDWRITING—NATIONALITY OF.
It is a remarkable fact, that no man can ever get rid of the style of handwriting peculiar to his country. If he be English, he always writes in English style; if French, in French style; if German, Italian, or Spanish, in the style peculiar to his nation. Professor B—— states:—"I am acquainted with a Frenchman, who has passed all his life in England, who speaks English like one of our own countrymen, and writes it with ten times the correctness of ninety-nine in a hundred of us; but yet who cannot, for the life of him, imitate our mode of writing. I knew a Scotch youth, who was educated entirely in France, and resided eighteen years in that country, mixing exclusively with French people, but who, although he had a French writing-master, and, perhaps, never saw anything but French writing in his life, or rarely, yet wrote exactly in the Scotch style."
—D'Israeli.
2116
The word that is heard, passes away; the letter that is written,—remains.
2117
Every time you avoid doing wrong, You increase your inclination to do right.
2118
The remedy for wrongs is to forget them.
2119
My ear is pained, my soul is sick with every day's report of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled.
—Cowper.