VARIETIES.
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He Threw Away the Stone.
The haughty favourite of an oriental monarch once in the public street threw a stone at a poor dervish or priest.
The dervish did not dare to throw it back at the man who had assaulted him, for he knew the favourite was very powerful. So he picked up the stone and put it carefully in his pocket, saying to himself: “The time for revenge will come by-and-by, and then I will repay him for it.”
Not long afterwards this same dervish, in walking through the city, saw a great crowd coming towards him. He hastened to see what was the matter, and found to his astonishment that his enemy, the favourite who had fallen into disgrace with the king, was being paraded through the principal streets on a camel, exposed to the jests and insults of the populace.
The dervish, seeing all this, hastily grasped the stone which he carried in his pocket. “The time,” he said, “has now come for my revenge, I will repay him for his insulting conduct.”
But after considering a moment he threw the stone away, saying: “The time for revenge never comes, for if our enemy is powerful, revenge is dangerous as well as foolish; and if he is weak and wretched, then revenge is worse than foolish, it is mean and cruel. And in all cases it is wicked and forbidden.”
When Things go Wrong.
What’s the use of wooing trouble, And of nursing every sorrow? Though to-day is black as Egypt, There’s another day to-morrow. Lightly treat each hour’s distresses— Sing a song for gloom to borrow; Mirth and cheer can chase all phantoms— There’s another day to-morrow.
Why They Hanged the Dogs.
On one of the early visits to Scotland of Sir Edwin Landseer, the famous animal painter, he stopped at a village and took a great deal of notice of the dogs, jotting down rapid sketches of them on a bit of paper.
Next day, on resuming his journey, he was horrified to find dogs suspended from trees in all directions, or drowned in the river with stones round their necks.
He stopped a weeping urchin who was hurrying off with a pet pup in his arms, and learned to his dismay that he was supposed to be an excise officer, who was taking note of all the dogs he saw in order to prosecute the owners for unpaid taxes.
Charity as it ought to be.—If our mercy to the poor is to be true mercy, it must never be careless giving, dictated by mere sentimental impulse. Sentiment may be nobler than insensibility, but it often does more harm. The Samaritan would have been no good example for us if he had passed on with an easy conscience after administering the two pence and had omitted to consider whether the special needs of the case did not also require oil and wine.
The Average Woman.—We have been favoured with this definition of the average woman:—She is lovable but limited, for on the north side she is bounded by servants; on the south by children; on the east by her ailments, and on the west by her clothes.
Take a Right View of Life.—It is a sad thing to begin life with low conceptions of it. It may not be possible for a girl to measure life, but it is possible for her to say, “I am resolved to put life to its noblest and best use.”
Triple Acrostic I.
In yonder bower, one glorious May, Three lovely sisters grew; One, in imperial bright array Of richest purple hue; One, who conceal’d her drooping head Amid her foliage green; And one with fragrant petals spread, Our beauteous Summer-Queen. 1. Waster of time, of mind, of health, This useless creature see: Yet once, in print, he gather’d wealth And greatly sought was he. 2. From the north-east adventurers came And built this City fair; They call’d it by the river’s name And yet—no river’s there! 3. A monster was to be destroy’d, A hero claim’d the feat; Alas! the means that he employ’d Were sadly incomplete. My ready help he needs would ask, Which I was prompt to give, Or else he must forego his task And let the creature live: While he, with heavy axe in hand, Struck off each slimy head, I tear’d the wound with flaming brand And laid the monster dead. 4. ’Tis sometimes good, and sometimes bad, And sometimes none at all; This in his belt the Roman had, Sharp-pointed, bright, and small. For centuries it fix’d remain’d, And might have kept so still But that a Pontiff pow’r obtain’d To change it at his will.
Ximena.