Fanny Crosby, in the eighties, has fulfilled the vow which she made at eight, and has never mourned over the fact that she is blind. What an impressive lesson of trust and resignation is her declaration that her blindness has proved not a deprivation, but a real blessing!If the gift of sight were offered her now she has said that she would elect to remain as she is. For she says cheerfully:“If I had not been deprived of sight, I should never have received so good an education, nor have cultivated so fine a memory, nor have been able to do good to so many people.” (Text.)
Fanny Crosby, in the eighties, has fulfilled the vow which she made at eight, and has never mourned over the fact that she is blind. What an impressive lesson of trust and resignation is her declaration that her blindness has proved not a deprivation, but a real blessing!
If the gift of sight were offered her now she has said that she would elect to remain as she is. For she says cheerfully:
“If I had not been deprived of sight, I should never have received so good an education, nor have cultivated so fine a memory, nor have been able to do good to so many people.” (Text.)
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BLINDNESS AND CONTACT
Mr. W. H. Levy, who is blind, says in his book, “Blindness and the Blind,” that he can tell when he is opposite an object, and can perceive whether it is tall or short, slender or bulky. He can also determine whether it be a solitary object or a continuous fence; whether a close fence or an open one, and sometimes whether a wooden fence, a stone wall, or a hedge. None of the five senses has anything to do with this perceptive power, but the impressions are made on the skin of his face, and by it transmitted to the brain. He therefore names this unrecognized sense facial perception. The presence of a fog interferes with facial perception, and makes the impressions faint and untrustworthy; but darkness is no impediment. A noise which distracts the attention interferes with the impressions. In passing along the street he can distinguish stores from private houses, and doors from windows, if the windows consist of a number of panes, and not of a single sheet of glass. A remarkable fact, bearing on the subject of an unrecognized sense is mentioned by Mr. Levy. A naturalist extracted the eyes of several bats and covered the empty sockets with leather. In this condition the bats flew about the room, avoiding the sides and flying out of the door without touching the door-case. In flying through a sewer which made a right angle, they turned at the proper point. They flew through threads suspended from the ceiling without touching them, tho they were only far enough apart to admit the passage of the bats’ extended wings.—Youth’s Companion.
Mr. W. H. Levy, who is blind, says in his book, “Blindness and the Blind,” that he can tell when he is opposite an object, and can perceive whether it is tall or short, slender or bulky. He can also determine whether it be a solitary object or a continuous fence; whether a close fence or an open one, and sometimes whether a wooden fence, a stone wall, or a hedge. None of the five senses has anything to do with this perceptive power, but the impressions are made on the skin of his face, and by it transmitted to the brain. He therefore names this unrecognized sense facial perception. The presence of a fog interferes with facial perception, and makes the impressions faint and untrustworthy; but darkness is no impediment. A noise which distracts the attention interferes with the impressions. In passing along the street he can distinguish stores from private houses, and doors from windows, if the windows consist of a number of panes, and not of a single sheet of glass. A remarkable fact, bearing on the subject of an unrecognized sense is mentioned by Mr. Levy. A naturalist extracted the eyes of several bats and covered the empty sockets with leather. In this condition the bats flew about the room, avoiding the sides and flying out of the door without touching the door-case. In flying through a sewer which made a right angle, they turned at the proper point. They flew through threads suspended from the ceiling without touching them, tho they were only far enough apart to admit the passage of the bats’ extended wings.—Youth’s Companion.
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BLINDNESS CURED
The blind man whom Jesus cured said, “I see men as trees walking.” Christianity is a “convex” lens helping men to see, but it is too much to expect a newly enlightened convert to see accurately all at once.
Convex spectacles are made for the use of patients who have undergone the operation of removal of a cataract. A cataract is merely the crystalline lens of the eye become opaque. The convex lens of the spectacles supplies the place of the crystalline lens. But the patient is obliged to learn distances and dimensions after sight is thus restored, and during this experience he often suffers illusions.
Convex spectacles are made for the use of patients who have undergone the operation of removal of a cataract. A cataract is merely the crystalline lens of the eye become opaque. The convex lens of the spectacles supplies the place of the crystalline lens. But the patient is obliged to learn distances and dimensions after sight is thus restored, and during this experience he often suffers illusions.
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BLINDNESS, MORAL
There came a day when, in her solemn assembly, France voted to cast off the recognition of Almighty God. She lifted up insteadthe Goddess of Reason, and in her delirium the multitude placed a daughter of pleasure in a chariot, crowned her with flowers, and determined to worship the body, instead of the Angel of Duty. But smashing the telescope does not put out the stars. Voting not to have any sun does not annihilate the summer. The microscope may show the germs of death in the reservoir, but breaking the microscope will not cleanse the springs.—N. D. Hillis.
There came a day when, in her solemn assembly, France voted to cast off the recognition of Almighty God. She lifted up insteadthe Goddess of Reason, and in her delirium the multitude placed a daughter of pleasure in a chariot, crowned her with flowers, and determined to worship the body, instead of the Angel of Duty. But smashing the telescope does not put out the stars. Voting not to have any sun does not annihilate the summer. The microscope may show the germs of death in the reservoir, but breaking the microscope will not cleanse the springs.—N. D. Hillis.
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BLOOD, CRY FOR
The Arabs have a belief that over the grave of a murdered man his spirit hovers in the form of a bird that cries, “Give me drink! Give me drink!” and only ceases to cry when the murder is avenged by the death of the murderer. (Text.)
The Arabs have a belief that over the grave of a murdered man his spirit hovers in the form of a bird that cries, “Give me drink! Give me drink!” and only ceases to cry when the murder is avenged by the death of the murderer. (Text.)
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BLOOD, THE AVENGER OF
A Bedouin horseman riding along a desert track, seeing the sign of blood on the side of the road, will instantly dismount and cover it with earth “to lay themâred” (the avenger of blood). The idea is that the spirit of him who died by an act of violence, the victim of man’s hate, themâred, calls for vengeance on him who has taken the life of his fellow man.—“The Witness of the Wilderness.”
A Bedouin horseman riding along a desert track, seeing the sign of blood on the side of the road, will instantly dismount and cover it with earth “to lay themâred” (the avenger of blood). The idea is that the spirit of him who died by an act of violence, the victim of man’s hate, themâred, calls for vengeance on him who has taken the life of his fellow man.—“The Witness of the Wilderness.”
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BLOOD, THE TIE OF
Henry M. Stanley, in his work “Through the Dark Continent,” describes the warrior chief Mirambo, the Mars of Africa, whose genius for war Stanley likens to that of Frederick the Great and Napoleon Bonaparte. He was a formidable adversary, and Stanley was very anxious to convert him from a foe into an ally. By skilful management he did accomplish this, and to make the alliance an unbreakable one, the covenant of brotherhood was sealed by an interchange of blood between the African hero and the American hero, an incision being made in the right leg of each for this purpose. The same blood now flowed in the veins of both Stanley and Mirambo, and they thereafter vied with each other in proofs of their unselfish fidelity. Abraham and Abimelech made such a covenant and the literal translation is “they cut a covenant.” Jacob and Laban also “cut a covenant.” An Oriental could as soon commit suicide as slay a covenant brother, for it would be shedding his own blood.
Henry M. Stanley, in his work “Through the Dark Continent,” describes the warrior chief Mirambo, the Mars of Africa, whose genius for war Stanley likens to that of Frederick the Great and Napoleon Bonaparte. He was a formidable adversary, and Stanley was very anxious to convert him from a foe into an ally. By skilful management he did accomplish this, and to make the alliance an unbreakable one, the covenant of brotherhood was sealed by an interchange of blood between the African hero and the American hero, an incision being made in the right leg of each for this purpose. The same blood now flowed in the veins of both Stanley and Mirambo, and they thereafter vied with each other in proofs of their unselfish fidelity. Abraham and Abimelech made such a covenant and the literal translation is “they cut a covenant.” Jacob and Laban also “cut a covenant.” An Oriental could as soon commit suicide as slay a covenant brother, for it would be shedding his own blood.
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Blotting Out Errors—SeeEffacement of Sins.
Blows, Repeated—SeeRepetition, Force of.
Bluffer, The Human—SeePretense.
BLUNDER, A
This incident is told by Dr. R. F. Horton in theChristian Endeavor World:
I had been addressing a large midday congregation in Leeds, and a deep seriousness pervaded the atmosphere. The closing hymn appointed began, “Sin-sick and Sorrow-laden”; and by some inconceivable oddity of my own mind I gave it out, quite deliberately and distinctly, “Seasick and Sorrow-laden.” I perceived what I had done in a second. I literally trembled, for it was impossible to recall the slip without calling attention to it. I feared that there would be an awful titter, or even an explosion of laughter. Wonderful to say, it was as if no one but myself noticed the blunder, and I was awed into gravity, not only by the occasion, but by my fear of what might happen.
I had been addressing a large midday congregation in Leeds, and a deep seriousness pervaded the atmosphere. The closing hymn appointed began, “Sin-sick and Sorrow-laden”; and by some inconceivable oddity of my own mind I gave it out, quite deliberately and distinctly, “Seasick and Sorrow-laden.” I perceived what I had done in a second. I literally trembled, for it was impossible to recall the slip without calling attention to it. I feared that there would be an awful titter, or even an explosion of laughter. Wonderful to say, it was as if no one but myself noticed the blunder, and I was awed into gravity, not only by the occasion, but by my fear of what might happen.
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Body, Frailty of—SeeHouse, The Mortal.
BODY, MASTERING THE
I think of the delicacy and perfection of much of R. L. Stevenson’s work—just the kind of writing which a man might plead could not be done except in moments of inspiration and in favorable conditions. Then I remember how that delicate style was attained by years of severe drill, and when the instrument had been perfected, it was used with conscientious diligence in face of every conceivable hindrance. When, after hemorrhage, his right hand is in a sling, he writes some of his “Child’s Garden of Verses” with his left hand; when the hemorrhage has been so bad that he may not even speak, he dictates a novel in the deaf and dumb alphabet. He writes to George Meredith: “For fourteen years I have not had a day’s real health. I have written in bed, written in hemorrhages, written in sickness, written torn by coughing, written when my head swam for weakness; and for so long, it seems to me, I have won my wager and recovered my glove. The battle goes on—ill or well is a trifle, so as it goes. I wasmade for contest, and the powers have so willed that my battle-field should be this dingy, inglorious one of the bed and the physic-bottle.” No wonder that he could say: “I frankly believe (thanks to my dire industry) I have done more with smaller gifts than almost any man of letters in the world.” And yet this man declared that he labored only for art, and that the end of art was to give pleasure! If such a motive can command such devotion, what is not possible for us who serve the Savior, for us whose end is the salvation of men and the redemption of the world!—W. W. B. Emery,Christian World Pulpit.
I think of the delicacy and perfection of much of R. L. Stevenson’s work—just the kind of writing which a man might plead could not be done except in moments of inspiration and in favorable conditions. Then I remember how that delicate style was attained by years of severe drill, and when the instrument had been perfected, it was used with conscientious diligence in face of every conceivable hindrance. When, after hemorrhage, his right hand is in a sling, he writes some of his “Child’s Garden of Verses” with his left hand; when the hemorrhage has been so bad that he may not even speak, he dictates a novel in the deaf and dumb alphabet. He writes to George Meredith: “For fourteen years I have not had a day’s real health. I have written in bed, written in hemorrhages, written in sickness, written torn by coughing, written when my head swam for weakness; and for so long, it seems to me, I have won my wager and recovered my glove. The battle goes on—ill or well is a trifle, so as it goes. I wasmade for contest, and the powers have so willed that my battle-field should be this dingy, inglorious one of the bed and the physic-bottle.” No wonder that he could say: “I frankly believe (thanks to my dire industry) I have done more with smaller gifts than almost any man of letters in the world.” And yet this man declared that he labored only for art, and that the end of art was to give pleasure! If such a motive can command such devotion, what is not possible for us who serve the Savior, for us whose end is the salvation of men and the redemption of the world!—W. W. B. Emery,Christian World Pulpit.
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Body, The, as a House—SeeHouse of the Soul.
BODY, THE HUMAN
The human body is a marvelous machine with a storage of power. It is estimated that if all the beats of the heart in a single day could be concentrated in one huge throb of vital power, it would be sufficient to throw a ton of iron 120 feet into the air. An electrical engineer has affirmed that this expended heart-energy is equal to a two-candle power of an incandescent electrical lamp; or, if converted into cold light, this amount of power would represent forty candles. If a man had some such organ as a firefly has he could surround himself with light enough to live by without artificial lighting.
The human body is a marvelous machine with a storage of power. It is estimated that if all the beats of the heart in a single day could be concentrated in one huge throb of vital power, it would be sufficient to throw a ton of iron 120 feet into the air. An electrical engineer has affirmed that this expended heart-energy is equal to a two-candle power of an incandescent electrical lamp; or, if converted into cold light, this amount of power would represent forty candles. If a man had some such organ as a firefly has he could surround himself with light enough to live by without artificial lighting.
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A scientific writer, speaking of the human body in its marvelous mechanism, calls it an epitome of all mechanics, of all hydraulics, of all machinery. It has all the bars, levers, pulleys, wheels, axles and buffers known to science. All the more than three hundred movements included in modern mechanics are simply modifications and variations of those found in the human body—adaptations of processes and first principles employed in the human organism.
A scientific writer, speaking of the human body in its marvelous mechanism, calls it an epitome of all mechanics, of all hydraulics, of all machinery. It has all the bars, levers, pulleys, wheels, axles and buffers known to science. All the more than three hundred movements included in modern mechanics are simply modifications and variations of those found in the human body—adaptations of processes and first principles employed in the human organism.
In a true sense, man, in body, is a law unto himself, and possesses the potential means of fulfilling all the high purposes of physical life.
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Boldness—SeeFaith.
Boldness in Asking—SeeAsking, Boldness in.
Bondage—SeeGreed.
BONDAGE TO SIN
The strength of some of the spiders which build their webs in trees and other places in Central America is astounding. One of them had in captivity, not long ago, a wild canary.The ends of the wings, the tail and feet of the bird were bound together by some sticky substance, to which were attached the threads of the spider, which was slowly but surely drawing up the bird by an ingenious arrangement. The bird hung head downward, and was so securely bound with little threads that it could not struggle and would soon have been a prey to its great ugly captor if it had not been rescued.All around us are men being bound by the arch enemy of souls, that he may devour them. At first, he tempts them with little sins that charm and fascinate, and as they yield, he binds them with threads of filmy texture. Temptations multiply. The reward of sin is greater sin. As they become more submissive, he binds them so fast that finally they are unable to make further resistance. (Text.)
The strength of some of the spiders which build their webs in trees and other places in Central America is astounding. One of them had in captivity, not long ago, a wild canary.
The ends of the wings, the tail and feet of the bird were bound together by some sticky substance, to which were attached the threads of the spider, which was slowly but surely drawing up the bird by an ingenious arrangement. The bird hung head downward, and was so securely bound with little threads that it could not struggle and would soon have been a prey to its great ugly captor if it had not been rescued.
All around us are men being bound by the arch enemy of souls, that he may devour them. At first, he tempts them with little sins that charm and fascinate, and as they yield, he binds them with threads of filmy texture. Temptations multiply. The reward of sin is greater sin. As they become more submissive, he binds them so fast that finally they are unable to make further resistance. (Text.)
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BOOK, INFLUENCE OF A
I can still remember plainly the circumstances under which I finished it. (“Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”) I had got well into the second volume. It was Thursday. Sunday was looming up before me, and at the rate at which I was going there would not be time to finish it before Sunday, and I could never preach till I had finished it. So I set myself to it and determined to finish it at once. I had got a considerable way into the second volume, and I recommended my wife to go to bed. I didn’t want anybody down there. I soon began to cry. Then I went and shut all the doors, for I did not want any one to see me. Then I sat down to it and finished it that night, for I knew that only in that way should I be able to preach on Sunday.—Henry Ward Beecher.
I can still remember plainly the circumstances under which I finished it. (“Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”) I had got well into the second volume. It was Thursday. Sunday was looming up before me, and at the rate at which I was going there would not be time to finish it before Sunday, and I could never preach till I had finished it. So I set myself to it and determined to finish it at once. I had got a considerable way into the second volume, and I recommended my wife to go to bed. I didn’t want anybody down there. I soon began to cry. Then I went and shut all the doors, for I did not want any one to see me. Then I sat down to it and finished it that night, for I knew that only in that way should I be able to preach on Sunday.—Henry Ward Beecher.
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BOOK-STUDY
It was always with a sigh of relief that Macaulay turned aside from public duties to the companionship of books, and he said that he could covet no higher joy than to be shut up in the seclusion of a great library, and never pass a moment without a book in his hand. And this confession declares the man. To acquire information was the real passion of his life. He was not interested in the study of human nature, and had nolove or aptitude for meditation. A man with genial interest in his fellows, and in life as a whole, would not have walked the streets of London with a book in his hand; and a man with any faculty of meditative thought would scarcely have employed a long starlit night on the Irish Sea in a recitation of Milton.—W. J. Dawson, “The Makers of English Prose.”
It was always with a sigh of relief that Macaulay turned aside from public duties to the companionship of books, and he said that he could covet no higher joy than to be shut up in the seclusion of a great library, and never pass a moment without a book in his hand. And this confession declares the man. To acquire information was the real passion of his life. He was not interested in the study of human nature, and had nolove or aptitude for meditation. A man with genial interest in his fellows, and in life as a whole, would not have walked the streets of London with a book in his hand; and a man with any faculty of meditative thought would scarcely have employed a long starlit night on the Irish Sea in a recitation of Milton.—W. J. Dawson, “The Makers of English Prose.”
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SeeSurprizes in Books.
Book, The Most Popular—SeeBible, Popularity of.
BOOKS AND WORTH
Browning would never write for a magazine. He wrote: “I can not bring myself to write for periodicals. If I publish a book, and people choose to buy it, that proves they want to read my work. But to have them to turn over the pages of a magazine and find me—that is to be an uninvited guest.”
Browning would never write for a magazine. He wrote: “I can not bring myself to write for periodicals. If I publish a book, and people choose to buy it, that proves they want to read my work. But to have them to turn over the pages of a magazine and find me—that is to be an uninvited guest.”
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Books, Influence of—SeeReformation.
Books Less Important than Things—SeeThings not Books.
BOOKS, POISON IN
A gentleman in India went into his library and took down a book from the shelves. As he did so he felt a slight pain in his finger like the prick of a pin. He thought that a pin had been stuck by some careless person in the cover of the book. But soon his finger began to swell, then his arm, and then his whole body, and in a few days he died. It was not a pin among the books, but a small and deadly serpent.
A gentleman in India went into his library and took down a book from the shelves. As he did so he felt a slight pain in his finger like the prick of a pin. He thought that a pin had been stuck by some careless person in the cover of the book. But soon his finger began to swell, then his arm, and then his whole body, and in a few days he died. It was not a pin among the books, but a small and deadly serpent.
There are many books that contain moral poison more deadly to character than this serpent. (Text.)
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BOOKS, THE SIZE OF
We are capable of believing, not only that we love books which we do not love, but that we have read books which we have not read. A lifelong intimacy with their titles, a partial acquaintance with modern criticism, a lively recollection of many familiar quotations—these things come in time to be mistaken for a knowledge of the books themselves. Perhaps in youth it was our ambitious purpose to storm certain bulwarks of literature; but we were deterred by their unpardonable length. It is a melancholy truth, which may as well be acknowledged at the start, that many of the books best worth reading are very, very long, and that they can not, without mortal hurt, be shortened. Nothing less than a shipwreck on a desert island in company with Froissart’s “Chronicles” would give us leisure to peruse this glorious narrative, and it is useless to hope for such a happy combination of chances. We might, indeed, be wrecked—that is always a possibility—but the volume saved dripping from the deep would be “Soldiers of Fortune,” or “Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch.”—Agnes Repplier, “Compromises.”
We are capable of believing, not only that we love books which we do not love, but that we have read books which we have not read. A lifelong intimacy with their titles, a partial acquaintance with modern criticism, a lively recollection of many familiar quotations—these things come in time to be mistaken for a knowledge of the books themselves. Perhaps in youth it was our ambitious purpose to storm certain bulwarks of literature; but we were deterred by their unpardonable length. It is a melancholy truth, which may as well be acknowledged at the start, that many of the books best worth reading are very, very long, and that they can not, without mortal hurt, be shortened. Nothing less than a shipwreck on a desert island in company with Froissart’s “Chronicles” would give us leisure to peruse this glorious narrative, and it is useless to hope for such a happy combination of chances. We might, indeed, be wrecked—that is always a possibility—but the volume saved dripping from the deep would be “Soldiers of Fortune,” or “Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch.”—Agnes Repplier, “Compromises.”
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BOORISHNESS
Boorishness is a product of selfishness far more than a product of ignorance; or at least a product of that ignorance which is in itself a product of selfishness. I was once at a wedding breakfast in a rural community in the West. The groom ate in silence the food that was set before him, dispatched his meal before the rest of us were more than half through, pushed back his plate, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and turning to his bride, said, “Well, Sally, you may as well get used to my way at the beginning, and I always leave the table when I have got through with my meal!” With these words he went out to pick his teeth on the door-steps, leaving his bride with a flushed face and a pained heart, the object of our commiseration. The man was a boor, you say. True! What made him a boor? The fact that he selfishly thought of his own comfort. It never entered his head to inquire whether his conduct would be agreeable or painful to his bride.—Lyman Abbott,The Chautauquan.
Boorishness is a product of selfishness far more than a product of ignorance; or at least a product of that ignorance which is in itself a product of selfishness. I was once at a wedding breakfast in a rural community in the West. The groom ate in silence the food that was set before him, dispatched his meal before the rest of us were more than half through, pushed back his plate, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and turning to his bride, said, “Well, Sally, you may as well get used to my way at the beginning, and I always leave the table when I have got through with my meal!” With these words he went out to pick his teeth on the door-steps, leaving his bride with a flushed face and a pained heart, the object of our commiseration. The man was a boor, you say. True! What made him a boor? The fact that he selfishly thought of his own comfort. It never entered his head to inquire whether his conduct would be agreeable or painful to his bride.—Lyman Abbott,The Chautauquan.
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Borrowed Trouble—SeeWait and See.
BORROWING HABIT ARRESTED
A wag has declared that there is one borrower set down in every neighborhood; that she either “leavens the whole lump” (being of the fomenting class) or speedily moves away. But he is mistaken; sometimes the borrower gets converted. Here is the way one woman managed it:“Ma wants to know if you will loan her a cup of sugar?” asks Mrs. B.’s little girl.“Why, certainly! But be sure to tell her not to return it,” was the cheerful response of Mrs. Neighbor.The next day the child reappeared with thesugar, but she was promptly sent home with it. Mrs. N. was “glad to let her have it, and it was too small a matter to be repaid.”This caused Mrs. Borrower to gasp and to wait a while before despatching the child for a cup of lard. This was given also, and when no return was allowed Mrs. B. realized the situation and was too proud to ask for further loans. She resented her neighbor’s attitude, but her mouth was shut, especially as Mrs. N. continued as friendly as ever when they met. The result was that she was simply forced to exercise a little more head-work thereafter in her household affairs, ordering supplies sufficiently in advance of her needs, and soon she had broken herself of the borrowing habit.—Lee McCrae,Zion’s Advocate.
A wag has declared that there is one borrower set down in every neighborhood; that she either “leavens the whole lump” (being of the fomenting class) or speedily moves away. But he is mistaken; sometimes the borrower gets converted. Here is the way one woman managed it:
“Ma wants to know if you will loan her a cup of sugar?” asks Mrs. B.’s little girl.
“Why, certainly! But be sure to tell her not to return it,” was the cheerful response of Mrs. Neighbor.
The next day the child reappeared with thesugar, but she was promptly sent home with it. Mrs. N. was “glad to let her have it, and it was too small a matter to be repaid.”
This caused Mrs. Borrower to gasp and to wait a while before despatching the child for a cup of lard. This was given also, and when no return was allowed Mrs. B. realized the situation and was too proud to ask for further loans. She resented her neighbor’s attitude, but her mouth was shut, especially as Mrs. N. continued as friendly as ever when they met. The result was that she was simply forced to exercise a little more head-work thereafter in her household affairs, ordering supplies sufficiently in advance of her needs, and soon she had broken herself of the borrowing habit.—Lee McCrae,Zion’s Advocate.
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BOTTOM, BEGINNING AT THE
It was in the pursuit of a mission that Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., went to Thompsonville. He might have found a more showy position, for he had name and influence. He might have found plenty of things to do that would at the start have brought him more money. For that matter, he had enough of his own so that he need not bother with work; and had he been like some young men, he would never have been seen in overalls or any other uniform of the toiler. But he went to the carpet mill, and he did what he was told. He began at the bottom. He has worked hard. And now we may understand what he did it for. Announcement is made that he is to go West as manager of one of the Hartford Carpet Company’s Western houses. It is for a purpose that he has been learning the business in all its details. He could not manage without that knowledge.It is an old lesson, but never was there an instance better showing it than does this of the son of the former President. If he could afford to begin at the bottom, others can. If he must, others must. If with his brains and education he needed to do that, nearly any young man does. If his prospective position is the reward of that sort of sacrifice, it is a sacrifice that any young man can afford to make.—New HavenRegister.
It was in the pursuit of a mission that Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., went to Thompsonville. He might have found a more showy position, for he had name and influence. He might have found plenty of things to do that would at the start have brought him more money. For that matter, he had enough of his own so that he need not bother with work; and had he been like some young men, he would never have been seen in overalls or any other uniform of the toiler. But he went to the carpet mill, and he did what he was told. He began at the bottom. He has worked hard. And now we may understand what he did it for. Announcement is made that he is to go West as manager of one of the Hartford Carpet Company’s Western houses. It is for a purpose that he has been learning the business in all its details. He could not manage without that knowledge.
It is an old lesson, but never was there an instance better showing it than does this of the son of the former President. If he could afford to begin at the bottom, others can. If he must, others must. If with his brains and education he needed to do that, nearly any young man does. If his prospective position is the reward of that sort of sacrifice, it is a sacrifice that any young man can afford to make.—New HavenRegister.
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Boy, A Chance for the—SeeChance for the Boy.
Boy, a Dutiful—SeePreservation.
BOY AND KING
Mark Twain tells a story of how a bootblack saved a king. The king was sick; his trouble defied the skill of all his doctors, and it seemed as if he must die. The little bootblack knew a peculiar but a sure remedy for the disease; but how to get the king to take a prescription from a bootblack was a problem. He might have gone to the palace doors and pleaded till he was hoarse without any one listening. So he told his remedy to the ash-boy, who was older than himself, and the ash-boy told it to the butcher, and the butcher told it to his wife, and she told it to some one else, and so on it went, a little higher each time, until it reached the king’s doctors. The king would have nothing more to do with them, so they told it to the favorite page, and since the king was very fond of the page he tried the remedy just to please him. The king was cured by the bootblack’s remedy.—James M. Stifler, “The Fighting Saint.”
Mark Twain tells a story of how a bootblack saved a king. The king was sick; his trouble defied the skill of all his doctors, and it seemed as if he must die. The little bootblack knew a peculiar but a sure remedy for the disease; but how to get the king to take a prescription from a bootblack was a problem. He might have gone to the palace doors and pleaded till he was hoarse without any one listening. So he told his remedy to the ash-boy, who was older than himself, and the ash-boy told it to the butcher, and the butcher told it to his wife, and she told it to some one else, and so on it went, a little higher each time, until it reached the king’s doctors. The king would have nothing more to do with them, so they told it to the favorite page, and since the king was very fond of the page he tried the remedy just to please him. The king was cured by the bootblack’s remedy.—James M. Stifler, “The Fighting Saint.”
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Boy, A Noble—SeeLove, Filial.
Boy, His Own—SeeFatherhood.
BOYS ADJUSTING THEIR TROUBLES
When Edward VII was a boy of ten, he was with his mother, Queen Victoria, at Balmoral Castle in the Highlands of Scotland. At that time the Queen was quite a skilful painter in water-colors and spent many days by the waterfalls and in the glens making pictures.One day she was sitting at her easel on a sandy beach of the river beneath a waterfall. Young Edward was playing around her. The little Prince suddenly caught sight of a Highland lad in kilts. The lad was making a sand castle and adorning it with sprigs of heather and “chucky-stones.”The Prince advanced to him with royal hauteur and asked for whom the sand castle was being built.“For bonnie Prince Charlie,” was the playful reply of the boy, who stood with his hands on his hips to see the effect of a thistle on the top story. The lad had no idea that his interlocutor was any different from any other boy.The young Prince, however, determined to make it clear that he—and not Prince Charlie—was to be King some day. He kicked over the sand castle.The Highland boy glared at him and said:“Ye’ll no dae that again!”It was a challenge. The lad rebuilt his sand castle very deliberately. The Prince waited until the thistle was stuck on the top story, then kicked it over as deliberately as it had been built.“Ye’ll no dae that a third time!” challenged the little Scot, beginning to rebuild with even more deliberation.The Queen had been noticing the affair. She set aside her brush and palette, but said nothing; only watched with a firm, studious expression on her maternal face.A third time Prince Edward kicked over the Highland lad’s sand castle. No sooner was it done than its kilted builder closed his fists and lowered his head. In another moment the two boys were hammering one another.The Queen sat there and never interfered by word or act. The little Prince presently returned, weeping, bruised, and bloody-nosed, while the rebel Gael stood apart, himself considerably frayed, waiting to see if any further service were needed in the training of royal children.To the little Prince’s plea for speedy justice and vengeance, the motherly Queen merely replied, as she wiped the blood from the future King’s nose with a pocket handkerchief:“It served you right!”—New YorkTimes.
When Edward VII was a boy of ten, he was with his mother, Queen Victoria, at Balmoral Castle in the Highlands of Scotland. At that time the Queen was quite a skilful painter in water-colors and spent many days by the waterfalls and in the glens making pictures.
One day she was sitting at her easel on a sandy beach of the river beneath a waterfall. Young Edward was playing around her. The little Prince suddenly caught sight of a Highland lad in kilts. The lad was making a sand castle and adorning it with sprigs of heather and “chucky-stones.”
The Prince advanced to him with royal hauteur and asked for whom the sand castle was being built.
“For bonnie Prince Charlie,” was the playful reply of the boy, who stood with his hands on his hips to see the effect of a thistle on the top story. The lad had no idea that his interlocutor was any different from any other boy.
The young Prince, however, determined to make it clear that he—and not Prince Charlie—was to be King some day. He kicked over the sand castle.
The Highland boy glared at him and said:
“Ye’ll no dae that again!”
It was a challenge. The lad rebuilt his sand castle very deliberately. The Prince waited until the thistle was stuck on the top story, then kicked it over as deliberately as it had been built.
“Ye’ll no dae that a third time!” challenged the little Scot, beginning to rebuild with even more deliberation.
The Queen had been noticing the affair. She set aside her brush and palette, but said nothing; only watched with a firm, studious expression on her maternal face.
A third time Prince Edward kicked over the Highland lad’s sand castle. No sooner was it done than its kilted builder closed his fists and lowered his head. In another moment the two boys were hammering one another.
The Queen sat there and never interfered by word or act. The little Prince presently returned, weeping, bruised, and bloody-nosed, while the rebel Gael stood apart, himself considerably frayed, waiting to see if any further service were needed in the training of royal children.
To the little Prince’s plea for speedy justice and vengeance, the motherly Queen merely replied, as she wiped the blood from the future King’s nose with a pocket handkerchief:
“It served you right!”—New YorkTimes.
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BOYS’ CHAMPION
Pages, messenger boys, newsboys and bootblacks have a champion in a member of Congress who never lets pass an opportunity to help them along. If a messenger boy should happen to drop into the office of Representative William J. Cary, of Milwaukee, in the House office building, he would get as much consideration as a member of the United States Senate.Mr. Cary is the friend of the little chaps because he knows from experience what it means to get out and hustle for a living when some of your pals are off playing baseball in the back lots, and whenever he gets a chance to give a youngster a boost he boosts hard.Mr. Cary was left an orphan when he was thirteen years old, together with five younger brothers and sisters who were placed in an orphan asylum.In chasing around Milwaukee as a messenger boy he became acquainted with the political leaders of the city and by the time he was old enough to vote he was a full-fledged politician. Machine methods do not appeal to him and he would rather mix up in a fight with the Cannon organization than to take a cruise to Europe.—BostonJournal.
Pages, messenger boys, newsboys and bootblacks have a champion in a member of Congress who never lets pass an opportunity to help them along. If a messenger boy should happen to drop into the office of Representative William J. Cary, of Milwaukee, in the House office building, he would get as much consideration as a member of the United States Senate.
Mr. Cary is the friend of the little chaps because he knows from experience what it means to get out and hustle for a living when some of your pals are off playing baseball in the back lots, and whenever he gets a chance to give a youngster a boost he boosts hard.
Mr. Cary was left an orphan when he was thirteen years old, together with five younger brothers and sisters who were placed in an orphan asylum.
In chasing around Milwaukee as a messenger boy he became acquainted with the political leaders of the city and by the time he was old enough to vote he was a full-fledged politician. Machine methods do not appeal to him and he would rather mix up in a fight with the Cannon organization than to take a cruise to Europe.—BostonJournal.
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Boys and Saloon—SeeChance for the Boy.
Boy’s Courage, A—SeeLoyalty.
Boys, Influences Upon—SeeYouthful Tendencies.
BOY’S CLUB, VALUE OF THE
I was talking once with an East Side boy, one of the keenest and quickest fellows I have ever met. He told me the story of his early years. There was no good reason why he should have been a newsboy; his father was a fairly prosperous tailor; but he loved the adventure of it, and used to play hookey from school and from home to sell papers. Union Square was his center, and from there down to Washington Square he ranged. He was the quickest and the most fearless of the newsboys in the neighborhood, and soon became a leader among them. His brightness and wit won him entrance into most of the saloons and restaurants thereabouts, when the other boys were excluded; and in many of these the waiters or the barkeeper would save the dregs of drinks for him. He stole when he could, just for the excitement of the thing; and with great glee he told me how he once had picked the pocket of Mr. Robert Graham, the general secretary of the Church Temperance Society, as that gentleman stood talking at the window of the society’s coffee-van in the square. At the time he told me this, he and I both belonged to a company of the Church Temperance Society which claimed Mr. Graham as its adjutant commander. His story was not all of such proud recollections, however. For after a pause he said, rather slowly, “The boys I used to go with around here, my gang, have all gone to the devil, and mighty fast.” “Well, John,” I asked, “how is it that you didn’t go to the devil, too, with them?” “Well, I’ll tell you. I belonged to a boy’s club down near my house. It wasn’t much of a club; we used to steal and have rough house all we pleased. But I was there every night.” And then he added, with a momentary seriousness I shall not soon forget: “Mr. Bartlett, if you want to save the boys, keep them off the streets at night.” It was expert testimony; he knew whereof he spoke. And what he said puts in a nutshell the whole philosophy of theboys’ club, secular or spiritual, on its negative, but a most important, side. If the club simply keeps the boys off the streets at night, it does much more than enough to pay for all it costs.—George G. Bartlett, “Proceedings of the Religious Education Association,” 1904.
I was talking once with an East Side boy, one of the keenest and quickest fellows I have ever met. He told me the story of his early years. There was no good reason why he should have been a newsboy; his father was a fairly prosperous tailor; but he loved the adventure of it, and used to play hookey from school and from home to sell papers. Union Square was his center, and from there down to Washington Square he ranged. He was the quickest and the most fearless of the newsboys in the neighborhood, and soon became a leader among them. His brightness and wit won him entrance into most of the saloons and restaurants thereabouts, when the other boys were excluded; and in many of these the waiters or the barkeeper would save the dregs of drinks for him. He stole when he could, just for the excitement of the thing; and with great glee he told me how he once had picked the pocket of Mr. Robert Graham, the general secretary of the Church Temperance Society, as that gentleman stood talking at the window of the society’s coffee-van in the square. At the time he told me this, he and I both belonged to a company of the Church Temperance Society which claimed Mr. Graham as its adjutant commander. His story was not all of such proud recollections, however. For after a pause he said, rather slowly, “The boys I used to go with around here, my gang, have all gone to the devil, and mighty fast.” “Well, John,” I asked, “how is it that you didn’t go to the devil, too, with them?” “Well, I’ll tell you. I belonged to a boy’s club down near my house. It wasn’t much of a club; we used to steal and have rough house all we pleased. But I was there every night.” And then he added, with a momentary seriousness I shall not soon forget: “Mr. Bartlett, if you want to save the boys, keep them off the streets at night.” It was expert testimony; he knew whereof he spoke. And what he said puts in a nutshell the whole philosophy of theboys’ club, secular or spiritual, on its negative, but a most important, side. If the club simply keeps the boys off the streets at night, it does much more than enough to pay for all it costs.—George G. Bartlett, “Proceedings of the Religious Education Association,” 1904.
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Boys Contrasted—SeeEarly Habits Tell.
BOYS’ MISSIONARY EFFORTS
Eight boys in a Sunday-school class in one of our churches, following the suggestion of their teacher, decided to send Christmas remembrances to eight boys in a mission church in the far Northwest. They set aside five cents each week for seven weeks and purchased knives of much greater value than thirty-five cents each, through the kindness of the merchant who was informed of their purpose. Each boy wrote a personal letter to the boy who was to receive his gift. The eight knives went on their way before Christmas to the care of the minister of the mission, who wisely required his eight boys to write personal letters acknowledging their gifts and telling something about themselves, before they received the knives. So eight choir-boys, close up to the Canada line in the Northwest, received these Christmas gifts. The letters received here were said to have interfered for a Sunday or two with the regular lessons. With their accounts of hunting rabbits, etc., they made Newark boys feel that all the advantages of life are not found in New Jersey. The plan here described was suggested incidentally by the work of the Church Periodical Club, which has done a great deal to brighten the lives of our missionaries and their people.—The Newark (N. J.)Churchman.
Eight boys in a Sunday-school class in one of our churches, following the suggestion of their teacher, decided to send Christmas remembrances to eight boys in a mission church in the far Northwest. They set aside five cents each week for seven weeks and purchased knives of much greater value than thirty-five cents each, through the kindness of the merchant who was informed of their purpose. Each boy wrote a personal letter to the boy who was to receive his gift. The eight knives went on their way before Christmas to the care of the minister of the mission, who wisely required his eight boys to write personal letters acknowledging their gifts and telling something about themselves, before they received the knives. So eight choir-boys, close up to the Canada line in the Northwest, received these Christmas gifts. The letters received here were said to have interfered for a Sunday or two with the regular lessons. With their accounts of hunting rabbits, etc., they made Newark boys feel that all the advantages of life are not found in New Jersey. The plan here described was suggested incidentally by the work of the Church Periodical Club, which has done a great deal to brighten the lives of our missionaries and their people.—The Newark (N. J.)Churchman.
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Boy’s Religion—SeeEarly Religion.
Boy’s Trust in Father—SeeConfidence.
BOYCOTT, ORIGIN OF
Boycotting did originate in America, but it was started long before the slavery troubles became annoying. The boycott originated with Thomas Jefferson. It will be remembered that by the embargo we boycotted every species of English goods; we neither bought of that country nor sold to her. The ships of New England were suffered to lie rotting at the wharves, and American foreign trade was at a complete standstill. The Hartford Convention was the result of that boycott, and the lukewarmness of the East in the war of 1812 may be traced to it. It was not a highly successful boycott, but it occupied a pretty big place in history.—DetroitEvening Journal.
Boycotting did originate in America, but it was started long before the slavery troubles became annoying. The boycott originated with Thomas Jefferson. It will be remembered that by the embargo we boycotted every species of English goods; we neither bought of that country nor sold to her. The ships of New England were suffered to lie rotting at the wharves, and American foreign trade was at a complete standstill. The Hartford Convention was the result of that boycott, and the lukewarmness of the East in the war of 1812 may be traced to it. It was not a highly successful boycott, but it occupied a pretty big place in history.—DetroitEvening Journal.
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Brag—SeePretense.
BRAIN IN MAN
All, if not most animals, have brains. Man, in common with his kingdom, has a brain; but because of its greater weight and perfection, scientists see in it an illustration of man’s vast superiority over all below him.
Note has to be taken among the mammalia themselves, from the marsupials to man, of the presence or absence of one testing character, and that the chief—the perfect brain. This is found in one creature, occupying, as it were, the inner ring and core of the concentric circles of vitality, and in one alone. In the lowest variety of man it is present—present in the negro or the bushman as in the civilized European; and absent in all below man—absent in the ape or the elephant as truly as in the kangaroo or the duckmole. To all men the pleno-cerebral type is common: to man, as such, it is peculiar. And till we hear of some simian tribe which speculates on its own origin, or discusses its own place in the scale of being, we shall be safe in opposing the human brain, with its sign in language, culture, capacity of progress, as a barrier to Mr. Darwin’s scheme.
Note has to be taken among the mammalia themselves, from the marsupials to man, of the presence or absence of one testing character, and that the chief—the perfect brain. This is found in one creature, occupying, as it were, the inner ring and core of the concentric circles of vitality, and in one alone. In the lowest variety of man it is present—present in the negro or the bushman as in the civilized European; and absent in all below man—absent in the ape or the elephant as truly as in the kangaroo or the duckmole. To all men the pleno-cerebral type is common: to man, as such, it is peculiar. And till we hear of some simian tribe which speculates on its own origin, or discusses its own place in the scale of being, we shall be safe in opposing the human brain, with its sign in language, culture, capacity of progress, as a barrier to Mr. Darwin’s scheme.
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Bravery—SeeLoyalty.
BRAVERY OF WOMEN
Henry Savage Landor, one of the many passengers on theBaltic, added chapter after chapter to the good story of the bravery and coolness displayed by men and women when theRepublicwas struck, and throughout the hours of waiting and of rescue:
In all my travels through the countries of the two hemispheres, never have I seen displayed a spirit of womanhood that could be better in such an extreme than was that of the women of theRepublic. When we of theBalticmet them, it was as they were being brought to our vessel in a tossing sea insmall boats after nearly a score of hours spent on the crowded Italian emigrant vessel, to which they had been taken from another wreck. Yet not only was there no whimpering, but they actually came aboard with smiling faces. They forgot that all their traveling possessions were doomed, forgot all the ordeal they had encountered, and showed themselves happy and contented because they thought, most of them, that in the face of disaster, all that the hands of willing men could do to help them had been done.
In all my travels through the countries of the two hemispheres, never have I seen displayed a spirit of womanhood that could be better in such an extreme than was that of the women of theRepublic. When we of theBalticmet them, it was as they were being brought to our vessel in a tossing sea insmall boats after nearly a score of hours spent on the crowded Italian emigrant vessel, to which they had been taken from another wreck. Yet not only was there no whimpering, but they actually came aboard with smiling faces. They forgot that all their traveling possessions were doomed, forgot all the ordeal they had encountered, and showed themselves happy and contented because they thought, most of them, that in the face of disaster, all that the hands of willing men could do to help them had been done.
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BREVITY OF LIFE
The May-fly, of which there are several varieties, lives at the longest but three or four days; some varieties but a few hours of one day. Yet they are delicately organized, and possess all the functions of insect lives.
The May-fly, of which there are several varieties, lives at the longest but three or four days; some varieties but a few hours of one day. Yet they are delicately organized, and possess all the functions of insect lives.
Man’s few years of mortal existence may seem as brief compared with eternity.
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The life of a perfect butterfly or moth is short. A few days after emergence from the chrysalis case, the female deposits her eggs on the leaves or stems of the plant that is to sustain the larvæ. Her work is now accomplished, and the few days more allowed her are spent in frolicking among the flowers, and sucking the sweet juices they provide. They soon show symptoms of a fast approaching end. Their colors begin to fade, and the beauty-making scales of the wings gradually disappear through friction against the petals of hundreds of flowers visited and the merry dances with scores and scores of playful companions. At last, one bright afternoon, while the sun is still high in the heavens, a butterfly, more weary than usual, with heavy and laborious flight, seeks a place of rest for the approaching night. Here, on a waving stalk, it is soon lulled to sleep by a gentle breeze.Next morning, a few hours before noon, the blazing sun calls it out for its usual frolics. But its body now seems too heavy to be supported by the feeble and ragged wings, and, after one or two weak attempts at play, it settles down in its final resting-place. On the following morning a dead butterfly is seen, still clinging by its claws to a swinging stem.—W. Furneaux, “Butterflies and Moths.”
The life of a perfect butterfly or moth is short. A few days after emergence from the chrysalis case, the female deposits her eggs on the leaves or stems of the plant that is to sustain the larvæ. Her work is now accomplished, and the few days more allowed her are spent in frolicking among the flowers, and sucking the sweet juices they provide. They soon show symptoms of a fast approaching end. Their colors begin to fade, and the beauty-making scales of the wings gradually disappear through friction against the petals of hundreds of flowers visited and the merry dances with scores and scores of playful companions. At last, one bright afternoon, while the sun is still high in the heavens, a butterfly, more weary than usual, with heavy and laborious flight, seeks a place of rest for the approaching night. Here, on a waving stalk, it is soon lulled to sleep by a gentle breeze.
Next morning, a few hours before noon, the blazing sun calls it out for its usual frolics. But its body now seems too heavy to be supported by the feeble and ragged wings, and, after one or two weak attempts at play, it settles down in its final resting-place. On the following morning a dead butterfly is seen, still clinging by its claws to a swinging stem.—W. Furneaux, “Butterflies and Moths.”
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Life is too short for any vain regretting;Let dead delight bury its dead, I say,And let us go upon our way forgettingThe joys and sorrows of each yesterday.Between the swift sun’s rising and its settingWe have no time for useless tears or fretting.Life is too short.Life is too short for any bitter feeling;Time is the best avenger, if we wait.The years speed by, and on their wings bear healing—We have no room for anything like hate.This solemn truth the low mounds seem revealingThat thick and fast about our feet are stealing.Life is too short.Life is too short for aught but high endeavor—Too short for spite, but long enough for love.And love lives on forever and forever,It links the worlds that circle on above;’Tis God’s first law, the universe’s lever,In His vast realm the radiant souls sigh never.Life is too short. (Text.)
Life is too short for any vain regretting;Let dead delight bury its dead, I say,And let us go upon our way forgettingThe joys and sorrows of each yesterday.Between the swift sun’s rising and its settingWe have no time for useless tears or fretting.Life is too short.Life is too short for any bitter feeling;Time is the best avenger, if we wait.The years speed by, and on their wings bear healing—We have no room for anything like hate.This solemn truth the low mounds seem revealingThat thick and fast about our feet are stealing.Life is too short.Life is too short for aught but high endeavor—Too short for spite, but long enough for love.And love lives on forever and forever,It links the worlds that circle on above;’Tis God’s first law, the universe’s lever,In His vast realm the radiant souls sigh never.Life is too short. (Text.)
Life is too short for any vain regretting;Let dead delight bury its dead, I say,And let us go upon our way forgettingThe joys and sorrows of each yesterday.Between the swift sun’s rising and its settingWe have no time for useless tears or fretting.Life is too short.
Life is too short for any vain regretting;
Let dead delight bury its dead, I say,
And let us go upon our way forgetting
The joys and sorrows of each yesterday.
Between the swift sun’s rising and its setting
We have no time for useless tears or fretting.
Life is too short.
Life is too short for any bitter feeling;Time is the best avenger, if we wait.The years speed by, and on their wings bear healing—We have no room for anything like hate.This solemn truth the low mounds seem revealingThat thick and fast about our feet are stealing.Life is too short.
Life is too short for any bitter feeling;
Time is the best avenger, if we wait.
The years speed by, and on their wings bear healing—
We have no room for anything like hate.
This solemn truth the low mounds seem revealing
That thick and fast about our feet are stealing.
Life is too short.
Life is too short for aught but high endeavor—Too short for spite, but long enough for love.And love lives on forever and forever,It links the worlds that circle on above;’Tis God’s first law, the universe’s lever,In His vast realm the radiant souls sigh never.Life is too short. (Text.)
Life is too short for aught but high endeavor—
Too short for spite, but long enough for love.
And love lives on forever and forever,
It links the worlds that circle on above;
’Tis God’s first law, the universe’s lever,
In His vast realm the radiant souls sigh never.
Life is too short. (Text.)
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Bride-racing—SeeMarriage-racing.
BRIGHT SIDE
There’s a bad side, ’tis the sad side—Never mind it!There’s a bright side, ’tis the right side—Try to find it!Pessimism’s but a screen.Thrust the light and you between—But the sun shines bright, I ween,Just behind it!—Jean Dwight Franklin,The Circle.
There’s a bad side, ’tis the sad side—Never mind it!There’s a bright side, ’tis the right side—Try to find it!Pessimism’s but a screen.Thrust the light and you between—But the sun shines bright, I ween,Just behind it!—Jean Dwight Franklin,The Circle.
There’s a bad side, ’tis the sad side—Never mind it!There’s a bright side, ’tis the right side—Try to find it!Pessimism’s but a screen.Thrust the light and you between—But the sun shines bright, I ween,Just behind it!—Jean Dwight Franklin,The Circle.
There’s a bad side, ’tis the sad side—
Never mind it!
There’s a bright side, ’tis the right side—
Try to find it!
Pessimism’s but a screen.
Thrust the light and you between—
But the sun shines bright, I ween,
Just behind it!
—Jean Dwight Franklin,The Circle.
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Broad-mindedness in Civics—SeeCivics.
BROTHERHOOD
Two men saw a piece of jewelry on the sidewalk, they reached for it simultaneously, struck their heads violently; each arose to censure the other, when they found they were brothers and had not seen each other for a dozen years. It must not be forgotten that all competitions and rivalries to-day arebetween brothers, and some day the vast brotherhood will be permanently organized.—Charles E. Locke.
Two men saw a piece of jewelry on the sidewalk, they reached for it simultaneously, struck their heads violently; each arose to censure the other, when they found they were brothers and had not seen each other for a dozen years. It must not be forgotten that all competitions and rivalries to-day arebetween brothers, and some day the vast brotherhood will be permanently organized.—Charles E. Locke.
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A man preaching to the inmates of a prison made the remark that the only difference between himself and them was owing to the grace of God. Afterward one of the prisoners approached him and asked: “Did you mean what you said about sympathizing with us, and that only the help of God made you differ from us?” Being answered in the affirmative, the prisoner said: “I am here for life, but I can stay here more contentedly now that I know I have a brother out in the world.”
A man preaching to the inmates of a prison made the remark that the only difference between himself and them was owing to the grace of God. Afterward one of the prisoners approached him and asked: “Did you mean what you said about sympathizing with us, and that only the help of God made you differ from us?” Being answered in the affirmative, the prisoner said: “I am here for life, but I can stay here more contentedly now that I know I have a brother out in the world.”
How we might lighten the burden of others if we had and showed more feeling for them, if we followed more closely in the footsteps of our blessed Lord.—St. Clair Hester.
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The story is told, as an instance of Oriental humor, of a little Chinese girl who was carrying her brother on her back. “Is he heavy?” she was asked. “No,” she replied, “he is my brother.”
The story is told, as an instance of Oriental humor, of a little Chinese girl who was carrying her brother on her back. “Is he heavy?” she was asked. “No,” she replied, “he is my brother.”
For some reason this seems funny to the Chinese; but it is better than humorous, it is sweet and winning. Love makes all burdens light. When one is carrying his brother, he feels little weight. Here is a good text for social workers. If they consider that they are working for mere aliens and strangers, their toil may seem irksome; but if the idea of brotherhood once enters in, the task becomes light. I am carrying my weaker brother, therefore I feel no weight.
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SeeWeakness, Consideration for.
BUILDERS, ANCIENT
The old Egyptians were better builders than those of the present day. There are blocks of stone in the pyramids which weigh three or four times as much as the obelisk on the London embankment. There is one stone the weight of which is estimated at eight hundred and eighty tons. There are stones thirty feet in length which fit so closely together that a penknife may be run over the surface without discovering the break between them. They are not laid with mortar, either. We have no machinery so perfect that it will make two surfaces thirty feet in length which will meet together as these stones in the pyramids meet. It is supposed that they were rubbed backward and forward upon each other until the surfaces were assimilated, making them the world’s wonders in mechanical skill.—The LondonBudget.
The old Egyptians were better builders than those of the present day. There are blocks of stone in the pyramids which weigh three or four times as much as the obelisk on the London embankment. There is one stone the weight of which is estimated at eight hundred and eighty tons. There are stones thirty feet in length which fit so closely together that a penknife may be run over the surface without discovering the break between them. They are not laid with mortar, either. We have no machinery so perfect that it will make two surfaces thirty feet in length which will meet together as these stones in the pyramids meet. It is supposed that they were rubbed backward and forward upon each other until the surfaces were assimilated, making them the world’s wonders in mechanical skill.—The LondonBudget.
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SeeDaily Character Work.
Building Character—SeeImperfections Corrected.
Building, Cheap—SeeFire, Cost of.
BUILDING THE SOUL’S CITY
Prof. Felix Adler is the author of this poem: