Unspeakably touching it is, however, when I find both dignities united; and he, that must toil outwardly for the lowest of man’s wants, is also toiling inwardly for the highest. Sublimer in this world know I nothing than a peasant saint. Such a one will take thee back to Nazareth itself; thou wilt see the splendor of heaven spring forth from the humblest depths of earth like a light shining in great darkness.
* * * * *
Laws are like cobwebs, where the small flies are caught, and the great break through.
* * * * *
gust thief mop’ ing awk’ ward pet’ tish ly in dig’ nant un bear’ a ble med’ dle some en light’ ened in quis’ i tive
THE GRUMBLING PUSS.
“What’s the matter?” said Growler to the gray cat, as she sat moping on the top of the garden wall.
“Matter enough,” said the cat, turning her head another way, “Our cook is very fond of talking of hanging me. I wish heartily some one would hang her.”
“Why, what is the matter?” repeated Growler.
“Hasn’t she beaten me, and called me a thief, and threatened to be the death of me?”
“Dear, dear!” said Growler; “pray what has brought it about?”
“Oh, nothing at all; it is her temper. All the servants complain of it. I wonder they haven’t hanged her long ago.”
“Well, you see,” said Growler, “cooks are awkward things to hang; you and I might be managed much more easily.”
“Not a drop of milk have I had this day!” said the gray cat; “and such a pain in my side!”
“But what,” said Growler, “what is the cause?”
“Haven’t I told you?” said the gray cat, pettishly; “it’s her temper:—oh, what I have had to suffer from it! Everything she breaks she lays to me; everything that is stolen she lays to me. Really, it is quite unbearable!”
Growler was quite indignant; but, being of a reflective turn, after the first gust of wrath had passed, he asked: “But was there no particular cause this morning?”
“She chose to be very angry because I—I offended her,” said the cat.
“How, may I ask?” gently inquired Growler.
“Oh, nothing worth telling,—a mere mistake of mine.”
Growler looked at her with such a questioning expression, that she was compelled to say, “I took the wrong thing for my breakfast.”
“Oh!” said Growler, much enlightened.
“Why, the fact is,” said the gray cat, “I was springing at a mouse, and knocked down a dish, and, not knowing exactly what it was, I smelt it, and it was rather nice, and—”
“You finished it,” hinted Growler.
“Well, I believe I should have done so, if that meddlesome cook hadn’t come in. As it was, I left the head.”