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.
Thomas Carlyle.
* * * *
*
Laws are like cobwebs, where the small flies are caught,
and the great break through.
Bacon.
* * * *
*
13
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
“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.”
