I think it must somewhere be written, that the virtues of mothers shall, occasionally, be visited on their children, as well as the sins of fathers.—­Dickens.

Unhappy is the man for whom his own mother has not made all other mothers venerable.—­Richter.

The instruction received at the mother’s knee, and the paternal lessons, together with the pious and sweet souvenirs of the fireside, are never effaced entirely from the soul.—­LAMENNAIS.

One good mother is worth a hundred schoolmasters.—­George Herbert.

“An ounce of mother,” says the Spanish proverb, “is worth a pound of clergy.”—­T.W.  Higginson.

Youth fades; love droops; the leaves of friendship fall;
A mother’s secret hope outlives them all. 
—­Holmes.

A mother’s love is indeed the golden link that binds youth to age; and he is still but a child, however time may have furrowed his cheek, or silvered his brow, who can yet recall, with a softened heart, the fond devotion or the gentle chidings of the best friend that God ever gives us.—­Bovee.

All that I am, my mother made me.—­J.Q.  Adams.

Mourning.—­He mourns the dead who lives as they desire.—­Young.

Of permanent mourning there is none; no cloud remains fixed.  The sun will shine to-morrow.—­Richter.

Excess of grief for the deceased is madness; for it is an injury to the living, and the dead know it not.—­Xenophon.

The true way to mourn the dead is to take care of the living who belong to them.—­Burke.

No longer mourn for me when I am dead,
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled. 

          
                          —­Shakespeare.

Music.—­Music is the medicine of an afflicted mind, a sweet sad measure is the balm of a wounded spirit; and joy is heightened by exultant strains.—­Henry Giles.

Sweet music! sacred tongue of God.—­Charles G. Leland.

Music is the fourth great material want of our natures,—­first food, then raiment, then shelter, then music.—­Bovee.

When griping grief the heart doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then music, with her silver sound,
With speedy help doth lend redress. 
—­Shakespeare.

Some of the fathers went so far as to esteem the love of music a sign of predestination; as a thing divine, and reserved for the felicities of heaven itself.—­Sir W. Temple.

I think sometimes could I only have music on my own terms; could I live in a great city, and know where I could go whenever I wished the ablution and inundation of musical waves, that were a bath and a medicine.—­Emerson.

Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast,
To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak. 
—­Congreve.