My Books and I

My books and I are good old pals:
My laughing books are gay,
Just suited for my merry moods
When I am wont to play.
Bill Nye comes down to joke with me
And, Oh, the joy he spreads.
Just like two fools we sit and laugh
And shake our merry heads.

When I am in a thoughtful mood,
With Stevenson I sit,
Who seems to know I've had enough
Of Bill Nye and his wit.
And so, more thoughtful than I am,
He talks of lofty things,
And thus an evening hour we spend
Sedate and grave as kings.

And should my soul be torn with grief
Upon my shelf I find
A little volume, worn and thumbled,
For comfort just designed.
I take my little Bible down
And read its pages o'er,
And when I part from it I find
I'm stronger than before.

- Edgar A Guest
 
Never having read after Billy Nye, I cannot comment on his books and though I have read poems by a Stevenson, it may not be the Stevenson in this poem. Nonetheless, my books and I are good ol’ pals.


My brother used to tease me about my book friends. After reading a book, I often told him all the humorous parts or talked over some of the sober portions. If there was a series of books, he became familiar with the names of the characters. One evening he came bounding up the stairs calling, “What are you doin-” He stopped mid-word when he saw me reading and said, “Oh, you are visiting Millie again. How is Charles doing today?” Well, tease as he will, books and animals can be the best of friends.

Recently, I made some new acquaintances, in The Hidden Hand by E. D. E. N. Southworth. The Hidden Hand is the most captivating book I have read in a long time. So captivating that in front of a crackling fire, I scarcely noticed, much less cared about, the dreary, un-welcoming, cold winter day outside. (That is saying a lot for me!) At times, Capitola had me laughing, at other times, one of the others had me soberly pondering.

One funny part was when Capitola was summoned to court to testify against the villains and she said, “Oh, won’t I tell all I know. Yes, and more too!” As funny as it was for Capitola to say this, it is not so humorous that too many people have the nefarious habit of telling more than they know.

Traverse, when he would doctor the poor without getting paid much, would say that he was lending the Lord because he, “liked the security.” I really liked that phrase. So often in youth, money is saved in banks, funds, trusts, and insurances, only to find in mid-life that money sunk into life (or death) polices are dissipating, insurances are not paying bills, and in other ways the money thought to be secured is not secure. But when we lend to the Lord, it is always safe; it is a trust which will never collapse, a security that is forever secure in our old age. Yes, I had rather give to the Lord because I “like the security.”

There were parts of drama as when Capitola, to save her young friend from a forced marriage, dressed in disguise and took her place. I was afraid she was going to go through with the vows which would have been in-pardonable. Instead, when asked, “Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband,” etc., etc., She yanked off the mourning veil reviling her identity and exclaimed, “No! not if he were the last man and I the last woman on the face of the earth . . .”

In the end when Herbert marries Capitola, the author writes, “For Herbert understood well that tranquility could only come from a soft answer to Cap’s sharp-edged tongue. He was not only wise, but a man who loved his wife for who she was and not who he wanted her to be.” This crowned him the wisest character in the whole book. (Unless his wisdom could be questioned in marrying Capitola!)

The book is not without its drawbacks. Old Hurricane has some colorful language, not to be emulated (he reminded me of the young man in the story of Abigail who said Nabal was such “a son of Belial”), and Capitola certainly has some un-desirable character traits. However, there are wonderful little nuggets in the book for the careful reader.

The entire working of the book might be claimed as too much coincident in the average fiction. In this book, the author tries to show it is all arranged by the Hidden Hand - God’s providence. After nearly two decades filled with the deepest sadness and loneliness one of the characters tells Traverse, “I was sinking into an apathy when one day I opened the little Bible that lay upon the table. . .I fixed upon the last three chapters in the gospel of John. That narrative of meek patience and divine sacrificial love! It did for me what no power under that of God could have done. It saved me! It saved me from madness! It saved me from despair!. . .From that hour, this book has been my constant companion and comfort. I have learned from its pages how little it matters how or where this fleeting, mortal life is passed, so that it answers its purpose of preparing the soul for another. I have learned patience with sinners, forgiveness of enemies, and confidence in God. In a word, I have learned the way of salvation, and in that have learned everything. . .”

My head acknowledges the truth that how earthly life is passed means little, whether it be full of trials or otherwise, yet the heart is slow in embracing this at times. Christianity in theory is easier than Christianity in practice.

The book closes with James 5:11, “Behold, we count them happy which endure. You have heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord; that the Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy.”

The last page has only these words, “To those who have suffered in this life and have borne your pain in silence - there is yet hope.” In the end, it is still fiction; hope, as we think it, may never be realized on this earth, even after eighteen or more years of patient waiting. Yet through it all, God’s un-seen hand directs the course of life. For the Christian, heaven is our home; this world, just a place we are passing through.

Two Stones

Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone,
Kindness in another's trouble,
Courage in your own.

~Adam Lindsay Gordon

LONG AFTERWARDS

*
"Your coldness hurt Mrs. Lincoln," said one lady to another.

"I'm sorry," answered the lady to whom the remark was addressed; but the admission of a regret was not made with any feeling.

"Why do you treat her with such a distant reserve, Mrs. Arnold? I've noticed this a number of times. She's an excellent lady. We all like her exceedingly."

The eyes of Mrs. Arnold fell to the floor, and her face became grave.

"I wonder that you do not fancy Mrs. Lincoln. She's a lovely character—so intelligent, so refined, and with such a sweet spirit towards every one. The fault must be in yourself, if there is any natural repulsion."

It was an intimate friend who spoke, and the closing sentence was uttered with a smile.

"In that you may be right," said Mrs. Arnold, half smiling in return.

"Then there is a felt repulsion ?"

"Yes."

"I call that singular. To me it seems that you were born for friends. Your tastes and sympathies run in the same direction; and you are interested in the same general subjects. I am sure, if you knew each other as well as I know you both, you would become closely knit together in friendship. I must get you into a nearer relation to Mrs. Lincoln."

"I would prefer remaining at my present distance," replied Mrs. Arnold.

"Why ? There must be a reason for this."

"I don't like her."

"Mrs. Arnold! I'm surprised to hear you speak so decidedly. Mrs. Lincoln admires you; I've heard her say so, often; and wants to know you more intimately than she now does."

"That she never will, I'm thinking!"

Mrs. Arnold's brows began to gather darkly.

"What's the matter? What do you know about Mrs. Lincoln, that sets her beyond the limit of your friendly acquaintance?"

"The truth is," said Mrs. Arnold, "I've got an old grudge against her. There was a time when it would not gratify her social pride to call me her friend—and she treated me accordingly. She was a woman when I was a child."

"Well—go on."

Mrs. Arnold had paused, for she was conscious that her cheeks were burning—that her voice was losing its steadiness of tone.

"Perhaps I had as well keep silent," she said. " The subject is not a pleasant one."

"Go on, now. You have excited my curiosity. I would like to know exactly how you stand with Mrs. Lincoln."

"There may be pride and weakness in the case," returned Mrs. Arnold. "But no matter. Thus it stands: I was a quick, intelligent child, but very sensitive. Mrs. Lincoln visited my mother, and I often met her in the parlor, when company was present. She was a beautiful talker, and it was one of my greatest pleasures to sit and listen. I was really fascinated with her ; and I thought her the loveliest lady I had ever seen. One day when she was at our house, I sat listening to the conversation that was passing between her and some other friend of my mother's, drinking in, I apprehend, a great deal more than was imagined, and drinking it in with delight. My mother had left the room for some purpose. While she was absent, Mrs. Lincoln, in speaking of prevalent human weaknesses, quoted a couplet from Pope:

' The love of Praise, howe'er conceal'd by art,
Rules, more or less, and glows in every Heart.'

"How I had read largely in Pope, and held in memory a great many of his terse maxims. Every word of this couplet was familiar, and my ear instantly detected one wrong word in the quotation. In my childish ardor and artlessness I said, looking into Mrs. Lincoln's face:

" 'It is reigns, ma'am.'

"Her eyes turned, flashing on me, in an instant, and with an angry face, she said:

"'You've forgotten yourself, Miss Pert! Children should be seen, not heard.'

"She never saw or heard me in the parlor again. I went out, with hot cheeks and heart full of pain and bitterness. I was sensitive to a fault, and this rebuke—so unjustly given—hurt me to a degree that few would imagine. I never mentioned it to my mother; nor, indeed, to any living soul before this time; and it is over twenty years since the slight occurrence. My pride was deeply wounded. She had said these cruel words before two or three other ladies in whose good opinion I wished to stand well; and as a child I could not look them in the face again. From how much pleasure and instruction was I shut out from that time. Before, I had been anxious to meet my mother's intelligent friends; now, I kept myself out of sight as much, as possible, when we had company, for either Mrs. Lincoln, or some one of the ladies who had been present when she rebuked me, was almost sure to be of the number.

"It has so happened, that, since I became a woman, Mrs. Lincoln and I have, until recently, moved in different circles. I grew up, out of her observation, and married. It is more than probable that she has entirely forgotten the incident which burnt itself into my childish memory—may not even now remember me as the daughter of her old friend. But, I have not forgotten, and can never forget. Grown people fail to remember, in their treatment of children, that girls and boys have memories, and that girls and boys, in a few years, become men and women.

"And now, my friend, you have the secret of my repugnance to Mrs. Lincoln. She pushed me , away from her once; but she will never have a second opportunity."

"The child's resentments should not accompany, into after life, the child's memory," said the friend, as Mrs. Arnold ceased. "Mrs. Lincoln spoke from a sudden sense of wounded pride, and no doubt repented, in the next calm moment. Your mature reason, your observation, and your acquired self-knowledge, should put you right in this matter. It was not the best side of her nature that presented itself then, but her worst side perhaps. I have my worst side, and show it, sometimes, to other people; and it is just the same with you. But, neither of us would like this worst side to govern common estimation. No—no, my friend. You are wrong in letting that old grudge, as you call it, remain.

" Forgive and forget! Why, the world would be lonely,
The garden a Wilderness left to deform,
If the flowers but remembered the chilling winds only,
And the fields gave no vendure for fear of the storm."

"I shall let her go her way through the world," replied Mrs. Arnold, coldly. "It is wide enough for us both. That I have not sought to harm her, you will see in the fact that I have never spoken of this before ; and I have done so now under a kind of compulsion. But, I can never feel pleasant in her company, and shall, therefore, keep her at a distance."

A few days after this conversation, the lady friend who had talked with Mrs. Arnold was sitting in company with Mrs. Lincoln. Conversation passed from theme to theme, when, at what seemed a fitting moment, the lady said:

"Do you remember this incident, of years ago ? You made a quotation from a well known poet, and a little girl corrected you in a single word."

A flash of interest went over the face of Mrs. Lincoln.

"Yes, I remember it very well."

"And what you said to her?”

"I do; and as one of the regretted things of my life. She was a dear little girl; sweet tempered and intelligent—but, a trifle forward, and apt to put in a word now and then, in so mature a way, that innocence' on her part sometimes seemed like forwardness. Yes; I remember her correction, and that I lost temper, and called her Miss Pert, and I don't know what else. I was sorry and ashamed the next moment. That she felt it keenly I know, for, always after that, she was so cold and distant, that I could hardly ever get a word with her. But that was more than twenty years ago. Her mother died while she was still young, and she then passed from my observation. How came you to know of this ?"

"I had the story from her own lips."

"When?"

"Only a few days since."

"And she has carried the memory of that hasty rebuke rankling in her heart ever since?"

There was a tone of sadness in the voice of Mrs. Lincoln.

"Ever since," said the lady. "It hurt her sensitive pride to a degree that made forgetfulness impossible; and it hurts her still."

"Ah! if we could so recall our hasty words, as to take away their power to do harm, what a blessed thing it would be ? But an impulse once given, cannot die. If it moves to good, happy are they who set it in motion—if to evil, alas! alas ! I set an evil impulse in motion, and it is hurting still. But where is she ? I must bring her, if possible, into a better state of mind."

"You have met Mrs. Arnold."

"Mrs. Arnold! Can it be possible! Surely she is not the daughter of my old friend Mrs. "Willis. She is not the little Emily I have thought of so many times, and always with a troubled memory in my heart."

"The same," was answered.

"And in all these years she has not forgotten nor forgiven my fault. I must have wounded her sorely."

"You did. Hers seems to be one of those proudly sensitive natures, into which all impressions go deeply. I asked her why she kept herself at such a distance from you. But she avoided a direct answer, at the same time intimating a state of repulsion. I pressed for the reason, and. she gave it rather reluctantly, averring, at the same time that she had never opened her lips on the subject in all her life before—not even to her mother."

"Extraordinary! I could not have believed that an impression, made on a child's mind, would remain in such distinctiveness and force through so many years. What a lesson it is!"

"I wish it were possible for you to get near her, Mrs. Lincoln, and let her feel how kind a heart you have. She has admirable qualities. And I am sure that if this barrier were removed, you would be fast friends."

"Oh, it must be removed," said Mrs. Lincoln. "Now that I know of its existence, I will have no peace until it is level with the earth. It was my hands that builded it, and my hands shall take down every stone of separation."

______________


"There is a lady in the parlor," said a servant, coming to the door of Mrs. Arnold's room. "And here is her card, ma'am."

Mrs. Arnold took the card, and read the name of Mrs. Lincoln. She stood, for some time, irresolute. It was on her lips to say— "Ask her to excuse me. I am engaged." But she was not engaged. And, moreover, since her communication to the friend who had spoken so favorably of Mrs. Lincoln, she had felt less satisfied with herself. It did seem like a vindictive spirit thus to cherish ill-will through so many years.

"Say that I will be down in a few minutes."

It cost her an effort to utter this; but it was said; the meeting must take place. She sat in quite a disturbed state for some tune, before venturing to go down stairs. Then with what self-possession she could assume, she went to meet the woman who, twenty years ago, wounded her so deeply that the pain had not yet died out of her consciousness.

The two ladies stood face to face, and hand in hand. The name of Mrs. Arnold had been spoken warmly; that of Mrs. Lincoln with an almost repellent coldness. There were a few moments' silence. Mrs. Lincoln said—

"Your mother was my best friend. I loved her as a sister. Will you not, for her sake, forgive the cruel words that hurt pride sent thoughtlessly from my lips—words repented of almost as soon as spoken, and regretted many, many times?"

The voice of Mrs. Lincoln trembled with the deep feeling that was in her heart.

"Oh, if I had dreamed of their power to hurt so deeply, I would have sought, years ago, to repair the wrong."

This was unexpected. There was no time to reconstruct the barrier which Mrs. Lincoln had suddenly thrown down. No time to gather up the broken chain of ill-will and unite the links. The tender and true in Mrs. Arnold's heart responded. She was softened to tears. Her mother's name had touched her like a talisman. "My best friend; I loved her as a sister." These words disarmed her.

"Let the past be forgotten !" she answered, resolutely, as she closed her hand tightly on the hand that was clasping hers.

"Forgotten and forgiven both, my dear Mrs. Arnold, so that we may be friends in the true acceptation of the word. My heart, even without recognizing in you the child of an old friend, has been drawing .toward you steadily. It perceived in you something congenial. And now, may I not receive from your lips a kiss of forgiveness?"

Mrs. Arnold bent toward her.

"Let it be genuine," said Mrs. Lincoln.

And it was. In that kiss the old pain of wounded pride was extinguished. How long it had rankled!

A single hasty ill-spoken word, what years of bitterness may it not give to some weak heart! We fling out hard sentences, in the heat of sudden anger, that may hurt like hammer-strokes ; and, in most cases, forget that such blows were given. But they have made memory, against us, retentive by pain.
 
"Long Afterwards" by T. S. Arthur from Sowing the Wind

Woodburned Spoons

Woodburned spoons can be ordered at $3 each.

Before I Go

When my life has reached its very end,
And I take that final breath;
I want to know I've left behind,
Some "good" before my death.

I hope that in my final hour,
In all honesty I can say:
That somewhere in my lifetime,
I have brightened someone's day.

That maybe I have brought a smile
To someone else's face,
And made one moment a little sweeter
While they dwelled here in this place.

Lord, please be my reminder
And whisper softly in my ear ...
To be a "giver," not a "taker,"
In the years I have left here.

Give to me the strength I need,
Open up my mind and my soul ...
That I might show sincere compassion,
And love to others before I go.

For if not a heart be touched by me,
And not a smile was left behind ...
Then the life that I am blessed with,
Will have been a waste of time.

With all my heart, I truly hope
To leave something here on earth ...
That touched another, made them smile
And gave to my life ... worth.



~ Author Unknown ~

Adultery, Sanctioned by Divorce Laws

“ . . .The most superficial observer cannot fail to discover, in this country, the prevalence of various forms of vice, which have been tolerated and practiced so extensively in society, that judgments from the hand of God have fallen upon us, frequently and extensively. Often have they been so marked, that they could not well be mistaken. Such are the intemperance in all classes, - the utter disrespect of truth - the prevalent falsehood and frauds in business, social intercourse, and the press, - the want of good faith and fidelity in the trusts and relations of life - the desecration of the Sabbath - the contempt of compacts and oaths and obligations of office - profanity - licentiousness - lawlessness - oppression - polygamy among the Mormons - adultery, sanctioned by divorce laws - avaricious extortion - and swindling operations of speculators, bankers and corporations almost without end, which almost every where in our land corrupt society. . .”

- from a discourse by George Duffield delivered on January 4, 1861.


“Whosoever putteth away his wife, and marrieth another, committeth adultery: and whosoever marrieth her that is put away from her husband committeth adultery.” Luke16:18

I Walked a Mile With Pleasure

I walked a mile with Pleasure;
She chatted all the way;
But left me none the wiser
For all she had to say.

I walked a mile with Sorrow,
And ne'er a word said she;
But, oh! The things I learned from her,
When sorrow walked with me.

- Robert Browning Hamilton