PETTICOAT PHILOSOPHY.

Evening Star, Issue 12871, 21 July 1906, Page 12

PETTICOAT PHILOSOPHY.

Speech, after all, is not an elemental thing, for there is no word in any tongue t<j( fit life’s chief momenta. Those whose hands hold only the frayed ends of life often weave better threads in the lives of which their fate forbids them to weave lor ' themselves.—Florence Bailey It is not fn the teeth of the raging blast, in the wild, clamor of the way©, or the thunder of an electric cloud-burst that we draw nearest to Nature’s heart. Blinded and buffeted by the wind and rain, distracted ' by the noise and danger, we rush to shelter from the storm. But in tho sSluess of a summer evening, standing alone in the open, the solemn grandeur of the everlasting hills, the faint glow on the western horizon, the pale n*on poised in the darkening ether, the penetrating scent of dew-wet flowers—these things have a finer and rarer speech, to those who have the inward ear, than the language of many voices.—Nora Conway. Love is unto each of us according to our capacity for the divine. Perhaps one may not choose whom he will love, but certainly he may choose how he will do it. Here hate leaves him free, providing him only with a touchatone to show what manner of man he may be in the secret treasure chambers of his own soul.—Clara F. Laughlin. A man with an affectionate disposition, who finds a_wife to concur with his fundamental idea, of life, easily comes to persuade himself that no other woman would have suited him so well, and does a little daily snapping and quarrelling without any sense of alienation.—George Eliot. Who that has made a friendship or gained a teacher is not almost envious of the first time, the first keen impression? The thoughts are learnt, and become part of your mind. They are loved better and known better, and we would not be without their growth at any cost; hut still we should like just to know again, if it were only for the rake of comparison, that first thrill, that first expansion.—Mrs Wilfrid Ward.