PETTICOAT PHILOSOPHY.

Evening Star, Issue 12926, 14 April 1908, Page 8

PETTICOAT PHILOSOPHY.

The loneliness of the hillside is not the loneliness of a large houso in the midst of a crowd of strangers. Human nature is apt to undervalue the greatness of even those fellow-creatures whom it holds dearest. A sharp tongue may inflict wounds that cod liver oil, chicken broth, and port wine cauuot cure ; nor do coals and blankets necessarily warm hearts chilled and offended by fault-finding carried to excess.—Mis Henry De La Pasture. How much longer a womau grieves for the love she has last untimely than for the love she has won and worn out like a threadbare garment—till the vanishing of the silken woof reveals the coarser thread of the warp.—Miss Braddon. It is bad to be an alien, a dweller in the desert places of the earth ; but if one selects that mode of existence freely and by the due exercise of judgment, how dare one grumble even if the parched peas do now aud then prove indigestible and the nettle tea nauseous ?—Mrs C. Reade. There are few, if any, of us who in the course of our lives have not had occasion to wish that certain spaces in those lives might be represented by the convenient asterisks that cover them in books. There is always something in the nature of a mountain in a night that is interposed between us and either any promised pleasure or any threatened pain. In the case of pleasure we are naturally in a hurry to ssale it, in order to see how full of sunshine and flowers is the happy valley on the other side ; and in the case of pain we are all scarcely less eager to ascertain how deep is the abyss, how choking the swamp, how angry the waves that wait us beyond the dusty hill.—Rhoda Broughton. What do we ask of life, here, or indeed hereafter, but leave to serve, to live to commune with our fellow-men and with ourselves, and from the lap of eaith to look up into the face of God ? There is something inexpressibly beautiful in the unused day—something beautiful in the fact that it is still untouched, unsoiled ; and town and country share alike in this loveliness.—Michael Fairless." We have nearly all of us at some time or other experienced some mental emotion which stands out from among all others, aud which, from the impression it has made, remains indelibly graven upon our

memory, enhanced because of its intensity with an atmosphere of mystery, of the supernatural. It is a dreadful thing when a woman has reached the point when she realises that only fabulous wealth can bring her the counterfeit of that happiness which the ordinary course of life has failed to briug her.—Lucas Cleeve. There is a treachery that is knit up—partly from warped principles, partly from motives which, if never excusable, are always comprehensible. But there is another kind, more rare and certainly more dangerous, that is less a studied policy than a disposition of mind—a habit of conduct to be exercised impartially in all relationships and in every situation of life, even at a heavy loss, even at the risk sometimes of certain self-destruction. A generous mind will always reseut as a base temptation any doubt of a tried friend's fidelity.—John Oliver Hobbes. A lady's imagination is very rapid. It jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment. —Jane Austen. The happiest women, like the happiest nations, have no history.—George Eliot. The bore is usually considered a harmless creature, or of that class of irrational bipeds who hurt only themselves.—Maria Edgworth.

Neither truth nor love is spared its crown of thorns.—Marie Corelli.