MERELY THOUGHTS.

Otago Witness, Issue 2744, 17 October 1906, Page 72

MERELY THOUGH TS.

There are times in which the suggestion offered by one sympathetic or stimulating thought "is far moie grateful to the mind than the most brilliant eesay or deepest discussion.

The mental attitude is that of the summer day idler, content to watch that little fleet of white clouds sail slowly, slowly, over tbe blue above — their colour and beauty sufficee — whitber they go is as immaterial as whence they came. Or, -on fcbe other hand, the nvnd is so keenly alert that only the suggestion of a sentence is needed to start one off Dn a brilliant voyage of discovery. Or, again, we are too busy in the affairs of everyday life, the hundred and one interests that make the sum of a woman's pleaeure or cure, and a thought, a mere thought, is all we have time for. Like a single pearl of a slender thread of memory the thought is threaded and perhaps forgotten. The days may pass — that neverending round of days, — each with its own especial set of duties, which makes a woman's life at once go great and so small a thing. And something — song of a bird, scent of a flower, sound of rain upon the kitchen roof, shaft of sunlight striking through the open door — recalls the thought. We take it from the treasure houi-e of remembrance, ar.d find no longer the single pearl upon its golden thread, but a string of pearls, •which, all unconsciously, we had added to the original "jewel of great price." With great content vre rest upon their bsauty, scarcely daring to call them "mine." Still they slip loosely along the shining string. There is room for more, for they are "merely thoughts,'' and the magic string expands with the pearls that are added to it one by ane, with days, or montlis, or years between. It is this feeling that now and then a mere interchange of thoughts may be at orioe more welcome to the weary, or'mcr." stimulating to the busy reader, which will be my excuse for sometimes offering to these I love — merely thoughts.

The universe is encircled by prayer, yet so diverse is its expression that the pious prayer of oce is the parody of piety to another.

There are two ways in which most of us miglit aU?r for the better our attitude in the matter of "satisfaction" : To be less satisfied with ourselves, or more satisfied with other people.

The ideals of one generation are the realities of the next. In being busy for others, we may combine real weariness with tiue happin?ss. The eeeret of cortent lies in adapting ourselves to our surroundings.

The curse of the toiler is not Ins toil, for that is the salvation of the body, but that he too often loses the ability to rest, which is the salvation of the spirit. A holiday is sometimes like a vLsit to the optician — we have leisure to discover how much our point of view has changed. It is al'o like a bank balance, for we discover sometim.ps more, usually less, .standing to our credit than we thought. The holiday-maker is a gleaner for the benefit of those who remained at home to work. Portraits of old friends retouched to date, new jokes, new 6tories, fresh routes of travel, passing notes on men and "tilings — these are his gleanings from holiday harvest fields, and his 6heaf, however full, will rarely outweigh the anticipations of these who await his homecoming. It is the holiday benefits that others expect for us which are so hard to realise.

Ts it not wi«-er to have a few friends ■with whom to can always keep in touch, than a great many of whom we must neglect some?

Nothing is more beautiful than th~ generosity of the silent giver. Content to remain unknown, he haivest6 thf sacred joy of knowing pleasure given at the sweet cost of telf-donial. Death sometimes rest-oia* to us the treasures which life had stolen from us. On each face that death has kissed is a peace more ineffable than it is in the power of life to give.

To die is easy enough — it is to live that is so hard.

To the man or woman who believes in the soul's immortality all life is but a pieparation for death — a life+ime to make ready for a moment.

Do not weep for tlie old, though their eyes etill held a smile for you, and no word of impatience betrayed the secret of their wise old hearts. Be sure that, like travellers waiting long for the summons to &tait on their journey, they ■K-earied. From time to time they had lightened their luggage, each time casting aside some care& or interests, some desires ot possessions winch no longor seemed necessary, and at last nothing remained but the lovely 6illven strands of your love to hold the worn sjpirit to earth. Loose

those silken .breads with willing hands, bravely speed the parting spirit. Can you, even amid your aching lonlin«ss, remember, dear sorrowing hearts, that your irreparable loss is also her eternal gam.