130 Reflections. 



things must be, but they are not the safest springs of 

 pleasure. We must not put by entirely the chippy singing 

 in the apple tree, or the white clouds, for nature declares 

 a dividend every hour — the dew-drops always pay par to 

 the summer leaves. 



If we could constantly bear in mind many of our ex- 

 periences, most of us would be quite content to remain in 

 some sequestered nook for the length of our days, but the 

 freshness of the smart wears ofT— we forget, and are burned 

 again. 



Those who are unconsolably miserable, and feel that 

 they have all of the ills, should inspect the lilies of the field. 

 There is hardly a perfect one among them, and no doubt 

 they would often be glad to spin and reap, if they might 

 thereby forget the gnawing caterpillars that devour their 

 leaves. There should be many doctors among the plants. 

 I meet with ailing individuals that would gladly consult 

 specialists on stamens and pistils. 



We sometimes get a wider view of our homes by going 

 afield. Like Lynceus we see well at a distance. The 

 chief value of an excursion is often the last step across the 

 threshold. We walk twenty miles in order to get acquaint- 

 ed with our family cat. We walk and walk, and think we 

 are going to discover something of interest; we go a long 

 way from home and find ourselves finally in some man's 

 back yard, where he is already at home. Stanley in all his 

 explorations always found some one at home. The black 

 men fed him with vegetables from their kitchen gardens. 



Our enjoyment of a place is often proportioned to the 

 effort we have made to get there. The further it is away 



