Pa—A hypocrite, my son, is a man who publicly thanks Providence for his success, then gets mad every time anybody insinuates that he isn’t mainly responsible for it himself.—Tit-Bits.
(1474)
When one proceeds after the fashion of certain processions, that take one step back every time they take two forward, what is there astonishing if he does not cover any appreciable distance? But man has the silly childishness to believe that what he does at certain hours and without the pale of that part of his life which is known, does not count. He flatters himself that the assets alone will figure in the final reckoning; that what he puts openly in the balance will be weighed, but that what he secretly withdraws will not be deducted. Like that merchant, at once pious and crafty, who, on Sunday closed his shop, but received his patrons through a side door, he honors God publicly, and, in secret, betrays Him. (Text.)—Charles Wagner, “The Gospel of Life.”
(1475)
Hypocrisy in Prayer—See [Diplomacy, Cowardly].
I
ICE BEAUTY
If we had not our bewitching autumn foliage, we should still have to credit the weather with one feature which compensates for all its bullying vagaries—the ice-storm—when a leafless tree is clothed with ice from the bottom to the top—ice that is as bright and clear as crystal; every bough and twig is strung with ice-beads, frozen dew-drops, and the whole tree sparkles cold and white, like the Shah of Persia’s diamond plume. Then the wind waves the branches, and the sun comes out and turns all those myriads of beads and drops to prisms, that glow and hum and flash with all manner of colored fires, which change and change again, with inconceivable rapidity, from blue to red, from red to green, and green to gold; the tree becomes a sparkling fountain, a very explosion of dazzling jewels; and it stands there the acme, the climax, the supremest possibility in art or nature of bewildering, intoxicating, intolerable magnificence!—Samuel L. Clemens.
(1476)