NE way of getting an idea of our fellow-countrymen's miseries is to go and look at their pleasures.
George Eliot, Felix Holt.
TO A RICH LADY.
WILL not ask if thou canst touch
The tuneful ivory key,—
Those silent notes of thine are such
As quite suffice for me.
I'll make no question if thy skill
The pencil comprehends;—
Enough for me, love, if thou still
Canst draw—thy dividends.
Punch.
T the Duke of Wellington's funeral, the little child of a friend of mine was standing with her mother at Lord Ashburton's window to see the mournful pageant. During the passage of the procession, she made no remark until the duke's horse was led by, its saddle empty, and his boots reversed in the stirrups, when she looked up in her mother's face and said, "Mamma, when we die, will there be nothing left of us but boots?"
J. C. Young, Diary.