And was there power in a few simple words to effect so great a change as this! Yes, in simple words, fragrant with the odours of kindness.
A few gleams of light shone into the mind of Mr. Winkleman, as he returned musing to his office, and he saw that he was often to blame for the clouds that darkened so often over the sky of home.
"Mary is foolish," he said, in partial self-justification, "to take my hasty words so much to heart. I speak often without meaning half what I say. She ought to know me better. And yet," he added, as his step became slower, for he was thinking closer than usual, "it may be easier for me to choose my words more carefully, and to repress the unkindness of tone that gives them a double force, than for her to help feeling pain at their utterance."
Right, Mr. Winkleman! That is the common sense of the whole matter. It is easier to strike, than to help feeling or showing signs of pain, under the infliction of a blow. Look well to your words, all ye members of a home circle. And especially look well to your words, ye whose words have the most weight, and fall, if dealt in passion, with the heaviest force.
THE TWO HOMES.
TWO men, on their way home, met at a street crossing, and then walked on together. They were neighbours, and friends.
"This has been a very hard day," said Mr. Freeman in a gloomy voice.
"A very hard day," echoed almost sepulchrally, Mr. Walcott. "Little or no cash coming in—payments Heavy—money scarce, and at ruinous rates. What is to become of us?"
"Heaven only knows," answered Mr. Freeman. "For my part, I see no light ahead. Every day come new reports of failures; every day confidence diminishes; every day some prop that we leaned upon is taken away."
"Many think we are at the worst," said Mr. Walcott.