Part 95 (1/2)
Don't waste nerve force on foolish and unnecessary things--physical or moral; but invest it, carefully, without losing an ounce, in the gradual and easy acquisition of whatever new habits You, as the Conscious Master, desire to develop in your organism.
O FAITHFUL CLAY!
O faithful clay of ancient brain!
Deep graven with tradition dim, Hard baked with time and glazed with pain, On your blind page man reads again What else were lost to him.
Blessed the day when art was found To carve and paint, to print and write, So may we store past memory's bound, Make our heaped knowledge common ground.
So may the brain go light.
Oh wondrous power of brain released, Kindled--alive--set free; Knowledge possessed; desire increased; We enter life's continual feast To see--to see--to see!
WHAT DIANTHA DID
CHAPTER IX.
”SLEEPING IN.”
Men have marched in armies, fleets have borne them, Left their homes new countries to subdue; Young men seeking fortune wide have wandered-- We have something new.
Armies of young maidens cross our oceans; Leave their mother's love, their father's care; Maidens, young and helpless, widely wander, Burdens new to bear.
Strange the land and language, laws and customs; Ignorant and all alone they come; Maidens young and helpless, serving strangers, Thus we keep the Home.
When on earth was safety for young maidens Far from mother's love and father's care?
We preserve The Home, and call it sacred-- Burdens new they bear.
The sun had gone down on Madam Weatherstone's wrath, and risen to find it unabated. With condensed disapprobation written on every well-cut feature, she came to the coldly gleaming breakfast table.
That Mrs. Halsey was undoubtedly gone, she had to admit; yet so far failed to find the exact words of reproof for a woman of independent means discharging her own housekeeper when it pleased her.
Young Mathew unexpectedly appeared at breakfast, perhaps in antic.i.p.ation of a sort of Roman holiday in which his usually late and apologetic stepmother would furnish the amus.e.m.e.nt. They were both surprised to find her there before them, looking uncommonly fresh in crisp, sheer white, with deep-toned violets in her belt.
She ate with every appearance of enjoyment, chatting amiably about the lovely morning--the flowers, the garden and the gardeners; her efforts ill seconded, however.
”Shall I attend to the orders this morning?” asked Madam Weatherstone with an air of n.o.ble patience.
”O no, thank you!” replied Viva. ”I have engaged a new housekeeper.”
”A new housekeeper! When?” The old lady was shaken by this inconceivable promptness.
”Last night,” said her daughter-in-law, looking calmly across the table, her color rising a little.
”And when is she coming, if I may ask?”
”She has come. I have been with her an hour already this morning.”