reflected into our souls from the printed thoughts which meet our
eyes. To think that we should walk with empty, listless minds while
all this splendid material is running to waste. I do not mean mere
Scriptural texts, for they do not bear the same meaning to all,
though what human creature can fail to be spurred onwards by "Work
while it is day, for the night cometh when no man can work." But I
mean those beautiful thoughts--who can say that they are uninspired
thoughts?--which may be gathered from a hundred authors to match a
hundred uses. A fine thought in fine language is a most precious
jewel, and should not be hid away, but be exposed for use and
ornament. To take the nearest example, there is a horse-trough across
the road from my house, a plain stone trough, and no man could pass
it with any feelings save vague discontent at its ugliness. But
suppose that on its front slab you print the verse of Coleridge--

"He prayeth best who loveth best
All things, both great and small
For the dear Lord who fashioned him
He knows and loveth all."

I fear I may misquote, for I have not "The Ancient Mariner" at my
elbow, but even as it stands does it not elevate the horse-trough?
We all do this, I suppose, in a small way for ourselves. There
are few men who have not some chosen quotations printed on their
study mantelpieces, or, better still, in their hearts. Carlyle's
transcription of "Rest! Rest! Shall I not have all Eternity to rest
in!" is a pretty good spur to a weary man. But what we need is a
more general application of the same thing for public and not for
private use, until people understand that a graven thought is as
beautiful an ornament as any graven image, striking through the eye