necessity a lie, nor does a remark gain in truth in direct ratio as it
loses its politeness. Often the blunt criticism is the outcome of a
savage instinct on the part of the perpetrator. In America, men and
women (always excepting Italians) do not carry poniards concealed in
their breasts, or swords at their sides. In lieu of these the tongue
is used to revenge an evil.

The Psalmist exclaims: "Let the righteous smite me; it shall be a
kindness; and let him reprove me; it shall be an excellent oil," but
the average representative of the nineteenth century will not echo his
sentiment. It may be that the "righteous" of that day had a more
agreeable way of offering reproof than have the modern saints. However
that may be, the "excellent oil" seems to have given place to
corrosive sublimate and carbolic acid--neither of which, applied in an
undiluted form, may be even remotely suspected of soothing an open
wound. True, they are fatal to bacteria, but at the same time they
madden the sufferer as would coals of living fire.

Even supposing one lays herself open to the charge of flattery, is it
not less of a fault than to merit the reputation for brutal
fault-finding? Who would not rather be a healer than a scarifier?

"Faithful may be the wounds of a friend" (and on this word "friend" I
lay special stress), but the converse is also true. Faithful are his
healings. Have you never had a whole day brightened by some seemingly
chance remark which warmed the cockles of your heart with a delicious
glow? It may have been that you were disappointed in some cherished
scheme--how much disappointed no one guessed and you were ashamed to
confess. It may have been that you were struggling to be brave and
cheerful under some trial, the weight of which you thought others