It is obvious enough that the masses of moral statements or standing exhortations composing the aphorisms of a language cannot mix in the daily minds of men without deep cause and effect.  It will be worth our while to inquire into the bearings of this matter; for, though many a gatherer has carried his basket through these diamond districts of the mind, we do not remember that any one has sharply examined the value of the treasures so often displayed, set forth the methods of their influence and its qualifications, and determined the respective limits of their use and their worthlessness.  Undertaking this task, we must, in the outset, divide aphorisms into the two classes of proverbs and maxims, plebeian perceptions and aristocratic conclusions, moral axioms and philosophic rules.  This distinction may easily be made clear, and will prove useful.

Popular proverbs are national, or cosmopolitan, and they are anonymous,—­rising from among the multitude, and floating on their breath.  They are generalizations of the average observation of a people.  Undoubtedly, as a general thing, each one was first struck out by some superior mind.  But usually this happened so early that the name of the author is lost.  Proverbs—­as the etymology hints—­are words held before the common mind, words in front of the public.  Wise maxims, on the contrary, are individual, may more commonly be traced to their origin in the writings of some renowned author, and are more limited in their audience.  They are the results of comprehensive insight, the ripened products of searching meditation, the weighty utterances of weighty minds.  The proverb, “A burnt child dreads the fire,” flies over all climes and alights on every tongue.  The maxim, “All true life begins with renunciation,” appeals to comparatively few, and tarries only in prepared and thoughtful minds.  Proverbs are often mere statements of facts, barren truisms, too obvious to instruct our thought, affect our feeling, or in any way change our conduct, though the accuracy with which the arrow is shot fixes our attention.  Notice a few examples of this sort:—­“A friend in need is a friend indeed”; “Many a little makes a mickle”; “Anger is a brief madness”; “It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good.”  Such affirmations are too general and obvious to be provocative awakeners of original reflection, sentiment, or will.  Maxims, on the other hand, instead of being general descriptions or condensed common-places, are usually definite directions, discriminative exhortations.  Notice such specimens as these:—­“Take care of the pence, and the pounds will take care of themselves”; “When angry, count ten before you speak”; “Do the duty nearest your hand, and the next will already have grown clearer”; “Remember that a thing begun is half done.”  Proverbs, then, are results of observation, often affirmations of quite evident facts, as, “Necessity is the mother of invention,” or, “Who follows the river will arrive at the sea.”  Maxims,