Happiness is not a fixed quantity, like the world’s gold supply:  so that the more one man has the less his neighbor is likely to have.  Real happiness is an infection.  You can never force it upon any one.  Each individual must “take” it.  I have heard people say, as explaining the misery of many, that there is not enough happiness to go around.  But the comment misses the very nature of happiness.  The more there is in the world, the more there is likely to be.  The larger the number of happy people the faster the infection will spread.  But each must invite it.  One child is happy with the crudest sort of toy, whereas another child is unhappy with an armful of toys.  To the latter kind of soul, grown or ungrown, you can never give happiness, for there are not enough toys to supply everybody.  Happiness is of the heart not of circumstances.

After reading a poem about a little boy who was so happy because there were lovely flowers, beautiful birds, blue sky and running brooks, eight-year-old William remarked: 

“Those things would never make me happy, Miss Jones.”

“Why, William,” replied his teacher, “what would it take to make you happy?”

“Saturdays!” was the prompt reply.—­Harper’s.

The good fairy brought an ingot of lead and an ingot of gold and laid them before him.  “Choose!” she said, simply.

The child thought a moment, and chose the lead.

“It’s no heavier to carry, it’s just as good to eat, and it won’t make everybody hate me!” quoth he.

The good fairy laughed.

“You can be happy without any help from me,” she chirped, and flew away.

HASH

The literary boarder fastened his eyes upon the hash.

“Kindly pass the Review of Reviews,” he said.

They had hash on Monday for dinner, after a roast of beef on Sunday, as happens in all well-regulated families.  Father had said grace, when Bobbie said: 

“I don’t see why you asked another blessing this evening, father.  You did it yesterday over this.  It’s the same old stuff.”

SHE (thoughtfully)—­“Did you ever think much about reincarnation, dear?”

’18 (otherwise)—­“Think about it?  I eat it nearly every day—­only we call it hash.”

HASTE

Ten people hurry, to catch up where one hurries to get ahead.

The more haste, ever the worst speed.—­Churchill.

Whoever is in a hurry shows that the thing he is about is too big for him.  Haste and hurry are very different things.—­Chesterfield.

HEAVEN

A Sunday-school teacher was quizzing her class of boys on the strength of their desire for righteousness.

“All those who wish to go to heaven,” she said, “please stand.”

All got to their feet but one small boy.