“I met Mr. N. one wet morning,” says Dr. John Todd; “and, bound as I was to make the best of it, I ventured: 

“‘Good morning.  This rain will be fine for your grass crop.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ he replied, ’but it is very bad for corn; I don’t think we’ll have half a crop.’

“A few days later, I met him again.  ’This is a fine sun for corn, Mr. N.’

“‘Yes,’ said he, ‘but it’s awful for rye; rye wants cold weather.’

“One cool morning soon after, I said:  ‘This is a capital day for rye.’

“‘Yes,’ he said, ’but it is the worst kind of weather for corn and grass; they want heat to bring them forward.’”

There are a vast number of fidgety, nervous, and eccentric people who live only to expect new disappointments or to recount their old ones.

“Impatient people,” said Spurgeon, “water their miseries, and hoe up their comforts.”

“Let’s see,” said a neighbor to a farmer, whose wagon was loaded down with potatoes, “weren’t we talking together last August?” “I believe so.”  “At that time, you said corn was all burnt up.”  “Yes.”  “And potatoes were baking in the ground.”  “Yes.”  “And that your district could not possibly expect more than half a crop.”  “I remember.”  “Well, here you are with your wagon loaded down.  Things didn’t turn out so badly, after all,—­eh?” “Well, no-o,” said the farmer, as he raked his fingers through his hair, “but I tell you my geese suffered awfully for want of a mud-hole to paddle in.”

What is a pessimist but “a man who looks on the sun only as a thing that casts a shadow”?

In Pepys’s “Diary” we learn the difference between “eyes shut and ears open,” and “ears shut and eyes open.”  In going from John o’ Groat’s House to Land’s End, a blind man would hear that the country was going to destruction, but a deaf man with eyes open could see great prosperity.

“I dare no more fret than curse or swear,” said John Wesley.

“A discontented mortal is no more a man than discord is music.”

    “Why should a man whose blood is warm within
    Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? 
    Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice
    By being peevish?”

Who are the “lemon squeezers of society”?  They are people who predict evil, extinguish hope, and see only the worst side,—­“people whose very look curdles the milk and sets your teeth on edge.”  They are often worthy people who think that pleasure is wrong; people, said an old divine, who lead us heavenward and stick pins into us all the way.  They say depressing things and do disheartening things; they chill prayer-meetings, discourage charitable institutions, injure commerce, and kill churches; they are blowing out lights when they ought to be kindling them.

A man without mirth is like a wagon without springs, in which one jolts over every pebble; with mirth, he is like a chariot with springs, riding over the roughest roads and scarcely feeling anything but a pleasant rocking motion.