disposition. Another said, "A
good companion is the best thing in the world;" a third chose a good
neighbor; and a fourth, a wise friend. But Eleazar said: "A good heart
is better than them all." "True," said the master; "thou hast
comprehended in two words all that the rest have said, for he that hath
a good heart will be contented, a good companion, a good neighbor, and
will easily see what is fit to be done by him."

"My kingdom for a horse," said Richard III. of England amid the press of
Bosworth Field. "My kingdom for a moment," said Queen Elizabeth on her
death-bed. And millions of others, when they have felt earth, its riches
and power slipping from their grasp, have shown plainly that deep down
in their hearts they value such things at naught when really compared
with the blessed light of life, the stars and flowers, the companionship
of friends, and far above all else, the opportunity of growth and
development here and of preparation for future life.

Queen Caroline Matilda of Denmark wrote on the window of her prison,
with her diamond ring: "Oh, keep me innocent; make others great."

"These are my jewels," said Cornelia to the Campanian lady who asked to
see her gems; and she pointed with pride to her boys returning from
school. The reply was worthy the daughter of Scipio Africanus and wife
of Tiberius Gracchus. The most valuable production of any country is its
crop of men.

"I will take away thy treasures," said a tyrant to a philosopher. "Nay,
that thou canst not," was the retort; "for, in the first place, I have
none that thou knowest of. My treasure is in heaven, and my heart is
there."

Some people are born happy. No matter what their circumstances are they
are joyous, content and satisfied with everything. They carry a
perpetual holiday in their eye and see joy and beauty everywhere. When
we meet them they impress us as just having met with some good luck, or
that they have some good news to tell you. Like the bees that extract
honey from every flower, they have a happy alchemy which transmutes even
gloom into sunshine. In the sick room they are better than the physician
and more potent than drugs. All doors open to these people. They are
welcome everywhere.

We make our own worlds and people them, while memory, the scribe,
faithfully registers the account of each as we pass the milestones
dotting the way. Are we not, then, responsible for the inhabitants of
our little worlds? We should fill them