“This is the ultimate end of rational being; the end of all ends. As worthy of happiness, this may now righteously be _given_, and righteously _taken_, but not righteously _paid_ as a price nor _claimed_ as wages. The _good_ is the _being worthy_, not that he is to get something for it. The highest good—the SUMMUM BONUM—is _worthiness of spiritual approbation_.”
The italics and capitals are Dr. Hickok’s. “As if another and a divine self scanned and judged every purpose and thought of the acting self,” could hardly be improved by any of our theosophical writers.
THE WESTON TEN. BY MARGARET S. LLOYD. I. STILL POOL.
Weston, Massachusetts, is a beautiful little New England town, with the cheerful, home-like air that is almost always found in the villages of that State. It is situated in a pleasant, green valley, surrounded by hills, and one can see the mountains of New Hampshire and Vermont from the main street of the village. The Connecticut River flows past the western part of the town and there are many pleasant walks in the neighborhood.
The children of Weston, and there are many children in this pretty village, love best to go down to the river, or else to take the long walk to Quan Glen.
After leaving the long main street of the village, with its rows of comfortable-looking big white houses, and double row of elm trees, a turn to the north brings one, after a half-hour’s walk, to Quan Glen. It is a lovely little place, always green even in the severe winter, for it is sheltered on either side by high banks of pine, birch, and other trees, that on the north side of the Glen lead away into deep woods. The bottom of the Glen is covered with a soft carpet of mosses and ferns, and through the middle runs a clear stream of water, which makes a pleasant murmur as it ripples and plashes over the white pebbles which compose its bed.
It was on a hot day in August when a party of children came through the woods and prepared to descend the high bank leading down to the Glen. Out of the hot sunshine and into the cool green of the shade trees made a delightful change after their long walk, and they pushed forward through the branches and tall grass and ferns. There were ten children, four boys and six girls. The eldest of the children was Phœbe Allen, a tall, slender girl of fourteen who seemed to be a sort of little queen among the others, as they were constantly appealing to her and running up to show some new flower or especially nice fern they had found. Tommy Jones was the youngest member of the party. He was seven years old and still wore the queer over-all blue checked apron which little boys and girls alike wore at this period, thirty years ago. The apron made a splendid play-dress and was really very comfortable, although our friend Tommy was a quaint-looking little figure as he trotted along, the ruffle of his apron forming a big collar around his neck, from which his head stood out like some new kind of a daisy—a daisy with bright yellow hair and dreamy grey eyes!