He points at the man in front of him, but he is a good deal more of a
guy himself. He should not laugh at the crooked until he is straight
himself, and not then. I hate to hear a raven croak at a crow for being
black. A blind man should not blame his brother for squinting, and he
who has lost his legs should not sneer at the lame. Yet so it is, the
rottenest bough cracks first, and he who should be the last to speak is
the first to rail. Bespattered hogs bespatter others, and he who is full
of fault finds fault. They are most apt to speak ill of others who do
most ill themselves.

We may chide a friend, and so prove our friendship, but it must be done
very daintily, or we may lose our friend for our pains. Before we rebuke
another we must consider, and take heed that we are not guilty of the
same thing, for he who cleanses a blot with inky fingers makes it worse.
To despise others is a worse fault than any we are likely to see in
them, and to make merry over their weaknesses shows our own weakness and
our own malice too. Wit should be a shield for defense, and not a sword
for offense. A mocking word cuts worse than a scythe, and the wound is
harder to heal. A blow is much sooner forgotten than a jeer. Mocking is
shocking.

A LOOKING-GLASS IS OF NO USE TO A BLIND MAN.

Some men are blinded by their worldly business, and could not see heaven
itself if the windows were open over their heads. Look at farmer Grab,
he is like Nebuchadnezzar, for his conversation is all among beasts, and
if he does not eat grass it is because he never could stomach salads.
His dinner is his best devotion; he is a terrible fastener on a piece of
beef, and sweats at it more than at his labor. As old Master Earle says:
"His religion is a part of his copyhold, which he takes from his
landlord, and refers wholly to his lordship's discretion. If he gives
him leave, he goes to church in his best clothes, and sits there with
his neighbors, but never prays more than two prayers--for rain and for
fair weather, as the case may be. He is a niggard all the week, except
on market-days, where, if his corn sell well, he thinks he may be drunk
with a good conscience. He is sensible of no calamity but the burning of
a stack of corn, or the overflowing of a meadow, and he thinks Noah's
flood the greatest plague that ever was, not because it drowned the
world, but spoiled the grass. For death he is never troubled, and if he
gets in his harvest before it ha