Litchfield Enquirer

The Tongue And The Eye.-Words and glances ! how sharp and swift they fly, and how tremendous in their power for good or evil, for joy or sorrow !
There are words that carry healing to the sad heart, and there are those which crush and uproot the young and joyful hopes of the bravest spirit. There are those which cheer and inspire, which renew the courage of those ready to perish, and which send the thrill of life and hope even through the cold bosom of despair.
There are words that make the soul of the weeper to sing for joy and thanksgiving : which can cause that poor, suffering thing. the sport of passion and the fount of tears- the human heart--to reel beneath the overpowering load of its rapture, or to shiver and shrink away into the chill darkness of hopeless night.
Oh, words are mighty things ! who can stand unmoved before them? They melt or burn. they warm or scorch, they bless or curse. Sharper than a two-edged sword do they fall from the lips of anger and scorn.
They can soothe and calm the troubled spirit. can comfort the afflicted and oppressed or they can lash the waves of passion, hate and strife, to fearful fury.
Words can sting like serpents, they can gnash and rend and tear, like ravenous wolves; they can cleave through the nerve and the marrow. and make wounds whose ragged scars will never pass away. These may indeed be held from sight, covered over by the withered leaves and flowers which choke and moulder in every human heart.
Words, gentle, sincere and kind. from a warm heart, can make friends whom death has no power to sever, and the harsh and angry words oft makes a life-long enemy.
Words ! words ! words ! how they rush and ring About the highway, the sheltered pathway, in the valley and the meadow, on the mountain, through the forest, in the valley by the river side, along the shore and on the sea.
The most remote and quiet hamlet has its countless words, and through the town and city they roll and sweep with continuous roar.
Who can tell the sum of them ? Yet for every single word that man shall speak "he shall give an account of in the day of judgment."
Oh, words are fearful things. And the silent glances of the eyes-w who has not felt their influence? Ab, who has followed all the depths of that orb of mystery, the human eye?
Whence, but from that strange living creature. the invisible spirit that dwells within the prison-house of clay ?O, undiscovered essence. it is through the wonderful eye thou lookest forth ; and in the eyes of each other mortals may catch glimpses of uncertain radiance, and the showy outlines of that subtle thing, the human soul. But let any try to behold less vaguely, let one seek to give those flitting, wavery gleams, that impalpable presence, a distinct form, and he is at once baffled and made aware, to his ever increasing perplexity. that man may not see himself, nor yet his brother whom he loves, but only the perishing and shattered tabernacle wherein he dwells. Strange, bewildered mystery. The eye, though a thing of dust, which must darken and close heavily. and molder back to whence it came, is yet a monarch. Who disputes its sway ? Who has not warmed and glowed beneath its glances : who has not trembled and turned pale, and cowered and shrunk away from its cold glance or its chilling scorn ? It can thrill with rapture unutterable every pulse and nerve, and it can freeze the springs of happiness, even in their wildest flow.
Since, then, the eye is so powerful for good or evil, let each one set a watch upon its glances, as well as upon the " words of the mouth and the thoughts of the heart."
N. Y. Evangelist.