A word “fitly spoken or as in the margin on its wheels” —not flung in nor pushed in, but glided in at the fitting opportunity and suited to him to whom it is addressed—is both beautiful and precious like golden fruit seen through the pure frosted network of a silver basket.
Such a word was once spoken to the great Emperor Theodosius, who at one time was disposed to waver in his belief in the divinity of our Lord. One day he was seated on his imperial throne in the great hall of his palace at Constantinople, and by his side sharing his throne and splendor was his little son Arcadius, on whom he had just bestowed the title and honors of Augustine.
An aged bishop approached to salute his sovereign. He bowed with all reverence to Theodosius but turned away without seeming to notice Arcadius. The Emperor, thinking it an oversight, called him back, and in a friendly manner pointed to the prince, upon which the bishop coolly went up to the child, stroked him on the head, and said with the familiar air he might have used to a peasant, “God save thee, my son.”
The Emperor’s indignation rose in a moment. Raising his voice he angrily commanded his guards to drive the insolent old man from his presence. But as he was being led to the door the bishop found time to say:
“Thus, O Emperor, will the Lord of heaven do to those who fail to obey His commands, and to honor the Son even as they honor the Father.”
The lesson was rude and simple, but it was striking and well-fitted to impress the mind of him to whom it was addressed. Theodosius never forgot it.