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 William George Jordan 
 
THE 
 POWEROFTRUTH 
 
 INDIVIDUAL-PROBLEMS 
 AND'POSSmiLITIES 
 
 WILLIAM-GEORGE-JORDAN 
 
 NEW YORK 
 BRENTANO'S 
 
Copyright, 1902, by Brentano's 
 
 Published August, 1902 
 
 THE LIBRAITY OP 
 CONGRESS, 
 
 Two Goptee Reosived 
 
 OCT. If 1902 
 
 CoiMJtQHT fSH'fWf 
 
 CLASS Ou XXo No, 
 
 %0 ! S 
 COPY B. 
 
 .J 67 
 
 Printed by Carl H. Heintzemann Boston 
 
•& 
 
 Contents 
 
 The Power of Truth i 
 
 The Courage to Face Ingratitude 23 
 
 People who Live in Air Castles 41 
 
 Swords and Scabbards 59 
 
 The Conquest of the Preventable 75 
 
 Tbe Companionship of Toleranee 95 
 
 The Things that Come too Late 115 
 
 The Way of the Reformer 133 
 
C^e ^otoer of Croty 
 
CJje ^otoer of Crutf) 
 
 "TRUTH is the rock foundation 
 j of every great character. It is 
 { loyalty to the right as we see 
 L.-..-..-^ it; it is courageous living of our 
 lives in harmony with our ideals; it is al- 
 ways — power. 
 
 C Truth ever defies full definition. Like 
 electricity it can only be explained by 
 noting its manifestation. It is the com- 
 pass of the soul, the guardian of con- 
 science, the final touchstone of right. 
 Truth is the revelation of the ideal; but 
 it is also an inspiration to realize that ideal, 
 a constant impulse to live it. 
 CL Lying is one of the oldest vices in the 
 world — it made its debut in the first re- 
 corded conversation in history, in a fa- 
 mous interview in the garden of Eden. 
 Lying is the sacrifice of honor to create 
 a wrong impression. It is masquerading 
 
 [ 3 ] 
 
€^e pxrtoer of %t\xfy 
 
 in misfit virtues. Truth can stand alone, 
 for it needs no chaperone or escort. Lies 
 are cowardly, fearsome things that must 
 travel in battalions. They are like a lot of 
 drunken men, one vainly seeking to sup- 
 port another. Lying is the partner and 
 accomplice of all the other vices. It is the 
 cancer of moral degeneracy in an indi- 
 vidual life. 
 
 C Truth is the oldest of all the virtues; it 
 antedated man, it lived before there was 
 man to perceive it or to accept it. It is 
 the unchangeable, the constant. Law is 
 the eternal truth of Nature — the unity 
 that always produces identical results un- 
 der identical conditions. When a man dis- 
 covers a great truth in Nature he has the 
 key to the understanding of a million phe- 
 nomena ; when he grasps a great truth in 
 morals he has in it the key to his spirit- 
 ual re-creation. For the individual, there 
 is no such thing as theoretic truth ; a great 
 truth that is not absorbed by our whole 
 
 [4] 
 
C^e $otoer of Croty 
 
 mind and life, and has not become an in- 
 separable part of our living, is not a real 
 truth to us. If we know the truth and do 
 not live it, our life is — a lie. 
 C[ In speech, the man who makes Truth 
 his watchword is careful in his words, he 
 seeks to be accurate, neither understating 
 nor over-coloring. He never states as a 
 fact that of which he is not sure. What he 
 says has the ring of sincerity, the hall- 
 mark of pure gold. If he praises you, you 
 accept his statement as "net," you do not 
 have to work out a problem in mental 
 arithmetic on the side to see what dis- 
 count you ought to make before you ac- 
 cept his judgment. His promise counts for 
 something, you accept it as being as good 
 as his bond,you know that no matter how 
 much it may cost him to verify and fulfil 
 his word by his deed, he will do it. His 
 honesty is not policy. The man who is 
 honest merely because it is "the best 
 policy/' is not really honest, he is only 
 
 [ 5] 
 
€^e $ot»er of Cwty 
 
 politic. Usually such a man would for- 
 sake his seeming loyalty to truth and 
 would work overtime for the devil — if 
 he could get better terms. 
 C, Truth means "that which one troweth 
 or believes/ ' It is living simply and square- 
 ly by our belief; it is the externalizing of 
 a faith in a series of actions. Truth is ever 
 strong, courageous, virile, though kindly, 
 gentle, calm, and restful. There is a vital 
 difference between error and untruthful- 
 ness. A man may be in error and yet live 
 bravely by it; he who is untruthful in his 
 life knows the truth but denies it. The one 
 is loyal to what he believes, the other is 
 traitor to what he knows. 
 CL" What is Truth?" Pilate's great ques- 
 tion, asked of Christ over three thousand 
 years ago, hasechoed unanswered through 
 the ages. We get constant revelations of 
 parts of it, glimpses of constantly new 
 phases, but never complete, final defini- 
 tion. If we but live up to the truth that 
 
 [ H 
 
C^e ptfmt of Cnity 
 
 we know, and seek ever to know more, we 
 have put ourselves into the spiritual atti- 
 tude of receptiveness to know Truth in 
 the fullness of its power. Truth is the sun 
 of morality, and like that lesser sun in the 
 heavens, we can walk by its light, live in 
 its warmth and life, even if we see but a 
 small part of it and receive but a micro- 
 scopic fraction of its rays. 
 Q Which of the great religions of the 
 world is the real, the final, the absolute 
 truth ? We must make our individual 
 choice and live by it as best we can. Every 
 new sect, every new cult, has in it a grain 
 of truth, at least; it is this that attracts at- 
 tention and wins adherents. This mustard 
 seed of truth is often overestimated, dark- 
 ening the eyes of man to the untrue parts 
 or phases of the varying religious faiths. 
 But, in exact proportion to the basic truth 
 they contain do religions last, become per- 
 manent and growing, and satisfy and in- 
 spire the hearts of men. Mushrooms of 
 
 [7] 
 
€^e $otoer of Cwty 
 
 error have a quick growth, but they ex- 
 haust their vitality and die, but Truth still 
 lives. 
 
 C The man who makes the acquisition of 
 wealth the goal and ultimatum of his life, 
 seeing it as an end rather than a means to 
 an end, is not true. Why does the world 
 usually make wealth the criterion of suc- 
 cess, and riches the synonym of attain- 
 ment? Real success in life means the in- 
 dividual's conquest of himself; it means 
 "how he has bettered himself " not " how 
 has he bettered his fortune?" The great 
 question of life is not " Whathavel ?" but 
 "What am I?" 
 
 C Man is usually loyal to what he most 
 desires. The man who lies to save a 
 nickel, merely proclaims that he esteems 
 a nickel more than he does his honor. 
 He who sacrifices his ideals, truth and 
 character, for mere money or position, 
 is weighing his conscience in one pan of a 
 scale against a bag of gold in the other. He 
 
 [8 ] 
 
€^e $Dtt>er of Ctuty 
 
 is loyal to what he finds the heavier, that 
 which he desires the more — the money. 
 But this is not truth. Truth is the heart's 
 loyalty to abstract right, made manifest in 
 concrete instances. 
 
 ^The tradesman who lies, cheats, mis- 
 leads and overcharges and then seeks to 
 square himself with his anaemic con- 
 science by saying, "lying is absolutely 
 necessary to business/' is as untrue in his 
 statement as he is in his acts. He justifies 
 himself with the petty defence as the 
 thief who says it is necessary to steal in 
 order to live. The permanent business 
 prosperity of an individual, a city or a na- 
 tion rests finally on commercial integrity 
 alone, despite all that the cynics may say, 
 or all the exceptions whose temporary 
 success may mislead them. It is truth 
 alone that lasts. 
 
 ^The politician who is vacillating, tem- 
 porizing, shifting, constantly trimming 
 his sails to catch every puff of wind of 
 
 [9] 
 
€^e ptfwtt of Cruty 
 
 popularity, is a trickster who succeeds 
 only until he is found out. A lie may live 
 for a time, truth for all time. A lie never 
 lives by its own vitality, it merely con- 
 tinues to exist because it simulates truth. 
 When it is unmasked, it dies, 
 d. When each of four newspapers in one 
 city puts forth the claim that its circula- 
 tion is larger than all the others combined, 
 there must be an error somewhere. Where 
 there is untruth there is always conflict, 
 discrepancy, impossibility. If all the truths 
 of life and experience from the first second 
 of time, or for any section of eternity, 
 were brought together, there would be 
 perfect harmony, perfect accord, union 
 and unity, but if two lies come together, 
 they quarrel and seek to destroy each 
 other. 
 
 C, It is in the trifles of daily life that 
 truth should be our constant guide and 
 inspiration. Truth is not a dress-suit, 
 consecrated to special occasions, it is the 
 
 [10] 
 
€^e $ot»er of €wt^ 
 
 strong, well-woven, durable homespun 
 for daily living. 
 
 CL The man who forgets his promises is 
 untrue. We rarely lose sight of those 
 promises made to us for our individual 
 benefit ; these we regard as checks we al- 
 ways seek to cash at the earliest moment. 
 " The miser never forgets where he hides 
 his treasure/' says one of the old philoso- 
 phers. Let us cultivate that sterling honor 
 that holds our word so supreme, so sacred, 
 that to forget it would seem a crime, to 
 deny it would be impossible. 
 C,The man who says pleasant things and 
 makes promises which to him are light as 
 air, but to someone else seem the rock 
 upon which a life's hope is built is cruelly 
 untrue. He who does not regard his ap- 
 pointments, carelessly breaking them or 
 ignoring them, is the thoughtless thief 
 of another's time. It reveals selfishness, 
 carelessness, and lax business morals. It is 
 untrue to the simplest justice of life. 
 
%\>z pttixxt of Cwty 
 
 C Men who split hairs with their con- 
 science, who mislead others by deft, 
 shrewd phrasing which may be true in 
 letter yet lying in spirit and designedly 
 uttered to produce a false impression, are 
 untruthful in the most cowardly way. 
 Such men would cheat even in solitaire. 
 Like murderers they forgive themselves 
 their crime in congratulating themselves 
 on the cleverness of their alibi. 
 CL The parent who preaches honor to his 
 child and gives false statistics about the 
 child's age to the conductor, to save a 
 nickel, is not true. 
 
 C,The man who keeps his religion in 
 camphor all week and who takes it out 
 only on Sunday, is not true. He who seeks 
 to get the highest wages for the least pos- 
 sible amount of service, is not true. The 
 man who has to sing lullabies to his con- 
 science before he himself can sleep, is not 
 true. 
 €L Truth is the straight line in morals. It 
 
 [12] 
 
C^e potter of Cruty 
 
 is the shortest distance between a fact and 
 the expression of it. The foundations of 
 truth should ever be laid in childhood. It 
 is then that parents should instil into the 
 young mind the instant, automatic turn- 
 ing to truth, making it the constant at- 
 mosphere of the mind and life. Let the 
 child know that "Truth above all things" 
 should be the motto of its life. Parents 
 make a great mistake when they lookupon 
 a lie as a disease in morals ; it is not always 
 a disease in itself, it is but a symptom. Be- 
 hind every untruth is some reason, some 
 cause, and it is this cause that should be 
 removed. The lie may be the result of 
 fear, the attempt to cover a fault and to 
 escape punishment; it may be merely the 
 evidence of an over-active imagination ; 
 it may reveal maliciousness or obstinacy; 
 it may be the hunger for praise that leads 
 the child to win attention and to startle 
 others by wonderful stories; it may be 
 merely carelessness in speech, the reckless 
 
 [•3] 
 
C^e $ot»er of Crwt^ 
 
 use of words; it may be acquisitiveness 
 that makes lying the handmaid of theft. 
 But if, in the life of the child or the adult, 
 the symptom be made to reveal the dis- 
 ease, and that be then treated, truth reas- 
 serts itself and the moral health is restored. 
 C. Constantly telling a child not to lie is 
 giving life and intensity to "the lie." The 
 true method is to quicken the moral 
 muscles from the positive side, urge the 
 child to be honest, to be faithful, to be 
 loyal, to be fearless to the truth. Tell him 
 ever of the nobility of courage to speak the 
 true, to live the right, to hold fast to prin- 
 ciples of honor in every trifle — -then he 
 need never fear to face any of life's crises. 
 CThe parent must live truth or the child 
 will not live it. The child will startle you 
 with its quickness in puncturing the 
 bubble of your pretended knowledge; in 
 instinctively piercing the heart of a soph- 
 istry without being conscious of process ; 
 in relentlessly enumerating your unful- 
 
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€;^e p>ot»er of Cmt^ 
 
 filled promises; in detecting with the jus- 
 tice of a court of equity a technicality of 
 speech that is virtually a lie. He will jus- 
 tify his own lapses from truth by appeal 
 to some white lie told to a visitor, and 
 unknown to be overheard by the little 
 one, whose mental powers we ever under- 
 estimate in theory though we may over- 
 praise in words. 
 
 4^ Teach the child in a thousand ways, 
 directly and indirectly, the power of truth, 
 the beauty of truth, and the sweetness and 
 rest of companionship with truth. 
 ^ And if it be the rock-foundation of the 
 child character, as a fact, not as a theory, 
 the future of that child is as fully assured 
 as it is possible for human prevision to 
 guarantee. 
 
 Q The power of Truth, in its highest, 
 purest, and most exalted phases, stands 
 squarely on four basic lines of relation, — 
 the love of truth, the search for truth, faith 
 in truth, and work for truth. 
 
 E'«s] 
 
C^e ptfwzt of Ctutl) 
 
 C[ The love of Truth is the cultivated hun- 
 ger for it in itself and for itself, without 
 any thought of what it may cost, what 
 sacrifices it may entail, what theories or 
 beliefs of a life-time may be laid desolate. 
 In its supreme phase, this attitude of life 
 is rare, but unless one can begin to put 
 himself into harmony with this view, the 
 individual will only creep in truth, when 
 he might walk bravely. With the love of 
 truth, the individual scorns to do a mean 
 thing, no matter what be the gain, even 
 if the whole world would approve. He 
 would not sacrifice the sanction of his own 
 high standard for any gain, he would not 
 willingly deflect the needle of his thought 
 and act from the true North, as he knows 
 it, by the slightest possible variation. He 
 himself would know of the deflection — 
 that would be enough. What matters it 
 what the world thinks if he have his own 
 disapproval ? 
 
 C, The man who has a certain religious 
 [16] 
 
C^e $ot»er of Cwty 
 
 belief and fears to discuss it, lest it may be 
 proved wrong, is not loyal to his belief, he 
 has but a coward' s faithfulness to his pr ej u- 
 dices. If he were a lover of truth, he would 
 be willing at any moment to surrender his 
 belief for a higher, better, and truer faith. 
 <^ The man who votes the same ticket in 
 politics, year after year, without caring for 
 issues, men, or problems, merely voting in 
 a certain way because he always has voted 
 so, is sacrificing loyalty to truth, to a weak, 
 mistaken, stubborn attachment to a worn- 
 out precedent. Such a man should stay in 
 his cradle all his life — because he spent 
 his early years there. 
 ^ The search for Truth means that the 
 individual must not merely follow truth 
 as he sees it, but he must, so far as he can, 
 search to see that he is right. When the 
 Kearsarge was wrecked on the Roncador 
 Reef, the captain was sailing correctly by 
 his chart. But his map was an old one; the 
 sunken reef was not marked down. Loy- 
 
C^e po<mt of Cruty 
 
 alty to back-number standards means stag- 
 nation. In China they plow to-day, but 
 they plow with the instrument of four 
 thousand years ago. The search for truth 
 is the angel of progress — in civilization 
 and in morals. While it makes us bold and 
 aggressive in our own life, it teaches us to 
 be tender and sympathetic with others. 
 Their life may represent a station we have 
 passed in our progress, or one we must seek 
 to reach. We can then congratulate our- 
 selves without condemning them. All the 
 truths of the world are not concentrated 
 in our creed. All the sunshine of the world 
 is not focused on our doorstep. We should 
 ever speak the truth, — but only in love 
 and kindness. Truth should ever extend 
 the hand of love; never the hand clench- 
 ing bludgeon. 
 
 ^ Faith in Truth is an essential to perfect 
 companionship with truth. The individ- 
 ual must have perfect confidence and as- 
 surance of the final triumph of right, and 
 
 [18] 
 
%ty ^otoer of Crut^ 
 
 order, and justice, and believe that all 
 things are evolving toward that divine 
 consummation, no matter how dark and 
 dreary life may seem from day to day. No 
 real success, no lasting happiness can exist 
 except it be founded on the rock of truth. 
 The prosperity that is based on lying, de- 
 ception, and intrigue, is only temporary 
 — it cannot last any more than a mush- 
 room can outlive an oak. Like the blind 
 Samson, struggling in the temple, the in- 
 dividual whose life is based on trickery 
 always pulls down the supporting columns 
 of his own edifice, and perishes in the 
 ruins. No matter what price a man may 
 pay for truth, he is getting it at a bargain. 
 The lying of others can never hurt us long, 
 it always carries with it our exoneration 
 in the end. During the siege of Sebasto- 
 pol, the Russian shells that threatened to 
 destroy a fort opened a hidden spring of 
 water in the hillside, and saved the thirst- 
 ing people they sought to kill. 
 
 [»9] 
 
C^e ptitotK of Cwty 
 
 C Work for the interests and advance- 
 ment of Truth is a necessary part of real 
 companionship. If a man has a love of 
 truth, if he searches to find it, and has faith 
 in it, even when he cannot find it, will he 
 not work to spread it ? The strongest way 
 for man to strengthen the power of truth 
 in the world is to live it himself in every 
 detail of thought, word, and deed — to 
 make himself a sun of personal radiation 
 of truth, and to let his silent influence 
 speak for it and his direct acts glorify it so 
 far as he can in his sphere of life and action. 
 Let him first seek to be, before he seeks to 
 teach or to do, in any line of moral growth. 
 C. Let man realize that Truth is essentially 
 an intrinsic virtue, in his relation to him- 
 self even if there were no other human 
 being living; it becomes extrinsic as he 
 radiates it in his daily life. Truth is first, in- 
 tellectual honesty — the craving to know 
 the right ; second, it is moral honesty, the 
 hunger to live the right. 
 
Wtyt prtoer of Cmt^ 
 
 C, Truth is not a mere absence of the vices. 
 This is only a moral vacuum. Truth is the 
 living, pulsing breathing of the virtues of 
 life. Mere refraining from wrong-doing 
 is but keeping the weeds out of the gar- 
 den of one's life. But this must be fol- 
 lowed by positive planting of the seeds of 
 right to secure the flowers of true living. 
 To the negatives of the Ten Command- 
 ments must be added the positives of the 
 Beatitudes. The one condemns, the other 
 commends; the one forbids, the other in- 
 spires; the one emphasizes the act, the 
 other the spirit behind the act. The whole 
 truth rests not in either, but in both. 
 C[ A man cannot truly believe in God 
 without believing in the final inevitable 
 triumph of Truth. If you have Truth on 
 your side you can pass through the dark 
 valley of slander, misrepresentation and 
 abuse, undaunted, as though you wore a 
 magic suit of mail that no bullet could 
 enter, no arrow could pierce. You can hold 
 
 [21] 
 
C^e $otoer of Cntty 
 
 your head high, toss it fearlessly and de- 
 fiantly, look every man calmly and un- 
 flinchingly in the eye, as though you rode, 
 a victorious king, returning at the head 
 of your legions with banners waving and 
 lances glistening, and bugles filling the 
 air with music. You can feel the great 
 expansive wave of moral health singing 
 through you as the quickened blood 
 courses through the body of him who 
 is gladly, gloriously proud of physical 
 health. You will know that all will come 
 right in the end, that it must come, that 
 error must flee before the great white light 
 of truth, as darkness slinks away into 
 nothingness in the presence of the sun- 
 burst. Then, with Truth as your guide, 
 your companion, your ally, and inspira- 
 tion, you tingle with the consciousness of 
 your kinship with the Infinite and all 
 the petty trials, sorrows and sufferings of 
 life fade away like temporary, harmless 
 visions seen in a dream. 
 
 [»aj 
 
Clje Courage to efface SJngratituDe 
 
CJ)e Courage to jface 
 ^ngratttutie 
 
 r~^lNGRATITUDE, the most 
 j popular sin of humanity, is for- 
 ! getfulness of the heart. It is the 
 
 L~~~~ h,4 revelation of the emptiness of 
 
 pretended loyalty. The individual who 
 possesses it finds it the shortest cut to all 
 the other vices. 
 
 C, Ingratitude is a crime more despicable 
 than revenge, which is only returning evil 
 for evil, while ingratitude returns evil for 
 good. People who are ungrateful rarely 
 forgive you if you do them a good turn. 
 Their microscopic hearts resent the hu- 
 miliation of having been helped by a su- 
 perior, and this rankling feeling filtering 
 through their petty natures often ends in 
 hate and treachery. 
 
 C Gratitude is thankfulness expressed in 
 action. It is the instinctive radiation of 
 justice, giving new life and energy to the 
 
C^e Courage to fact gjngratttutie 
 
 individual from whom it emanates. It is 
 the heart's recognition of kindness that 
 the lips cannot repay. Gratitude never 
 counts its payments. It realizes that no 
 debt of kindness can ever be outlawed, 
 ever be cancelled, ever paid in full. Grat- 
 itude ever feels the insignificance of its 
 instalments ; ingratitude the nothingness 
 of the debt. Gratitude is the flowering 
 of a seed of kindness ; ingratitude is the 
 dead inactivity of a seed dropped on a 
 stone. 
 
 CLThe expectation of gratitude is hu- 
 man ; the rising superior to ingratitude is 
 almost divine. To desire recognition of 
 our acts of kindness and to hunger for 
 appreciation and the simple justice of a 
 return of good for good, is natural. But 
 man never rises to the dignity of true 
 living until he has the courage that dares 
 to face ingratitude calmly, and to pursue 
 his course unchanged when his good 
 works meet with thanklessness or disdain. 
 [26] 
 
C^e Courage to face %n^vatitnHt 
 
 Q Man should have only one court of ap- 
 peals as to his actions, not "what will be 
 the result?" "how will it be received?" 
 but "is it right ?" Then he should live his 
 life in harmony with this standard alone, 
 serenely, bravely, loyally and unfalter- 
 ingly, making "right for right's sake" 
 both his ideal and his inspiration. 
 4L Man should not be an automatic gas 
 machine, cleverly contrived to release a 
 given quantity of illumination under the 
 stimulus of a nickel. He should be like 
 the great sun itself which ever radiates 
 light, warmth, life and power, because it 
 cannot help doing so, because these quali- 
 ties fill the heart of the sun, and for it to 
 have them means that it must give them 
 constantly. Let the sunlight of our sym- 
 pathy, tenderness, love, appreciation, in- 
 fluence and kindness ever go out from us 
 as a glow to brighten and hearten others. 
 But do not let us ever spoil it all by go- 
 ing through life constantly collecting re- 
 
W$z Courage to face gjugtatitu&e 
 
 ceipts, as vouchers, to stick on the file of 
 our self-approval. 
 
 C It is hard to see those who have sat at 
 our board in the days of our prosperity, 
 flee as from a pestilence when misfortune 
 darkens our doorway; to see the loyalty 
 upon which we would have staked our 
 life, that seemed firm as a rock, crack and 
 splinter like thin glass at the first real test ; 
 to know that the fire of friendship at 
 which we could ever warm our hands in 
 our hour of need, has turned to cold, dead, 
 gray ashes, where warmth is but a haunt- 
 ing memory. 
 
 C To realize that he who once lived in 
 the sanctuary of our affection, in the frank 
 confidence where conversation seemed 
 but our soliloquy, and to whom our aims 
 and aspirations have been thrown open 
 with no Bluebeard chamber of reserve, 
 has been secretly poisoning the waters of 
 our reputation and undermining us by his 
 lies and treachery, is hard indeed. But no 
 
 [>8] 
 
C^e Courage to tface gjngratttuDe 
 
 matter how the ingratitude stings us, we 
 should just swallow the sob, stifle the 
 tear, smile serenely and bravely — seek 
 to forget. 
 
 C In justice to ourselves we should not 
 permit the ingratitude of a few to make 
 us condemn the whole world. We pay 
 too much tribute to a few human insects 
 when we let their wrong-doing paralyze 
 our faith in humanity. It is a lie of the 
 cynics that says " all men are ungrateful," 
 a companion lie to "all men have their 
 price." We must trust humanity if we 
 would get good from humanity. He who 
 thinks all mankind is vile is a pessimist 
 who mistakes his introspection for obser- 
 vation ; he looks into his own heart and 
 thinks he sees the world. He is like a 
 cross-eyed man, who never sees what he 
 seems to be looking at. 
 C Confidence and credit are the corner- 
 stones of business, as they are of society. 
 Withdraw them from business and the 
 
 [«9] 
 
C&e Courage to face gjngtatittttie 
 
 activities and enterprises of the world 
 would stop in an instant, topple and fall 
 into chaos. Withdraw confidence in hu- 
 manity from the individual, and he be- 
 comes but a breathing, selfish egotist, the 
 one good man left, working overtime in 
 nursing his petty grudge against the world 
 because a few whom he has favored have 
 been ungrateful. 
 
 4£ If a man receives a counterfeit dollar 
 he does not straightway lose his faith in 
 all money, — at least there are no such 
 instances on record in this country. If he 
 has a run of three or four days of dull 
 weather he does not say "the sun ceases 
 to exist, there are surely no bright days to 
 come in the whole calendar of time/' 
 Q If a man's breakfast is rendered an un- 
 pleasant memory by some item of food 
 that has outlived its usefulness, he does not 
 forswear eating. If a man finds under a 
 tree an apple with a suspicious looking 
 hole on one side, he does not condemn 
 
 [30] 
 
€^e Courage to face %nqxatitutiz 
 
 the whole orchard; he simply confines his 
 criticism to that apple. But he who has 
 helped some one who, later, did not pass a 
 good examination on gratitude, says in a 
 voice plaintive with the consciousness of 
 injury, andwith a nod of his head that im- 
 plies the wisdom of Solomon: "I have 
 had my experience, I have learned my 
 lesson. This is the last time I will have 
 faith in any man. I did this for him, and 
 that for him, and now, look at the re- 
 sult!" 
 
 C Then he unrolls a long schedule of fa- 
 vors, carefully itemized and added up, till 
 it seems the pay-roll of a great city. He 
 complains of the injustice of one man, yet 
 he is willing to be unjust to the whole 
 world, making it bear the punishment of 
 the wrong of an individual. There is too 
 much vicarious suffering already in this 
 earth of ours without this lilliputian at- 
 tempt to extend it by syndicating one 
 man's ingratitude. If one man drinks to 
 
 [3'] 
 
C^e Courage to tface 9Jngratitwtie 
 
 excess, it is not absolute justice to send 
 the whole world to jail. 
 ^ The farmer does not expect every seed 
 that he sows in hope and faith to fall on 
 good ground and bring forth its harvest ; 
 he is perfectly certain that this will not 
 be so, cannot be. He is counting on the 
 final outcome of many seeds, on the har- 
 vest of all, rather than on the harvest of 
 one. If you really want gratitude, and 
 must have it, be willing to make many 
 men your debtors. 
 
 C, The more unselfish, charitable and 
 exalted the life and mission of the indi- 
 vidual, the larger will be the number of 
 instances of ingratitude that must be met 
 and vanquished. The thirty years of 
 Christ's life was a tragedy of ingratitudes. 
 Ingratitude is manifest in three degrees of 
 intensity in the world — He knew them 
 all in numberless bitter instances. 
 <L The first phase, the simplest and most 
 common, is that of thoughtless thankless- 
 
 [32] 
 
€^e Courage to efface gjngratfta&e 
 
 ness, as was shown in the case of the ten 
 lepers healed in one day — nine departed 
 without a word, only one gave thanks. 
 C The second phase of ingratitude is de- 
 nial, a positive sin, not the mere negation 
 of thanklessness. This was exemplified in 
 Peter, whose selfish desire to stand well 
 with two maids and some bystanders, in 
 the hour when he had the opportunity to 
 be loyal to Christ, forgot his friendship, 
 lost all thought of his indebtedness to his 
 Master, and denied Him, not once or 
 twice, but three times. 
 C The third phaseof ingratitudeis treach- 
 ery, where selfishness grows vindictive, as 
 shown by Judas, the honored treasurer of 
 the little band of thirteen, whose j ealousy, 
 ingratitude, and thirty pieces of silver, 
 made possible the tragedy of Calvary. 
 C These three — thanklessness, denial 
 and treachery — run the gamut of ingrati- 
 tude, and the first leads to the second, and 
 the second prepares the way for the third. 
 
 [33] 
 
C^e Courage to tface 3Ittgratitwlie 
 
 C[We must ever tower high above de- 
 pendence on human gratitude or we can 
 do nothing really great, nothing truly- 
 noble. The expectation of gratitude is the 
 alloy of an otherwise virtuous act. It ever 
 dulls the edge of even our best actions. 
 Most persons look at gratitude as a pro- 
 tective tariff on virtues. The man who is 
 weakened in well-doing by the ingrati- 
 tude of others, is serving God on a salary 
 basis. He is a hired soldier, not a volun- 
 teer. He should be honest enough to see 
 that he is working for a reward ; like a 
 child, he is being good for a bonus. He 
 is really regarding his kindness and his 
 other expressions of goodness as moral 
 stock he is willing to hold only so long as 
 they pay dividends. 
 
 C There is in such living always a touch 
 of the pose ; it is waiting for the applause 
 of the gallery. We must let the conscious- 
 ness of doing right, of living up to our 
 ideals, be our reward and stimulus, or life 
 
 [34] 
 
€^e Courage to face g;ngratttuDe 
 
 will become to us but a series of failures, 
 sorrows and disappointments. 
 CL Much of theseemingingratitudein life 
 comes from our magnifying of our own 
 acts, our minifying of the acts of others. 
 We may have over-estimated the impor- 
 tance of something that we have done; it 
 may have been most trivial, purely inci- 
 dental, yet the marvellous working of the 
 loom of time brought out great and unex- 
 pected results to the recipient of our favor. 
 We often feel that wondrous gratitude is 
 due us, though we were in no wise the in- 
 spiration of the success we survey with 
 such a feeling of pride. A chance intro- 
 duction given by us on the street may, 
 throughaninfmity of circumstances, make 
 our friend a millionaire. Thanks may be 
 due us for the introduction, and perhaps 
 not even that, for it might have been un- 
 avoidable, but surely we err when we ex- 
 pect him to be meekly grateful to us for his 
 subsequent millions. 
 
 [35] 
 
€^e Courage to face gittgratituDe 
 
 ^ The essence of truest kindness lies in 
 the grace with which it is performed. 
 Some men seem to discount all gratitude, 
 almost make it impossible, by the way in 
 which they grant favors. They make you 
 feel so small, so mean, so inferior ; your 
 cheeks burn with indignation in the ac- 
 ceptance of the boon you seek at their 
 hands. You feel it is like a bone thrown at 
 a dog, instead of the quick, sympathetic 
 graciousness that forestalls your explana- 
 tions and waives your thanks with a smile, 
 the pleasure of one friend who has been 
 favored with the opportunity to be of ser- 
 vice to another. The man who makes an- 
 other feel like an insect reclining on a 
 red-hot stove while he is receiving a favor, 
 has no right to expect future gratitude, he 
 should feel satisfied if he receives for- 
 giveness. 
 
 ^ Let us forget the good deeds we have 
 done by making them seem small in com- 
 parison with the greater things we are do- 
 
 [36] 
 
C^e Courage to jfface 3|ngratituDe 
 
 ing, and the still greater acts we hope to 
 do. This is true generosity, and will de- 
 velop gratitude in the soul of him who 
 has been helped, unless he is so petrified 
 in selfishness as to make it impossible. But 
 constantly reminding a man of the favors 
 he has received from you almost cancels 
 the debt. The care of the statistics should 
 be his privilege ; you are usurping his pre- 
 rogative when you recall them. Merely 
 because it has been our good fortune to be 
 able to serve some one, we should not act 
 as if we held a mortgage on his immortal- 
 ity, and expect him to swing the censor of 
 adulation forever in our presence. 
 C That which often seems to us to be in- 
 gratitude, may be merely our own igno- 
 rance of the subtle phases of human na- 
 ture. Sometimes a man's heart is so full of 
 thankfulness that he cannot speak, and in 
 the very intensity of his appreciation, mere 
 words seem to him paltry, petty, and in- 
 adequate, and the depth of the eloquence 
 
 [37] 
 
C^e Courage to fact SIngmtttutie 
 
 of his silence is misunderstood. Sometimes 
 the consciousness of his inability to repay, 
 develops a strange pride — genuine grati- 
 tude it may be, though unwise in its lack 
 of expression — a determination to say 
 nothing, until the opportunity for which 
 he is waiting to enable him to make his 
 gratitude an actuality. There are countless 
 instances in which true gratitude has all 
 the semblance of the basest ingratitude, as 
 certain harmless plants are made by Na- 
 ture to resemble poison-ivy. 
 <£ Ingratitude is some one's protest that 
 you are no longer necessary to him; it is 
 often the expression of rebellion at the 
 discontinuance of favors. People are rarely 
 ungrateful until they have exhausted their 
 assessments. Profuse expressions of grati- 
 tude do not cancel an indebtedness any 
 more than a promissory note settles an ac- 
 count. It is a beginning, not a finality. 
 Gratitude that is extravagant in words is 
 usually economical in all other expression. 
 
 [38] 
 
€^e Courage to efface 3jngratttuDe 
 
 C No good act performed in the world 
 ever dies. Science tells us that no atom of 
 matter can ever be destroyed, that no force 
 once started ever ends; it merely passes 
 through a multiplicity of ever-changing 
 phases. Every good deed done to others is 
 a great force that starts an unending pul- 
 sation through time and eternity. We mav 
 not know it, we may never hear a word of 
 gratitude or of recognition, but it will all 
 come back to us in some form as naturally, 
 as perfectly, as inevitably, as echo answers 
 to sound. Perhaps not as we expect it, how 
 we expect it, nor where, but sometime, 
 somehow, somewhere, it comes back, as 
 the dove that Noah sent from the Ark re- 
 turned with its green leaf of revelation. 
 C, Let us conceive of gratitude in its larg- 
 est, most beautiful sense, that if we receive 
 any kindness we are debtor, not merely to 
 one man, but to the whole world. As we 
 are each day indebted to thousands for the 
 comforts, joys, consolations, and blessings 
 
 [39] 
 
€^e Courage to face gjngratftutie 
 
 of life, let us realize that it is only by kind- 
 ness to all that we can begin to repay the 
 debt to one, begin to make gratitude the 
 atmosphere of all our living and a constant 
 expression in outward acts, rather than in 
 mere thoughts. Let us see the awful cow- 
 ardice and the injustice of ingratitude, not 
 to take it too seriously in others, not to 
 condemn it too severely, but merely to 
 banish it forever from our own lives, and 
 to make every hour of our living the radi- 
 ation of the sweetness of gratitude. 
 
 [4°] 
 
people t»^o Ltbe in aft Cagtieg 
 
people toijo 3Lt\je in atr 
 Castles 
 
 f~rr~~~ H 'lIVING in an air-castle is about 
 | as profitable as owning a half- 
 J | interest in a rainbow. It is no 
 L^.»_.~-.J more nourishing than a dinner 
 of twelve courses - — eaten in a dream. 
 Air-castles are built of golden moments 
 of time, and their only value is in the raw 
 material thus rendered valueless. 
 C The atmosphere of air-castles is heavy 
 and stupefying with the incense of vague 
 hopes and phantom ideals. In them man 
 lulls himself into dreaming inactivity 
 with the songs of the mighty deeds he is 
 going to do, the great influence he some 
 day will have, the vast wealth that will be 
 his, sometime, somehow, somewhere, in 
 the rosy, sunlit days of the future. The 
 architectural error about air-castles is that 
 the owner builds them downward from 
 their gilded turrets in the clouds, instead 
 
 [43] 
 
people tt^o HU in £ir Cagtleg 
 
 of up ward 'from a solid, firm foundation of 
 purpose and energy. This diet of mental 
 lotus-leaves is a mental narcotic, not a 
 stimulant. 
 
 ^Ambition, when wedded to tireless 
 energy is a great thing and a good thing, 
 but in itself it amounts to little. Man can- 
 not raise himself to higher things by 
 what he would like to accomplish, but 
 only by what he endeavors to accomplish. 
 To be of value, ambition must ever be 
 made manifest in zeal, in determination, 
 in energy consecrated to an ideal. If it be 
 thus reinforced, thus combined, the thin 
 airy castle melts into nothingness, and the 
 individual stands on a new strong founda- 
 tion of solid rock, whereon, day by day 
 and stone by stone, he can rear a mighty 
 material structure of life-work to last 
 through time and eternity. The air-castle 
 ever represents the work of an architect 
 without a builder ; it means plans never 
 put into execution. They tell us that man 
 
 [44] 
 
people tu^o MU in %it Cagtleg 
 
 is the architect of his own fortunes. But 
 if he be merely architect he will make 
 only an air-castle of his life; he should 
 be architect and builder too. 
 ^ Living in the future is living in an air- 
 castle. To-morrow is the grave where the 
 dreams of the dreamer, the toiler who 
 toils not, are buried. The man who says 
 he will lead a newer and better life to- 
 morrow, who promises great things for 
 the future, and yet does nothing in the 
 present to make that future possible, is 
 living in an air-castle. In his arrogance he 
 is attempting to perform a miracle ; he 
 is seeking to turn water into wine, to have 
 harvest without seed-time, to have an end 
 without a beginning. 
 ^ If we would make our lives worthy of 
 us, grand and noble, solid and impregna- 
 ble, we must forsake air-castles of dream- 
 ing for strongholds of doing. Every man 
 with an ideal has a right to live in the glow 
 and inspiration of it, and to picture the 
 
 [45] 
 
people tttyo MU in &fr Cagtleg 
 
 joy of attainment, as the tired traveller 
 fills his mind with the thought of the 
 brightness of home, to quicken his steps 
 and to make the weary miles seem shorter, 
 but the worker should never really worry 
 about the future, think little of it except 
 for inspiration, to determine his course, 
 as mariners study the stars, to make his 
 plans wisely and to prepare for that future 
 by making each separate day the best and 
 truest that he can. 
 
 C Let us live up to the fulness of our pos- 
 sibilities each day. Man has only one day 
 of life — to-day. He didXwz yesterday, he 
 may live to-morrow, but he has only to- 
 day. 
 
 C The secret of true living — mental, 
 physical and moral, material and spirit- 
 ual, — may be expressed in five words: 
 Live up to your portion. This is the magic 
 formula that transforms air-castles into 
 fortresses. 
 C Men sometimes grow mellow and gen- 
 
 [46] 
 
people to^o Ifte in atr Cagtleg 
 
 erous in the thought of what they would 
 do if great wealth came to them. "If I 
 were a millionaire/' they say, — and they 
 let the phrase melt sweetly in their mouths 
 as though it were a caramel, — " I would 
 subsidize genius; I would found a college; 
 I would build a great hospital ; I would 
 erect model tenements ; I would show the 
 world what real charity is/' Oh, it is all 
 so easy, so easy, this vicarious benevo- 
 lence, this spending of other people's for- 
 tunes ! Few of us, according to the latest 
 statistics, have a million, but we all have 
 something, some part of it. Are we living 
 up to our portion? Are we generous with 
 what we have ? 
 
 C The man who is selfish with one thou- 
 sand dollars will not develop angelic wings 
 of generosity when his million comes. If 
 the generous spirit be a reality with the 
 individual, instead of an empty boast, he 
 will, every hour, find opportunity to make 
 it manifest. The radiation of kindness 
 
 [47] 
 
people W)o Hifce in %ix Castles 
 
 need not be expressed in money at all. It 
 may be shown in a smile of human inter- 
 est, a glow of sympathy, a word of fellow- 
 ship with the sorrowing and the strug- 
 gling, an instinctive outstretching of a 
 helping hand to one in need. 
 C. No man living is so poor that he can- 
 not evidence his spirit of benevolence to- 
 ward his fellowman. It may assume that 
 rare and wondrously beautiful phase of 
 divine charity, in realizing how often a 
 motive is misrepresented in the act, how 
 sin, sorrow and suffering have warped and 
 disguised latent good, in substituting a 
 word of gentle tolerance for some cheap 
 tinsel of shabby cynicism that pretends to 
 be wit. If we are not rich enough to give 
 "cold, hard" cash, let us at least be too 
 rich to give "cold, hard" words. Let us 
 leave our air-castles of vague self-adula- 
 tion for so wisely spending millions we 
 have never seen, and rise to the dignity 
 of living up to the full proportion of our 
 
 [48] 
 
people to^o JLtbe in aft Cagtteg 
 
 possessions, no matter how slight they 
 may be. Let us fill the world around us 
 with love, brightness, sweetness, gentle- 
 ness, helpfulness, courage and sympathy, 
 as if they were the only legal tender and 
 we were Monte Cristos with untold treas- 
 ures of such gold ever at our call. 
 C Let us cease saying: "If I were," and 
 say ever: "lam." Let us stop living in the 
 subjunctive mood, and begin to live in the 
 indicative. 
 
 C[ The one great defence of humanity 
 against the charge of unfulfilled duties is 
 "lack of time." The constant clamoring 
 for time would be pathetic, were it not for 
 the fact that most individuals throw away 
 more of it than they use. Time is the only 
 really valuable possession of man, for with- 
 out it every power within him would 
 cease to exist. Yet he recklessly squanders 
 his great treasure as if it were valueless. 
 The wealth of the whole world could not 
 buy one second of time. Yet Society assas- 
 
 [49] 
 
people tttyo MU in atr Cagtleg 
 
 sins dare to say in public that they have 
 been "killing time." The time fallacy has 
 put more people into air-castles than all 
 other causes combined. Life is only time; 
 eternity is only more time ; immortality is 
 merely man's right to live through un- 
 ending time. 
 
 C " If I had a library I would read/' is the 
 weak plaint of some other tenant of an air- 
 castle. If a man does not read the two or 
 three good books in his possession or acces- 
 sible to him he would not read if he had 
 the British Museum brought to his bed- 
 side, and the British Army delegated to 
 continual service in handing him books 
 from the shelves. The time sacrificed to 
 reading sensational newspapers might be 
 consecrated to good reading, if the in- 
 dividual were willing merely to live up to 
 his portion of opportunity. 
 CL The man who longs for some crisis in 
 life, wherein he may show mighty cour- 
 age, while he is expending no portion of 
 
 [5°] 
 
people to^o Lfte in %it Cagtleg 
 
 that courage in bearing bravely the petty 
 trials, sorrows and disappointments of 
 daily life, is living in an air-castle. He is 
 just a sparrow looking enviously at the 
 mountain crags where the hardy eagle 
 builds her nest, and dreaming of being a 
 great bird like that, perhaps even daring 
 in a patronizing way, to criticise her 
 method of flight and to plume himself 
 with the medals he could win for flying 
 if he only would. It is the day-by-day 
 heroism that vitalizes all of a man's power 
 in an emergency, that gives him confi- 
 dence that when need comes he will and 
 must be ready. 
 
 CL The air-castle typifies any delusion or 
 folly that makes man forsake real living 
 for an idle, vague existence. Living in 
 air-castles means that a man sees life in a 
 wrong perspective. He permits his lower 
 self to dominate his higher self; he 
 who should tower as a mighty conqueror 
 over the human weakness, sin and folly 
 
 [5"] 
 
people tttyo JLttie in &iv Cagtleg 
 
 that threaten to destroy his better nature, 
 binds upon his own wrists the manacles 
 of habit that hold him a slave. He loses 
 the crown of his kingship because he sells 
 his royal birthright for temporary ease 
 and comfort and the showy things of the 
 world, sacrificing so much that is best in 
 him for mere wealth, success, position, 
 or the plaudits of the world. He forsakes 
 the throne of individuality for the air- 
 castle of delusion. 
 
 <L The man who wraps himself in the 
 Napoleonic cloak of his egotism, hyp- 
 notizing himself into believing that he is 
 superior to all other men, that the opera- 
 glasses of the universe are focused upon 
 him and that he treads the stage alone, 
 had better wake up. He is living in an 
 air-castle. He who, like Narcissus, falls in 
 love with his own reflection and thinks 
 he has a monopoly of the great work of 
 the world, whose conceit rises from him 
 like the smoke from the magic bottle of 
 
 [52] 
 
people to^o JLitie in atr Cagtleg 
 
 the genii and spreads till it shuts out and 
 conceals the universe is living in an air- 
 castle. 
 
 C[ The man who believes that all human- 
 ity is united in conspiracy against him, 
 who feels that his life is the hardest in 
 all the world, and lets the cares, sorrows 
 and trials that come to us all, eclipse the 
 glorious sun of his happiness, darkening 
 his eyes to his privileges and his blessings, 
 is living in an air-castle. 
 C The woman who thinks the most 
 beautiful creature in the world is seen 
 in her mirror, and who exchanges her 
 queenly heritage of noble living for the 
 shams, jealousies, follies, frivolities and 
 pretences of society, is living in an air- 
 castle. 
 
 C The man who makes wealth his god 
 instead of his servant, who is determined 
 to get rich, rich at any cost, and who is 
 willing to sacrifice honesty, honor, loy- 
 alty, character, family — everything he 
 
 [53] 
 
people to^o Lite in &fr Castles 
 
 should hold dear — for the sake of a mere 
 stack of money-bags, is, despite his robes 
 of ermine, only a rich pauper living in an 
 air-castle. 
 
 C,The man of ultra-conservatism, the 
 victim of false content, who has no plans, 
 no ideals, no aspirations beyond the dull 
 round of daily duties in which he moves 
 like a gold-fish in a globe, is often vain 
 enough to boast of his lack of progres- 
 siveness,in cheap shop-worn phrases from 
 those whom he permits to do his think- 
 ing for him. He does not realize that 
 faithfulness to duties, in its highest sense, 
 means the constant aiming at the per- 
 formance of higher duties, living up, so 
 far as can be, to the maximum of one's 
 possibilities, not resignedly plodding 
 along at the minimum. A piece of ma- 
 chinery will do this, but real men ever 
 seek to rise to higher uses. Such a man is 
 living in an air-castle. 
 C. With patronizing contempt he scorns 
 
 [54] 
 
people to^o Lfte in air Cagtleg 
 
 the man of earnest, thoughtful purpose, 
 who sees his goal far before him but is 
 willing to pay any honest price to attain 
 it; content to work day by day unceas- 
 ingly, through storm and stress, and sun- 
 shine and shadow, with sublime confi- 
 dence that nature is storing up every 
 stroke of his effort, that, though times 
 often seem dark and progress but slight, 
 results must come if he have but courage 
 to fight bravely to the end. This man 
 does not live in an air-castle ; he is but 
 battling with destiny for the possession 
 of his heritage, and is strengthened in 
 character by his struggle, even though all 
 that he desires may not be fully awarded 
 him. 
 
 C[ The man who permits regret for past 
 misdeeds, or sorrow for lost opportuni- 
 ties to keep him from recreating a proud 
 future from the new days committed to 
 his care, is losing much of the glory of 
 living. He is repudiating the manna of 
 
 [55] 
 
people to^o £toe in &fr Cagtleg 
 
 new life given each new day, merely be- 
 cause he misused the manna of years ago. 
 He is doubly unwise, because he has the 
 wisdom of his past experience and does 
 not profit by it, merely because of a tech- 
 nicality of useless, morbid regret. He is 
 living in an air-castle. 
 C[ The man who spends his time lament- 
 ing the fortune he once had, or the fame 
 that has taken its winged flight into ob- 
 livion, frittering away his golden hours 
 erecting new monuments in the cemetery 
 of his past achievements and his former 
 greatness, making what he ever was ever 
 plead apology for what he is, lives in an 
 air-castle. To the world and to the indi- 
 vidual a single egg of new hope and de- 
 termination, with its wondrous potency 
 of new life, is greater than a thousand 
 nests full of the eggs of dead dreams, or 
 unrealized ambitions. 
 4L Whatever keeps a man from living his 
 best, truest and highest life now, in the 
 
 [56] 
 
people t»^o tiU in air Cagtleg 
 
 indicative present, if it be something that 
 he himself places as an obstacle in his own 
 path of progress and development, is to 
 him an air-castle. 
 
 C Some men live in the air-castle of in- 
 dolence ; others in the air-castle of dissi- 
 pation, of pride, of avarice, of deception, 
 of bigotry, of worry, of intemperance, of 
 injustice, of intolerance, of procrastina- 
 tion, of lying, of selfishness, or of some 
 other mental or moral characteristic that 
 withdraws them from the real duties and 
 privileges of living. 
 
 4£ Let us find out what is the air-castle in 
 which we, individually, spend most of our 
 time and we can then begin a recreation 
 of ourselves. The bondage of the air-cas- 
 tle must be fought nobly and untiringly. 
 C, As man spends his hours and his days 
 and his weeks in an air-castle, he finds 
 that the delicate gossamer-like strands 
 and lines of the phantom structure grad- 
 ually become less and less airy ; they 
 
 [57] 
 
people to^o Utte in air Castles 
 
 begin to grow firm and firmer, strength- 
 ening with the years, until at last, solid 
 walls hem him in. Then he is startled by 
 the awful realization that habit and hab- 
 itancy have transformed his air-castle into 
 a prison from which escape is difficult. 
 C^ And then he learns that the most de- 
 ceptive and dangerous of all things is, — 
 the air-castle. 
 
 [58] 
 
Ifetoow anli ^>cabbatti0 
 
tootite attti feca66artM5 
 
 p?~— ■ **t is the custom of grateful states 
 j and nations to present swords 
 | as tokens of highest honor to 
 L^^— ~~* the victorious leaders of their 
 armies and navies. The sword presented 
 to Admiral Schley by the people of Phil- 
 adelphia, at the close of America's war 
 with Spain, cost over $3,500, the great- 
 er part of which was spent on the jewels 
 and decorations on the scabbard. A little 
 more than half a century ago, when Gen- 
 eral Winfield Scott, for whom Admiral 
 Schley was named, received a beautiful 
 sword from the State of Louisiana, he 
 was asked how it pleased him. 
 C"It is a very fine sword, indeed/ ' he 
 said, "but there is one thing about it I 
 would have preferred different. The in- 
 scription should be on the blade, not on 
 [6,] 
 
the scabbard. The scabbard may be taken 
 from us; the sword, never." 
 C, The world spends too much time, 
 money and energy on the scabbard of 
 life ; too little on the sword. The scabbard 
 represents outside show, vanity and dis- 
 play; the sword, intrinsic worth. The 
 scabbard is ever the semblance ; the sword 
 the reality. The scabbard is the temporal; 
 the sword is the eternal. The scabbard is 
 the body; the sword is the soul. The scab- 
 bard typifies the material side of life; the 
 sword the true, the spiritual, the ideal. 
 C The man who does not dare follow his 
 own convictions, but who lives in terror 
 of what society will say, falling prostrate 
 before the golden calf of public opinion, 
 is living an empty life of mere show. He 
 is sacrificing his individuality, his divine 
 right to live his life in harmony with his 
 own high ideals, to a cowardly, toadying 
 fear of the world. He is not a voice, with 
 the strong note of individual purpose ; he 
 [62] 
 
^>toott# ant) ^cabtiattJg 
 
 is but the thin echo of the voice of thou- 
 sands. He is not brightening, sharpening 
 and using the sword of his life in true 
 warfare ; he is lazily ornamenting a use- 
 less scabbard with the hieroglyphics of 
 his folly. 
 
 C The man who lives beyond his means, 
 who mortgages his future for his present, 
 who is generous before he is just, who is 
 sacrificing everything to keep up with 
 the procession of his superiors, is really 
 losing much of life. He, too, is decorating 
 the scabbard, and letting the sword rust in 
 its sheath. 
 
 C Life is not a competition with others. 
 In its truest sense it is rivalry with our- 
 selves. We should each day seek to break 
 the record of our yesterday. We should 
 seek each day to live stronger, better, truer 
 lives ; each day to master some weakness 
 of yesterday ; each day to repair past fol- 
 lies; each day to surpass ourselves. And 
 this is but progress. And individual, con- 
 
 [63] 
 
scious progress, progress unending and 
 unlimited, is the one great thing that dif- 
 ferentiates man from all the other ani- 
 mals. Then we will care naught for the 
 pretty, useless decorations of society's ap- 
 proval on the scabbard. For us it will be 
 enough to know that the blade of our 
 purpose is kept ever keen and sharp for 
 the defense of right and truth, never to 
 wrong the rights of others, but ever to 
 right the wrongs of ourselves and those 
 around us. 
 
 C. Reputation is what the world thinks 
 a man is; character is what he really is. 
 Anyone can play shuttlecock with a man's 
 reputation ; his character is his alone. No 
 one can injure his character but he him- 
 self. Character is the sword; reputation 
 is the scabbard. Many men acquire in- 
 somnia in standing guard over their repu- 
 tation, while their character gives them 
 no concern. Often they make new dents 
 in their character in their attempt to cut a 
 
 [6 4 ] 
 
tortus ant) ^cattbattig 
 
 deep, deceptive filigree on the scabbard of 
 their reputation. Reputation is the shell 
 a man discards when he leaves life for 
 immortality. His character he takes with 
 him. 
 
 C, The woman who spends thousands in 
 charitable donations, and is hard and un- 
 charitable in her judgments, sentimen- 
 tally sympathetic with human sin and 
 weakness in the abstract, while she arro- 
 gates to herself omniscience in her harsh 
 condemnation of individual lapses, is 
 charitable only on the outside. She is let- 
 ting her tongue undo the good work of 
 her hand. She is too enthusiastic in deco- 
 rating the scabbard of publicity to think 
 of the sword of real love of humanity. 
 C He who carries avarice to the point 
 of becoming a miser, hoarding gold that 
 is made useless to him because it does not 
 fulfill its one function, circulation, and 
 regarding the necessities of life as luxu- 
 ries, is one of Nature's jests, that would 
 
 [65] 
 
be humorous were it not so serious. He 
 is the most difficult animal to classify in 
 the whole natural history of humanity — 
 he has so many of the virtues. He is a 
 striking example of ambition, economy, 
 frugality, persistence, will-power, self- 
 denial, loyalty to purpose and generosity 
 to his heirs. These noble qualities he 
 spoils in the application. His specialty is 
 the scabbard of life. He spends his days 
 in making a solid gold scabbard for the 
 tin sword of a wasted existence. 
 C The shoddy airs and ostentations, ex- 
 travagance, and prodigality of some who 
 have suddenly become rich, is goldplat- 
 ing the scabbard without improving the 
 blade. The superficial veneer of refine- 
 ment really accentuates the native vulgar- 
 ity. The more you polish woodwork, the 
 more you reveal the grain. Some of the 
 sudden legatees of fortune have the wis- 
 dom to acquire the reality of refinement 
 through careful training. This is the true 
 [66] 
 
^toottig anD ^>cabbart)0 
 
 method of putting the sword itself in or- 
 der instead of begemming the scabbard. 
 Q The girl who marries merely for 
 money or for a title, is a feminine Esau 
 of the beginning of the century. She is 
 selling her birthright of love for the pot- 
 tage of an empty name, forfeiting the 
 possibility of a life of love, all that true 
 womanhood should hold most dear, for a 
 mere bag of gold or a crown. She is deco- 
 rating the scabbard with a crest and her- 
 aldic designs, and with ornaments of pure 
 gold set with jewels. She feels that this 
 will be enough for life, and that she does 
 not need love, — real love, that has made 
 this world a paradise, despite all the other 
 people present. She does not realize that 
 there is but one real reason, but one justi- 
 fication for marriage, and that is, — love; 
 all the other motives are not reasons, they 
 are only excuses. The phrase, "marrying 
 a man for his money," as the world bluntly 
 puts it, is incorrect — the woman merely 
 
 [6 7 ] 
 
^toorDS ann ^caMbaW 
 
 marries the money, and takes the man 
 as an incumbrance or mortgage on the 
 property. 
 
 C The man who procrastinates, filling his 
 ears with the lovely song of " to-morrow/ ' 
 is following the easiest and most restful 
 method of shortening the possibilities of 
 life. Procrastination is stifling action by 
 delay, it is killing decision by inactivity, 
 it is drifting on the river of time, instead 
 of rowing bravely toward a desired harbor. 
 It is watching the sands in the hour-glass 
 run down before beginning any new work, 
 then reversing the glass and repeating the 
 observation. The folly of man in thus de- 
 laying is apparent, when any second his 
 life may stop, and the sands of that single 
 hour may run their course, — and he will 
 not be there to see. 
 
 C Delay is the narcotic that paralyzes en- 
 ergy. When Alexander was asked how he 
 conquered the world, he said: "By not 
 delaying." Let us not put off till to-mor- 
 [68] 
 
row the duty of to-day ; that which our 
 mind tells us should be done to-day, our 
 mind and body should execute. To-day is 
 the sword we should hold and use; to- 
 morrow is but the scabbard from which 
 each new to-day is withdrawn. 
 C The man who wears an oppressive, 
 pompous air of dignity, because he has 
 accomplished some little work of impor- 
 tance, because he is vested with a brief 
 mantle of authority, loses sight of the true 
 perspective of life. He is destitute of hu- 
 mor ; he takes himself seriously. It is a 
 thousand-dollar scabbard on a two-dollar 
 sword. 
 
 C. The man who is guilty of envy is the 
 victim of the oldest vice in the history of 
 the world, themeanestandmostdespicable 
 of human traits. It began in the Garden of 
 Eden, when Satan envied Adam and Eve. 
 It caused the downfall of man and the first 
 murder — Cain's unbrotherly act to Abel. 
 Envy is a paradoxic vice. It cannot suffer 
 
 [6 9 ] 
 
bravely the prosperity of another, it has 
 mental dyspepsia because someone else is 
 feasting, it makes its owner's clothes turn 
 into rags at sight of another's velvet. 
 Envy is the malicious contemplation of 
 the beauty, honors, success, happiness, or 
 triumph of another. It is the mud that 
 inferiority throws at success. Envy is the 
 gangrene of unsatisfied ambition, it eats 
 away purpose and kills energy. It is ego- 
 tism gone to seed; it always finds the 
 secret of its non-success in something 
 outside itself. 
 
 C Envy is the scabbard, but emulation is 
 the sword. Emulation regards the success 
 of another as an object lesson; it seeks in 
 the triumph of another the why, the rea- 
 son, the inspiration of method. It seeks to 
 attain the same heights by the path it thus 
 discovers, not to hurl down from his emi- 
 nence him who points out the way of at- 
 tainment. Let us keep the sword of emu- 
 lation ever brightened and sharpened in 
 
 [?o] 
 
^toortig attti ^>cabbart>0 
 
 the battle of honest effort, not idly dulling 
 and rusting in the scabbard of envy. 
 C The supreme folly of the world, the 
 saddest depths to which the human mind 
 can sink, is atheism. He surely is to be 
 pitied who permits the illogical philoso- 
 phy of petty infidels, or his misinterpre- 
 tations of the revelations of science, to 
 cheat him of his God. He pins his faith 
 to some ingenious sophistry in the rea- 
 soning of those whose books he has read 
 to sum up for him the whole problem, 
 and in hopeless egotism shuts his eyes to 
 the million proofs in nature and life, be- 
 cause the full plans of Omnipotence are 
 not made clear to him. 
 C On the technicality of his failure to 
 understand some one point — perhaps it 
 is why sin, sorrow, suffering and injustice 
 exist in the world — he declares he will 
 not believe. He might as well disbelieve 
 in the sky above him because he cannot 
 see it all ; discredit the air he breathes 
 
 [7-] 
 
because it is invisible ; doubt the reality 
 of the ocean because his feeble vision can 
 take in but a few miles of the great sea ; 
 deny even life itself because he cannot see 
 it, and no anatomist has found the subtle 
 essence to hold it up to view on the end 
 of his scalpel. 
 
 C. He dares to disbelieve in God despite 
 His countless manifestations, because he 
 is not taken into the full confidence of 
 the Creator and permitted to look over 
 and check offthe ground-plans of the uni- 
 verse. He sheathes the sword of belief in 
 the dingy scabbard of infidelity. He does 
 not see the proof of God in the daily mir- 
 acle of the rising and setting of the sun, 
 in the seasons, in the birds, in the flowers, 
 in the countless stars, moving in their 
 majestic regularity at the command of 
 eternal law, in the presence of love, jus- 
 tice, truth in the hearts of men, in that 
 supreme confidence that is inborn in hu- 
 manity, making even the lowest savage 
 
 l>] 
 
^toorDg ant) ^cabbarDg 
 
 worship the Infinite in some form. It is 
 the petty vanity of cheap reasoning that 
 makes man permit the misfit scabbard of 
 infidelity to hide from him the glory of 
 the sword of belief. 
 
 C The philosophy of swords and scab- 
 bards is as true of nations as of individuals. 
 When France committed the great crime 
 of the nineteenth century, by condemn- 
 ing Dreyfus to infamy and isolation, deaf- 
 ening her ears to the cries of justice, and 
 seeking to cover her shame with greater 
 shame, she sheathed the sword of a na- 
 tion's honor in the scabbard of a nation's 
 crime. The breaking of the sword of 
 Dreyfus when he was cruelly degraded 
 before the army, typified the degrada- 
 tion of the French nation in breaking 
 the sword of justice and preserving care- 
 fully the empty scabbard with its ironic 
 inscription, "Vive la justice." 
 C The scabbard is ever useless in the hour 
 of emergency ; then it is upon the sword 
 
 [73] 
 
^tootftg and ^cabbartig 
 
 itself that we must rely. Then the worth- 
 lessness of show, sham, pretence, gilded 
 weakness is revealed to us. Then the triv- 
 ialities of life are seen in their true form. 
 The nothingness of everything but the 
 real, the tried, the true, is made luminant 
 in an instant. Then we know whether 
 our living has been one of true prepara- 
 tion, of keeping the sword clean, pure, 
 sharp and ready, or one of mere idle, 
 meaningless, day-by-day markings of 
 folly on the empty scabbard of a wasted 
 life. 
 
 [74] 
 
€^e Conquest of t^e $retoentatile 
 
Cije Conquest of tfje 
 preventable 
 
 "THIS world would be a delight- 
 | ful place to live in — if it were 
 j not for the people. They really 
 J cause all the trouble. Man's 
 worst enemy is always man. He began to 
 throw the responsibility of his transgres- 
 sions on some ono else in the Garden of 
 Eden, and he has been doing so ever 
 since. 
 
 C The greater part of the pain, sorrow 
 and misery in life is purely a human in- 
 vention, yet man, with cowardly irrever- 
 ence, dares to throw the responsibility on 
 God. It comes through breaking laws, 
 laws natural, physical, civic, mental or 
 moral. These are laws which man knows, 
 but he disregards ; he takes chances ; he 
 thinks he can dodge results in some way. 
 But Nature says, " He who breaks, pays." 
 There are no dead-letter laws on the 
 
 [77] 
 
%ty Conquest of t^e ^refcentable 
 
 divine statute-books of life. When a man 
 permits a torchlight procession to parade 
 through a powder magazine, it is not 
 courteous for him to refer to the subse- 
 quent explosion as " one of the mysteri- 
 ous workings of Providence." 
 C Nine tenths of the world's sorrow, mis- 
 fortune and unhappiness is preventable. 
 The daily newspapers are the great chron- 
 iclers of the dominance of the unneces- 
 sary. Paragraph after paragraph, column 
 after column, and page after page of the 
 dark story — accidents, disasters, crime, 
 scandal, human weakness and sin — might 
 be checked off with the word " prevent- 
 able." In each instance were our infor- 
 mation full enough, our analysis keen 
 enough, we could trace each back to its 
 cause, to the weakness or the wrong from 
 which it emanated. Sometimes it is care- 
 lessness, inattention, neglect of duty, 
 avarice, anger, jealousy, dissipation, be- 
 trayal of trust, selfishness, hypocrisy, re- 
 
 [78] 
 
€^e Conquest of t^e preventable 
 
 venge, dishonesty, — any of a hundred 
 phases of the preventable. 
 C That which can be prevented, should 
 be prevented. It all rests with the indi- 
 vidual. The "preventable" exists in three 
 degrees: First, that which is due to the 
 individual solely and directly ; second, 
 that which he suffers through the wrong- 
 doing of those around him, other indi- 
 viduals; third, those instances wherein he 
 is the unnecessary victim of the wrongs 
 of society, the innocent legatee of the 
 folly of humanity — and society is but the 
 massing of thousands of individuals with 
 the heritage of manners, customs and laws 
 they have received from the past. 
 C, We sometimes feel heart-sick and 
 weary in facing failure, when the fortune 
 that seemed almost in our fingers slips 
 away because of the envy, malice or 
 treachery of some one else. We bow under 
 the weight of a sorrow that makes all life 
 grow dark and the star of hope fade from 
 
 [79] 
 
C^e Conquest of tyz ^tefcentalrte 
 
 our vision ; or we meet some unnecessary 
 misfortune with a dumb, helpless despair. 
 "It is all wrong/' we say, "it is cruel, it 
 is unjust. Why is it permitted ?" And, in 
 the very intensity of our feeling, we half- 
 unconsciously repeat the words over and 
 over again, in monotonous iteration, as if 
 in some way the very repetition might 
 bring relief, might somehow soothe us. 
 Yet, in most instances, it could be pre- 
 vented. No suffering is caused in the world 
 by right. Whatever sorrow there is that 
 is preventable, comes from inharmony or 
 wrong of some kind. 
 C, In the divine economy of the universe 
 most of the evil, pain and suffering are 
 unnecessary, even when overruled for 
 good, and perhaps, if our knowledge were 
 perfect, it would be seen that none is nec- 
 essary, that all is preventable. The fault is 
 mine, or yours, or the fault of the world. 
 It is always individual. The world itself 
 is but the cohesive united force of the 
 
 [go] 
 
C^e Conquest of t^e pvtUntahlt 
 
 thoughts, words and deeds of millions 
 who have lived or who are living, like 
 you and me. By individuals has the great 
 wrong that causes our preventable sorrow 
 been built up, by individuals must it be 
 weakened and transformed to right. And 
 in this, too, it is to a great degree our fault ; 
 we care so little about rousing public sen- 
 timent, of lashing it into activity unless it 
 concerns us individually. 
 <L The old Greek fable of Atlas, the Afri- 
 can king, who supported the world on his 
 shoulders, has a modern application. The 
 individual is the Atlas upon whom the 
 fate of the world rests to-day. Let each 
 individual do his best, — and the result is 
 foreordained; it is but a matter of the un- 
 conquerable massing of the units. Let 
 each individual bear his part as faithfully 
 as though all the responsibility rested on 
 him, yet as calmly, as gently and as un- 
 worried as though all the responsibility 
 rested on others. 
 
 [81] 
 
€^e Conquest of t^e preventable 
 
 C, Most accidents are preventable — as at 
 Balaclava, "someone hasblundered." One 
 of the great disasters of the nineteenth 
 century was the Johnstown flood, where 
 the bursting of a dam caused the loss of 
 more than six thousand lives. The flood 
 was not a mere accident, it was a crime. 
 A leaking dam, for more than a year 
 known to be unsafe, known to be unable 
 to withstand any increased pressure, stood 
 at the head of the valley. Below it lay a 
 chain of villages containing over forty-five 
 thousand persons in the direct line of the 
 flood. When the heavy rains came the 
 weakened dam gave way. Had there been 
 one individual, one member of the South 
 Fork Fishing Club brave enough to have 
 done merely his duty, one member with 
 the courage to so move his fellows and to 
 stir up public action to make the barrier 
 safe, over six thousand murders could 
 have been prevented. 
 C^When a tired engineer, sleepy from 
 
 [82] 
 
€^e Conquest of t^e preventable 
 
 overwork, can no longer cheat nature of 
 her needed rest, and, drowsing for a mo- 
 ment in his cab, fails to see the red signal 
 light of danger, or to heed the explod- 
 ing of the warning torpedo, the wreck 
 that follows is not chargeable to the Al- 
 mighty. It is but an awful memorial of 
 a railroad corporation's struggle to save 
 two dollars. One ounce of prevention is 
 worth six pounds of coroner's inquest. 
 It is a crime to balance the safety and 
 sacredness of human life in the scales with 
 the petty saving that comes from trans- 
 forming a man into a mechanism and for- 
 getting he has either a soul or a body. 
 True, just and wise labor laws are part of 
 society's weapon for fighting the prevent- 
 able. 
 
 C, When a terrible fire makes a city deso- 
 late and a nation mourn, the investigation 
 that follows usually shows that a little 
 human foresight could have prevented it, 
 or at least, lessened the horror of it all. 
 
 [83] 
 
€^e Conquest of tye p^efcentaMe 
 
 If chemicals or dynamite are stored in 
 any building in excess of what wise legis- 
 lation declares is safe, some one has been 
 cruelly careless. Perhaps it is some in- 
 spector who has been disloyal to his trust, 
 by permitting bribes to chloroform his 
 sense of duty. If the lack of fire-escapes 
 adds its quota to the list of deaths, or if 
 the avarice of the owner has made his 
 building a fire-trap, public feeling be- 
 comes intense, the newspapers are justly 
 loud in their protests, and in demands 
 that the guilty ones be punished. " If the 
 laws already on the statute books do not 
 cover the situation/' we hear from day 
 to day, " new laws will be framed to make 
 a repetition of the tragedy impossible" ; 
 we are promised all kinds of reforms; the 
 air seems filled with a spirit of regenera- 
 tion ; the mercury of public indignation 
 rises to the point where " fever-heat " 
 seems a mild, inadequate term. 
 C. Then, as the horror begins to fade in 
 
 [84] 
 
€^e Conquest of t^e preventable 
 
 the perspective of the past, men go 
 quietly back to their own personal cares 
 and duties, and the mighty wave of right- 
 eous protest that threatened so much, dies 
 in gentle lapping on the shore. What has 
 been all men's concern seems soon to 
 concern no one. The tremendous energy 
 of the authorities seems like the gesture 
 of a drunken man, that starts from his 
 shoulder with a force that would almost 
 fell an ox but when it reaches the hand 
 it has expended itself, and the hand drops 
 listlessly in the air with hardly power 
 enough to disturb the serenity of a butter- 
 fly. There is always a little progress, a 
 slight advance, and it is only the constant 
 accumulation of these steps that is giv- 
 ing to the world greater dominion over 
 the preventable. 
 
 C Constant vigilance is the price of the 
 conquest of the preventable. We have no 
 right to admit any wrong or evil in the 
 worldasnecessary,untilwehaveexhausted 
 
 [85] 
 
W%t Conquest of t^e ^retoentafcle 
 
 every precaution that human wisdom can 
 suggest to prevent it. When a man with a 
 pistol in his right hand, clumsily covered 
 with a suspicious-looking handkerchief, 
 moved along in a line of people, and pre- 
 senting his left hand to President McKin- 
 ley, pressed his weapon to the breast of the 
 Chief Executive of the American people, 
 some one of the secret service men, paid 
 by the nation to guard their ruler, should 
 have watched so zealously that the tragedy 
 would have been impossible. Two Presi- 
 dents had already been sacrificed, but 
 twenty years of immunity had brought a 
 dreamy sense of security that lessened the 
 vigilance. We should emulate the exam- 
 ple of the insurance companies who de- 
 cline certain risks that are " extra haz- 
 ardous/' 
 
 ^ Poverty has no necessary place in life. 
 It is a disease that results from the weak- 
 ness, sin, and selfishness of humanity. Na- 
 ture is boundless in her generosity; the 
 [86] 
 
Wqt Conquest of tyz preventable 
 
 world produces sufficient to give food, 
 clothing, and comfort to every individual. 
 Poverty is preventable. Poverty may re- 
 sult from theshiftlessness, idleness, intem- 
 perance, improvidence, lack of purpose or 
 evil-doing of the individual himself. 
 €L If the causes do not exist in the individ- 
 ual, they may be found in the second class, 
 in the wrong-doing of those around him, 
 in the oppression of labor by capital, in 
 the grinding process by which corpora- 
 tions seek to crush the individual. The in- 
 dividual may be the victim of any of a 
 thousand phases of the wrong of others. 
 The poverty caused by the third class, the 
 weakness and injustice of human laws and 
 human institutions, is also preventable, but 
 to reach the cause requires time and united 
 heroic effort of all individuals. 
 C In the battle against poverty, those 
 writers who seek to inflame the poor 
 against the rich, to foment discontent be- 
 tween labor and capital, do grievous wrong 
 
 [87] 
 
€^e Conquest of t^e ^rebetttafcle 
 
 to both. What the world needs is to have 
 the two brought closer together in the 
 bonds of human brotherhood. The poor 
 should learn more of the cares, responsi- 
 bilities, unrecorded charities, and absorb- 
 ing worries of the rich; the rich should 
 learn more intimately the sorrows, priva- 
 tions, struggles, and despair of poverty. 
 C. The world is learning the great truth, 
 that the best way to prevent crime is to 
 study the sociologic conditions in which 
 it flourishes, to seek to give each man a 
 better chance of living his real life by re- 
 moving, ifpossible,theelementsthatmake 
 wrong easy, and to him, almost necessary, 
 and by inspiring him to fight life's battle 
 bravely with all the help others can give 
 him. Science is cooperating with religion 
 in striving to conquer the evil at the root 
 instead of the evil manifest as crime in the 
 fruit of the branches. It is so much wiser 
 to prevent than to cure; to keep some one 
 from being burned is so much better than 
 [88] 
 
C^e Conquest of t^e preventable 
 
 inventing new poultices for unnecessary 
 hurts. 
 
 Q It is ever the little things that make up 
 the sum of human misery. All the wild 
 animals of the world combined do but tri- 
 fling damage, when compared with the 
 ravages of insect pests. The crimes of hu- 
 manity, the sins that make us start back 
 affrighted, do not cause as much sorrow 
 and unhappiness in lifeas the multitude of 
 little sins, of omission and commission, 
 that the individual, and millions like him, 
 must meet every day. They are not the 
 evil deeds that the law can reach or punish, 
 they are but the infinity of petty wrongs 
 for which man can never be tried until he 
 stands with bowed head before the bar of 
 justice of his own conscience. 
 ^ The bitter words of anger and reproach 
 that rise so easily to our lips and give us a 
 moment's fleeting satisfaction in thus vent- 
 ing our feelings, miy change the current 
 of the whole life of some one near to us. 
 
 [8 9 ] 
 
€^e Conquest of t^e preventable 
 
 Thethoughtlessspeech, revealing our lack 
 of tact and sympathy, cannot be recalled 
 and made nothing by the plea, "I didn't 
 think." To sensitive souls this is no justifi- 
 cation; they feel that our hearts should be 
 so filled with the instinct of love that our 
 lips would need no tutor or guardian. 
 CL Our unfulfilled duty may bring unhap- 
 piness and misery to hundreds. The dress- 
 maker's bill that a rich woman may toss 
 lightly aside, as being an affair of no mo- 
 ment, to be settled at her serene pleasure, 
 may bring sorrow, privation or even fail- 
 ure to her debtor, and through her to a 
 long chain of others. The result, if seen in 
 all its stern reality, seems out of all pro- 
 portion to the cause. There are places in 
 the Alps, where great masses of snow are 
 so lightly poised that even the report of a 
 gun might start a vibration that would 
 dislodge an avalanche, and send it on its 
 death-mission into the valley. 
 C, The individual who would live his life 
 
 [90] 
 
C^e Conquest of t^e ^retoentable 
 
 to the best that is within him must make 
 each moment one of influence for good. 
 He must set before him as one of his ideals, 
 to be progressively realized in each day of 
 his living: "If I cannot accomplish great 
 deeds in the world, I will do all the good 
 I can by the faithful performance of the 
 duties that come to my hand and being 
 ever ready for all opportunities. And I 
 will consecrate myself to the conquest of 
 the preventable/' 
 
 <^Let the individual say each day, as he 
 rises new-created to face a new life : " To- 
 day no one in the world shall suffer because 
 I live. I will be kind, considerate, careful 
 in thought and speech and act. I will seek 
 to discover the element that weakens me 
 as a power in the world, and that keeps me 
 from living up to the fullness of my possi- 
 bility . That weakness I will master to-day. 
 I will conquer it, at any cost." 
 ^When any failure or sorrow comes to 
 the individual, he should be glad if he can 
 
 [91] 
 
C^e Conquest of fyz ^refcentable 
 
 prove to himself that it was his fault, — 
 for then he has the remedy in his own 
 hands. Lying, intrigue, jealousy are never 
 remedies that can prevent an evil. They 
 postpone it, merely to augment it. They 
 are mer.ely deferring payment of a debt 
 which has to be met later, — with com- 
 pound interest. It is like trying to put out 
 a fire by pouring kerosene on the flames. 
 C, Jealousy in the beginning is but a 
 thought, — in the end it may mean the 
 gallows. Selfishness often assumes seem- 
 ingly harmless guises, yet it is the founda- 
 tion of the world's unhappiness. Disloy- 
 alty may seem to be a rare quality, but 
 society is saturated with it. Judas acquired 
 his reputation because of his proficiency 
 in it. Sympathy which should be the at- 
 mosphere of every individual life is as rare 
 as human charity. The world is suffering 
 from an over-supply of unnecessary evils, 
 created by man.They should be made lux- 
 uries, then man could dispense with them. 
 
 [92] 
 
C^e Conquest of t^e ^tetoentable 
 
 CLThe world needs societies formed of 
 members pledged to the individual con- 
 quest of preventable pain andsorrow. The 
 individual has no right that runs counter 
 to the right of any one else. There are no 
 solo parts in the eternal music of life. 
 Each must pour out his life in duo with 
 every other. Every moment must be one 
 of choice, of good or of evil. Which 
 will the individual choose? His life will 
 be his answer. Let him dedicate his life to 
 making the world around him brighter, 
 sweeter and better, and by his conquest of 
 preventable pain and sorrow he will day 
 by day get fuller revelation of the glory of 
 the possibilities of individual living, and 
 come nearer and nearer to the realization 
 of his ideals. 
 
 [93] 
 
%X)t Companionship of Colemnce 
 
Ci)e Companionship of 
 Colerance 
 
 1 INTOLERANCE is part of the 
 
 j unnecessary friction of life. It 
 | is prejudice on the war-path. 
 L. ~_.J Intolerance acknowledges on- 
 ly one side of any question, — its own. It 
 is the assumption of a monopoly in think- 
 ing, the attitude of the man who believes 
 he has a corner on wisdom and truth, in 
 some phase of life. 
 
 C Tolerance is a calm, generous respect 
 for the opinions of others, even of one's 
 enemies. It recognizes the right of every 
 man to think his own thoughts, to live 
 his own life, to be himself in all things, 
 so long as he does not run counter to 
 the rights of others. It means giving to 
 others the same freedom that we our- 
 selves crave. Tolerance is silent justice, 
 blended with sympathy. If he who is tol- 
 erant desires to show to others the truth 
 
 [97] 
 
€^e Companionship of Colerance 
 
 as he sees it, he seeks with gentleness and 
 deference to point out the way in which 
 he has found peace, and certainty, and 
 rest ; he tries to raise them to the recog- 
 nition of higher ideals, as he has found 
 them inspiring ; he endeavors in a spirit 
 of love and comradeship with humanity 
 to lead others rather than to drive them, 
 to persuade and convince rather than to 
 overawe and eclipse. 
 
 C Tolerance does not use the battering- 
 ram of argument or the club of sarcasm, 
 or the rapier of ridicule, in discussing the 
 weakness or wrongs of individuals. It may 
 lash or scourge the evil of an age, but it is 
 kind and tender with the individual ; it 
 may flay the sin, but not the sinner. Toler- 
 ance makes the individual regard truth as 
 higher than personal opinion ; it teaches 
 him to live with the windows of his life 
 open towards the east to catch the first 
 rays of the sunlight of truth no matter 
 from whom it comes, and to realize that 
 
 [98] 
 
C^e Companionship of Colerance 
 
 the faith that he so harshly condemns may 
 have the truth he desires if he would only 
 look into it and test it before he repudiates 
 it so cavalierly. 
 
 Q This world of ours is growing better, 
 more tolerant and liberal. The days when 
 adifference in political opinions wassolved 
 and cured by the axe and the block ; when 
 a man's courage to stand by his religion 
 meant facing the horrors of the Inquisi- 
 tion or the cruelty of the stake, when 
 daring to think their own thoughts on 
 questions of science brought noble men 
 to a pallet of straw and a dungeon cell, — 
 these days have, happily, passed away. In- 
 tolerance and its twin brother, Ignorance, 
 weaken and die when the pure white light 
 of wisdom is thrown upon them. Knowl- 
 edge is the death-knell of intolerance — 
 not mere book-learning, nor education in 
 schools or colleges, nor accumulation of 
 mere statistics, nor shreds of information, 
 but the large sympathetic study of the 
 
 ■ LrfftJ [99] 
 
C^e Companionship of Colerance 
 
 lives, manners, customs, aims, thoughts, 
 struggles, progress, motives and ideals of 
 other ages, other nations, other individ- 
 uals. 
 
 <L Tolerance unites men in the closer 
 bondsof human brotherhood, brings them 
 together in unity and sympathy in essen- 
 tials and gives them greater liberality 
 and freedom inn on-essentials. Napoleon 
 when First Consul said, " Let there be no 
 more Jacobins, nor Moderates, nor Roy- 
 alists: letall be Frenchmen/' Sectionalism 
 and sectarianism always mean concentra- 
 tion on the body of a part at the expense 
 of the soul of the whole. The religious 
 world to-day needs more Christ and less 
 sects in its gospel. When Christ lived on 
 earth Christianity was a unit; when he 
 died sects began. 
 
 CL There are in America to-day, hundreds 
 of small towns, scattered over the face of 
 the land, that are over-supplied with 
 churches. In many of these towns, just 
 [ioo] 
 
C^e Companionship of Colerance 
 
 emerging from the short dresses of village- 
 hood, there are a dozen or more weak 
 churches, struggling to keep their or- 
 ganization alive. Between these churches 
 there is often only a slight difference in 
 creed, the tissue-paper wall of some tech- 
 nicality of belief. Half-starved, dragging 
 out a mere existence, trying to fight a 
 large mortgage with a small congrega- 
 tion and a small contribution box, there 
 is little spiritual fervor. By combination, 
 by cooperation, by tolerance, by the mu- 
 tual surrender of non-essentials and a 
 strong, vital concentration and unity on 
 the great fundamental realities of Chris- 
 tianity, their spiritual health and possi- 
 bilities could be marvellously increased. 
 Three or four sturdy, live, growing 
 churches would then take the place of a 
 dozen strugglers. Why have a dozen weak 
 bridges across a stream, if greater good can 
 come from three or four stronger ones, 
 or even a single strongest bridge ? The 
 
 [IOI] 
 
C^e Companion^ of tolerance 
 
 world needs a great religious trust which 
 will unite the churches into a single body 
 of faith, to precede and prepare the way 
 for the greater religious trust, predicted 
 in Holy Writ, — the millennium. 
 C We can ever be loyal to our own be- 
 lief, faithful to our own cause, without 
 condemning those who give their fidelity 
 in accord with their own conscience or 
 desires The great reformers of the world, 
 men who are honestly and earnestly seek- 
 ing to solve the great social problems and 
 to provide means for meeting human sin 
 and wrong, agreeing perfectly in their 
 estimate of the gravity and awfulness of 
 the situation, often propose diametrically 
 opposite methods. They are regarding 
 the subject from different points of view, 
 and it would be intolerance for us, who 
 are looking on, to condemn the men on 
 either side merely because we cannot ac- 
 cept their verdict as our own. 
 C On the great national questions brought 
 [102] 
 
€:^e Companionship of tolerance 
 
 before statesmen for their decision, men 
 equally able, equally sincere, just and un- 
 selfish, differ in their remedies. One, as a 
 surgeon, suggests cutting away the offend- 
 ing matter, the use of the knife, — this 
 typifies the sword, or war. Another, as a 
 doctor, urges medicine that will absorb 
 and cure, — this is the prescription of the 
 diplomat. The third suggests waiting for 
 developments, leaving the case with time 
 and nature, — this is the conservative. 
 But all three classes agree as to the evil 
 and the need of meeting it. 
 C^The conflict of authorities on every 
 great question to be settled by human 
 judgment should make us tolerant of the 
 opinion of others, though we may be as 
 confident ofthe rightness of thejudgment 
 we have formed as if it were foreordained 
 from the day of the creation. But if we 
 receive any new light that makes us see 
 clearer, let us change at once without that 
 foolish consistency of some natures that 
 
 [ io 3] 
 
€^e Companionship of Colerance 
 
 continue to use last year's almanac as a 
 guide to this year's eclipses. Tolerance is 
 ever progressive. 
 
 C Intolerance believes it is born with the 
 peculiar talent for managing the affairs of 
 others, without any knowledge of the de- 
 tails, better than the men themselves, who 
 are giving their life's thought to the vital 
 questions. Intolerance is the voice of the 
 Pharisee still crying through the ages and 
 proclaiming his infallibility. 
 C[ Let us not seek to fit the whole world 
 with shoes from our individual last. If we 
 think that all music ceased to be written 
 when Wagner laid down the pen, let us 
 not condemn those who find enjoyment 
 in light opera. Perhaps they may some- 
 time rise to our heights of artistic appre- 
 ciation and learn the proper parts to 
 applaud. If their lighter music satisfies 
 their souls, is our Wagner doing more for 
 us ? It is not fair to take from a child its 
 rag doll in order to raise it to the appre- 
 [104] 
 
W$z Companionship of Colerance 
 
 ciation of the Venus de Milo. The rag 
 doll is its Venus ; it may require a long 
 series of increasingly better dolls to lead 
 it to realize the beauties of the marble 
 woman of Melos. 
 
 C, Intolerance makes its great mistakes 
 in measuring the needs of others from 
 its own standpoint. Intolerance ignores 
 the personal equation in life. What would 
 be an excellent book for a man of forty 
 might be worse than useless for a boy of 
 thirteen. The line of activity in life that 
 we would choose as our highest dream of 
 bliss, as our Paradise, might, if forced on 
 another, be to him worse than the after- 
 death fate of the wicked, according to the 
 old-fashioned theologians. What would 
 be a very acceptable breakfast for a spar- 
 row would be a very poor meal for an 
 elephant. 
 
 C When we sit in solemn judgment of 
 the acts and characters of those around us 
 and condemn them with the easy non- 
 
 [>°5] 
 
€^e Companionship of Coletance 
 
 chalance of our ignorance, yet with the 
 assumption of omniscience we reveal our 
 intolerance. Tolerance ever leads us to 
 recognize and respect the differences in 
 the natures of those who are near to us, to 
 make allowance for differences in train- 
 ing, in opportunities, in ideals, in motives, 
 in tastes, in opinions, in temperaments 
 and in feelings. Intolerance seeks to live 
 other people's lives for them; sympathy 
 helps us to live their lives with them. We 
 must accept humanity with all its weak- 
 ness, sin and folly and seek to make the 
 best of it, just as humanity must accept 
 us. We learn this lesson as we grow older, 
 and, with the increase of our knowledge 
 of the world, we see how much happier 
 life would have been for us and for others 
 if we had been more tolerant, more 
 charitable, more generous. 
 C,No one in the world is absolutely per- 
 fect ; if he were he would probably be 
 translated from earth to heaven, as was 
 
 [i 06] 
 
C^e Compaittott^fp of Colerattce 
 
 Elijah of old, without waiting for the 
 sprouting of wings or the passport of 
 death. It is a hard lesson for youth to 
 learn, but we must realize, as the old col- 
 lege professor said to his class of students, 
 bowed with the consciousness of their 
 wisdom : " No one of us is infallible, no, 
 not even the youngest." Let us accept 
 the little failings of those around us as we 
 accept facts in nature, and make the best 
 of them, as we accept the hard shells of 
 nuts, the skin of fruits, the shadow that 
 always accompanies light. These are not 
 absolute faults, they are often but indi- 
 vidual peculiarities. Intolerance sees the 
 mote in its neighbor's eye as larger than 
 the beam in its own. 
 CL Instead of concentrating our thought 
 on the one weak spot in a character, let 
 us seek to find some good quality that off- 
 sets it, just as a credit may more than can- 
 cel a debt on a ledger account. Let us not 
 constantly speak of roses having thorns, let 
 [107] 
 
€^e Companionship of tolerance 
 
 us be thankful that the thorns have roses. 
 In Nature there are both thorns and 
 prickles; thorns are organic, they have 
 their root deep in the fibre and the being 
 of the twig ; prickles are superficial, they 
 are lightly held in the cuticle or covering 
 of the twig. There are thorns in character 
 that reveal an internal inharmony, that 
 can be controlled only from within ; there 
 are also prickles, which are merely pecu- 
 liarities of temperament, that the eye of 
 tolerance may overlook and the finger of 
 charity can gently remove. 
 C The tenderness of tolerance will illu- 
 minate and glorify the world, — as moon- 
 light makes all things beautiful, — if we 
 only permit it. Measuring a man by his 
 weakness alone is unj ust. This little frailty 
 may be but a small mortgage on a large 
 estate, and it is narrow and petty to judge 
 by the mortgage on a character. Let us 
 consider the "equity/' the excess of the 
 real value over the claim against it. 
 [108] 
 
W$t Companionship of Colerance 
 
 <^ Unless we sympathetically seek to dis- 
 cover the motive behind the act, to see 
 the circumstances that inspired a course 
 of living, the target at which a man is 
 aiming, our snap condemnations are but 
 arrogant and egotistic expressions of our 
 intolerance. All things must be studied 
 relatively instead of absolutely. The hour 
 hand on a clock does just as valuable work 
 as the minute hand, even though it is 
 shorter and seems to do only one-twelfth 
 as much. 
 
 C Intolerance in the home circle shows 
 itself in overdiscipline, in an atmosphere 
 of severity heavy with prohibitions. The 
 home becomes a place strewn with 
 " Please keep off the grass " signs. It 
 means the suppression of individuality, 
 the breaking of the wills of children, 
 instead of their development and direc- 
 tion. It is the foolish attempt to mould 
 them from the outside, as a potter does 
 clay ; the higher conception is the wise 
 [109] 
 
W$t Companionship of tolerance 
 
 training that helps the child to help him- 
 self in his own growth. Parents often 
 forget their own youth ; they do not 
 sympathize with their children in their 
 need of pleasure, of dress, of companion- 
 ship. There should be a few absolutely 
 firm rules on essentials, the basic princi- 
 ples of living, with the largest possible 
 leeway for the varying manifestations 
 of individuality in unimportant phases. 
 Confidence, sympathy, love and trust 
 would generate a spirit of tolerance and 
 sweetness that would work marvels. In- 
 tolerance converts live, natural children 
 into prigs of counterfeit virtue and irri- 
 tatingly good automatons of obedience. 
 €L Tolerance is a state of mutual conces- 
 sions. In the family life there should be 
 this constant reciprocity of independence, 
 this mutual forbearance. It is the instinc- 
 tive recognition of the sacredness of in- 
 dividuality, the right of each to live his 
 own life as best he can. When we set our- 
 [no] 
 
Welt Companionship of Colerance 
 
 selves up as dictators to tyrannize over the 
 thoughts, words and acts of others, we are 
 sacrificing the kingly power of influence 
 with which we may help others, for the 
 petty triumph of tyranny which repels 
 and loses them. 
 
 Q Perhaps one reason why the sons of 
 great and good men so often go astray is, 
 that the earnestness, strength and virtue of 
 the father,exacting strict obedience to the 
 letter of the law, kills the appreciation of 
 the spirit of it, breeding an intolerance 
 that forces submission under which the 
 fire of protest and rebellion is smoulder- 
 ing, ready to burst into flame at the first 
 breath of freedom. Between brother and 
 sister, husband and wife, parent and child, 
 master and servant, the spirit of toler- 
 ance, of " making allowances," trans- 
 forms a house of gloom and harshness 
 into a home of sweetness and love. 
 {£ In the sacred relation of parent to child 
 there always comes a time when the boy 
 
 [..I] 
 
C^e Companion^ of Colerance 
 
 becomes a man, when she whom the 
 father still regards but as a little girl faces 
 the great problems of life as an individ- 
 ual. The coming of years of discretion 
 brings a day when the parents must sur- 
 render their powers of trusteeship, when 
 the individual enters upon his heritage 
 of freedom and responsibility. Parents 
 have still the right and privilege of coun- 
 sel and of helpful, loving insight their 
 children should respect. But in meeting 
 a great question, when the son or daugh- 
 ter stands before a problem that means 
 happiness or misery for a lifetime, it 
 must be for him or for her to decide. 
 Coercion, bribery, undue influence, 
 threats of disinheritance, and the other 
 familiar weapons, are cruel, selfish, arro- 
 gant and unjust. A child is a human be- 
 ing, free to make his own life, not a slave. 
 There is a clearly marked dead-line that 
 it is intolerance to cross. 
 CL Let us realize that tolerance is ever 
 
 en.] 
 
C^e Companion^ of €olerance 
 
 broadening ; it develops sympathy, weak- 
 ens worry and inspires calmness. It is but 
 charity and optimism, it is Christianity as 
 a living eternal fact, not a mere theory. 
 Let us be tolerant of the weakness of 
 others, sternly intolerant of our own. Let 
 us seek to forgive and forget the faults of 
 others, losing sight, to a degree, of what 
 they are in the thought of what they may 
 become. Let us fill their souls with the in- 
 spiring revelation of their possibilities in 
 the majestic evolution march of human- 
 ity. Let us see, for ourselves and for them, 
 in the acorn of their present the towering 
 oak of their future. 
 
 C, We should realize the right of every 
 human soul to work out its own destiny, 
 with our aid, our sympathy, our inspira- 
 tion, if we art thus privileged to help him 
 to live his life ; but it is intolerance to try 
 to live it for him. He sits alone on the 
 throne of his individuality ; he must reign 
 alone, and at the close of his rule must give 
 
 ["3] 
 
€^e Companion^ of Coletrance 
 
 his own account to the God of the ages 
 of the deeds of his kingship. Life is a dig- 
 nified privilege, a glorious prerogative of 
 every man, and it is arrogant intolerance 
 that touches the sacred ark with the hand 
 of unkind condemnation. 
 
 ["4] 
 
C^e C^ingg t^at Come too late 
 
Ci)e Clings tfjat Come too 
 2Ute 
 
 IT 
 
 TIME seems a grim old humor- 
 i ist, with a fondness for after- 
 | thoughts. The things that come 
 — ~J too late are part of his sarcasm. 
 Each generation is engaged in correcting 
 the errors of its predecessors, and in sup- 
 plying new blunders for its own posterity 
 to set right. Each generation bequeaths 
 to its successor its wisdom and its folly, its 
 wealth of knowledge and its debts of error 
 and failure. The things that come too late 
 thus mean only the delayed payments on 
 old debts. They mean that the world is 
 growing wiser, and better, truer, nobler, 
 and more just. It is emerging from the 
 dark shadows of error into the sunshine of 
 truth and justice. They prove that Time is 
 weaving a beauteous fabric from the warp 
 and woof of humanity, made up of shreds 
 and tangles of error and truth. 
 
€^e Clings t^at Come too Hate 
 
 ^ The things that come too late are the 
 fuller wisdom, the deferred honors, the 
 truer conception of the work of pioneers, 
 the brave sturdy fighters who battled alone 
 for truth and were misunderstood and un- 
 recognized. It means the world'sfiner atti- 
 tude toward life. If looked at superficially, 
 the things that come too late make us feel 
 helpless, hopeless, pessimistic ; if seen with 
 the eye of deeper wisdom, they reveal to 
 us the grand evolution march of humanity 
 toward higher things. It is Nature's proc- 
 lamation that, in the end, Right must tri- 
 umph, Truth must conquer, and Justice 
 must reign. For us, as individuals, it is a 
 warning and an inspiration, — a warning 
 against withholding love, charity, kind- 
 ness, sympathy, justice, and helpfulness, 
 till it is too late; an inspiration for us to 
 live ever at our best, ever up to the maxi- 
 mum of effort, not worrying about re- 
 sults, but serenely confident that they 
 must come. 
 
 [i 1 8] 
 
€^e €$fng£ tyat Come too Late 
 
 €L It takes over thirty years for the light of 
 some of the stars to reach the earth, some 
 a hundred, some a thousand years. Those 
 stars do not become visible till their light 
 reaches and reacts on human vision. It 
 takes an almost equal time for the light of 
 some of the world's great geniuses to meet 
 real, seeing eyes. Then we see these men 
 as the brilliant stars in the world's gallery 
 of immortal great ones. This is why con- 
 temporary reputation rarely indicates last- 
 ing fame. We are constantly mistaking 
 fireflies of cleverness for stars of genius. 
 But Time brings all things right. The 
 fame, though, brings no joy, or encour- 
 agement, or inspiration to him who has 
 passed beyond this world's lights and shad- 
 ows; it has the sadness of the honors that 
 come too late, a touch of the farcical min- 
 gled with its pathos. Tardy recognition is 
 better than none at all, it is better, though 
 late, than never ; but it is so much truer and 
 kinder and more valuable if never late. 
 
C^e ^in^ t^at Come too late 
 
 We are so inclined to send our condem- 
 nation and our snapshot criticisms by- 
 express, and our careful, honest condem- 
 nation by slow freight. 
 C, In October, 1635, Roger Williams,be- 
 cause of his inspiring pleas for individual 
 liberty, was ordered by the General Court 
 of Massachusetts to leave the colony for- 
 ever. He went to Rhode Island, where he 
 lived for nearly fifty years. But the official 
 conscience grew a little restless, and a few 
 years ago, in April, 1899, Massachusetts 
 actually made atonement for its rash act. 
 The original papers, yellow, faded, and 
 crumbling, were taken from their pigeon- 
 hole tomb, and "by an ordinary motion, 
 made, seconded, and adopted/' the order 
 of banishment was solemnly "annulled 
 and repealed, and made of no effect what- 
 ever." The ban, under which Roger Wil- 
 liams had lain for over 260 years, was 
 lifted. And there is no reason now, accord- 
 ing to law, why Roger Williams cannot 
 [120] 
 
%ty Clings tljat Come too late 
 
 enter the State of Massachusetts and reside 
 therein. The action was to the credit and 
 honor of the State; it was right in its 
 spirit, and Roger being in the spirit for 
 more than two centuries, may have smiled 
 gently and understood. But the reparation 
 was really — over-delayed. 
 C The mistakes, the sin and folly of one 
 age may be partially atoned for by a suc- 
 ceeding age, but the individual stands 
 alone. For what we do and for what we 
 leave undone, we alone are responsible. 
 If we permit the golden hours that might 
 be consecrated to higher things to trickle 
 like sand through our fingers, no one can 
 ever restore them to us. 
 C Human affection is fed by signs and 
 tokens of that affection. Merely having 
 kindly feelings is not enough, they should 
 be made manifest in action. The parched 
 earth is not refreshed by the mere fact of 
 water in the clouds, it is only when the 
 blessing of rain actually descends that it 
 
 [121] 
 
C^e t^itt&s t^at Come too late 
 
 awakens to new life. We are so ready to 
 say " He knows how much I think of 
 him," and to assume that as a fitting sub- 
 stitute for expression. We may know that 
 the sun is shining somewhere and still 
 shiver for lack of its glow and warmth. 
 Love should be constantly made evident 
 in little acts of thoughtfulness, words of 
 sweetness and appreciation, smiles and 
 handclasps of esteem. It should be shown 
 to be a loving reality instead of a memory 
 by patience, forbearance, courtesy, and 
 kindness. 
 
 C This theory of presumed confidence in 
 the persistence of affection is one of the 
 sad phases of married life. We should have 
 roses of love, ever-blooming, ever-breath- 
 ing perfume, instead of dried roses pressed 
 in the family Bible, merely for reference, 
 as a memorial of what was, instead of guar- 
 antee of what is. Matrimony too often 
 shuts the door of life and leaves senti- 
 ment, consideration and chivalry on the 
 [122] 
 
%\>z things t^at Come too Late 
 
 outside. The feeling may possibly be still 
 alive, but it does not reveal itself rightly ; 
 the rhymed poetry of loving has changed 
 to blank verse and later into dull prose. 
 As the boy said of his father: "He's a 
 Christian, but he's not working much at 
 it now." Love without manifestation does 
 not feed the heart anymore than a locked 
 bread-box feeds the body; it does not illu- 
 minate and brighten the round of daily 
 duties any more than an unlit lamp light- 
 ens a room. There is often such a craving 
 in the heart of a husband or a wife for 
 expression in words of human love and 
 tenderness that they are welcomed no 
 matter from what source they may come. 
 If there were more courtships continued 
 after marriage, the work of the divorce 
 courts would be greatly lessened. This 
 realization is often one of the things that 
 come too late. 
 
 C There are more people in this world 
 hungering for kindness, sympathy, com- 
 
 [ I2 3] 
 
C^e Ctyittgg tyat Come too Hate 
 
 radeship and love, than are hungering for 
 bread. We often refrain from giving a 
 hearty word of encouragement, praise or 
 congratulation to some one, even where 
 we recognize that our feelings are known, 
 for fear of making him conceited or over- 
 confident. Let us tear down these dykes 
 of reserve, these walls of petty repression, 
 and let in the flood of our feelings. There 
 have been few monuments reared to the 
 memory of those who have failed in life 
 because of overpraise. There is more 
 chiseled flattery on tombstones than was 
 ever heard in life by the dead those 
 stones now guard. Man does not ask for 
 flattery, he does not long for fulsome 
 praise, he wants the honest, ringing sound 
 of recognition of what he has done, fair 
 appreciation of what he is doing, and 
 sympathy with what he is striving to do. 
 C[ Why is it that death makes us suddenly 
 conscious of a hundred virtues in a man 
 who seemed commonplace and faulty in 
 [124] 
 
€^e Ctyngg t^at Come too JLate 
 
 life ? Then we speak as though an angel 
 had been living in our town for years and 
 we had suddenly discovered him. If he 
 could only have heard these words while 
 living, if he could have discounted the 
 eulogies at, say even sixty per cent, they 
 would have been an inspiration to him 
 when weary, worn and worried by the 
 problems of living. But now the ears are 
 stilled to all earthly music, and even if 
 they could hear our praise, the words 
 would be but useless messengers of love 
 that came too late. 
 
 C It is right to speak well of the dead, to 
 remember their strength and to forget 
 their weakness, and to render to their 
 memory the expressions of honor, jus- 
 tice, love and sorrow that fill our hearts. 
 But it is the living, ever the living that 
 need it most. The dead have passed be- 
 yond the helpfulness ; our wildest cries of 
 agony and regret bring no answering echo 
 from the silences of the unknown. Those 
 
 ['25] 
 
€^e C^ingjs t^at Come too Late 
 
 who are facing the battle of life, still seek- 
 ing bravely to do and to be, — they need 
 our help, our companionship, our love, all 
 that is best in us. Better is the smallest 
 flower placed in our warm, living hands 
 than mountains of roses banked round our 
 casket. 
 
 C, If we have failed in our expressions to 
 the dead, the deep sense of our sorrow and 
 the instinctive rush of feeling proclaim 
 the vacuum of duty we now seek too late 
 to fill. But there is one atonement that is 
 not too late. It is in making all humanity 
 legatees of the kindness and human love 
 that we regret has been unexpended, it is 
 in bringing brightness, courage and cheer 
 into the lives of those around us. Thus our 
 regret will be shown to be genuine, not a 
 mere temporary gush of emotionalism. 
 C It is during the formative period, the 
 time when a man is seeking to get a foot- 
 hold, that help counts for most, when even 
 the slightest aid is great. A few books lent 
 [126] 
 
€^e C^mgg t^at Come too Late 
 
 to Andrew Carnegie when he was begin- 
 ning his career were to him an inspira- 
 tion ; he has nobly repaid the loan, made 
 posterity his debtor a million-fold by his 
 beneficence in sprinkling libraries over 
 the whole country. Help the saplings, 
 the young growing trees of vigor, — the 
 mighty oaks have no need of your aid. 
 C The heartening words should come 
 when needed, not when they seem only 
 hypocriticprotestations, or dextrousprep- 
 arations for future favors. Columbus, sur- 
 rounded by his mutinous crew, threaten- 
 ing to kill him, alone amid the crowd, had 
 no one to stand by him. But he neared 
 land, and riches opened before them ; then 
 they fell at his feet, proclaimed him almost 
 a god and said he truly was inspired from 
 Heaven. Success transfigured him — a 
 long line of pebbly beach and a few trees 
 made him divine. A little patience along 
 the way, a little closer companionship, a 
 little brotherly love in his hours of watch- 
 [127] 
 
W$z W$xi§$ t^at Come too Hate 
 
 ing, waiting, and hoping would have been 
 great balm to his soul. 
 CL It is in childhood that pleasures count 
 most, when the slightest investment of 
 kindness brings largest returns. Let us 
 give the children sunlight, love, com- 
 panionship, sympathy with their little 
 troubles and worries that seem to them 
 so great, genuine interest in their grow- 
 ing hopes, their vague, unproportioned 
 dreams and yearnings. Let us put our- 
 selves into their places, view the world 
 through their eyes so that we may gently 
 correct the errors of their perspective by 
 our greater wisdom. Such trifles will make 
 them genuinely happy, happier by far 
 than things a thousand times greater that 
 come too late. 
 
 " C, Procrastination is the father of a count- 
 less family of things that come too late. 
 Procrastination means making an ap- 
 pointment with opportunity to "call 
 again to-morrow. " It kills self-control, 
 
 [128] 
 
€^e C^ittgg tyat Come too Hate 
 
 saps mental energy, makes man a creature 
 of circumstances instead of their creator. 
 There is one brand of procrastination 
 that is a virtue. It is never doing to-day 
 a wrong that can be put off till to-mor- 
 row, never performing an act to-day that 
 may make to-morrow ashamed. 
 C, There are little estrangements in life, 
 little misunderstandings that are passed 
 by in silence between friends, each too 
 closely armored with pride, and enam- 
 oured with self to break. There is a time 
 when a few straightforward words would 
 set it all right, the clouds would break 
 and the sunshine of love burst forth again. 
 But each nurses a weak, petty sense of 
 dignity, the rift grows wider, they drift 
 apart, and each goes his lonely way, hun- 
 gering for the other. They may waken to 
 realization too late to piece the broken 
 strands of affection into a new life. 
 C The wisdom that comes too late in a 
 thousand phases of life usually has an 
 [129] 
 
€^e C^ittgg tyat Come too late 
 
 irritating, depressing effect on the indi- 
 vidual. He should charge a large part 
 of it to the account of experience. If no 
 wisdom came too late there would be no 
 experience. It means, after all, only that 
 we are wiser to-day than we were yester- 
 day, that we see all things in truer rela- 
 tion, that our pathway of life has been 
 illuminated. 
 
 €L The world is prone to judge by results. 
 It is glad to be a stockholder in our suc- 
 cess and prosperity, but it too often 
 avoids the assessments of sympathy and 
 understanding. The man who pulls 
 against the stream may have but a stanch 
 two or three to help him. When the tide 
 turns and his craft swiftens its course and 
 he is carried along without effort, he finds 
 boats hurrying to him from all directions 
 as if he had suddenly woke up and found 
 himself in a regatta. The help then comes 
 too late ; he does not need it. He himself 
 must then guard against the temptation 
 
 [ l 3°] 
 
€^e ^fyin^ tyat Come too JLate 
 
 of cynicism and coldness and selfishness. 
 Then he should realize and determine 
 that what he terms " the way of the 
 world " shall not be his " way." That he 
 will not be too late with his stimulus to 
 others who have struggled bravely as he 
 has done, but who being less strong may 
 drop the oars in despair for the lack of 
 the stimulus of even a friendly word of 
 heartening in a crisis. 
 C. The old song of dreary philosophy 
 says: "The mill will never grind again 
 with the water that is past." Why should 
 the mill expect to use the same water 
 over and over ? That water may now be 
 merrily turning mill-wheels further down 
 the valley, continuing without ceasing, its 
 good work. It is folly to think so much 
 of the water that is past. Think more of 
 the great stream that is ever flowing on. 
 Use that as best you can, and when it has 
 passed you will be glad that it came, and 
 be satisfied with its service. 
 
 t"3i] 
 
€^e C^fn&s t^at Come too Hate 
 
 C[ Time is a mighty stream that comes 
 each day with unending flow. To think 
 of this water of past time with such re- 
 gret that it shuts our eyes to the mighty 
 river of the present is sheer folly. Let us 
 make the best we can of to-day in the 
 best preparation for to-morrow ; then 
 even the things that come too late will be 
 new revelations of wisdom to use in the 
 present now before us, and in the future 
 we are forming. 
 
 I>3 2 ] 
 
C^e Way of tye Befotmet 
 
Cj)e W&y of tfje Reformer 
 
 PZIZI^riHE reformers of the world are 
 | its men of mighty purpose. 
 I They are men with the courage 
 L^._ ,—.«j of individual conviction, men 
 who dare run counter to the criticism of 
 inferiors, men who voluntarily bear crosses 
 for what they accept as right, even with- 
 out the guarantee of a crown. They are 
 men who gladly go down into the depths 
 of silence, darkness and oblivion, but only 
 to emerge finally like divers, with pearls 
 in their hands. 
 
 CL He who labors untiringly toward the 
 attainment of some noble aim, with eyes 
 fixed on the star of some mighty purpose, 
 as the Magi followed the star in the East, 
 is a reformer. He who is loyal to the in- 
 spiration of some great religious thought, 
 and with strong hand leads weak trem- 
 bling steps of faith into the glory of cer- 
 
 [i3S] 
 
€^e Way of t^e Reformer 
 
 tainty, is a reformer. He who follows the 
 thin thread of some revelation of Nature 
 in any of the sciences, follows it in the 
 spirit of truth through a maze of doubt, 
 hope, experiment and questioning, till the 
 tiny guiding thread grows stronger and 
 firmer to his touch, leading him to some 
 wondrous illumination of Nature's law, 
 is a reformer. 
 
 C He who goes up alone into the moun- 
 tains of truth and, glowing with the ra- 
 diance of some mighty revelation, returns 
 to force the hurrying world to listen to his 
 story is a reformer. Whoever seeks to work 
 out for himself his destiny, the life-work 
 that all his nature tells him should be his, 
 bravely, calmly and with due considera- 
 tion of the rights of others and his duties 
 to them, is a reformer. 
 CL These men who renounce the com- 
 monplace and conventional for higher 
 things are reformersbecause they are striv- 
 ing to bring about new conditions; they 
 
 [136] 
 
%ty Way of t^e Reformer 
 
 are consecrating their lives to ideals. They 
 are the brave aggressive vanguard of prog- 
 ress. They are men who can stand a siege, 
 who can take long forced marches without 
 a murmur, who set their teeth and bow 
 their heads as they fight their way through 
 the smoke, who smile at the trials and pri- 
 vations that dare to daunt them . They care 
 naught for the hardships and perils of the 
 fight, for they are ever inspired by the flag 
 of triumph that seems already waving on 
 the citadel of their hopes. 
 C, If we are facing some great life ambi- 
 tion let us see if our heroic plans are good, 
 high, noble and exalted enough for the 
 price we must pay for their attainment. 
 Let us seriously and honestly look into our 
 needs, our abilities, our resources, our re- 
 sponsibilities, to assure ourselves that it is 
 no mere passing whim that is leading us. 
 Let us hear and consider all counsel, all 
 light that may be thrown on every side, 
 let us hear it as a judge on the bench lis— 
 
 037] 
 
C^e Way of t^e Reformer 
 
 tens to the evidence and then makes his 
 own decision. The choice of a life-work is 
 too sacred a responsibility to the individual 
 to be lightly decided for him by others 
 less thoroughly informed than himself. 
 When we have weighed in the balance the 
 mighty question and have made our de- 
 cision, let us act, let us concentrate our 
 lives upon that which we feel is supreme, 
 and, never forsaking a real duty, never be 
 diverted from the attainment of the high- 
 est things, no matter what honest price we 
 may have to pay for their realization and 
 conquest. 
 
 C, When Nature decides on any man as a 
 reformer she whispers to him his great 
 message, she places in his hand the staff of 
 courage, she wraps around him the robes 
 of patience and self-reliance and starts him 
 on his way. Then, in order that he may 
 have strength to live through it all, she 
 mercifully calls him back for a moment 
 and makes him — an optimist. 
 
 [138] 
 
€^e Way of t^e !5eformet: 
 
 C The way of the reformer is hard, very 
 hard. The world knows little of it, for it is 
 rare that the reformer reveals the scars of 
 conflict, the pangs of hope deferred, the 
 mighty waves of despair that wash over a 
 great purpose. Sometimes men of sincere 
 aim and unselfish high ambition, weary 
 and worn with the struggle, have permit- 
 ted the world to hear an uncontrolled sob 
 of hopelessness or a word of momentary 
 bitterness at the seeming emptiness of all 
 effort. But men of great purpose and noble 
 ideals must know that the path of the re- 
 former is loneliness. They must live from 
 within rather than in dependence on 
 sources of help from without. Their mis- 
 sion, their exalted aim, their supreme ob- 
 ject in living, which focuses all their en- 
 ergy, must be their source of strength and 
 inspiration. The reformer must ever light 
 the torch of his own inspiration. His own 
 hand must ever guard thesacred flame ashe 
 moves steadily forward on his lonely way. 
 
 [>39] 
 
'Qfyt Way of tyt Kzfotmtt 
 
 4£ The reformer in morals, in education, 
 in religion, in sociology, in invention, in 
 philosophy, in any line of aspiration, is 
 ever a pioneer. His privilege is to blaze the 
 path for others, to mark at his peril a road 
 that others may follow in safety. He must 
 not expect that the way will be graded and 
 asphalted for him. He must realize that 
 he must face injustice, ingratitude, oppo- 
 sition, misunderstanding, the cruel criti- 
 cism of contemporaries and often, hardest 
 of all, the wondering reproach of those 
 who love him best. 
 
 Q He must not expect the tortoise to sym- 
 pathize with the flight of the eagle. A 
 great purpose is ever an isolation. Should a 
 soldier leading the forlorn hope complain 
 that the army is not abreast of him? The 
 glorious opportunity before him should so 
 inspirehim,soabsorbhim,thathewillcare 
 naught for the army except to know that 
 if he lead as he should, and do that which 
 the crisis demands, the army must follow. 
 [140] 
 
C^e Way of t^e Reformer 
 
 ^ The reformer must realize without a 
 trace of bitterness that the busy world 
 cares little for his struggles, it cares only to 
 joy in his final triumph; it will share his 
 feasts but not his fasts. Christ was alone in 
 Gethsemane, but — at the sermon in the 
 wilderness, where food was provided, the 
 attendance was four thousand. 
 ^ The world is honest enough in its atti- 
 tude. It takes time for the world to real- 
 ize, to accept, and to assimilate a large 
 truth. Since the dawn of history, the great 
 conservative spirit of every age, that bal- 
 last that keeps the world in poise, makes 
 the slow acceptance of great truths an es- 
 sential for its safety. It wisely requires 
 proof, clear, absolute, undeniable attesta- 
 tion, before it fully accepts. Sometimes 
 the perfect enlightenment takes years, 
 sometimes generations. It is but the safe- 
 guard of truth. Time is the supreme test, 
 the final court of appeals that winnows out 
 the chaff of false claims, pretended revela- 
 
 [hi] 
 
€^e Way of t^e Reformer 
 
 tion, empty boast, and idle dreams. Time 
 is the touchstone that finally reveals all 
 true gold. The process is slow, necessarily 
 so, and the fate of the world's geniuses 
 and reformers in the balance of their con- 
 temporary criticism, should have a sweet- 
 ness of consolation rather than the bitter- 
 ness of cynicism. If the greatest leaders of 
 the world have had to wait for recogni- 
 tion, should we, whose best work may be 
 but trifling in comparison with theirs, ex- 
 pect instant sympathy, appreciation, and 
 cooperation, where we are merely grow- 
 ing toward our own attainment? 
 C. The world ever says to its leaders, by its 
 attitude if not in words, "If you would 
 lead us to higher realms of thought, to 
 purer ideals of life, and flash before us, like 
 the handwriting on the wall, all the pos- 
 sible glories of development,^^ must pay 
 the price for it, not we/' The world has a 
 law as clearly defined as the laws of Kep- 
 ler: "Contemporary credit for reform 
 
 [142] 
 
€^e Way of t^e Eeformer 
 
 works in any line will be in inverse pro- 
 portion to the square root of their impor- 
 tance/' Give us a new fad and we will 
 prostrate ourselves in the dust; give us a 
 new philosophy, a marvelous revelation, a 
 higher conception of life and morality, 
 and we may pass you by, but posterity will 
 pay for it. Send your messages CO. D. and 
 posterity will settle for them. You ask for 
 bread; posterity will giveyouastone, called 
 a monument. 
 
 €L There is nothing in this to discourage 
 the highest efforts of genius. Genius is 
 great because it is decades in advance of its 
 generation. To appreciate genius requires 
 comprehension and the same characteris- 
 tics. The public can fully appreciate only 
 what is a few steps in advance ; it must grow 
 to the appreciation of great thought. The 
 genius or the reformer should accept this 
 as a necessary condition. It is the price he 
 must pay for being in advance of his gen- 
 eration, just as front seats in the orchestra 
 
 [■43] 
 
C^e Wav of t^e JSefotwt: 
 
 cost more than those in the back row of 
 the third gallery. 
 
 €L The world is impartial in its methods. 
 It says ever, "you may suffer now, but 
 we will give you later fame." Posthu- 
 mous fame means that the individual 
 may shiver with cold, but his grand- 
 children will get fur-lined ulsters; the 
 individual plants acorns, his posterity sells 
 the oaks. Posthumous fame or recogni- 
 tion is a check made out to the individ- 
 ual, but payable only to his heirs. 
 €L There is nothing the world cries out 
 for so constantly as a new idea ; there is 
 nothing the world fears so much. The 
 milestones of progress in the history of 
 the ages tell the story. Galileo was cast 
 into prison in his seventieth year and his 
 works were prohibited. He had commit- 
 ted no crime, but he was in advance of 
 his generation. Harvey's discovery of the 
 circulation of the blood was not accepted 
 by the universities of the world till twenty- 
 
 [H4] 
 
C^e Way of t^e Reformer 
 
 five years after its publication. Froebel, 
 the gentle inspired lover of children, suf- 
 fered the trials and struggles of the re- 
 former, and his system of teaching was 
 abolished in Prussia because it was "cal- 
 culated to bring up our young people in 
 atheism/' So it was with thousands of 
 others. 
 
 €L The world says with a large airy sweep 
 of the hand, "the opposition to progress 
 is all in the past, the great reformer or 
 the great genius is recognized to-day." 
 No, in the past they tried to kill a great 
 truth by opposition; now we gently seek 
 to smother it by making it a fad. 
 C[ So it is written in the book of human 
 nature : The saviours of the world must 
 ever be martyrs. The death of Christ on 
 the cross for the people he had come to 
 save, typifies the temporary crucifixion 
 of public opinion that comes to all who 
 bring to the people the message of some 
 great truth, some clearer revelation of 
 
 [•45] 
 
C^e Ww of t^e Eeformet: 
 
 the divine. Truth, right, and justice must 
 triumph. Let us never close the books of 
 a great work and say "it has failed." 
 C No matter how slight seem results, 
 how dark the outlook, the glorious con- 
 summation of the past, the revelation of 
 the future, must come. And Christ lived 
 thirty years and he had twelve disciples, 
 one denied him, one doubted him, one 
 betrayed him, and the other nine were 
 very human. And in the supreme crisis of 
 His life "they ^//forsook him and fled," 
 but to-day — His followers are millions. 
 C[ Sweet indeed is human sympathy, the 
 warm hand-clasp of confidence and love 
 brings a rich inflow of new strength to 
 him who is struggling, and the knowl- 
 edge that someone dear to us sees with 
 love and comradeship our future through 
 our eyes, is a wondrous draught of new 
 life. If we have this, perhaps the loyalty 
 of two or three, what the world says or 
 thinks about us should count for little. 
 
 [i 4 6] 
 
C^e Way of t^e Eeformer 
 
 But if this be denied us, then must we 
 bravely walk our weary way alone, toward 
 the sunrise that must come. 
 CL The little world around us that does not 
 understand us, does not appreciate our 
 ambition or sympathize with our efforts, 
 that seem to it futile, is not intentionally 
 cruel, calloused, bitter, blind, or heartless. 
 It is merely that busied with its own pur- 
 suits, problems and pleasures, it does not 
 fully realize, does not see as we do. 
 C The world does not see our ideal as we 
 see it, does not feel the glow of inspira- 
 tion that makes our blood tingle, our eye 
 brighten, and our soul seem flooded with 
 a wondrous light. It sees naught but the 
 rough block of marble before us and the 
 great mass ofchips and fragments of seem- 
 ingly fruitless effort at our feet, but it does 
 not see the angel of achievement slowly 
 emerging from its stone prison, from 
 nothingness into being, under the tireless 
 strokes of our chisel. It hears no faint 
 
 [■47] 
 
C^e Way of tfre Reformer 
 
 rustle of wings that seem already real to 
 us nor the glory of the music of triumph 
 already ringing in our ears. 
 C There come dark, dreary days in all 
 great work, when effort seems useless, 
 when hope almost appears a delusion, 
 and confidence the mirage of folly. Some- 
 times for days your sails flap idly against 
 the mast, with not a breath of wind to 
 move you on your way, and with a paraly- 
 zing sense of helplessness you just have to 
 sit and wait and wait. Sometimes your 
 craft of hope is carried back by a tide that 
 seems to undo in moments your work of 
 months. But it may not be really so, you 
 maybe put into a new channel that brings 
 you nearer your haven than you dared 
 to hope. This is the hour that tests us, 
 that determines whether we are masters 
 or slaves of conditions. As in battle of 
 Marengo, it is the fight that is made when 
 all seems lost that really counts and wrests 
 victory from the hand of seeming defeat. 
 
 [i 4 8] 
 
%\>t Way of tfre Beftmtier 
 
 iL If you are seeking to accomplish any- 
 great serious purpose that your mind and 
 your heart tell you is right, you must 
 have the spirit of the reformer. You must 
 have the courage to face trial, sorrow and 
 disappointment, to meet them squarely 
 and to move forward unscathed and un- 
 daunted. In the sublimity of your perfect 
 faith in the outcome, you can make them 
 as powerless to harm you, as a dewdrop 
 falling on the Pyramids. 
 C. Truth, with time as its ally, always 
 wins in the end. The knowledge of the 
 inappreciation, the coldness, and the in- 
 difference of the world, should never 
 make you pessimistic. They should in- 
 spire you with that large, broad optimism 
 that sees that all the opposition of the 
 world can never keep back the triumph 
 of truth, that your work is so great that 
 the petty jealousies, misrepresentations, 
 and hardships caused by those around you, 
 dwindle into nothingness. What cares the 
 
 [H9] 
 
€^e Way of t^e aMormet; 
 
 messenger of the king for his trials and 
 sufferings if he know that he has deliv- 
 ered his message ? Large movements, 
 great plans, always take time for develop- 
 ment. If you want great things, pay the 
 price like a man. 
 
 C, Any one can plant radishes ; it takes 
 courage to plant acorns and to wait for 
 the oaks. Learn to look not merely at 
 the clouds, but through them to the sun 
 shining behind them. When things look 
 darkest, grasp your weapon firmer and 
 fight harder. There is always more prog- 
 ress than you can perceive, and it is 
 really only the outcome of the battle that 
 counts. 
 
 C. And when it is all over and the vic- 
 tory is yours, and the smoke clears away 
 and the smell of the powder is dissipated, 
 and you bury the friendships that died 
 because they could not stand the strain, 
 and you nurse back the wounded and 
 faint-hearted who loyally stood by you, 
 
 [150] 
 
%X)t Way of t^e Reformer 
 
 even when doubting, then the hard years 
 of fighting will seem but a dream. You 
 will stand brave, heartened, strengthened 
 by the struggle, re-created to a new, better 
 and stronger life by a noble battle, nobly 
 waged, in a noble cause. And the price 
 will then seem to you — nothing. 
 
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