IPS 3519 
 ,022 H3 
 
 |1919 
 Copy 1 
 

 
 By Charles Nelson Johnson 
 
 Chicago, Illinois 
 1919 
 
 

 
 '1%; 
 
 By Charles Nelson Johnson 
 
 Chicago, Illinois 
 1919 
 
®Jy^ ^u\^ (Blmp 
 
 By 
 
 Gbari^s Nelson Johnson 
 
 CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 
 
 1919 
 

 Copyright iqiq 
 By C. N. Johnson 
 
 i^EG 27 1919 
 
 ©CI,A559222 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 My Creed 3 
 
 My Tree 5 
 
 Parading One's Ailments 8 
 
 Kindness lo 
 
 Beauty In Nature 12 
 
 Thoughts 13 
 
 Strictly Personal . . ; 15 
 
 Motive 18 
 
 The Mistletoe and Holly 20 
 
 A Man's Duty 22 
 
 The Power of Non-Resistance 24 
 
 The Value of the Home 26 
 
 My Prayer 2q 
 
 My Letters 31 
 
 Patience 33 
 
 The Miracle of The Buds 3 j 
 
 I Wouldn't 37 
 
 Perseverance 40 
 
 An Open Letter to the Trained Nurse .... 42 
 Seeing The Other Fellow's Point of View . 46 
 
 Wanted — A Sense of Integrity 48 
 
 My Pledge 51 
 
 The Old Home 53 
 
 A Cure for the Blues 56 
 
 Respect the Rights of Others 58 
 
 The Good Which Men Do 60 
 
 The Great American Crime 62 
 
 Nursing A Sorrow 65 
 
 When I Grow Old 67 
 
 The Larger Vision 70 
 
An -Explanation 
 
 l)HERE is really very little to justify 
 the publication of this book. It is 
 not in any sense humorous, nor is it 
 calculated to "while away an idle 
 hour" — as if perchance any one ever 
 had an idle hour in this the twentieth century. 
 It is not exciting or absorbing in theme — it 
 just drifts. There is no sequence of thought 
 or sentiment, no connection between the topics 
 — it is thrown together. It does not tell a 
 story, nor "adorn a tale." It would seem 
 therefore that it had little to recommend it. 
 
 And yet there is supposedly a reason for 
 everything under the sun, and so there must 
 be a reason for putting forth this book. It is 
 this : Most of these brief essays have appeared 
 in magazines and some of the author's friends 
 have become familiar with them through this 
 medium. Frequently it has chanced that they 
 have written the author asking where certain 
 articles could be found. These requests have 
 been so generous and so cordial that the author 
 has finally felt that he might venture — even at 
 a seeming sacrifice of modesty on his part — to 
 gather the articles into a volume. 
 
 This is the sole purpose of their publication. 
 They are intended only for the author's friends 
 — a message from him to them — a "hand- 
 clasp." Even in this limited sense they are 
 sent out with much misgiving. 
 
 C. N. J. 
 
 Chicago, 1919. 
 
 Page One 
 
My Creed 
 
 BELIEVE in allowing others to believe 
 as they wish, provided their belief 
 works no injustice to their fellow man 
 or fellow beast. I believe in patience, 
 in consideration, in kindness — above 
 all, I believe in kindness. I believe the world 
 owes every man a living — when he earns it, 
 but not otherwise. I believe in goodness, but 
 not the goody good. I believe in the rugged 
 kind which digs deep down into the heavy 
 hearts of humanity and drags out the misery 
 and sorrow and discouragement, and plants 
 the flowers of hope and happiness — and then 
 says nothing about it. I believe in one good 
 act more than in a million sermons. I believe 
 in doing more than in saying. 
 
 I believe in correcting a wrong, but not in 
 harboring revenge. I believe in charity, but 
 not in alms. I believe in helping others to 
 help themselves, but I do not believe in creat- 
 ing paupers by a false philanthropy. I believe 
 in strength of character and simplicity of taste. 
 I believe in morals, but not in moralizing; in 
 practice, but not in preaching; in culture, but 
 not in cults. I believe in humility, but not 
 the humility which makes a man look down 
 instead of up. I believe in hope, but not the 
 hope which takes everything for granted and 
 trusts to luck. I do not believe in going out 
 to look for trouble, but I believe in meeting an 
 issue face to face instead of hiding your head 
 in the sand. 
 
 I do not believe in worry, but I do believe 
 in taking thought of the morrow, for I have 
 never yet seen a morrow which wholly took 
 care of itself. I do not believe in letting the 
 
 Page Three 
 
other fellow do all the worrying, because to do 
 that is to acknowledge yourself something less 
 than a cog in the wheel. 
 
 I believe in the good old times — which are 
 now, and will be a thousand years after you 
 and I are dead. I respect the past, but I 
 believe the world is becoming better. I believe 
 in idolatry, but not of graven images. I believe 
 in the worship of men, women and little 
 children; of truth, justice and loving kindness. 
 
 I do not believe in killing people, either in 
 passion or by sanction of the law; either in the 
 war of nations or the war of trade. I believe 
 in giving every man a chance to live and make 
 good. I believe in the gospel of work, but 
 not in the greed of gain; in the sanctity of 
 labor, but not in the degradation of drudgery. 
 
 I believe in wealth, the wealth of ideas, of 
 knowledge — the priceless heritage left us by 
 the intellect of all the ages. I believe in the 
 fundamentals of civilization, but not in the 
 frills of society. I believe in sunshine, pure 
 air and cheerfulness. I believe in the glorious 
 out-of-doors, and in the sacredness of the soil. 
 I believe in the hallowed portals of the home, 
 and the communion of the family fireside. 
 
 I believe in the blessed Trinity of Love, 
 Laughter and Liberty, for where these three 
 dwell there is happiness. I believe in living 
 each day with all my heart, with all my soul, 
 with all the powers that in me lie so that the 
 world may be better for my living. And this 
 then is my creed, to have no creed save that of 
 doing good and being kind — of doing good all 
 the time and being kind all the time, now, 
 henceforth and forever. 
 
 "So many dogmas, so many creeds. 
 So many paths that wind and wind, 
 When just the art of being kind 
 Is all this sad world needs." 
 
 Page Four 
 
My • Tree 
 
 HAVE a tree somewhere by the road- 
 side — the exact spot does not matter. 
 We are the greatest of friends, and I 
 go to see my tree every summer. If 
 a season should pass wherein I was not 
 permitted to visit it, I should count it quite 
 a calamity — so also I am sure would the tree. 
 I do not remain long with my tree when I visit 
 it; in fact, I merely drive past it on the high- 
 way. But we are so well acquainted, and 
 understand each other so perfectly, that we 
 visit a vast deal in that brief space. 
 
 The moment my horse's ears are seen bob- 
 bing up over the rise of ground approaching 
 the spot, this beautiful leafy friend of mine 
 begins to exhibit unmistakable evidences of a 
 delightful agitation. It sends me a salute as 
 far as it can see, and grows more and more 
 demonstrative as I approach, till by the time 
 I am quite come up with it the air is fairly 
 musical with its ode of welcome. 
 
 It begins with a rushing swell as if tuned 
 by the mighty Jove, then sighs softly into a 
 whispering melody full of the sweet secrets of 
 buds and birds, and sinks at last into a hushed 
 suspense, tremulous with emotion. Then again 
 in rhythm with a sweep of the wind it breaks 
 out into a rousing chorus of acclaim, and 
 frantically waves overhead a myriad bright 
 little banners in honor of the occasion. Oh, 
 what a moment is this for me as I slowly pass 
 by my tree and see all the excitement and 
 celebration because of my coming ! 
 
 If it were not that people might account 
 me mad — people who do not understand the 
 beautiful sentiment of trees — I should assuredly 
 raise my hat and wave it in answer to the 
 
 Page Five 
 
splendid tribute. As it is I must content 
 myself with uttering a softly murmured beni- 
 son, and although the words are seldom fairly 
 spoken, yet the tree knows full well what I 
 mean, and bids me Godspeed in turn. Its 
 farewell bow as I meet a bend in the road — a 
 bow graceful as ever were made in my lady's 
 parlor — sends me lighter hearted on my way, 
 and makes me feel a better man because of 
 having had this communion with the tree. 
 
 The last time I passed the spot I was 
 pained to find that some miscreant — some 
 defiler of things divine — had, with an ax, cut 
 a great gash in the side of my tree, leaving an 
 ugly scar, with traces of tears running down 
 its trunk. Poor, puny, insignificant man! 
 clothed with a petty, transient power, I would 
 that thou wert made to see the full measure of 
 thine iniquity. 
 
 Another man in years gone by — a man 
 devoid of grace and harmony and tenderness 
 of touch— was guilty, I find, of sinning against 
 this tree. It was the man who took it upon 
 himself to name it. He called it the hard 
 maple! As if there were anything hard about 
 such a tree as this — except the soundness of 
 its heart. And even this must not apply, for 
 while it may be sound hearted, I affirm it 
 never can be accounted hard hearted. This 
 tree is the softest, most musical, most beauti- 
 ful of all trees, and had it been given me to 
 name it — knowing as I do its wondrous charms 
 of form and shade and sentiment — I should 
 have called it a "poem in gray and green." 
 
 A picture of this tree would show that it 
 has a slight inclination toward the east, and I 
 suppose the scientific reason for this would be 
 advanced that the prevailing winds in this 
 region are from the west or northwest. But I 
 know a better reason than this. Familiar as 
 
 Page Six - 
 
I am with the deep-seated sentiment which 
 permeates this tree I have attributed its lean- 
 ing in this direction to the fact that each 
 morning it bows a graceful salute to the rising 
 sun, and as habits leave their impress on all 
 of us it is but natural to suppose that this 
 beautiful tree after all these many years of 
 bowing should bend toward the eastern sun. 
 
 I could write chapters on the sentiment 
 intertwined with this tree. I am a lover of 
 the forest and the fields, of rocks and rivers, 
 of hills and hollows, and the sweeping currents 
 of the wind. I love the tangled growth of 
 nature, and the serried ranks of golden grain. 
 I love to listen to the songs of birds, and to 
 the roaring of a torrent, to the hum of insects 
 and the patter of the cooling rain. But above 
 all I love a beautiful tree and this is the most 
 beautiful one I ever saw. For years I have 
 watched it, studied it and worshipped it. It 
 grows a trifle more exquisite each time I see 
 it, and I sometimes wonder when the limit is 
 to be reached. It has led me to the study of 
 other trees and I have found this study a never 
 ending source of delight. Ride through the 
 country in a carriage, an automobile or a rail- 
 road train, and you will never lack for enter- 
 tainment if you learn to study trees. Every- 
 where in nature these beautiful banners of the 
 fields are waving for your delectation, and they 
 grow more and more interesting as you observe 
 them closer. They are without money and 
 without price spread out for the eye of the 
 poorest wayfarer, and yet "Solomon in all his 
 glory was not arrayed like one of these." 
 Learn to love trees and you will never know 
 what it is to be lonely. 
 
 Page Seven 
 
Parading * One s • Ailments 
 
 ^T IS astonishing how many people really 
 enjoy poor health. At least, they 
 would appear to enjoy it from the way 
 they roll each malady as a sweet morsel 
 under the tongue. Go into any society 
 where conversation is free and the chief topic 
 is of the ills which flesh is heir to — particularly 
 the flesh of those who are taking part in the 
 conversation, or of some one they know, or of 
 some one they have heard about. People are 
 cosmopolitan in this respect — and liberal. 
 They can discuss in the most generous manner 
 the peculiar way in which Nebuchadnezzar 
 Jones, who lives over in the next county, and 
 whom they probably never saw, strained his 
 great toe in an attempt to reach the garret 
 with a stepladder. Or they can tell about 
 their own petty mishaps with a gusto that 
 would do justice to a worthier cause. 
 
 They love to dote on the ills of life, and are 
 perfectly extatic when they can recite the 
 nauseating details of the most loathsome 
 disease. In their minds a man is great only 
 when he has been monstrously ill, or had some 
 affection more profound than other people. 
 To be sick is to be famous — and by the same 
 token that is the only claim to distinction that 
 many people have. 
 
 Why not cease talking about sickness? If 
 you only knew it there are very few people 
 who are really interested in your small ail- 
 ments, and if your ailments are serious, I know 
 of only three classes of people to whom they 
 appeal, the life insurance man, the physician 
 and the undertaker. Their interest is of such 
 a nature that you are not likely to be flattered 
 with it if you knew it, and so it is best to keep 
 
 Page Eight 
 
these things to yourself. A constant com- 
 plainer is a nuisance to everyone around him. 
 
 And this talking about disease all the time 
 generates disease, because many of our mala- 
 dies are purely mental. IngersoU said that if 
 he had the regulation of things he would make 
 good health catching instead of disease, but 
 in this he was one degree off in his reckoning. 
 Good health is catching just as surely as is 
 disease, and it is the simplest matter in the 
 world to learn how to catch it. But you can- 
 not do it by magnifying your ills and bragging 
 about your complaints — as if they lent dis- 
 tinction to your individuality. 
 
 I read somewhere about a cheery old man 
 who was asked why he never complained of 
 being ill. "Because I am ashamed of it," he 
 answered. "If I am ever ill, I know it is be- 
 cause I have violated some of the laws of nature 
 and so I am deserving of censure rather than 
 sympathy." This old man's philosophy niay 
 have seemed far fetched, and yet it is im- 
 measureably a better philosophy than the one 
 of laying all our petty ills at the door of a 
 kindly providence, and then piously holdmg 
 our hands to high heaven and boasting martyr- 
 like of our unique affliction. 
 
 If you are sick do the best you can, but 
 don't prate over it. If you must talk about 
 your troubles, tell them to the physical police- 
 man — the doctor. He will listen to you — 
 sometimes— because he has a money interest 
 in it. But between you and me he is half the 
 time thinking how full of folly you are and 
 "what fools these mortals be." 
 
 Don't parade your ailments, and you will 
 be healthier and happier. So will those who 
 are obliged to listen to you. 
 
 Page Nine 
 
Kindness 
 
 OFTEN wonder why people do not 
 make a wider use of the marvelous 
 power there is in kindness. It is the 
 greatest lever to move the hearts of 
 men that the world has ever known — 
 greater by far than any thing that mere 
 ingenuity can devise, or subtlety suggest. 
 Kindness is the king-pin of success in life, it 
 is the prime factor in overcoming friction and 
 making the human machinery run smoothly. 
 If a man is your enemy you cannot disarm 
 him in any other way so quickly or so surely 
 as by doing him a kind act. The meanest 
 brute that ever drew breath is not altogether 
 insensible to the influence of kindness. Of 
 course it takes a strong man — the very strong- 
 est in fact — to do a kindness to the man who 
 has wronged him, and yet there is no other 
 way of so certainly bringing about restitution. 
 Not only this, but it develops additional 
 strength in the man who does it. 
 
 Like begets like, and hate generates hate. 
 We all recognize this because it is every day 
 borne in upon us by the contentions of human 
 kind. Every lawsuit testifies to it, every 
 hotly contested political campaign, every 
 occasion when men meet in conflict for indiv- 
 idual preference. If this is true, then it must 
 hold that kindness begets kindness. In fact, 
 kindness accumulates at the rate of compound 
 interest, and it is the only investment I know 
 in which the principal is absolutely safe and 
 the interest 100 per cent — payable in advance. 
 I say payable in advance, because no man ever 
 started out to do a kind act who was not 
 rewarded for it in his own consciousness, even 
 before he lifted a hand. The mere resolve to 
 be kind carries with it its own reward, and 
 
 Page Ten 
 
starts in the individual a mental and moral 
 growth that cannot be computed. 
 
 And the peculiar thing about it is that the 
 power of kindness can be exercised by the 
 lowliest as well as the highest. The king upon 
 the throne has no more privilege in this respect 
 than the digger of ditches, and there is no other 
 factor in human life so well calculated to de- 
 stroy the distinctions of caste as this. Kind- 
 ness makes the whole world kin. It breaks 
 down the barriers of distrust, deceit, envy, 
 jealousy, hate, and all their miserable train. 
 
 And it is so cheap. The miser's pile is not 
 lessened by its use, and the poorest of the 
 poor can employ it in reckless profusion. It 
 grows by what it feeds on, and its food costs 
 nothing. 
 
 Kindness is the most valuable asset for the 
 young man or young woman to begin life on, 
 and the capital stock may be had for the ask- 
 ing. Armed with kindness, with consideration, 
 and with a determination to employ his tal- 
 ents to the highest possible proficiency, and 
 every young man can win his way in the world 
 and gather strength to meet the emergencies of 
 life as he goes. Each kind act is a threefold 
 benefit, it helps the one who performs it, the 
 one who receives it, and the world at large is 
 the better for it. Heap up kindness and half 
 the trouble of life would be smothered. If to 
 substitute happiness for unhappiness is de- 
 sirable, then kindness is its own justification. 
 
 A man should he estimated not so much by the size of 
 his hat as by the size of his heart. 
 
 Page Eleven 
 
Beauty * In • Nature 
 
 OFTEN wonder if we get the full 
 measure of happiness intended for us 
 through the medium of the marvelous 
 beauty provided by mother nature. 
 We are in such a hurry in these days, 
 and so occupied with what we are pleased to 
 call the material things of life that we do not 
 sufficiently study the wondrous handicraft that 
 grows up around us on all sides, even in the 
 midst of city life. We are so absorbed in 
 other matters that we are constantly passing 
 by without a thought the very things that 
 should most appeal to us in our search for the 
 sublime and the beautiful. There is enough 
 of beauty in a single tree to overwhelm an 
 ordinary mortal with wonder, awe and rever- 
 ence, if he but took the pains to study its 
 outlines, its varying forms, its brilliant hues, 
 and its never ending change from morn till 
 night and night till morn. This is particularly 
 true in the spring time when all of nature is 
 fairly bursting with life and energy. And . 
 what a carpet the earth and air have woven 
 for the feet of man! Is there anything like 
 grass to walk upon, or look upon, or lie upon? 
 And what shall we say of the lakes, and rivers, 
 and mountains, and valleys, each with its 
 own individuality, each with its own tradition, 
 and its own atmosphere? We do not study 
 these things enough. We do not enter into 
 the spirit of the marvelous miracle that 
 nature is working before our very eyes at every 
 turn of the tide, at every revolution of the 
 cycle of the seasons. And we fall far short of 
 getting the most there is in life when we fail 
 to accept the bounty that nature has provided 
 for us. 
 
 Page Twelve 
 
Thoughts 
 
 ^F it is true that "thoughts are things'* 
 then we should be very careful to 
 guard the kind of thinking we do. 
 It is undeniable that a man's method 
 of thinking largely establishes his 
 character. It is not altogether the things he 
 does but the things he thinks which shape his 
 destiny, because a man's thoughts must sooner 
 or later dominate his actions. And if a man is 
 to act rightly he must think rightly. I some- 
 times believe that the power of secret thought 
 is not fully appreciated by the average indiv- 
 idual. Most people seem to imagine that it 
 matters little what they think so long as they 
 do not allow a bad thought to manifest itself 
 in an open act. But this is a very great fallacy. 
 A man can not long indulge in unworthy 
 thoughts without sooner or later being thereby 
 influenced in his actions, and even if he were 
 able for an indefinite time to so control his 
 acts that they failed to mirror his thoughts, 
 there is an inevitable disintegration of moral 
 and mental fiber following wrong thinking 
 which saps a man's character and manifests 
 itself in one way or another just so surely as 
 a cause produces an effect. 
 
 In every man's inner consciousness then 
 there should be established as strict a monitor 
 as if the eyes of the entire world were upon 
 him, and it should be considered as highly 
 essential to think good thoughts as to do good 
 deeds. It is positively dangerous to do other- 
 wise. Not that it is possible to prevent wrong 
 thoughts from entering the mind at times. 
 I do not believe there was ever an ordinary 
 individual who was by nature so pure minded 
 that an evil thought did not occasionally enter 
 his mind. They seem to pop in on us without the 
 
 Page Thirteen 
 
slightest provocation; it is often inconceivable 
 whence they spring. They frequently take a 
 very alluring guise, but if we are honest with 
 ourselves we can not fail to recognize them for 
 what they are, and the moment we recognize 
 them we have a rigid duty to perform. If 
 we can not prevent them from entering the 
 mind we can at least expel them the instant 
 they gain entrance, and this we should do 
 resolutely and always. The surest way to 
 prevent the mind from dwelling on bad thoughts 
 is to keep it as constantly as possible occupied 
 with good thoughts, and this is the safest road 
 to contentment and happiness. 
 
 A prolonged quarrel between two individuals may not 
 prove that both are at fault, but if you listen to the story of 
 each you will usually be convinced that they are. 
 
 Page Fourteen 
 
Strictly • Personal 
 
 WISH people would stop trying to save 
 my soul. This is said with the utmost 
 reverence, the greatest charity, and an 
 entire absence of flippancy. It is 
 merely a polite protest against a life- 
 long persecution, and the fact that the perse- 
 cutors have often been among my best friends 
 does not necessarily lend enchantment to the 
 scene. Ever since I can remember this inex- 
 plicable thing called my soul has seemed to 
 be the object of much solicitation on the part 
 of many of my acquaintances. For this I 
 suppose I should be thankful and flattered, 
 and I can truly say that I am not ungrateful. 
 
 But one of the chief difificulties of the situ- 
 ation is that each has a separate method or a 
 different formula for saving souls. One man, 
 a very dear friend, claims that every night for 
 the past twenty-five years he has never failed 
 to carry my case to the throne of grace in 
 prayer. If this is true, and I have no reason 
 to doubt his word, that makes more than 9,000 
 distinct supplications on my behalf by this 
 one individual — which ought, if his method 
 were effective, to save any soul, even a worse 
 one than mine. But the peculiar thing is that 
 in the quarter century that I have known him 
 he has changed his ideas several times as to 
 how souls should be saved. When I first met 
 him he was a staunch 'Episcopalian, and then 
 he become a Methodist. When last I saw him 
 he had concluded that the Salvation Army 
 method was the correct one, but now after a 
 number of years he writes me that the churches 
 are all astray, and that there is no true religion 
 in any of them. What his present belief is it is 
 difficult for me to understand, though he has 
 tried faithfully to explain it to me. In any 
 
 Page Fifteen 
 
event, he assures me that it is the only real and 
 certain road to salvation, and I am wondering 
 where I should have been today had I been 
 won over by him when I first knew him. Of 
 one thing I am sure, that I never could have 
 kept pace with him in changing beliefs. 
 
 And this is the trouble. There are so many 
 plans of salvation that it is bewildering. One 
 of the bitterest debates I ever heard was be- 
 tween two ministers of the gospel over a ques- 
 tion of creed. Each claimed to have proved 
 his point beyond peradventure, and yet if what 
 either said were true the followers of the other 
 were straightway on their road to hell for 
 unbelief. 
 
 And I cannot see it that way — I sincerely 
 and honestly cannot — and I have pondered a 
 good deal upon it. I cannot think that hell is 
 a question of belief, or that it is a place of 
 abode. I believe in the heaven created by 
 good works, but not in a hell fire kindled for 
 eternity. It is too monstrous. 
 
 I am not foolish enough to wish to jeopar- 
 dize my future by a flippant disregard of any 
 of the essentials. I think seriously upon these 
 things, and the essence of all my thought is 
 that to constantly do good and always be kind 
 is the very best religion. This in spite of the 
 fact that one of the last sermons I heard from 
 the pulpit placed good works in the category 
 of dross, and lauded belief — this particular 
 minister's own belief, be it said — as the one 
 essential to life everlasting. 
 
 Well, may be so, but that is not my point 
 of view. I am willing that the minister should 
 believe that if he must, but I do not want 
 him to insist that I shall believe it. For mere 
 harmony's sake I should like to be able to 
 believe as my friends want me to, but I should 
 have to be a mental acrobat to keep in line 
 
 Page Sixteen 
 
with all of them. No, the thing to do as I 
 view it is for every man to live up to his highest 
 possibilities in good and loving service, with an 
 eye single to the greatest amount of happiness 
 he can contribute to the world, and not con- 
 cern himself too much about creeds, or beliefs 
 — or unbeliefs. Above all, let him be charitable 
 about the opinions of others, and let him not 
 intrude his particular belief upon every pas- 
 serby. 
 
 To insist that others shall believe as you 
 do is not only aiming at an impossibility, but 
 in many instances it is offering an insult to 
 the intelligence of those whom you seek to 
 influence. 
 
 We are what we are by virtue of countless generations 
 before us, and yet now that we are here we owe it to all the 
 coming generations to strive constantly for the best there is 
 in us. 
 
 Page Seventeen 
 
Motive 
 
 CAN forgive a man almost anything if 
 his motive is good. He may provoke 
 me to desperation by his blunders, and 
 make me almost despise him for his 
 density, and yet I can forgive him if 
 he means well. The designing man with a 
 smug exterior but with a false heart is my 
 especial detestation. Even the good he does 
 carries with it an unsatisfactory savor. As I 
 study the motives of men I am frequently 
 reminded of that phrase in "Ecce Homo" — 
 a book with a world of philosophy in it — "It 
 is true that a good man does good deeds, but 
 it is not necessarily true that he who does 
 good deeds is a good man. Selfish prudence 
 often dictates a virtuous course as unerringly 
 as virtue itself." 
 
 And when I see a man do another a good 
 turn with all the while a hidden depravity in 
 his heart and with an ulterior motive behind 
 it, I am nauseated to the depths of my being, 
 and shaken throughout my entire moral fiber. 
 I care not how polished or accomplished a 
 man may be, if he is not honest I want none of 
 him. And the incomprehensible thing to me 
 about most men with bad motives is that they 
 so frequently delude themselves with the belief 
 that they are deceiving the world as to their 
 honesty. I do not believe it was ever the case 
 that a man lived long in a community in close 
 association with his fellows without at least 
 some of them understanding his motives. We 
 hear occasionally a blare of trumpets over the 
 fact that a certain man has deceived a whole 
 community by leading a double life, posing at 
 one time as a moral, religious man and at 
 other times sinking to the depths of degrada- 
 tion, but the very excitement over such an 
 
 Page Eighteen 
 
occurrence proves the rarity of it. And it is 
 safe to conclude that even with the most skill- 
 ful tactician — with these men whom the world 
 heralds as having successfully played a double 
 role — it is always the case that some few in 
 the community understood perfectly their 
 motives and are not surprised when the ex- 
 posure comes. It is assuredly true that with 
 most men motive is easily read, and sooner or 
 later a man's motives form the basis of the 
 estimate which the thinking people of the 
 world place upon him. 
 
 / would rather have charity in my heart for the faults of 
 others than to be the most righteous person in the world. 
 
 Page Nineteen 
 
The" Mistletoe" and 
 Holly 
 
 AM sorry for the man or woman who 
 ever gets too old to enter into the spirit 
 of the blessed Yuletide season, or who 
 sees nothing beautiful in the sentiment 
 which yearly springs up in the hearts 
 of people to bind them closer in a common 
 sympathy. There is something about the 
 Christmas time which appeals to the finer 
 senses of humanity and makes it forget for a 
 moment the sordid side of life and the other- 
 while unconquerable greed of gain. And when 
 this sentiment is summed up it will be found 
 that aside from religious convictions, it re- 
 volves for the most part around two ideas — 
 the idea of home and the idea of childhood. 
 And what is better than these two ideas? 
 Home is the most sacred place on earth, and 
 childhood is the sweetest and purest thing in 
 existence. 
 
 At Christmas time there is the universal 
 home-coming on the part of the loved ones 
 scattered here and there by the exigencies of 
 modern life, and to gather once again around 
 the old fireside and see reflected in the light of 
 the glowing embers from the ancient Yule-log 
 the faces of those best beloved is the sweetest 
 sight this side the pearly gates. 
 
 And the children — who among us is not 
 made better by the radiant faces of the blessed 
 little tots as they hug close the burnished 
 toys and chatter so confidently of their 
 patron saint, the dear, immortal Kriss Kringle? 
 And who can escape the contagion of their 
 happiness? Pity the man who is proof against 
 this sort of infection, and who can look un- 
 moved upon such a scene as this. Let us get 
 
 Page Twenty 
 
together at this time of the year, and let us 
 cherish more and more the beautiful sentiment 
 typified by the event. Let us try if we may to 
 divorce Christmas from the modern idea of a 
 scramble for presents, and let us exchange love 
 for love, and charity for charity, instead of 
 bartering so fervently in material commodities 
 on this especial occasion. Let us go back to the 
 sentiment of home and childhood, and renew 
 the memories of other days when life was less 
 complex and not so careworn as it is to-day. 
 Let us be simple in our tastes and happy in 
 their fulfillment. 
 
 / hate persecution whether it be attributed to a man, a 
 devil, or a god. 
 
 Page Twenty-one 
 
A • Man s • Duty 
 
 SOMETIMES find it exceedingly diffi- 
 cult to determine the exact nature of a 
 man's duty in many of the minor 
 affairs of life as well as in those of more 
 serious import. This relates not so 
 much to moral obligations as to the material 
 things of life which enter into everyday ex- 
 perience. Moral duty seems to me self- 
 evident and readily defined, but when it comes 
 to worldly affairs I am sometimes greatly at 
 sea. I find my convictions constantly changing 
 according to my momentary point of view. 
 For instance, I sometimes see a man who goes 
 through life in the easiest possible manner, 
 enjoying to the utmost everything that comes 
 his way, and taking no thought of the morrow. 
 He never worries, never hurries, never works 
 too hard, never assumes responsibilities that 
 are not thrust upon him. If he sees anything 
 he wants he gets it if he has the money, and 
 sometimes he gets it whether he has the money 
 or not. He scorns to think of such a sordid 
 thing as saving money. If he lives to be old 
 and past the earning capacity of his better days 
 he is frequently brought face to face with pov- 
 erty, want and despair. If he dies in the prime 
 of life he leaves his family or those dependent 
 on him absolutely helpless, and a prey to the 
 buffets and bitterness of the cold world. And 
 when I see such an one I declare in my inmost 
 soul that this man failed grievously in his duty, 
 and that no man is doing right who does not 
 enter seriously into the problem of providing 
 for old age and of protecting those dependent 
 upon him. In such moments I can see no 
 kind of deprivation and self-discipline too 
 great for a man to practice in his youth and 
 early manhood to the end that his latter days 
 shall be secure from want. 
 
 Page Twenty-two 
 
And then again I see other men who strive 
 and save, and deprive themselves of luxuries 
 and even comforts, who make of life a serious 
 struggle without a relaxing ray of recreation, 
 always looking forward to the time when they 
 shall have accumulated enough to be inde- 
 pendent, and never willing to divorce them- 
 selves a moment from business. And I some- 
 times see one of these suddenly stricken down 
 and snuffed out, leaving nothing behind him 
 but a memory of toil and hardship. It would 
 seem that there should be something in life 
 for a man besides that, and at such a time I am 
 led to believe that it is a man's duty to accept 
 some pleasure in life as he goes along. 
 
 Then in professional matters it is difficult 
 to know what is exactly right. When I think 
 of many of the problems which remain unsolved 
 in my profession to-day I am overwhelmed by 
 my apparent lack of duty in not setting my- 
 self resolutely at work to solve them. In my 
 own eyes I am at that moment a veritable 
 beggar to absorb as much as I have from the 
 profession and give so little in return. 
 
 Probably before this conviction is twenty- 
 four hours old I am suddenly brought up against 
 another point of view, by being forced to com- 
 pare the number of hours I give to the pro- 
 fession as against those I devote to the ones 
 who are near and dear to me in domestic 
 relationship, and I must confess when this 
 issue is raised I hedge the question. I never 
 quite have the courage to contend for the pro- 
 fessional side of the obligation when two or 
 three pairs of brown eyes are searching my 
 conscience in the matter. And, so, what is a 
 man's duty? 
 
 I sometimes think I have it answered by 
 the trite phrase "a happy medium," but medi- 
 ums are not always happy — and then it is so 
 hard to know what is medium. 
 
 Page Twenty-three 
 
The • Power • of * Non- 
 Resistance 
 
 AM frank to confess that I have a 
 long way to travel yet before I can 
 quite bring myself to subscribe to the 
 doctrine of the Sage of Russia in which 
 he urged that, no matter what an in- 
 dividual does to you in the way of injury, you 
 should make no resistance — at least you should 
 not resist so as to injure the other. If I under 
 stand the peasant Count correctly, there should 
 be no such thing as punishment inflicted on an 
 individual in the way of retaliation. Well, in my 
 better moods I can come pretty nearly seeing 
 it in this way myself, and, while there are some 
 features of this theory which do not seem to 
 fit into the necessities of every case, yet I 
 most assuredly deplore anything in the nature 
 of vengeance. This doing injury to people to 
 "get even" with them has no place in my 
 philosophy or my sympathy, and I often lament 
 the misery which individuals bring upon them- 
 selves and others by such a course. The trite 
 old saying that "two wrongs never made a 
 right" is as true as anything in morals and 
 ethics can be. If you deliberately set at work 
 to do a man an injury because he has done you 
 one, or you fancy he has, you invariably inflict 
 more harm upon yourself than you do upon him. 
 This is as certain as it is that fire burns. 
 
 The wonder of it is, to me, that people have 
 not learned this truth long ago, and I am also 
 in ceaseless amazement that many otherwise 
 observant individuals fail to realize the subtle 
 power there is in non-resistance. The mere 
 statement of this principle would seem para- 
 doxical, but a closer analysis and an extended 
 observation of human events and of the motives 
 
 Page Twenty -four 
 
of men will reveal the real force behind an 
 attitude of calm self-control and lack of resent- 
 ment in the face of injury. This does not imply- 
 that if a mad man or a mad beast comes at 
 you with intent to do you bodily harm you are 
 to stand with folded arms and not defend your- 
 self. But this self-defense should be limited 
 to your own protection and not carried into 
 counter-injury to the other through resent- 
 ment. 
 
 There are so many of the small affairs of 
 life to which this principle of non-resistance 
 applies that it seems strange that civilized 
 people have not long ago learned the lesson. 
 Take the one example of receiving an abusive 
 letter from one who is stinging under a fancied 
 wrong. The first impulse of human nature is, 
 of course, to answer back in kind, and that is 
 what the writer of the letter fully expects. It 
 completely takes the wind from his sails for 
 you to write a moderate, kindly-tempered and 
 explanatory reply. He may swagger around 
 among his friends and say that he "has brought 
 you to time," but in his inmost heart he knows 
 that he is the defeated party, and so do all his 
 friends know it. And ever after he will be 
 more afraid to attack you than if you had 
 given him back what he sent. 
 
 Kindliness and consideration will win every 
 time over harshness and retaliation, and, 
 besides, it is only along these lines that true 
 growth of character can take place, either in 
 the individual or the nation. 
 
 Say the truth even if it hurts, but try to say it so that it 
 will not hurt. 
 
 Page Twenty-five 
 
The • Value * of • the • Home 
 
 HOME is not a house, nor is a house 
 necessarily a home. But a club or a 
 boarding house is neither one thing 
 nor the other and never can be. It 
 may do as a place of last resort, or a 
 temporary makeshift, but it is a poor place in 
 which to think good thoughts or do good 
 deeds. Imagine a man resolving to live a 
 better life, in the hurly burly of a big hotel. 
 Ten to one somebody will come along in the 
 midst of his reverie, and ask him to have a 
 drink — which they do say is not at all con- 
 ducive to living a better life. 
 
 The home is the sanctuary of the family, 
 the place where the better impulses are born, 
 and where the true growth of manhood is 
 stimulated. If a man is not good in his home 
 he is seldom good any place, but the reverse 
 cannot be said because a man is sometimes a 
 heathen Chinese in public, and a model of 
 probity within the precincts of his own home. 
 The home is the purifier of society, and the 
 most stable asset of the commonwealth. With- 
 out the home we would all be like a lot of 
 passengers in transit through life. 
 
 The man who buys a home and pays for it 
 is anchored to something substantial in life. 
 There is one spot at least that holds an especial 
 interest for him, a place to which he can retire 
 as a haven of refuge when all the rest of the 
 world wearies him. No matter how tempest- 
 tossed a man may be with conflicting interests 
 outside, however severe the stress and strain 
 of business cares or the nagging of an enemy, 
 whatever may be said of him in public in the 
 way of harsh criticism or unjust censure, the 
 moment he reaches the confines of his own 
 
 Page Twenty-six 
 
home he is certain of open-armed confidence 
 and the solace which comes from being under- 
 stood. The world may misjudge and malign 
 a man, but at home he is estimated at his true 
 worth. He is taken at par. His reputation 
 is never discounted, and he is sure of receiving 
 credit for everything if he makes good — some- 
 times he is credited when he doesn't make very 
 good. 
 
 There is no place where Charity is so broad, 
 or forgiveness so certain as in the home. "To 
 know all is to forgive all," and in the home a 
 man is known. 
 
 The home is the sheet anchor of civiliza- 
 tion. Think of the condition of any com- 
 munity where most of the people consist of a 
 floating population. There is nothing sub- 
 stantial about such a place. To be stable, 
 there must be community interest, and you 
 cannot have such interest without the nucleus 
 of the home. 
 
 The defeated politician seeks his home after 
 the contest with the certainty of finding com- 
 fort and solace. There is no salve so effective 
 in taking out the sting of defeat as the sym- 
 pathy and cheer of the family circle. 
 
 The successful politician or the great states- 
 man comes to his home wearied from shaking 
 hands with lines of people he never saw before 
 and never expects to see again. He sinks down 
 with a sigh of relief into his old familiar arm 
 chair, placed conveniently with loving thought 
 for his reception. His lame hand is let alone, 
 and he receives kisses instead of shakes. What 
 a relief! The homage of all the world is 
 nothing compared to this. And so it is in 
 every walk of life — the home is the one sure 
 refuge in time of trouble or in time of triumph. 
 
 You sometimes hear people prate about the 
 expense and responsibilty of keeping up a home. 
 
 Page Twenty-seven 
 
Fie, and fiddle-de-dee-dee! Don't you believe it, 
 or if you believe it don't let it deceive you. If it 
 is a responsibility for anyone it is for the wife 
 and mother, and it is the kind of responsibility 
 that every woman should welcome. There 
 may not be so much glamor about it as there 
 is in occupying the chair at a woman's club 
 meeting, but there is a heap more common 
 sense and comfort in it. It fits. 
 
 Let every young man who looks forward 
 to an old age of contentment and competence 
 begin to look about early in life with the idea 
 of establishing himself in a home. It will stay 
 put, when everything else is scattered. 
 
 The greatest luxury I know is to have ample time in 
 which to do your work well. 
 
 Page Twenty-eight 
 
My Prayer 
 
 PRAY that I shall be patient — patient 
 with the mistakes, the foibles, and even 
 the sins of others. I pray that if I am 
 wronged I shall be patient with the 
 wrong-doer ; that I shall count all of the 
 causes which led to the wrong; that I shall 
 search faithfully to see if I may not in some 
 manner have contributed to the wrong. I 
 pray that my patience extends not to myself 
 in case I do wrong to others, that the righteous 
 indignation of my whole soul shall rise up 
 within me to accuse me in all bitterness. 
 I pray that I may have charity — not the 
 blatant kind that builds edifices and dedicates 
 them with blare of trumpet; but the kind that 
 goes down deep into the aching hearts of 
 humanity and forgives a false or wayward 
 step. I pray that the sins of the fathers be 
 not meted out to the sons, that the dismal 
 heritage of disease and pain be banished from 
 the generations of men. I pray that the pangs 
 of hunger be not inflicted on the children of 
 the poor, nor the pride of possession be the 
 chief portion of the rich. I pray for the virtue 
 of humility — not the humility of self-conscious- 
 ness, but the humility of sacrifice and service. 
 I pray for the blessing of work — not the agon- 
 ized toil of helpless women and children 
 through greed of gain, but the glorious privilege 
 of doing for the sake of doing, of adding to the 
 myriad means of human thrift and happiness 
 and increasing day by day the material and 
 moral welfare of the world. I pray for hope, 
 that blessed balm of the human soul; for love, 
 that elixir of the human heart. I pray for the 
 rugged path of truth, the high hill of justice, 
 and the boundless atmosphere of liberty. I 
 pray for stress and storm, for heat and cold, 
 
 Page Twenty-nine 
 
for light and darkness — for the constant change 
 which holds within it the germ of virile growth. 
 I pray for reverses to try the temper of my 
 mind, that I may better bear the favors of 
 fortune when they come. I pray for breadth 
 of vision, for height of aspiration, and for 
 depth of discernment. I pray for purity of 
 thought — the mentor of our every act, the 
 guardian angel of our deeds, and the star 
 which keeps our faces forever turned toward 
 the light — above all I pray for purity of 
 thought. I pray for happiness, not the false 
 and spurious happiness which grows in a 
 heaven of lure and lust, but the happiness 
 which falls as the gentle dew from the vine of 
 virtue — the happiness which comes from doing 
 good and being kind. I pray that I may be 
 like other men, with the same hopes, the same 
 desires, and the same trials — that there be no 
 aloofness in my life. I pray that I may live 
 and labor with my fellowman. I pray that 
 I may be blessed with friends and companions; 
 friendship the flower, and companionship the 
 fruit of earthly experience. I pray that I may 
 love and be loved as long as I live, that I may 
 bask in the sweet savor of that rarest plant of 
 human life, and close my eyes at last to the 
 soothing melody of loving lips. 
 
 And in praying for all of this I make the 
 prayer to myself, knowing full well that the 
 answer lies for the most part with the one 
 who prays. 
 
 // a day passes without making some one happier, it is 
 a day wasted. 
 
 Page Thirty 
 
My Letters 
 
 HAVE a very large correspondence and 
 some of my friends commiserate with 
 me on what they call "the burden" of 
 answering letters. But they don't know. 
 The fact is that the motive behind 
 most of my correspondence is selfishness — 
 selfishness on my part. It is a selfish way I 
 have of visiting with my friends. The world 
 is so large now, and my friends are so scattered, 
 that I find it impossible to visit with all of 
 them by word of mouth, and so I take this 
 means of keeping in touch with them. Next to 
 the pleasure of seeing my friends personally 
 is the great joy I have in receiving letters 
 from them. I know of no more satisfying 
 thing, in a way, than to sit down at my desk 
 after a hard day's work and look over the letters 
 my friends have been kind enough to write 
 me. It refreshes me and makes me feel that 
 life is worth the living. There is an indi- 
 viduality in each letter, and I read each in a 
 different mood. Some of them are from 
 friends I have known for years, some from 
 recent friends, and some from friends I have 
 never seen. All are interesting. I read the 
 letters from friends I know with a mental 
 picture of the waiter before me as I read. I am 
 actually visiting with him, and if the hours of 
 the day were longer — or rather the hours of 
 the night, because all my letter-writing is done 
 at night — I would answer him back in a better 
 way than I usually do (which is really no 
 excuse at all, and I trust I am properly ashamed 
 of it). I read the letters of the friends I have 
 never seen with an imaginary picture of the 
 writer, and some of them I am sure would smile 
 if they knew the image I have of them in my 
 mind. As I read these letters I often imagine 
 
 Page Thirty-one 
 
the writer a perfect deity — which of course is 
 ridiculous. 
 
 The character of the letters I receive is as 
 varied as are the writers. Some of the letters 
 tell me of good fortune, of happiness, of hearts 
 lightened and hopes high. With these I 
 rejoice. Others tell me of disappointments, 
 discouragements, and the blasting of hopes; 
 and with these I sympathize. Some bring 
 me word of bereavement and sorrows, and I 
 mourn with these. Others tell me of domestic 
 events, and particularly the arrival of babies. 
 When one of these letters comes I instantly 
 drop everything and write a note to the new 
 baby. I have the distinguished honor of 
 writing the first letter that many a baby has 
 received, and while it has probably made little 
 impression on the baby, yet it has done me 
 worlds of good. 
 
 Some of the pleas in the letters that come 
 to me are unique, ranging from a request by 
 a man of whom I had never heard to draw 
 some plans for his new office, down to an 
 offhand suggestion by another that he would 
 like me to write an article for him that he 
 might read it at a coming meeting. One man 
 — bless his heart — honored me with a recital 
 of his whole life history to the most minute 
 detail, till I blushed and blushed at the con- 
 fidences he reposed in me. I have many times 
 since then wished that I might have the privi- 
 lege of meeting that man. I confess to a real 
 womanly curiosity to see what he looks like. 
 
 And so it goes. In the quiet of many an 
 otherwise discouraged and weary night I refresh 
 my courage and my hope by communing with 
 my absent friends. I am rested when I rise 
 from my desk to go to bed — rested mentally 
 and physically; and as I place my head upon 
 the pillow I lift a benison for all of those who 
 have been good enough to send me letters. 
 
 Page Thirty-two 
 
Patience 
 
 ^F I HAD the training of every boy in 
 the land one of the first lessons I should 
 try to teach him would be to overcome 
 impatience. How long it does take the 
 average individual to learn this lesson, 
 and how seriously handicapped an individual 
 is in life till he has it learned. The proverbial 
 impetuosity of youth is all right to get up 
 steam with, but it requires the balance wheel 
 of patience to make the machine run true. 
 Whenever I see any one growing impatient and 
 fuming because things do not go to their liking, 
 I am impressed with the awful waste of energy 
 and dissipation of power. Calmness always 
 controls, but impatience perverts. It is invar- 
 iably the patient man who wins in the end, 
 and who lives the longest. 
 
 If things do not work just right, keep cool. 
 You will probably need all your reserve power 
 to meet the situation without wasting it in 
 impotent stamping. Battering your head 
 against a brick wall hurts nothing so much as 
 it does your head, and a moment's quiet 
 reflection to steady your nerves is worth more 
 than an hour's rampant rage. 
 
 One of the chief demands for patience is in 
 dealing with the public. All sorts and condi- 
 tions of temperament confront the individual 
 who comes in daily contact with the rank and 
 file of humanity. Impatience with the foibles 
 of people soon leads to inharmony, inharmony 
 to disagreement, disagreement to distrust, and 
 distrust to hate. You simply cannot hold 
 people if you are impatient with them. When 
 anyone of a trying temperament comes into 
 your business life study his peculiarities and 
 have patience. You can never control people 
 
 Page Thirty-three 
 
unless you understand them, and you cannot 
 understand them unless you study them. To 
 do this in a way to search out the hidden 
 springs of motive which impel their actions 
 requires patience. 
 
 And the best of it all is that the cultivation 
 of patience is one of the most effective means 
 of self-development. You can never hope to 
 control others unless you can first control 
 yourself, and the very effort to control yourself 
 constitutes growth. To be patient is to grow. 
 
 Lincoln was a patient man and so was 
 Grant. Neither would have accomplished what 
 he did — in fact, neither would have ever been 
 heard of in the world — had it not been for this 
 sublime quality. All really great men have 
 been patient, though in some instances brief 
 periods of impetuosity have temporarily hidden 
 the larger attribute. The patience of Job — 
 just his patience — has made his name immortal. 
 We cannot all be immortal in the sense that 
 Job was, but we can all try to be patient, and 
 that is the first step to immortality. 
 
 One of the best means of developing patience 
 in dealing with people is to learn to look at 
 the other man's point of view. Remember 
 always that there are two sides to every ques- 
 tion — sometimes many more than that — and 
 if you put yourself in the other fellow's place 
 and see the matter as he sees it, even if you do 
 not agree with him, you are sure to be more 
 patient with him. 
 
 If humanity would learn this lesson there 
 would be fewer lawsuits, less contention, 
 greater harmony and more certain happiness. 
 Strive to be patient — even with fools. They 
 may not know they are fools. 
 
 Page Thirty-four 
 
The • Miracle • of * The • Buds 
 
 WONDER how many of my readers 
 watch this miracle every spring. What 
 a wondrous world of energy is repre- 
 sented by the unfolding of every plant 
 and shrub and tree. Think of the cir- 
 culation carried from the moist and mellow 
 earth up through the roots, trunks, limbs and 
 stems. What a marvel of chemical affinity, 
 the juices of the soil traveling skyward to the 
 furthermost tips of the tiny branches and there 
 mingling with the gases of the air to produce 
 the miracle of bursting brown and then of 
 livid green. How busy nature is when the 
 royal frost king breaks his bonds and yields 
 his sceptre to the wooing of the sun. One 
 morning in middle March I passed a tulip bed 
 where the gardener had scraped off the straw 
 covering, and lo, there were tiny pink and red 
 shoots two inches high puncturing the surface 
 of the earth as valiantly as if there were no 
 likelihood of another frost to come and nip 
 their tender noses. I noticed that the gardener 
 had left the winter covering convenient to be 
 thrown over the bed again during the chilly 
 nights that always come this time of year. 
 
 I have sympathy with the man who said 
 one spring day to his companion: "No, I am 
 not going to work tomorrow. I am going out 
 to the parks — the buds are coming out." But, 
 after all, we do not have to go to the parks to 
 see this miracle. If there is a tree anywhere 
 in our vicinity, if there is a shrub, a bush, a 
 vine — anything that bears leaves, we can fill 
 our soul with the ecstacy of this phenomenon. 
 Such an enfoldment, such an evolution, such 
 a birth. The small, hard brown husks begin- 
 ning to burst and the pale green forcing its 
 way through the loving grasp of the tiny shell 
 
 Page Thirty-five 
 
till it flutters before us a miniature leaf, then 
 growing larger, larger, and yet larger till the 
 shrub, however small, and the tree, however 
 big, are filled with these beautiful banners of 
 deepening green, waving their welcome to the 
 passer by and preparing for the time when 
 the midday sun is so hot that humanity needs 
 the sheltering arms of the overhanging boughs. 
 
 And think of it. In all the myriads and 
 myriads of these leaves no two alike. What a 
 stupendous variety of individuality. The mold 
 immediately broken when each leaf is formed, 
 and never another one to be formed like it. 
 When the wonder of all of this fully breaks in 
 upon a man it is enough to make him worship 
 every leaflet upon every twig or towering tree. 
 
 A study of nature is one of the things which 
 brings a full hundred per cent upon the invest- 
 ment — a hundred per cent of satisfaction — 
 without the danger of being on the wrong side 
 of the market and going down in the crash of 
 a panic. If a man truly loves nature he has 
 something in life to make it well worth the 
 living. 
 
 The most trying thing for an ambitious individual is 
 to be obliged to follow some one who is too slow. 
 
 Page Thirty-six 
 
I • Wouldn't 
 
 >F I WERE you I wouldn't hold resent- 
 ment — it doesn't pay. And that is not 
 the only reason why I wouldn't. It is 
 not manly or big, or brave, or right to 
 hold resentment. It doesn't contribute 
 to happiness, or create harmony, or help 
 humanity. It harms yourself more than any- 
 body else, but you are not the only one it 
 hafms. It is a canker eating into your very 
 soul and souring the sweetness of life — your 
 own and others. It is never constructive, but 
 always destroys, blights and blasts. You 
 never "get even" with people who wrong you 
 without lowering your own manhood. 
 
 I wouldn't answer an abusive or unreason- 
 able letter the same day I received it. It is 
 always best to wait till the first flush of vexation 
 is over, when the calmness of contemplation 
 shall have soothed the irritated nerves and 
 permitted reason and charity to ascend the 
 throne. I would wait till the mood of con- 
 ciliation came to my rescue, and if this mood 
 did not come I would never answer the letter. 
 It is better not to write at all than to write in 
 kind when you are made the victim of an unjust 
 attack. 
 
 I wouldn't turn my back on the poorest 
 pilgrim who ever trod the earth if I could be 
 of help, but help is of various kinds. The 
 best help is to help others to help themselves; 
 the most pernicious help is that which creates 
 dependence, and makes the recipient more 
 helpless. 
 
 I wouldn't judge an act without knowing 
 the motive, and I wouldn't judge a motive 
 without knowing the facts. Even so, truth is 
 more subtle than fact, and I should want to go 
 
 Page Thirty-seven 
 
farther and know the truth. Then I wouldn't 
 judge without thinking twice, and after I had 
 thought twice I should hope that I wouldn't 
 judge at all. 
 
 I wouldn't weep over the unavoidable. 
 Hard as it sometimes seems, it is never made 
 easier by lamenting, and the energy used in 
 regrets is worse than wasted. 
 
 I wouldn't wish too much for wealth; 
 instead of wishing and waiting I would go out 
 and get it. Wealth is wonderful when it is 
 properly used, but the struggle for wealth 
 merely for the wealth's sake is folly. 
 
 I wouldn't be worse than a bear; a bear is 
 true to his friends, and honorable with his 
 enemies. He never goes out of his way to look 
 for trouble nor does he shirk it when it comes. 
 He is for the most part a better philosopher 
 than you or I. 
 
 I wouldn't weave a web of imaginary wrong 
 and embroider somebody's name on it; I would 
 wear my true colors and look every man in 
 the face. 
 
 I wouldn't willingly give offense to the most 
 offensive; I wouldn't retaliate with the most 
 treacherous; I wouldn't fawn on the most 
 effusive. 
 
 I wouldn't live a life of distrust, or doubt, 
 or suspicion, or envy, or hate. I would live 
 out in the open with the sunlight of heaven 
 bathing my brow, and my heart attuned to the 
 beneficence and grandeur of the spheres. 
 
 I wouldn't spend my energy in righting 
 fancied wrongs, or in reforming those who are 
 better than I. I wouldn't preach reform, and 
 practice perfidy, and meanness and deceit. 
 
 I wouldn't set myself up as an example to 
 others till first I had proved that I was better 
 
 Page Thirty-eight 
 
than others, and, second, that others needed 
 an example. 
 
 I wouldn't harbor a mean thought lest that 
 thought turn on me and rend me like an 
 inward claw. 
 
 I wouldn't yield my sovereignty of soul to 
 the lure of worldly lust, nor float on the tide 
 of a false faith to escape the duty of good 
 works. I wouldn't hide behind a belief unless 
 that belief were backed by deeds, and I 
 wouldn't lament even though I could not 
 believe if only I were permitted the privilege 
 of doing. 
 
 And last of all I wouldn't flaunt my troubles 
 to the world, but baring my breast to the blast 
 I would resolutely face the portion which fate 
 had in store for me, and plod patiently on to 
 the end of the winding road. 
 
 Do good at every opportunity — you never know how few 
 chances may be left. 
 
 Page Thirty-nine 
 
Perseverance 
 
 NE of the greatest factors of success in 
 life is perseverance. To keep ever- 
 lastingly at it is to win. The man 
 who sticks at one thing only long 
 enough to get^^ acquainted with the 
 angles of the game and then drops it is paying 
 rent all his life — that is, he is paying rent or 
 moving — while the man who perseveres owns 
 his own home, and probably is collecting rent 
 or interest. He is independent and does not 
 have to dance to the tune of the landlord's 
 fiddle. 
 
 "Be sure you are right, then go ahead," and 
 keep going till you get there. If you stop half 
 way, be certain you have gone the hardest part 
 of the journey, and will fail to reap the reward. 
 It takes courage and determination sometimes 
 to persevere in the face of obstacles, but to 
 develop such courage is to lend strength to 
 your character. If you learn the lesson of 
 perseverance, you have a liberal education, and 
 it is an education that every one may acquire. 
 It doesn't call for school funds or hamper the 
 taxpayer, and the only teacher you need is 
 yourself. 
 
 If Christopher Columbus had not perse- 
 vered in the face of opposition from those about 
 him, or if some other man later had not per- 
 severed in face of the same kind of opposition, 
 you and I would probably have been born in 
 some such incongruous country as Europe, 
 Asia, or Africa — or more likely we would never 
 have been born at all. Think of what a per- 
 fectly dreadful calamity that would have been. 
 
 When tempted to quit, just take a fresh 
 hold and lift the harder. The plodder with 
 average ability will distance the brilliant 
 
 Page Forty 
 
quitter nine times in ten — or in ten thousand. 
 If you meet an obstacle, do not attempt to go 
 around it, but climb right over it. The boat 
 which attempts to go around a wave in a 
 heavy sea gets swamped. Learn to climb. 
 
 If you have a good thing, stay with it till 
 you make it better, and even if it isn't so very 
 good, stay with it till you make it good. The 
 greatest need of the world is development, and 
 things cannot be developed without perse- 
 verance. The jumping Jack — or Bill — or 
 Tom, who flits from one activity to another 
 seldom lands squarely on his feet. He is 
 usually looking for a soft spot to light, but the 
 soft spots were all appropriated long ago. 
 The only way to find a soft spot now is to make 
 it soft by repeated impact. Keep pounding. 
 The iron may not always be as hot as you 
 would like but remember that many of the 
 opportunities of life weld cold. 
 
 Aiming high is most honorable, but stopping 
 short of the summit is disgrace. Some men 
 when they begin to see the rays of light over 
 the crest of the hill get dazzled, and sit down 
 on a mossy bank to breathe and exult. By the 
 time they have rested and resumed the journey, 
 they find the point of vantage on the top 
 already occupied by the plodder. Keep at it 
 while you are under way. To stop and start 
 again — even if you ever do start again — is a 
 waste of energy. It is lost impetus, and 
 impetus counts in the home stretch. 
 
 Keep the machine moving while the bear- 
 ings are warm enough to soften the oil. It is 
 time to stop when the journey is ended, the 
 work done, and the summit reached. 
 
 Page Forty-one 
 
An • Open • Letter • to * the 
 Trained 'Nurse 
 
 My Dear Girl: 
 
 I have seen you bending over a sick bed, 
 so absorbed in your work that you were 
 oblivious to everything else in the world except 
 that one supreme thing — your duty. I have 
 seen you under the stress and strain of endless 
 watching and waiting, with your eyes concen- 
 trated on that pale form lying in the bed. 
 I have seen you tiptoe around the room as 
 noiselessly and unobtrusively as a spirit from 
 another world, breathing a blessing in your 
 every move; and when I have seen all of this 
 I have worshipped you — worshipped you more 
 fervently than any of the famed Goddesses of 
 ancient times. I have said to myself: "Could 
 devotion be more sublime?" And I have 
 answered "No." 
 
 You have robbed illness of much of its 
 horror, and rendered tolerable the bed of pain. 
 You have taken the sting from sickness, and 
 much of the sadness even from bereavement 
 itself. You have sanctified the issues of life 
 and death, making life more livable and death 
 more bearable. You have glorified service, 
 giving it a grandeur undreamed of in the marts 
 of trade, where men work by the clock, and 
 merely for the wage. 
 
 Your deftness, your alertness, your intui- 
 tion, your devotion — all of these appeal to me 
 and give me more faith in human kind. You 
 add to one's reverence, to one's hope, to one's 
 confidence. Yours is the great gift of minis- 
 tration and helpfulness; of bringing good cheer 
 and happiness — happiness even in sorrow. 
 
 You have learned how to serve, and in 
 service there is the greatest joy. You have 
 
 Page Forty-two 
 
learned unselfishness, and unselfishness is the 
 supreme achievement. 
 
 To you is given the sacred mission of 
 soothing aching nerves and fevered brows; of 
 changing hideous night into the dawning of a 
 better day. You quiet fears, dispel doubts, 
 and drive despair from many a palsied heart. 
 
 You visit the hovel of the poor as well as 
 the palace of the rich, and you mete out to 
 both the best you have. In this you are more 
 than human — you are divine. 
 
 I am not grotesque enough to allot to you 
 the attributes of a deity, even when I say 
 that you are divine. But you are something 
 better. You are doing a definite, tangible 
 good to humanity every day you live, while 
 some of the deities I have read about float 
 merely on the evanescent ether. 
 
 If I were ill I would rather have your soft 
 magnetic hand on my burning brow than to 
 have a myriad prayers said over me. Prayers 
 might not be answered, but the hand would 
 always soothe. 
 
 I have often thought how difficult was your 
 work, how wearying, how nerve-racking. You 
 are dealing all the time with the abnormal — 
 the unnatural. Every individual who is ill 
 lacks balance in some respects. It may be 
 only physical balance, but more frequently it 
 is both physical and mental. And you are 
 expected to be superior to all this abnormality 
 — you are supposed to bend yourself to every 
 whim of your patient, however foolish, absurd, 
 or even brutal it may be. In every case of 
 serious illness you are the sacrificial lamb — on 
 you falls the chief burden. 
 
 But this should not depress you or make 
 you resentful — it should glorify you and make 
 you thankful. The highest function of hu- 
 
 Page Forty-three 
 
manity is to minister unto others, and if the 
 ministration is made doubly difficult, the 
 achievement is doubly worthy. To overcome 
 against great odds is the supreme test of 
 character, and to do this in the quiet of the 
 sick-room, where the world is not looking on 
 — where the reward must come from inward 
 satisfaction instead of outward show — this is 
 the acme of sanctified service. 
 
 And in this there lies the greatest reward — 
 greater even than the crowning of kings. 
 When you lay your head on the pillow to 
 snatch a few fevered hours of rest, your cot by 
 the bedside is more hallowed than the couch 
 of a queen. And when you rise from the 
 all-too-limited respite, and dash some cooling 
 draught on your face to revive your lagging 
 energies, and come smiling and fresh into your 
 patient's presence you are a heroine more truly 
 than any of the fabled heroines of old. 
 
 I admire you not only for what you are 
 but for what you do. You are accomplishing 
 something of signal benefit in the world, and 
 doing it so quietly that the world too fre- 
 quently takes little note of what you do. To 
 be sure your calling has been pronounced 
 useful but it is something more than that — it 
 is sublime. It prolongs human life and makes 
 the pathway more pleasant, more secure. It 
 robs illness of much of its dread, and changes 
 terror into calm. 
 
 If all the nurses were suddenly eliminated 
 from our social fabric it would create con- 
 sternation and end in panic. Many people 
 would die who otherwise would live — many 
 would suffer who otherwise would be free from 
 pain. You are thus a distinct asset to our 
 civilization — in short real civilization would be 
 impossible without you. 
 
 Page Forty-four 
 
' But be careful. With all your exaltation 
 of occupation you are in danger — danger not so 
 much of physical harm or of disease as of mental 
 and emotional warping. How difficult it is 
 when you are dealing each day with the 
 whims, the unreasonableness of people not to 
 take on some of the same mental strabismus. 
 To deal always with the abnormal tends to 
 bring about abnormality in one's self; to cope 
 with distortion of vision tends to distort one's 
 own. 
 
 You are treated badly at times, unworthily, 
 wrongfully. Never mind. It is always due 
 to one of two things — either to the fact that 
 the people you serve are not responsible through 
 their abnormality, or that they are by nature 
 overbearing, supercilious, and altogether un- 
 lovely. In the first instance you can afford 
 to overlook the wrong on account of the 
 circumstances; in the second you cannot afford 
 to bring yourself to the level of the wrongdoer 
 by retaliating in kind. Just smile and do 
 your duty, and the triumph will always be 
 yours. 
 
 But I am not to give you advice, nor to 
 suggest lines of procedure. You know your 
 special environment better than I, and you 
 also know how to proceed. My sole object in 
 writing is to bring a word of commendation 
 into an exacting calling, and to try to make 
 your pathway more pleasant by showing you 
 how much your service means to human kind, 
 and how much your efforts are appreciated by 
 one who has had occasion to observe. 
 
 I give you greeting and my best blessing. 
 
 C. N. J. 
 
 Page Forty-five 
 
Seeing * the * Other • Fellow s 
 Point of View 
 
 !)HE most difficult thing for the average 
 human being to do is to look with 
 sufficient breadth at any question to 
 see the other fellow's point of view. 
 If this could be done there would be 
 fewer law suits and an altogether better 
 understanding between men. There seems to 
 be inherent in our nature somewhere a selfish- 
 ness which narrows our vision and makes us 
 see only one side of every question under con- 
 sideration — the side which most favors our 
 own interests. If a man is perfectly honest 
 with his fellow man as well as with himself 
 there need be no necessity for onesidedness. 
 Putting yourself in the other fellow's place 
 and imagining how you would feel is wonder- 
 fully good practice, and tends to broaden the 
 vision. It is also quite likely to develop an 
 abounding charity which reduces friction and 
 lends harmony to the affairs of life. What we 
 most need in dealing with our fellow man is 
 charity. It is the sweet savor which perfumes 
 our acts, the cordial which quickens our sym- 
 pathies, the sedative which soothes our aching 
 nerves. It reduces the theory of living amicably 
 with our fellows to a science, and makes life 
 really worth while. 
 
 Above and beyond all the petty gains of 
 personal advantage there looms the magnificent 
 manhood of him who would grant his fellow 
 man the privilege of having an opinion of his 
 own. He who would usurp to himself the 
 right to dictate to others and direct their acts 
 has not sufficient breadth of vision to entitle 
 him to the prerogative of being a dictator. 
 He is usually an unbalanced and unsafe man. 
 
 Page Forty-six 
 
He who recognizes that there are other 
 interests than his own, that he is only one of 
 a great many other human beings who have 
 been placed here to work out their destinies 
 together, and who grants to others every privi- 
 lege that he claims for himself, — he is a power 
 for good in the world even though he may be 
 only an obscure cobbler quietly working at the 
 bench. 
 
 It would sometimes seem as if the world 
 were all selfish and intolerant, but this is only 
 because these attributes are apart from the 
 natural order of things and are conspicuous 
 because of their unnaturalness. Most men 
 wish to do right by their fellow men, but their 
 vision becomes perverted and narrow through 
 human limitations and they fail in their ideals. 
 One of the chief factors in correct living so far 
 as it relates to our intercourse with mankind 
 is in being able to widen our horizon suffi- 
 ciently to look on all occasions at the other 
 fellow's point of view. 
 
 It is sometimes easier to do the right thing than it is to 
 know what is the right thing to do. 
 
 Page Forty-seven 
 
Wanted — A • Sense ' of 
 Integrity 
 
 i'HAT the world needs more than 
 anything else at this time is a higher 
 appreciation of the virtue and value 
 of integrity. Men skim along day 
 after day on the ragged edge of 
 dishonesty, content only if they can keep 
 within the letter of the law while flagrantly 
 violating its spirit. The fundamental basis of 
 true success is honesty, but there seems to be 
 an impression abroad in the land that this old- 
 fashioned statement is out of date. Sharp 
 practice seems to be the watchword of the 
 hour, and there are men in the world — many 
 of them — who apparently believe that this is 
 necessary in order to get ahead in life. The 
 grocer gives short weight, the butcher misrep- 
 resents the kind of steak he is selling, the dry 
 goods man palms off an inferior article, the 
 carpenter puts rotten lumber in your building 
 if he thinks he can hide it from view, the painter 
 uses an inferior quality of paint and charges 
 for a good quality, the laundress puts chemicals 
 in the wash to make her work easier and ruins 
 your clothes, the cook connives with the 
 delivery boy to rob you, the butler breaks your 
 choicest dishes and surreptitiously flings the 
 pieces in the garbage can, and the grafter lies 
 in wait for you in every relation of life. From 
 the politician who steals the taxes you pay to 
 the waiter who works you for a tip — it is 
 graft, graft, till the hydra-headed monster has 
 crept into all pursuits. The labor unions are 
 saturated with it and some of their leaders 
 unblushingly levy tribute from helpless builders 
 and manufacturers in a way that would put to 
 shame the boldest buccaneer of ancient days. 
 
 Page Forty-eight 
 
The big corporations reek with it, and even 
 the professions are not exempt. The shyster 
 lawyer connives with a willing victim to trump 
 up a case against a reputable citizen and takes 
 it to court on a contingent basis. The surgeon 
 — worst graft of all — pays a commission to the 
 general practitioner for referring cases and then 
 cuts up people who would be infinitely better 
 without the knife. The dentist dupes the 
 ignorant with the lure of "whalebone" teeth, 
 "painless dentistry" and "four dollar crowns," 
 getting the victim to the office and then 
 squeezing every penny from him by all sorts 
 of subterfuge. 
 
 Everywhere, into all avenues of effort, the 
 game of wits has entered without the leaven of 
 a basic and fundamental honesty to preserve 
 the equity of things and give the affairs of 
 life stability. And what is the result? Look 
 at the business world. It is said that more 
 than ninety per cent of business men fail or 
 go bankrupt at some period of their career. 
 This is, of course, not in every instance due to 
 dishonesty, but it is safe to say that the vast 
 majority of cases of failure may be traced 
 directly or indirectly to questionable methods. 
 The fault may not be personally in the man 
 who fails, but somewhere in the conduct of his 
 affairs there is a false standard to account for 
 the failure. 
 
 If we look carefully into the history of 
 those great mercantile and manufacturing con- 
 cerns which have stood out so signally suc- 
 cessful during an extended period of time we 
 shall find that their methods have been based 
 on the strictest integrity in dealing with the 
 public. Instances might be mentioned by the 
 score of houses of national and international 
 reputation which have stood the test of money 
 stringency and panics, serene in their solidity 
 and secure from waves of business depression 
 
 Page Forty-nine 
 
and external turmoil. In every case their 
 chief asset is the reputation gained for honest 
 methods which have made them financially 
 strong. 
 
 And what is true of concerns is true of 
 individuals. The greatest asset any man can 
 have is a reputation for sterling integrity, and 
 this fact should more and more be impressed 
 on the youth of our land. The world needs 
 men of honesty today as it never needed them 
 before, and there is a greater premium on it. 
 The boys and girls of the present should be 
 taught by precept and example that the chief 
 aim in life is to adhere to the strictest line of 
 correct living, that this kind of life brings its 
 ample reward, and that any deviation from it 
 inevitably brings its penalty. To have in- 
 grained in the mind of a youth this one prin- 
 ciple is equivalent to giving him a liberal 
 education — without it his education is never 
 complete. 
 
 // / have a fault and know it, and do not try honestly to 
 overcome it, I am a wicked sinner. 
 
 Page Fifty 
 
My -Pledge 
 
 'IRST I pledge myself not to continue 
 to think ill of any man. That I shall 
 at times and on the impulse think ill 
 of people is only an evidence of my 
 own frailty, and this I pledge myself 
 
 to overcome in so far as I recognize it, and as 
 
 soon as I recognize it. 
 
 I pledge myself to help the unfortunate to 
 help themselves, but I shall not add to their 
 misfortune by assuming a burden which 
 properly belongs to them. If perchance I am 
 stronger than others I shall not vaunt my 
 strength by a vulgar display of paternalism 
 over them. If I am weaker than others then 
 shall I not cringe at their feet by permitting 
 them to accept a responsibility which is mine. 
 
 I pledge myself to independence and self- 
 reliance except where the fact of leaning on 
 others is for their needed development. I accept 
 my own destiny without fear or favor.^ 
 
 I pledge myself to tolerance, except that 
 I must not be tolerant of anything in myself 
 which is low or mean or which I should not 
 wish the world to see. 
 
 I pledge myself not to offend others unless 
 by thus offending I may show them a real 
 fault and affect a real remedy. I shall criticize 
 no man for the sake of criticism but I shall 
 not withhold criticism where it will do good — 
 the only condition being that I must first be 
 sure that it will do good. 
 
 I pledge myself not to judge any man by 
 external evidence, not failing to remember 
 that there is little evidence which is not 
 external. 
 
 Page Fifty-one 
 
I pledge myself to try to do some good deed 
 each day whereby my fellowman may be made 
 happier, and I make this pledge realizing the 
 exceeding great difficulty of fulfilling it owing 
 to the rapid succession of days and the natural 
 laxity of human nature — my own in particular. 
 
 I pledge myself to think good thoughts in 
 so far as I can control my thinking, not for- 
 getting that I must change my thinking fre- 
 quently to keep this pledge. 
 
 I pledge myself to look on all sides of every 
 question which may come up for my considera- 
 tion, studiously avoiding the practice all too 
 common of seeing only one side of a question 
 — the one which is to one's own individual 
 advantage. 
 
 I pledge myself above all things not to 
 make myself a burden to others by magnifying 
 my misfortunes or by constantly complaining 
 at fate. The ills I have I shall strive to bear 
 patiently, and seek to hide them from the 
 world. 
 
 I pledge myself to live a clean life, not 
 merely upright in the eyes of the law but ful- 
 filling as nearly as I may the essence of right 
 living as embodied in love, charity and justice. 
 
 And I make no further pledge, conscious of 
 the fact that my natural limitations will make 
 it sufficiently difficult to live up to these. 
 
 Never condemn a man totally till you know him. 
 Page Fifty-two 
 
The Old 'Home 
 
 ^HE other day I passed the old home 
 where I was born. I went in that 
 unique and ancient conveyance a 
 horse and buggy, and the experience 
 was novel. The distance was only a 
 few miles but the time seemed interminable. 
 How slowly those great thin buggy wheels 
 revolved, and how primitive the horse looked 
 as he jogged along. In one way it was sooth- 
 ing, leisurely and comfortable; in another it 
 was almost unbearable in its seeming waste of 
 time. In one way it was the obvious and 
 natural, in another it was horribly grotesque 
 and strained. 
 
 One moment I found myself relaxing and 
 looking reminiscently over the familiar objects 
 along the roadside, the next I was keyed up 
 with a frantic desire to press my foot on the 
 accelerator and skim blithely over the ground. 
 It was a mixed experience — an attempt to 
 blend the old with the new, and make them 
 harmonize. Never in all human history has 
 there been so rapid and complete a transition 
 as there has been from the horse-drawn vehicle 
 to the automobile, and yet I found myself a 
 short time ago looking with longing eyes at 
 a beautiful horse. The world will never be 
 quite the same to those of us who have loved 
 horses as it was before, and yet which one of 
 us would go back to the days before the auto- 
 mobile? It is merely a readjustment with the 
 old not quite forgotten, and the new not quite 
 mellowed down and reconciled. 
 
 The old house has stood there for more 
 than sixty years, and it begins to look the part 
 it has played. Some of the shingles are 
 missing, and there is not a vestige of paint left 
 
 Page Fifty-three 
 
on the exterior. It is weather beaten, and 
 leaning a bit out of plumb. I am sure that a 
 loose board here and there must rattle in the 
 wind, and the tall grass has grown up in front 
 of the doorway. 
 
 The path leading from the house to the 
 little gate is obliterated, and, worse than all, 
 the splendid trees on either side of the gate 
 have been ruthlessly slaughtered, because for- 
 sooth they shaded the ground and were charged 
 with preventing the full yield of the land. 
 Had I been favored with the emotions of a 
 woman I should have wept at the barrenness 
 left by the loss of those dear old trees. The 
 man who did it was a practical man, and I 
 suppose I should not complain because he fits 
 so perfectly into the spirit of the age. And 
 yet to me it seemed almost sacrilege to cut 
 down those superb and towering trees that 
 had waved their banners so bravely for half 
 a century or more. It is only typical of the 
 tendency which sacrifices the traditions and 
 sentiments of the past for the seeming neces- 
 sities and utilities of the present. 
 
 The old home is untenanted today save 
 by the hallowed memories which linger and 
 echo within its walls. How I wanted to open 
 the side door and go browsing around among the 
 familiar rooms, how I wanted to climb the stairs 
 and look out the east window where the old 
 manse used to be and then walk across the 
 chamber and look out the west window. But 
 the doors were locked and the keys were held 
 by an alien hand — the old house had "gone 
 out of the family." 
 
 As I drove away I fell to dreaming — 
 dreaming of other days before life became 
 serious and when the problems were all in the 
 future. I dreamed of lightness and laughter, 
 of the crackle of wood fire, and the hum of 
 
 Page Fifty-four 
 
many voices. I dreamed of the patter of 
 raindrops on the roof ir summer and the swirl 
 of snow along the eaves in winter. I dreamed 
 of warmth and cheer inside, and the jingle of 
 sleighbells out of doors. I dreamed of the 
 beaten path to the barn, and the odor of new 
 mown hay in the loft. I dreamed of the maple 
 bush where in early spring I was cradled in a 
 bucket made for sap. I dreamed of the long 
 autumn nights, and the glorious sunsets over 
 winter snows. I dreamed of the old manse 
 down the road, whose massive bulk looms large 
 in my boyhood's mind. 
 
 But gone is the manse, gone the maple 
 bush, gone the flowers which flecked the yard 
 save a few stray patriarchs forcing their per- 
 sistent heads among the rank grass, gone the 
 life and gayety of the place, and nothing left 
 save a subdued and tender memory. Gone 
 also are some of the old familiar faces who 
 brightened the days of the long ago — gone 
 where the summer sun beats down, and the 
 winter snow piles up over the mounds in the 
 little white village on the hill. 
 
 For what infirmities I have I pray to be conscious of 
 them only in so far as I can remedy them. 
 
 Page Fifty-five 
 
A • Cure • for • the * Blues 
 
 HAVE tried all kinds, from travel to 
 calomel, and from horseback riding to 
 the latest opera ; but I have never found 
 anything which so nearly proves a 
 specific as the simple expedient of work. 
 I have worked myself out of many a desperate 
 mood, and I have never been able to cure 
 myself by any other method. I wish some one 
 would tell me why it is that an ordinarily sane 
 individual will find himself in such a depressed 
 mood at times that there does not seem to be 
 a bright spot in the world anywhere. And 
 the strange part of it is that it so often comes 
 upon a man when there is apparently no good 
 reason for it. He may be prosperous, he may 
 feel well physically, he may have friends on 
 every side, and yet he may be suffering from 
 such a mental strabismus that he can see 
 nothing in life worth the living. We are a 
 strange bundle of inconsistencies. 
 
 Some people cling to life under the most 
 discouraging and adverse circumstances, while 
 others with everything apparently in their 
 favor, grow pessimistic and commit suicide. 
 The most cheerful individual I ever saw was a 
 man who was so crippled that he was literally 
 bent double. When he attempted to walk the 
 top of his head nearly touched the ground, and 
 in order to hobble along he was obliged to use 
 his hands more than his feet, and to twist his 
 head around to one side in the most painful 
 way to see where he was going — his face being 
 presented to the rear and his eyes upside down 
 on account of his deformity. And yet I have 
 seen this man come down town on the street 
 car — he usually rode on the front platform — 
 and make his way grotesquely to the sidewalk 
 and up the street in all kinds of weather, as 
 
 Page Fifty-six 
 
full of business as any one. And I never saw 
 anything in the way of a frown on his face, 
 never saw the slightest indication of pain or 
 impatience, never heard that he ever made a 
 murmur. With everything apparently against 
 him, he seemed to get the most out of life. 
 
 And I have seen malcontents of the meanest 
 type with privileges that a prince might enjoy 
 — but that is another story. 
 
 I started to write of a cure for the blues. 
 When you are blue get down to good, hard 
 work, physical or mental, and work till you 
 are tired; then remember one thing and dwell 
 on that until you begin to see daylight ahead. 
 Remember that no matter how blue you feel 
 the cause is in yourself, that the good old world 
 wags along the same as ever, that your friends 
 love you as much and your enemies do not 
 hate you more. Be brave, fight the battle 
 manfully with yourself, and your blues will not 
 last long. 
 
 One who has never suffered has never fully developed. 
 Page Fifty-seven 
 
Respect • the • Rights 
 of 'Others 
 
 >HIS is the hardest lesson in life to 
 learn — and the most important. If 
 it could be learned by everybody the 
 machinery of human affairs would 
 move more smoothly. To respect the 
 rights of others is fundamental. It starts at the 
 very basis of justice in all the dealings of life. 
 It is elemental, because it is the first law in 
 the intercourse between man and man. Why 
 do we find it so diifficult to learn this lesson? 
 It is all answered in a single word — it is sel- 
 fishness. The man who comes the nearest to 
 getting selfishness out of his heart comes the 
 nearest to being a full-fliedged man. 
 
 To put yourself in the other man's place is 
 the one sublime achievement. To sink self in 
 the common cause and realize that you are 
 only one atom in the great moving mass of 
 humanity is to get the right perspective, and 
 to place your feet on the solid rock. When a 
 man deals unjustly with you, stop and think. 
 Try to see his point of view, and mayhap you 
 will find that he is not so unjust as you had 
 thought. Even if he is unjust, give him the 
 benefit of believing that he does not realize 
 it. If necessary to correct a wrong that he 
 has done, approach the problem with charity 
 and loving kindness, and not with a bludgeon 
 in your hand. To knock a man down is not 
 to convert him to your way of thinking, but 
 to give him the pretext for knocking you down 
 in return. Neither one is benefitted thereby 
 and both are injured. If a man will not 
 reason with you, let him alone. If you can- 
 not convert him do not condemn him. If you 
 cannot make him think as you think, remember 
 that every man is given the inalienable right 
 
 Page Fifty-eight 
 
to think for himself, and you should not be 
 insistent in forcing your point of view on others. 
 
 You cannot reason with a venomous rep- 
 tile, but you can respect his rights and keep 
 out of his way. If he gets in your way and 
 impedes the progress of a legitimate pursuit 
 in which you are engaged, you may be obliged 
 to suppress him for the common good, but 
 you should do it for the good and not for 
 vengeance. To kill a snake through wanton 
 malice is to suffer defeat of principle, and to 
 acknowledge the inferiority of your soul. It 
 is not well to permit yourself to be bitten — 
 the equity of justice does not call for that — 
 but better be bitten a thousand times than to 
 go about through life ruthlessly trampling on 
 the rights of others. You may be bitten and 
 survive, but you cannot save your own soul if 
 you wilfully and persistently force your opinion- 
 ated beliefs on your fellowman. 
 
 Remember, you were not born to sway the 
 world. You will do well if you sway the one 
 small sphere in which you revolve yourself, 
 and you may consider it a triumph if you 
 succeed in controlling your own individuality. 
 Men will accord you your own rights more 
 readily if you respect theirs. There is room in 
 the world for all, but he who tries to crowd 
 others off the earth is quite likely to be pushed 
 over the brink himself. It is the inexorable law 
 of "like begets like," which when once learned as 
 it applies to our relations with each other, will 
 bring about the moral millenium. Think of 
 your fellowman as if he were your own brother 
 in blood, and accord to him the same right to 
 live and have his being as you demand for 
 yourself. In this way, and this way only, 
 can you move on into that higher achievement 
 which is the ultimate of all our earthly efforts. 
 
 Page Fifty-nine 
 
The • Good • Which * Men * Do 
 
 >HEN Shakespeare made Mark An- 
 tony say, "The evil that men do 
 lives after them; the good is oft 
 interred with their bones," he either 
 did it for oratorical effect or else 
 he fell far short of being the philosopher we 
 have all given him credit for. The exact 
 reverse is true. It is the good that is remem- 
 bered, and the evil that is forgotten; which is 
 a fact carrying with it a compliment to human 
 kind. What is more appropriate than to have 
 the beautiful mantle of charity thrown around 
 us the moment death closes the chapter? In 
 life we are aggressive, contentious, and usurp- 
 ing; trampling on the rights of others, and 
 looking always for an advantage. In death 
 we are acquiescent, submissive and non- 
 resistant. We are defenceless — we make no 
 protest — and it is the good that is in human 
 nature which asserts itself at such a time and 
 says that we shall not be maligned. Death is 
 the great disarmer. All the good we have 
 ever done looms up large in the consciousness 
 of our friends; our virtues are magnified as we 
 lie there mute and helpless. Praise does not 
 puff us up, and so praise is meted out to us 
 most lavishly. Our faults are forgotten, as if 
 we never had them. Our good deeds are rolled 
 as a sweet morsel under the tongue, and what 
 in life had been taken as the ordinary and 
 obvious is now heralded as the unique and 
 sublime. Our helplessness shields us from the 
 rancor which otherwise might rise against us, 
 and we need no advocate in court when the 
 world sits in judgment upon us. 
 
 Back across the years of life we had run 
 counter to the will of others; we had raised 
 contention and excited opposition. We took 
 
 Page Sixty 
 
it as our birthright to intrude our point of view 
 on the world, and we foolishly strove to force 
 our ideas into the ascendancy. But death has 
 given us absolution, and our faults are not 
 held against us. Death pays all our debts, 
 and leaves the score-card clean. 
 
 Would it not be well if the world were as 
 charitable of men in life as it is in death? 
 Why cannot we magnify the good in men 
 while they still live? Why cannot we forget 
 the ill? 
 
 Mayhap the discrimination in favor of 
 death is a compensation of nature to make 
 death less dreadful. Mayhap we would cling 
 to life more tenaciously, more unreasoningly, 
 if death were not the great softener, the great 
 solace. Not that it is better to die than to 
 live, not that the supreme destiny of man is 
 typified by his death; but that when the 
 ultimate tragedy comes it is comforting to 
 know that it is mellowed by the memory of 
 charity and loving kindness. 
 
 In life we are misjudged and maligned, in 
 death we are understood and forgiven. The 
 good that men do lives after them, which is 
 surely incentive enough to make the man who 
 thinks of it do all the good he can. 
 
 Let the man who considers himself a saint study some 
 of the deeds of men who are called sinners. 
 
 Page Sixty-one 
 
The • Great • American 
 Crime 
 
 ^F A DOZEN individuals were seated 
 side by side and asked the question in 
 rotation: "What is the great American 
 crime?" it would be interesting to note 
 the various answers. One would prob- 
 ably say, "Worshipping the dollar," another 
 "Superficiality," another "Rudeness." We 
 might expect several to answer that the great 
 American crime was the practice of lynching, 
 while several others might supplement this by 
 affirming that the greatest crime was lack of 
 respect for law and order. At least one would 
 be found to affirm that snobbery was threaten- 
 ing to assume the proportions of a crime, while 
 the apeing of aristocracy always has been one. 
 Some might go so far as to say that the absence 
 of culture as represented particularly in the 
 widespread ungrammatical speech of the people 
 was a crime, while others would point to a lack 
 of taste as illustrated by the blatant display of 
 wealth on the part of the newly rich. 
 
 Possibly there might be ground for argu- 
 ment in the case of each, and yet to the writer 
 there is one American crime which outweighs 
 all of those mentioned. Greatly as reform is 
 needed in the various American tendencies 
 indicated there is still more urgent need for 
 reformation in the one about to be mentioned. 
 Of all the crimes typified in American life the 
 one outstanding and appalling crime is that of 
 Wastefulness. 
 
 It permeates the entire fabric of American 
 life to the degree that it constitutes itself 
 nothing short of the national crime. It affects 
 the poor as well as the rich. In fact it would 
 
 Page Sixty-two 
 
sometimes seem to be even more prevalent 
 among the former. And it is all wrong. To 
 be wasteful is not the right of any man. Waste 
 in its essence is destruction, and to destroy is 
 a sin. 
 
 Waste takes many forms. It is not merely 
 the throwing away of a crust of bread or rele- 
 gating the drippings to the garbage can. It 
 is not alone the failure to utilize the usable in 
 our domestic and manufacturing commodities 
 (a waste which in many of our industries is 
 rapidly being eliminated). It is not wholly 
 the terrible waste represented by an imperfect 
 cultivation of the soil — a waste which on the 
 surface seems to stand out above all others. 
 It is not only the waste of our forests — the 
 precious heritage of which has been handed 
 down to us by a beneficent nature, and which 
 we have in our criminal wantonness and greed 
 flung to the four winds, and committed to the 
 needless flames. 
 
 All of these are bad enough and sad enough. 
 They clamor for reform at each turn of the 
 observant economist, and unless they are 
 remedied the penalty on posterity will be 
 irreparable. But the worst is not yet. 
 
 If there is a sadness in the waste of material 
 things, what shall we say of those other 
 entities of human existence, the waste of energy, 
 of opportunity, of constructive effort? What 
 shall we say of the loss of human life by pre- 
 ventable diseases in this country in one year? 
 The Health Department of Chicago estimates 
 that in this city alone, the cost of three pre- 
 ventable diseases, measles, diphtheria, and 
 scarlet fever, for a single year amounted to 
 $6,569,207! Measured in the sordid estimate 
 of dollars and cents alone the toll is appalling; 
 but measured in terms of grief and care and 
 blighted hopes, of thwarted plans, of cancelled 
 
 Page Sixty-three 
 
enterprises, of cruel disappointment, of broken 
 hearts and barren homes — measured in the 
 terrible toll of human misery, and it is stagger- 
 ing. When shall the agonized cry of the 
 bereaved which goes up day by day reach the 
 ears of the people so that they may learn how 
 to live and prevent this unnecessary waste of 
 human life? 
 
 And then the waste of health, energy and 
 efficiency in the child labor of factories and 
 sweatshops — a waste which became so appal- 
 lingly apparent that it is now in a fair way of 
 being eliminated by legislation and restriction. 
 
 And the other waste more grievous and 
 unjust than all the rest — trying to remedy a 
 wrong of the past by substituting a worse 
 wrong of the present — the restriction of trade 
 and commerce by unreasonable strikes where 
 nothing is at issue except a quarrel among the 
 walking delegates themselves, depriving res- 
 pectable citizens of rights and privileges which 
 properly and inherently belong to every human 
 being, ignoring the principles of law, honor and 
 justice to carry out some selfish end. This is 
 worse than waste — it is criminality. The 
 unwarranted limitation of output when output 
 'is so sadly needed for the physical welfare of 
 mankind constitutes itself a serious handicap 
 on progress, and an interference with the 
 inalienable rights of every citizen. 
 
 If wastefulness is the great American crime 
 then some of the men who precipitate strikes 
 for their own selfish ends are among the arch 
 criminals of all time. 
 
 / would be contented if J could make others contented. 
 Page Sixty-four 
 
Nursing * A • Sorrow 
 
 10 NURSE a sorrow is to increase it, 
 and make it real. Some people hug 
 a sorrow to their heart, and coddle it 
 and "roll it as a sweet morsel under 
 the tongue." They seem to thrive on 
 it, and even to make capital of it. They 
 assume that it is their bounden duty to share 
 it with their friends, and they are very liberal 
 in their distribution of it. They carry gloom 
 wherever they go, and leave depression in their 
 wake. They accomplish nothing by their 
 attitude except to make themselves and other 
 people unhappy. 
 
 Supposing you lose a friend, a friend who is 
 very dear to you. It wrings your heart to 
 suffer the loss, and the world looks bleak, 
 forlorn and dreary. The crushing blow is 
 almost more than you can bear, and you know 
 that life will never be the same to you again. 
 It is grief — grief of the poignant kind that 
 wrings the heart, and leaves you limp and list- 
 less. You are bowed down by your sorrow, 
 and you care little for life. There is a break- 
 ing of the bonds that held you to the affairs 
 of earth, and you find yourself drifting des- 
 pairingly, you know not whither. You are 
 surprised that the world does not seem to 
 realize your loss, that people go on about the 
 routine of life as they did before. To you at 
 that moment the world seems thoughtless, 
 heartless — almost cruel. You wonder why 
 people can be happy when there is so much 
 sorrow, when so many hearts are heavy. You 
 hear laughter and it sounds like hollow mock- 
 ery, you listen to music and unless it is sad it 
 is out of tune. 
 
 But be assured of this — your point of view 
 is wrong. You have been driven out of your 
 
 Page Sixty-five 
 
normal reckoning by your bereavement, and 
 you are no longer balanced. You have for 
 the moment lost your perspective, and cannot 
 see correctly. The world is not cruel, nor are 
 the tunes out of harmony. It is your hyper- 
 sensitiveness and the obscuring of your vision 
 that constitutes the incongruity. The scheme 
 of nature was not that there should be sorrow 
 — at least perpetual sorrow — and the world is 
 merely trying to make you normal once more. 
 If the world fell into your mood and all nature 
 put on black because you were bereaved what 
 would be the result? Every man's sorrow 
 would spread depression, and there would soon 
 be no sunshine in life. 
 
 The world is not cruel — it is merely trying 
 to help you — and sometimes the task is dis- 
 heartening. It all depends on you. If you 
 cling to your sorrow you do not lessen your 
 load, and you add immeasurably to the load of 
 your friends. Shake off your sorrow as an 
 abnormality, as something to be overcome. 
 Remember that grief is non-constructive but 
 always disintegrating. It rends the heart- 
 strings out of tune and plants despair where 
 hope had been. 
 
 If you must be sad hide it from the world, 
 and let the sunshine in. To help yourself out 
 of a sorrowful mood plunge into the activities 
 of life, and begin to do good to your fellow- 
 man. Working for the happiness of others is 
 the surest solace in time of trouble, and the 
 surest way to happiness for yourself. To 
 stoop down and lift a fallen comrade from the 
 wayside makes your own heart lighter, and 
 tends to the forgetfulness of your ills. 
 
 To nurse a sorrow is to make it grow, to 
 overcome it and rise above it is to place your- 
 self in harmony with the great fundamental 
 principle of life, and make you master of your 
 every mood. Think of others and you will 
 forget yourself, which is, after all, the chief 
 triumph in life. 
 
 Page Sixty-six 
 
When • I • Grow * Old 
 
 ^HEN I grow old I pray that I may 
 not grow untidy, that I may not 
 exhibit on my garments the grease- 
 spots of the last meal, or the last 
 score of meals. I pray that I may 
 not prate too much of the past — that I may 
 live somewhat in the future, and very much 
 in the mood of today. When the outlook 
 ahead becomes blurred, and I can see only 
 what happened in the long ago, then I want 
 to turn my eyes to the wall and sink quietly 
 out of sight. I pray that I may never be a 
 nuisance, so that any shall be glad when I am 
 gone. I want to go soon enough that people 
 may be just a trifle sorry that I was not per- 
 mitted to remain longer — not that I wish 
 people to mourn for me, but that I am human 
 enough to hope that I shall be missed, even if 
 only a little. 
 
 I know that all of this is very foolish — I 
 know that it will matter not the least to me 
 how people feel about me after I am gone — 
 and yet there is this: Others dear to me will 
 be left when I have passed away, and for their 
 sake I would have people think well of me and 
 speak well. It is the best legacy I can leave. 
 
 I hope when I grow old that I shall not 
 cling to the same chair always, or that I shall 
 not invariably seek the same corner in the 
 room, or adhere too tenaciously to any of 
 my preconceived habits or opinions. I hope 
 that I shall not tell the same story to the same 
 people too many times — I trust that my 
 memory may prevent me from doing that. 
 
 I hope I may ever be broad enough to look 
 leniently upon the other man's point of view, 
 that I shall admit in my heart the possibility 
 
 Page Sixty-seven 
 
that the rising generation is entitled to some 
 consideration and respect, that I may even go 
 far enough to acknowledge that the men and 
 women of the day are perhaps as well informed 
 and intelligent as I was at a similar age. This 
 it seems to me will be the supreme achievement. 
 
 When I grow old I trust I may be an 
 optimist — that in my mind the virtues of the 
 past may not obscure the prospects of the 
 future — that to my notion all the good in the 
 world did not die when I attained my majority. 
 I do not wish to feel that the world is on the 
 direct downward path to disintegration and 
 oblivion just because I cannot sanction some 
 of the prevalent practices of the day. I hope 
 I shall not hold up my hands in holy horror 
 when young people do things that were not 
 permitted when I was young. I hope I can 
 see that the world moves, and also that it does 
 not always move in the wrong direction. I 
 want to keep the point of view of youth up to 
 the very last. 
 
 In the sternness and stress of life, in the 
 sorrows which fall upon mankind at times, and 
 particularly during the declining years, I have 
 sometimes felt that providence heaped these 
 things upon us to make us more resigned to go 
 when the final summons came, and yet I 
 would rather think that this is not true — I 
 would rather feel that in the flotsam and jet- 
 sam of life in the ebb and flow of circumstance 
 and fate, that these trials were given us to 
 make us show our mettle, that they come to 
 us late in life that we may be permitted thereby 
 to set an example of fortitude and patience to 
 the rising generation, that they come when 
 we are best braced by experience and by 
 philosophy to meet them. 
 
 I hope if I grow old that I shall not exclaim 
 over . the infirmities of age. I hope I shall 
 
 Page Sixty-eight 
 
bear my burdens as patiently as I may, and 
 not wring the hearts of my friends by my 
 complaining. 
 
 I hope that as I grow old I shall develop 
 the softer graces of life and suppress the 
 querulousness and irritability which sometimes 
 accompanies infirmity. In truth I hope I shall 
 never be infirm, but if I do I trust it may 
 make me mellow and more patient. When I 
 grow old I want merely to ripen and not 
 decay — I want to come into full fruition but 
 not go too much to seed. 
 
 I trust I may keep my face turned mostly 
 toward the east, that I may revel in the glory 
 of the rising sun, and see the tree-tops tipped 
 with the brilliant hues of hopefulness and 
 cheer. And then at last after the "heat and 
 burden of the day," when the shadows begin 
 to fall and the light to wane I want to gaze 
 on the mellow tints flashed up from the 
 western sky, and see outlined the forms and 
 faces of those I have loved so well — the forms 
 and faces of those who have made life sweet 
 and precious; and as I quietly float toward the 
 brink I want the last lingering look to be into 
 the countenances of those rny best beloved, 
 and to close my eyes forever with the music 
 of their voices in my ears. 
 
 // a man falls, pick him up — do not trod on him. 
 Page Sixty-nine 
 
The • Larger * Vision 
 
 ^F THERE is any supreme intelligence 
 behind the fact of man's existence in 
 the world, the purpose of placing him 
 here must have been that he should do 
 good and be happy. It is inconceivable 
 that any other purpose entered into the plan 
 of his destiny. If this be true, then it is well 
 for thinking people to consider somewhat care- 
 fully why it is that men are not all good and 
 all happy. 
 
 Without attempting the solution of so great 
 a problem as this in all its bearings, I venture 
 to suggest that one of the reasons why man falls 
 short of attaining his highest destiny is because 
 he takes too narrow a view of things and allows 
 minor matters to enter too prominently into 
 the affairs of his life. The small distractions 
 of everyday experience are too frequently per- 
 mitted by his point of view to assume a wholly 
 unwarranted magnitude and to materially warp 
 his trend of thought and seriously affect his 
 happiness. 
 
 While it may be true that the sum-total of 
 the average individual's experience is made up 
 for the most part of small happenings, and 
 while we cannot wholly ignore the little things as 
 possible factors in determining one's destiny, 
 yet the truth remains that much of the unhap- 
 piness in the world is fostered by an altogether 
 unwarranted magnification of the things which 
 in the ultimate have really little significance. 
 
 If some person says an unkind thing about 
 us we are too much inclined to allow it seriously 
 to interfere with our happiness. We may be 
 deeply hurt and grieve over what we consider 
 an injustice done to us, or we may kindle with 
 resentment and expend our energy in anger — 
 
 Page Seventy 
 
either of which needlessly detracts from our 
 peace of mind. If we could only stop to reason 
 that a slighting remark made by another 
 really does no one harm except the one who 
 makes it, that injustice of any kind reacts 
 mostly on the author, and that the small and 
 petty criticisms of thoughtless or even malicious 
 individuals never affect in the slightest degree 
 the substantial welfare of others, we would not 
 allow ourselves to be made unhappy through 
 this medium. 
 
 It is something of a revelation to study in 
 the light of subsequent experience the history 
 of most of the passing events which at the 
 moment seem important, and which disturb 
 our equanimity. It will be found in the main 
 that as time recedes they melt away into 
 positive insignificance, which means that they 
 were of no real import as affecting permanently 
 the current of our lives. The only degree to 
 which most of these things can bring us injury 
 is as we permit them an entrance into our 
 thoughts as disturbing factors. Just so soon 
 as we learn to view broadly every question 
 which confronts us, to look over and beyond 
 the present and gauge it by its ultimate effect, 
 just so soon shall we disarm our consciousness 
 of many of the petty annoyances which bom- 
 bard us in our everyday experience. 
 
 Above all things, if we are to get the most 
 out of life and enter securely into the larger 
 vision we must assume an absolute mastery 
 over resentment against our fellowman. If an 
 individual does us a wrong, there are several 
 ways of meeting the issue. The one most 
 commonly in vogue is to resent it and to pro- 
 ceed at once to what in ordinary parlance is 
 termed "getting even." There never was a 
 more fatal error. Every bit of energy used in 
 such an effort is worse than wasted. It may 
 
 Page Seventy-one 
 
or may not bring injury to the object of the 
 resentment, but it invariably does to the author 
 of it. No man can attempt to do another 
 harm, whether in retaliation or otherwise, 
 without seriously injuring himself. And I 
 have always been doubtful about the quality 
 of satisfaction ostensibly enjoyed by the man 
 who triumphs over another in a contest of 
 retaliation. To see an individual suffer through 
 the agency of our own effort, to see him humil- 
 iated and humbled into the dust, even as a 
 punishment for a real wrong, is not an inspiring 
 spectacle. The better way to meet a wrong 
 is either to ignore it, which is often wisest, or 
 else to reckon with it merely to correct it and 
 prevent its repetition. The reason it is usually 
 wise to ignore a wrong is because most of the 
 so-called wrongs we suffer are really of little 
 significance as affecting our welfare unless — as 
 has just been said of the petty annoyances of 
 life — we give them entrance into our conscious- 
 ness and brood over them. This is especially 
 true of all that numerous troop of wrongs 
 emanating from the category of the minor 
 vices, such as gossip, deceit and envy. If a 
 slighting remark is made about us the first 
 thing to do is to closely examine ourselves and 
 see if the remark may not be true. Our critics 
 can sometimes see a fault in us of which we 
 are unconscious, and they are frequently of 
 real benefit to us in calling our attention to it. 
 But if their criticism is manifestly unfounded 
 and is simply due to a mischief-making spirit, 
 then the surest way to disarm them is to 
 ignore it. 
 
 If a real wrong is done us which must be 
 reckoned with, the proper spirit in which to 
 meet the issue is in tihe line of correction rather 
 than of vengeance. We should right a real 
 wrong under all circumstances, but we should 
 make sure that our motive is above reproach 
 
 Page Seventy-two 
 
and our actions in accordance therewith. Our 
 sole aim should be to prevent a repetition of 
 the wrong and thereby improve the condition 
 of society — not so much to punish as to con- 
 trol. Our whole system of legal procedure in 
 the courts of our commonwealth is wrong. 
 Even if fundamentally based on justice, as 
 they are supposed to be, the practical manage- 
 ment of cases in our courts goes so far and 
 wide of the mark as to be merely a travesty 
 on justice, honor, and the rights of man. The 
 ostensible aim of a trial in court is to arrive at 
 the truth, while as a matter of fact the real 
 aim of the contending parties is to hide truth 
 and create prejudice. Nothing is left undone, 
 no matter how small, trivial or unimportant, 
 to bring about a distortion of facts. The aim 
 is not to redress a wrong, but to win a case, 
 and in the unholy endeavor to accomplish 
 this, irrespective of the merits of the conten- 
 tion, all of the viler instincts of humanity are 
 abundantly played upon till honor is trampled 
 in the dust and the beautiful goddess of justice 
 is trailed through the mire of perfidy and dis- 
 grace. It is rapidly becoming recognized that 
 so far as correcting wrongs is concerned our 
 courts are a dismal failure, and all this is 
 because of the fact that in legal procedures as 
 in most other affairs of life the larger vision 
 of equity and justice is buried in the maze of 
 petty personal ambition and prejudicial strife. 
 
 In the flotsam and jetsam of the tide of 
 human life, it seems inevitable that much that 
 is rubbish is cast upon the shore, and this 
 rubbish has to be reckoned with. Some of it 
 is harmful to the body politic and must needs 
 be controlled by law. But in seeking to con- 
 trol we should have a care that we do not 
 further degrade the baser impulses of humanity 
 by carrying to persecution what should only 
 be correction. 
 
 Page Seventy-three 
 
We are all far from perfect and we cannot 
 believe alike. This should teach us the sub- 
 lime lesson of patience and of charity. We 
 should seek to be broad enough to look at the 
 other man's point of view and be willing to 
 meet him a legitimate half way in any dis- 
 agreement. It is often well to get together in 
 a difference of opinion and talk face to face. 
 Much of the contention among men is due to 
 misunderstanding, and much of the misun- 
 derstanding could be wiped away if men would 
 consent to discuss in a dispassionate way their 
 various differences. 
 
 The great thing in dealing with humanity 
 is to control temper and develop patience. If 
 people are disagreeable with us it may be 
 because we do not understand them — let us 
 have the patience to look into their motives. 
 If they are unreasonable it may be due to a 
 mental dwarfing for which they are not wholly 
 responsible, and we should accordingly exer- 
 cise charity. If they are dishonest it may have 
 been brought about by environment, or by 
 heredity, or by any of the infinite mazes of 
 circumstance or chance which seem to weave 
 the warp and woof of many a poor mortal's 
 fate. Not that we should countenance dis- 
 honesty in any man, but that in taking issue 
 with dishonesty we should look beyond the 
 immediate act and try to discern the hidden 
 spring which formed the motive power leading 
 to the transgression. We should aim to cor- 
 rect and to prevent, rather than to punish or 
 take revenge. 
 
 A larger vision among men will develop 
 harmony, and greater harmony will bring more 
 certain happiness. There can be, there is, 
 no loftier mission on earth for any man than 
 to smooth the troubled waters of bitterness 
 and strife among his fellows. Take out of the 
 world the petty bickerings and small mean- 
 
 Page Seventy-four 
 
nesses of human experience, the envy, jealousy, 
 spite and hatred — tak? these away and human- 
 ity could meet the larger issues of pestilence, 
 or flood, or disaster or crime with greater 
 equipoise and more effectiveness. The spon- 
 taneous and magnificent heartbeat of humanity 
 which goes out when any great disaster visits 
 a community — such, for instance, as the 
 Chicago fire, the San Francisco earthquake, 
 the Halifax explosion, etc., — is an illustration 
 of the unanimity of sentiment on the part of 
 the people when moved by a common calamity, 
 and yet the pity of our state of society when 
 it requires some appalling disaster to give us 
 a larger vision of our true function of life and 
 make us forego our small contentions. When 
 men become broad enough to look out beyond 
 self and see the need of harmonizing the great 
 chaos of humanity they will not require a 
 calamity to stir their souls and fill them with 
 loving kindness. 
 
 The chief needs of the human race in small 
 as well as large events are unselfishness, charity 
 and above all, an abounding love. To be 
 unselfish enough to think of the needs and 
 rights of others, to spread out through all of 
 humanity that delightful self-sacrifice and con- 
 sideration which we sometimes see so perfectly 
 typified in family groups; to be charitable 
 enough to yield to others the privilege of hold- 
 ing opinions opposite to those of ours, to 
 recognize the fact that we cannot all believe 
 alike and that each is entitled to his own 
 particular point of view so long as it does not 
 work to the detriment of others — these are the 
 things which go far to make up that larger 
 vision of life which should be the ultimate 
 aim of all. But even beyond this, though coin- 
 cident with it, even beyond unselfishness and 
 charity is that rarer virtue, that loftier senti- 
 ment called love — the lever which moves the 
 
 Page Seventy-five 
 
hearts of men above the sordid things of earth 
 and gives us a glimpse of that which we call 
 heaven. And who shall define what this thing 
 is? We know that one man is better than 
 another because he has more love in his heart 
 for his fellowmen. We call it sympathy, 
 affection, tenderness of sentiment, but it is 
 more than this. Love is the embodiment of 
 all the higher virtues merged in one; it is 
 subtler than the ether of the air, and more 
 tangible than the glint of gold. It makes gods 
 of men and even diefies the birds and beasts. 
 It weaves its spell o'er creeping vine and virile 
 oak, o'er ocean's mountain wave and the tiny 
 ripple of a brook. It descends into the shades 
 of valleys, and climbs the highest glistening 
 peaks. It soars aloft into the haze of clouds 
 and goes down with men to the nethermost 
 depths of the caverns of the earth. 
 
 Love is the one great hope of the world. 
 Without love we are cinders, dust and ashes; 
 with love we are the essence of all there is of 
 life. 
 
 Good deeds and bad deeds do not always seem to bring 
 their reward, but in some aspects life is not so short after 
 all, and who shall say that somehow, somewhere, sometime, 
 in the flotsam and Jetsam, all things are not finally adjusted 
 by the inexorable law of compensations. 
 
 Page Seventy-six