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THE 
 
 UPPER TRAIL 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES ROBERT GETTYS 
 
 (Emcmnatt: 
 JENNINGS AND GRAHAM 
 
 EATON AND MAINS 
 
75 ; 
 
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 COPYRIGHT, I913, BY 
 JENNINGS AND GRAHAM 
 
 
WITH A HOPE 
 THAT THE GOLDEN SUNSET MAY BE 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Living in Two Worlds at Once, . - 9 
 
 Fragrant Roses, 14 
 
 The Selfish Rose, 18 
 
 The Soul's Thirst, 24 
 
 The Madonna, 27 
 
 The Orphan, 31 
 
 Give God a Chance, 35 
 
 The Big Muddy, 39 
 
 The Universal Language, - - - - 43 
 
 Flowers and Funerals, .... 47 
 
 The Baby's Smile, 51 
 
 Father and Child, 55 
 
 Law and Love, 59 
 
 The World God Makes and The World 
 
 Men Make, 62 
 
 Opportunity, - - - . - - - 65 
 
 Heresy and Love, 69 
 
 Character, 71 
 
 Mother, 76 
 
 The Model Young Man, ... 80 
 
 The Ideal Young Woman, - - - - 90 
 
THERE'S never a rose in all the world 
 But makes some green spray sweeter; 
 There's never a wind in all the sky 
 But makes some bird wing fleeter; 
 There's never a star but brings to heaven 
 
 Some silver radiance tender; 
 And never a rosy cloud but helps 
 To crown the sunset splendor; 
 No robin but may thrill some heart 
 
 His dawn-like gladness voicing; 
 God gives us all some small sweet way 
 To set the world rejoicing. — Selected- 
 
The Upper Trail 
 
 Living in Two Worlds at Once 
 
 EVERY man should live in two worlds 
 at the same time. So many live in 
 but one. There is an elevated way for 
 every life that will travel it. There is an 
 upper trail for all who will walk therein. 
 The highlands call. The mountain tops 
 give far vision. The lower levels afford no 
 lasting joy and no high delights. While 
 men walk with their feet upon the earth, 
 their higher natures should penetrate the 
 sky. They should climb to heights where 
 faith spreads her unweighted wings and 
 goes unhindered by the baser throngs that 
 mingle on the plains below. 
 
 Visiting the city of New York or Chi- 
 cago for the first time, you will hkely be 
 disturbed by the congested condition on 
 certain of the streets. It will be difficult 
 to get over the crossings in some places. 
 The awful jam of travel and traffic is quite 
 9 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 appalling to the uninitiated. You are 
 fairly compelled to inch your way along 
 through the heavy crowds. Even the 
 street-cars — that is, the surface-cars — just 
 creep along not faster than an ordinary 
 pedestrian can walk, being held at every 
 crossing by the passing throngs. But look 
 up now and see the elevated lines with 
 cars sweeping by at terrific speed, unim- 
 peded and unhindered by the clashing 
 thousands upon the streets below. Up 
 above the jam and turmoil of the mingling 
 throngs; up where the atmosphere is un- 
 tainted and where the going is good. 
 
 Then why not travel by the elevated? 
 That is far better. On the lower levels you 
 will be disturbed by ugly doubts, jostled 
 by the conflicting elements, and the dust 
 of confusion will blind your eyes. They 
 who live only in the world material, having 
 thought for this life alone, and regarding 
 not the future, live not at all, but are dead 
 while they live. They have no outlook and 
 no uplook. They travel by surface-cars 
 and are hindered everywhere, while the 
 elevated is just at hand, and calls them to 
 climb up a bit that they may find a better 
 way of going. They should stretch them- 
 10 
 
LIVING IN TWO WORLDS AT ONCE 
 
 selves into the sky until they fairly touch 
 the bending blue above them and make it 
 theirs, with all the treasure it holds. The 
 inspiration for this life comes from above, 
 and the man with hope in his heart can 
 meet any foe and can rally from the most 
 bitter disappointment. When hope spreads 
 her wings, courage will dare the darkest 
 night, and will come to the morning un- 
 tired and undefeated. But without hope 
 courage dies, and the feet are hard to move, 
 and the wings are held with heavy weights, 
 and darkness rules the light. 
 
 So men should learn to live and travel 
 in the upper realm where doubt clouds not 
 the sky, and where sorrow but turns the 
 eyes toward God. Living in the other 
 world while they toil and travel here, they 
 extract gold from the unseen and coin it 
 into the currency of life for the many uses 
 of the present. They draw on the bank of 
 the future to meet the sight drafts of the 
 present. Thus should men live in the 
 other world while they are still here, and 
 draw inspiration and help for to-day from 
 to-morrow. 
 
 That little mother who was called upon 
 so suddenly to lay her babe away had 
 11 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 learned the secret. The minister had 
 spoken the very best words he could; but 
 words seemed to most folks very feeble and 
 empty that day. They took the last look 
 and laid the little one to rest in the green 
 cemetery on the hill and returned to their 
 homes with heavy hearts for the grief- 
 stricken mother, for they feared she would 
 not be able to bear her sorrow without 
 breaking, she seemed so frail and delicate. 
 One could see her as she returned to that 
 home so empty now, and so still, and where 
 would be no longer heard the enchanting 
 music of the childish voice and pattering 
 feet. 
 
 But all fears were groundless and were 
 soon swept away. She had meat to eat 
 the world knew not of. She had a strength 
 and support unknown to wavering souls. 
 Her vision penetrated far beyond all doubt- 
 dimmed eyes. The feet of sordid souls 
 were not accustomed to travel the paths 
 her feet had found. Passing by her home 
 the following day, you might have heard 
 her singing: 
 
 We shall meet beyond the river, 
 Where the surges cease to roll. 
 
 12 
 
LIVING IN TWO WORLDS AT ONCE 
 
 Then her soul takes flight again on the 
 wings of the following strain: 
 
 O how sweet it will be 
 In that beautiful land, 
 
 So free from all sorrow and pain; 
 With songs on our lips, 
 And with harps In our hands, 
 
 To meet one another again. 
 
 Now you will know that she was master 
 of two worlds. She was traveling along 
 the upper way and Heaven was in sight. 
 She did not wait for death to take her 
 there. She arrived before the messenger 
 had time to reach her gate. No wonder 
 she could come forth from her sorrow and 
 face the world with a courage and forti- 
 tude so strong, and yet so quiet and so 
 comforting that unbelievers were baffled by 
 her spirit, and by the halo that surrounded 
 her life. Her support was from above. 
 Though she lived on the earth, her higher 
 self sojourned in the sky. Her feet had 
 found the upper trail that led to peace and 
 rest. 
 
 13 
 
Fragrant Roses 
 
 IT was my fortune, a few years ago, 
 to attend the reception of a newly-ap- 
 pointed pastor, given by a Church in a 
 little city in Southern Nebraska. The 
 gentleman who gave the address of wel- 
 come held in his hands a beautiful bouquet 
 of exquisite red roses, so rich in fragrance 
 the atmosphere of the whole house was 
 laden with the wealth of perfume. The 
 words of welcome were as full of fragrance 
 as were the flowers. At the conclusion of 
 the welcoming speech the roses were pre- 
 sented to the pastor, whose response, 
 though couched in most classic phrase, and 
 uttered in fine spirit, was at first a distinct 
 surprise and shock to me. 
 
 He said, "It seems to me I have been 
 sent to the best charge in the Conference." 
 Now of course such a complimentary re- 
 mark would be permissible, and might have 
 passed unnoticed, but for the following: 
 "It seems to me," said he, "I have always 
 been sent to the best charges." That claim 
 was clearly untrue. For I had known the 
 14 
 
FRAGRANT ROSES 
 
 man during his entire ministry, and was 
 somewhat familiar with every charge he 
 had ever served, and knew positively that 
 some of them were the most scraggly 
 places the Lord ever had anywhere in the 
 world. And yet he stood there before 
 those strangers and declared he had always 
 been sent to the best. 
 
 Of course, the wonder was why he 
 talked so prevaricatingly, and how one 
 would go about it to harmonize those ap- 
 parently untrue statements with a minis- 
 ter's reputation for truth and veracity. 
 Truly, I was puzzled, not knowing just how 
 to think or what to do. Then I saw the 
 roses, and caught a fresh breath of their 
 fragrance, and a revelation opened before 
 me. Those roses! They are always in the 
 sweetest and most fragrant atmosphere. 
 Why? Because they take it along with 
 them wherever they go, and breathe it 
 forth from their inner selves. It is a part 
 of their nature. They create the atmos- 
 phere in which they live. They sweeten 
 it wherever they go. In the miasmic 
 swamp they are in fine-flavored air, for 
 they bring it with them. In the sick 
 room, where fever burns the tossing pa- 
 15 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 tient, they are in the most fragrant at- 
 mosphere, for they bring with them an 
 unending supply in the sweetness of their 
 nature. Whether in the humble home of 
 peasant, or the luxurious palace of pomp 
 and pleasure, it is the same. No matter 
 where, the rose breathes from its inner life 
 that sweet breath which gives it an at- 
 mosphere of its own and makes it independ- 
 ent of surroundings and conditions. 
 
 So that minister was always in the finest 
 charge. For, no difference where he went, 
 he would take it along with him in the 
 fragrance of his own inner life and the 
 purity of his own character, and breathing 
 forth from such a soul the atmosphere thus 
 laden, his life was saturated with sweet- 
 ness, and the purest and best were always 
 his. In the quality, vision, and victory of 
 his inner and higher self he was independent 
 of conditions. He knew the meaning of 
 the prayer of Socrates, and had obtained 
 its answer: "Grant me to be beautiful 
 within. Teach me that wisdom is a form 
 of wealth that abides forever: making life 
 orderly without; make me also just within. 
 Forbid also that I should ever have any gold 
 save that which a good man can possess." 
 16 
 
FRAGRANT ROSES 
 
 This man's gold would not tarnish. 
 The fragrance of his life would not die, for» 
 like the rose, it came from a never-failing 
 source within. ■ Talk about good places! 
 It is the man that makes the place, and 
 not the place the man. Talk about suc- 
 cess! That rose is a success that blossoms 
 into beauty and sheds forth its fragrance, 
 for, though it die unseen and unadmired, 
 it is true to its own nature: it did what 
 it was born to do. It lived its life accord- 
 ing to the highest laws of its world. The 
 man who thus lives may be well reckoned 
 a success, even though he never comes to 
 fame as the world counts fame. No, my 
 friend, you may not run fast, but you can 
 run in the right direction, and so running 
 your feet will strike the upper trail and 
 lead you to the heights. 
 
 The lily's lips are pure and white, 
 
 Without a touch of fire; 
 The rose's heart is warm and red and 
 
 Sweetened with desire. 
 In earth's broad field of deathless bloom 
 
 The gladdest lives are those 
 Whose thoughts are like the lily and whose 
 Love is like the rose. 
 From "Poems With Power to Strengthen the 
 Soul," by Mudge, p. 264. 
 2 17 
 
The Selfish Rose 
 
 A LARGE cluster of rose bushes grew 
 just beside the walk leading up to the 
 front porch. They were in full foliage, and 
 luxuriant with bud and blossom the day I 
 called. Being very fond of roses, I reached 
 out to pluck one that looked very choice, 
 but before doing so bent over with my 
 face buried in the blossoms to drink deeply 
 of their fragrance. Imagine my surprise 
 on discovering they had no fragrance. I 
 was disappointed, and left there where it 
 grew the flower I had intended to take 
 with me, and from which I had expected 
 to extract some sweetness. 
 
 It was a rose of exquisite beauty — 
 perfect in form and coloring, and fine to 
 look upon; but it held no perfume. It 
 was great on appearances, but not much 
 for fragrance. It allured only to disap- 
 point. It caused you to reach for some- 
 thing you could not get. It failed to fulfill 
 on the face of its promise. And does it 
 set us wondering? Do we question the 
 18 
 
THE SELFISH ROSE 
 
 cause? Why did not this rose give forth 
 some perfume? Well, *it may be there 
 was a time somewhere in the past when 
 it was the most fragrant of all the rose 
 family. A time when it was the admiration 
 and delight of many people. They would 
 come from far and near to drink its sweet- 
 ness. It was the most popular of all the 
 flowers. In every sick-room its fragrance 
 filled the air. It heartened people every- 
 where. 
 
 But one day it sat up and said: "Here 
 I am furnishing fragrance for everybody. 
 They take me everywhere, and come from 
 everywhere for my perfume. The rich, the 
 poor, the good, the bad, both young and 
 old, take from my storehouse of fragrance 
 to their fill. Soon I will have no fragrance 
 left for myself. This thing must cease. 
 Henceforth I will deny all comers, and 
 will conserve my wealth until my own 
 supply shall be unequaled anywhere. I 
 will be the richest rose in all the world!" 
 
 And so it was. The doors were closed. 
 The windows were shut. The blinds were 
 drawn. People came as before, but went 
 away disappointed. Messengers from sick- 
 rooms came and clipped the buds and 
 19 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 blossoms, but carried away unfragrant 
 flowers. Then they ceased coming, and 
 the rose busied itself in the work of ac- 
 cumulation. It lost all interest in others 
 and became self-centered. Then it died. 
 It died at the heart. It lost its character, 
 its influence — that is, its fragrance — for it 
 awoke one day to find that it had none 
 left even for itself. In withholding it had 
 become impoverished. " For unto him that 
 hath made right use of his talents shall be 
 given more, and he shall have abundance; 
 but from him that hath not made right 
 use of his talents shall be taken away even 
 that which he had in the beginning." 
 People are prone to think that an arbitrary 
 law written only in the Holy Book, but it 
 is a law as universal and as inexorable as 
 the law of gravitation, and it was deeply 
 inscribed in all nature as the unchanging 
 law of all life before it was ever written in 
 the Book or spoken by the Master of men. 
 It is the rebuke of nature; yea, the rebuke 
 of the Infinite to the selfish and self -cen- 
 tered life, against which all lofty souls 
 and even nature itself revolt. 
 
 But have you noticed how many people 
 20 
 
THE SELFISH ROSE 
 
 are like that rose? Fine in form, beautiful 
 to look upon, and promising in every out- 
 ward appearance, yet wholly disappointing 
 in what you have a right to expect from 
 them. They have no fragrance. That is, 
 they give forth no helpful influence. In 
 what constitutes real beauty, and richness, 
 and strength of character they are lacking. 
 They close to every high appeal, and help 
 no worthy cause. They wither everything 
 they breathe upon, and leave no heritage 
 of blessing anywhere. They live on the 
 lower levels. 
 
 Have you not seen such folk? Yes, 
 you have, and well do you remember it. 
 You received a visit one day from such a 
 soul, and it was like the blowing of a hot 
 blast from the desert. It withered and 
 scorched and blistered. It filled the room 
 and vitiated God's good air until you were 
 almost stifled. You never knew before 
 what havoc one life could accomplish. 
 When that visitor was gone, you threw 
 open windows and doors to let some of 
 God's fresh air come in. When you said, 
 "Good-day," you did not say, "Come 
 again, soon, for your visit has been a bene- 
 21 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 diction." No, you did not say that. You 
 were glad of the going. The flower was 
 without fragrance, and it left no sweet 
 influence. 
 
 But you have known those of fragrant 
 life. And how refreshing the memory! 
 As you recall the joys of those associations 
 now your heart beats faster. You remem- 
 ber the visit on a certain day when your 
 sky was cloudy and the sweetness had left 
 the air you breathed. You saw her com- 
 ing, and you were all astir, then, for you 
 well knew the rich influence that life car- 
 ried. You opened the door before she had 
 time to knock or ring the bell. You were 
 overjoyed. You said, "Why do you stay 
 away so long?" though she had been to 
 see you only three days before. When she 
 came into the room it was like the breezes 
 wafted from the other shore, laden with all 
 the fragrance from the flower gardens of 
 God. When she would go after some 
 hours of stay, you detained her. "Don't 
 hurry," you cried; "you have been here 
 such a few minutes; please stay longer." 
 And after she was gone the sky seemed 
 brighter, the air was aromatic, the birds 
 22 
 
THE SELFISH ROSE 
 
 sang sweeter music. That visit was like 
 the refreshing dew upon the drooping 
 flower. The Hngering fragrance was a 
 benediction for days. That Hfe was not 
 self -centered, but self-giving, and one that 
 shed its radiance and left its rich flavor 
 everywhere, for it walked the upper trail. 
 
 23 
 
The Soul's Thirst 
 
 WE are here. Whence we came is not 
 so important as whither are we 
 bound? Is this all? Is it both the be- 
 ginning and the end? Do we stop here, 
 or shall we go on? That we are now here 
 is no more a certainty than that we shall 
 not stay here. What then? 
 
 Does some safe and quiet harbor await 
 us at the end of our journey, where we 
 can anchor from the storm-tossed voyage 
 of life and be welcomed to a blest abode 
 amidst the shouts of friends and kindred 
 dear, and there forever rest? Or is the 
 future dark and hopeless, are the harbors 
 closed, are there no lights along the shore, 
 will there be no welcome; and are we like 
 a ship adrift upon a rock-ribbed sea with- 
 out a rudder, without compass, and with- 
 out guide, with no harbor to enter, and 
 no certain destiny but to be tossed about 
 at the mercy of the angry billows, and, 
 after struggle and effort and groan and 
 wail and cry, to be cast a wreck at last 
 24 
 
THE SOUL'S THIRST 
 
 upon the rugged rocks, and there He 
 broken and bleeding, and be forever 
 mocked by the eternal wail of the ocean 
 waves? Is this our lot? Is this our des- 
 tiny? 
 
 What intelligence will say it is? Whose 
 heart-hunger does that satisfy? Yours? 
 Surely not! Can you have an answer to 
 your cry? You have it. Where? In 
 your own soul. Your heart-hunger for 
 God proves God. Your soul-thirst for 
 immortality proves immortality. You find 
 an answer in all your soul-longings in the 
 fact of those soul-longings themselves. 
 Your very nature demands the Divine. 
 "As the hart panteth after the water 
 brooks, so panteth my soul after Thee, 
 O God!" There is the thirst. There are 
 the brooks. The one implies the other. 
 Given the one, the other must be. 
 
 Mr. Ingersoll, though denying, demon- 
 strates the wonderful truth of this in that 
 marvelous oration at his brother's grave. 
 "Life is a narrow vale, between the cold 
 and barren peaks of two eternities. We 
 strive in vain to look beyond the heights; 
 we cry aloud; but the only answer is the 
 echo of our wailing cry." His heart was 
 25 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 hungry; his soul was crying out: but he 
 failed to catch the answer or to rightly 
 interpret his own nature, his own appetite 
 for God. What wild deer, chased and 
 hounded, and hot and weary, and well- 
 nigh exhausted, ever hunted for the cool- 
 ing, refreshing, life-giving water brooks 
 more certainly than the troubled soul of 
 Mr. Ingersoll, chased by the hounds of 
 disbelief and gnashed by the fangs of 
 doubt, tired and hot and thirsty, called for 
 the water of life — for the Eternal God. 
 
 Truly the world is not an orphan. Man 
 is not fatherless. He can not quench his 
 own thirst, nor stifle the inner cry. It is 
 there. The fragrance of a flower is not 
 artificial. So man's thirst for God is 
 natural. The eyes reach toward the hill- 
 tops. We long for the higher ranges. We 
 want to stand on the highest peak. We 
 would fain reach that place beyond which 
 there is no going. It is the upper trail 
 that leads thereto. 
 
 26 
 
The Madonna 
 
 Madonnas hallow every home; 
 O'er every roof where babies are 
 Shines high and pure a guiding star; 
 And mother hearts do always hear 
 Divinest music ringing clear. 
 From "Songs of Motherhood," by Elizabeth 
 Johnson Huckel. 
 
 OBERAMMERGAU is a little Bava- 
 rian village of a few hundred souls, 
 nestling among the picturesque, pine-clad 
 and snow - crowned Ammer Mountains. 
 The place has been made famous by the 
 rendition of the "Passion Play," which is 
 there given every ten years. It was to 
 that place I journeyed in the summer of 
 1910, for the purpose of witnessing the 
 wonderful production. 
 
 I was entertained in the home of a 
 Mr. Stadler. In the family was a lassie 
 of some fourteen summers, Victoria by 
 name. She was a bright, modest, sweet- 
 faced child, whose part in the play was 
 that of an angel in the different tableaux, 
 appearing to special advantage in the last 
 scene, which was the Ascension. 
 27 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 When I first entered the room to which 
 I had been assigned I noticed on the wall 
 a picture which, at a glance, I took to be 
 a likeness of Victoria herself. On taking 
 a second look, I said, "Yes, and a very 
 good picture of her, too. This must be 
 her room." Something about the picture, 
 however, held my curiosity and attracted 
 me to a more critical inspection. Where- 
 upon I saw that it was not Victoria at all, 
 but a most beautiful "Madonna." 
 
 And yet I am sure that no woman ever 
 had a truer likeness of herself than that 
 one was of Victoria. And when the real 
 truth of the matter dawned upon me, I 
 said, " How much better to be a ' Madonna' 
 than to own the picture." It were indeed 
 better to be one than to paint one. Vic- 
 toria truly was one. I meditated for a 
 little time over what at first seemed only 
 a peculiar coincidence, but decided that 
 it was no coincidence at all, and that it 
 held no mysteries. It was as perfectly 
 natural as the fragrant lily bursting from 
 its bulb. For has not Victoria, as well as 
 her parents and ancestors, lived in the 
 "Madonna" atmosphere, and were not her 
 features fashioned by its gentle pressure? 
 28 
 
THE MADONNA 
 
 The unblemished beauty of her face was 
 but the natural bloom of the inner life. 
 
 It is said the highest ambition those 
 peasant parents have for their children 
 from the day of their birth, and even be- 
 fore, is that they may be worthy to some 
 time have a part in the "Passion Play." 
 And so, living in the atmosphere of the 
 Madonna, inheriting through generations 
 the spirit of the Madonna, continually 
 surrounded by the ideals of the Madonna, 
 and with a Madonna ever beaming upon 
 her from the walls of her room — the first 
 to greet her in the morning, the last to 
 look the soft, sweet look at night — is it 
 any wonder the Madonna bloomed from 
 her soul and shone in her face? Reflecting 
 as a mirror the glory of that face, she was 
 changed into the same image, from glory 
 to glory. 
 
 Pure thoughts are God's paint brushes. 
 They put color, and tone, and beauty into 
 the face. Purity of thought and beauty of 
 soul find their fruitage in the face of 
 beauty. The inner transforms the outer. 
 The fine lines, the strength of features, 
 the perfect coloring, the nobility of ex- 
 pression all blending into a face of beauty 
 29 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 but tell the artistic skill of the unseen 
 hand and the transforming power of high 
 and holy thoughts. 
 
 Better, then, be the architect of a good 
 life than the builder of stately cathedrals. 
 Better the artist who puts upon the living 
 face the beauty of a pure life than the one 
 who but sketches upon breathless canvas 
 the finest product of the painter's art. 
 Better the fragrance of a right life than the 
 perfume of all the flowers. Victoria lived 
 among the hills of God, and she knew the 
 way of the upper trail. 
 
 30 
 
The Orphan 
 
 TT was several summers ago when the 
 ■■■ incident here set down took place. You 
 have doubtless sat in public audiences 
 where the speaker upon the platform was 
 not the only voice to be heard. When the 
 baby voice is as continuous as the one 
 speaking by previous announcement, it is 
 neither pleasing to the ears nor soothing 
 to the nerves, as any one who has passed 
 through the experience will testify. On 
 the occasion here mentioned, I found my 
 way into the large auditorium at the morn- 
 ing hour to hear the address of a partic- 
 ularly noted speaker. I soon discovered 
 that just to my left sat a father and 
 mother with a babe perhaps nine or ten 
 months old. The speaker of the hour, and 
 the babe of that same hour, started the 
 program about the same time. The babe 
 fretted, and fussed, and whined, and 
 squalled. I looked my very fiercest at the 
 mother, as if to say, "Why have you 
 committed the unpardonable sin of bring- 
 31 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 ing the youngster in here?" but she seemed 
 not the least perturbed, and showed no 
 disposition to remove the disturber of the 
 peace. Both parents were kept constantly 
 busy trying to quiet the child. I thought 
 I never saw a homelier baby, nor one with 
 a voice so unmusical and disagreeable. 
 Was there no remedy for this pestilence? 
 They gave it the bottle, with no satis- 
 factory results. They patted it (though 
 not as hard as I thought they should), 
 they caressed it, they talked and cooed; 
 they turned it on its back, and then re- 
 versed that order — they did everything 
 it seemed that mortals could do — but 
 the cry continued. I was frantic. The 
 speaker's message was lost to me. The 
 morning was wasted. I felt as if the world 
 was badly organized and poorly managed. 
 Babies were an inexcusable nuisance. And 
 parents that did not know how to manage 
 them and where to take them were even 
 worse. Public assemblies were not cal- 
 culated for such trouble-makers. They 
 had no business there. 
 
 When the afternoon hour arrived for 
 the address of another famous speaker, I 
 found myself again in the tabernacle and 
 32 
 
THE ORPHAN 
 
 ready for the message. This time I took 
 a seat over on the opposite side from where 
 I sat in the morning. And you are now 
 thinking that I would not suffer a repeti- 
 tion of what I had experienced on the 
 previous occasion. Imagine my surprise, 
 then, when a moment later I heard just 
 behind me a sound which attracted my 
 attention, and, on looking around, saw 
 there in the next row of seats the same 
 parents and the same baby. Was I angry? 
 I was not. I was delighted. I was actually 
 happy. I really thought that was about 
 the sweetest baby I had ever seen. Its 
 very whining and whimpering was music 
 to me. Its voice was charming. I could not 
 keep my curious eyes from its little face 
 — it looked so sweet. And the father and 
 mother? They were good to see. Their 
 faces shone with splendor. The transfigura- 
 tion scene presented none fairer than they. 
 Why this change, so quickly wrought? 
 And where was the change, anyway? Was 
 it in the parents and the child, or was it 
 in me? Clearly the change was with me. 
 In the morning the picture was blurred 
 by my ignorance. I did not know the 
 facts. Since taking my seat in the after- 
 3 33 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 noon, a friend had put me into possession 
 of knowledge which cleared the whole sky. 
 I learned from him that these were not 
 the parents of the child, but that it was 
 a little orphan, without father, without 
 mother, and without home. These good 
 people had undertaken to be a father and 
 mother to it, and were doing the best they 
 could to comfort it and quiet its crying. 
 They were about a noble and God-given 
 task. All the little icebergs in my soul 
 were melted away, then. The very place 
 was radiant with a heavenly light, and 
 charmed with the music of invisible choirs. 
 That was an experience that has in it the 
 wondrous touch of a transforming power. 
 And this is what I thought: We would 
 better be careful what we think and what 
 we say until we know all the facts and 
 have the fullest light. From the valley 
 we can not always see afar. From the 
 hilltops we get a wider and a clearer vision. 
 Whittier well says: 
 
 Man judges from a partial view, 
 None ever yet his brother knew; 
 The eternal eye that sees the whole 
 May better read the darkened soul, 
 And find to outward sense denied 
 The flower upon its inward side. 
 
 34 
 
Give God a Chance 
 
 WHO painted the rose and colored the 
 rainbow? Who gave form and fra- 
 grance to the Hly? Can man manufacture 
 a flower and furnish it with breath and 
 colorings? Some one has done all this 
 most perfectly. 
 
 It would seem that all God wants is a 
 chance. He never fails. He makes no 
 mistakes, God's work is done when we 
 do ours. He does not need help — He 
 needs a chance. Do we sometimes speak 
 of helping Him? How bold the words! 
 Who helped Him make the sun and fashion 
 the planets? Who helped Him polish the 
 stars and set them shining in the heavens? 
 Who helped Him make the milky way and 
 stretch it across the sky? Who helped 
 Him build the majestic mountains and 
 gather the seas together? Who helped 
 Him lift the planets to their places, give 
 to them their seasons, and start them on 
 their faultless journeyings through space? 
 Who helped Him dig the channels for the 
 35 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 rivers? Who helped Him manufacture the 
 coal and gather it into the bins? Who 
 helped Him carpet the earth with green, 
 and clothe it with the beauty of bud and 
 blossom? Ah, who helped Him? Did we? 
 Yes, we helped, because we were not 
 present to bother Him. 
 
 How long would it take a man to dig 
 the Panama Canal? How long do you 
 suppose it took God to dig the Mississippi? 
 How long did it take man to build the 
 great pyramids of Egypt? How long did 
 it take God to build the Rocky Mountains? 
 How long to paint a flower and give it 
 fragrance? How long to build a man and 
 fashion him as He wants him to be? 
 
 God wants a chance in the world of 
 men to-day, and He will bring form out of 
 chaos, harmony out of discord, and give 
 beauty for ashes. But we are in the way. 
 We offer our suggestions and advance our 
 puny opinions, instead of following out 
 His directions. It must be we bother the 
 Lord a lot. We fancy we have ideas, and 
 we are eager to give Him the benefit of 
 our wisdom. With our notions, and 
 schemes, and plans, and prejudices we are 
 a great trouble to Him. Obedience would 
 36 
 
GIVE GOD A CHANCE 
 
 be the greatest help man could render the 
 Almighty. But folks are so Httle! 
 
 If the will of the Infinite could be 
 worked out among men as it is in nature, 
 the moral world would be one of symmetry, 
 of harmony, of beauty in high colorings, 
 and of unbroken joy. Behold how He 
 puts the silver lace upon the ocean waves, 
 and gilds the brow of the mountain peak 
 with golden sunbeams. He studs the sky 
 with stars, and garlands the earth with 
 flowers. He scallops the fern-leaf, nest- 
 ling in the quiet bed of the lonely forest, 
 and paints the glory of the water-lily, 
 rocked in the crystal cradle of the lake. 
 He clothes the fields with beauty, and 
 hangs the dewdrops like diamond neck- 
 laces upon the grass-blades. Verily, the 
 trees do rejoice and the hills clap their 
 hands for gladness. 
 
 Give God a chance with man and He 
 will clothe him with power, adorn him 
 with beauty, give to him a song of cease- 
 less joy, and make his life shed radiance as 
 the fadeless star. And if man will but 
 note and follow the index finger of the 
 Infinite he will find the way into that 
 upper trail. 
 
 37 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 O thou unpolished shaft, why leave the quiver? 
 
 O thou blunt ax, what forests canst thou hew? 
 Untempered sword, canst thou the oppressed de- 
 liver? 
 
 Go back to thine own Maker's forge anew. 
 
 Submit thyself to God for preparation, 
 
 Seek not to teach thy Master and thy Lord; 
 
 Call it not zeal — it is a base temptation. 
 
 Satan is pleased when man dictates to God. 
 
 From "Poems With Power to Strengthen the 
 Soul," by Mudge, p. 96, 
 
 38 
 
The Big Muddy 
 
 T TAVE you ever looked upon the turbid 
 ■*• *■ waters of the sinuous old Missouri, 
 commonly called the "Big Muddy," on 
 their long journey from the mountains to 
 the sea? Perhaps it was not a sight to 
 inspire the soul, or stir the imagination, or 
 set the Muses singing. And yet, as I 
 crossed that stream the other day, I looked 
 upon those murky, muddy waters with 
 absorbing interest. They were almost fas- 
 cinating in spite of their filth, because they 
 awakened within me emotions before un- 
 touched — considerations of what they once 
 were and of what they might again become. 
 As the train dashed on toward the 
 West, I lingered in thought with those 
 waters. I traveled upward whence they 
 came. Up past the tasseling cornfields of 
 Iowa and Nebraska. On past the golden 
 wheatlields of the Dakotas. On through 
 the undulating vistas of Montana. Up, 
 up, up until I reached the Rockies, and 
 there among the pine-clad ranges, their 
 39 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 cradle forever guarded by the age-crowned 
 sentinels of those majestic mountains, I 
 found their birthplace. Then I saw that 
 when those waters were born they were as 
 pure as the dewdrop distilled upon the 
 rose-bud, and as sweet as the nectar of 
 the clover-blossom that banquets the bee. 
 Behold the crystal beauty of that river at 
 its birth! But now look upon that foul 
 stream and see how polluted! And those 
 waters will be no more fit for the use of 
 men until they are born again — that is, 
 until God lifts them up into His sky and 
 thus gives them a new birth. Then, when 
 they come again, in the form of snowflake 
 or dewdrop, to refresh the earth, they will 
 be free from all impurities. 
 
 Have you ever thought of the parallel 
 in human life? Have you not? Well, 
 there is one. There comes to my mind 
 now a man of my acquaintance whom I 
 have known from his infancy. I saw him 
 when the bloom was on his cheeks and the 
 laughter in his eyes. When the sweet 
 dimples in his face were worth more to 
 his mother than all the diamonds that ever 
 glistened. When he was as free from stain 
 as the crystal waters. But when I saw him 
 40 
 
THE BIG MUDDY 
 
 the other day, after a lapse of some years, 
 it was a shocking sight. He was blear-eyed 
 and bloated-faced, besotted and bestial. 
 He was unclean and repulsive. He bore 
 evidence of having received the deposits 
 from the waters of many polluted streams. 
 So there was the "Big Muddy" in human 
 life. Full of every deadly poison; full of 
 all filth; brimming with the refuse from 
 the reeking streams of immoral habits, this 
 man would contaminate all pure lives, and 
 was therefore unfit for society. Down- 
 ward drifting he had gathered filth as he 
 went. 
 
 Like the river, when he was born he 
 was sweet and pure. Now look! But the 
 One who lifts the black and muddy waters 
 of the polluted stream to sweeten them 
 and send them back to earth as pure as 
 the dewdrop, can give him a new birth, a 
 complete cleansing, and save him from 
 the stains that have spoiled his life, can 
 bring him back to purity and make him a 
 happy and useful member of society, that 
 he may still give to the world the sweet 
 and fragrant influence the Almighty de- 
 signed for every man. 
 
 But how much better if the pure waters 
 41 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 had never become polluted. Ah, how 
 much better if that Hfe had held its in- 
 nocence and always kept itself free from 
 the stains of sin. It were always better to 
 live in the sunlight, to breathe the high- 
 land air, to walk the upper trail. There is 
 no use to overwork God. 
 
 42 
 
The Universal Language 
 
 You have heard the rippHng laughter. 
 You have seen the falHng tears. 
 You have witnessed love's devotion. 
 
 PASSING down the street of a busy 
 city one day, I saw coming toward me 
 a company of women who, from their 
 manner and dress, were evidently for- 
 eigners. As they came nearer, I could 
 hear their conversation, but could not 
 understand a single word they spoke, for 
 they were indeed talking in a foreign 
 tongue. But as we were about to meet 
 and pass, they seemed of a sudden to speak 
 and gesticulate at the same time, and then 
 all broke out in loud laughter. The laugh- 
 ter I clearly understood, and needed no 
 one to translate or interpret. They 
 laughed in English. 
 
 Laughter is a universal language. It 
 is the language of the heart. It is used 
 and understood by the people of all 
 tongues. 
 
 I was on a railway train passing through 
 43 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 a populous section of a great State. At 
 one of the little village stations two ladies 
 sntered the car and seated themselves just 
 across the aisle from where I was sitting. 
 As they engaged in conversation with each 
 other, it was evident that they also were 
 foreigners, for they spoke a language I did 
 not understand. Then, presently, as their 
 conversation ceased for a time, I noticed 
 they were both in tears. That was a 
 language I understood. For while they 
 talked in some foreign tongue, they wept 
 in my own language. No interpreter was 
 needed then. Their tears told the whole 
 story. Can you not read and understand 
 the message? Here it is: Those women 
 had been back to their old home to help 
 lay father or mother away, and were now 
 returning to their own families, and the 
 memories of life — of childhood, school days, 
 birthdays, Christmas days, happy home 
 days, then wedding days, and now the 
 funeral days and the broken ties — all 
 these were pressing upon them, and those 
 two hearts were speaking a language as 
 old as the race and as universal as man- 
 kind. That is the story those tears were 
 telling. When heart speaks to heart, there 
 44 
 
THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE 
 
 are no differences of nationality, race, or 
 color, and the message is always under- 
 stood. 
 
 So tears are a universal language. They 
 are a part of the heart-language. Wherever 
 man is found, that language is current, and 
 is used and understood by men of every 
 tongue. 
 
 The story is told of two men, John 
 Waterhouse and David Cargill, who had 
 landed upon an island in Fiji. They knew 
 well the character of the people there, but 
 the people did not know their character. 
 The natives who met them were naked, 
 scowling, and armed with clubs — by all 
 appearances, ready to slay and devour. 
 The two white men walked right up to 
 them, and, with smiles, and hands out- 
 stretched in friendly greeting, said first to 
 one and then to another, "My love to 
 you," their actions, of course, being suited 
 to their words. In a very little time the 
 clubs were all down, and the two men 
 began to talk. Then there was opportunity 
 for them to stay, and then to preach. All 
 danger was passed. They had spoken the 
 language of love, and the people under- 
 stood. 
 
 45 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 Love is a universal language. Love, 
 too, is the language of the heart. God 
 speaks that language. It is understood by 
 all people. Love needs no interpreter. 
 
 Some things are great because they are 
 so simple. Love has been called the great- 
 est thing in the world. Yet how simple! 
 Some things are called great because they 
 seem to be profound; but love is the 
 greatest thing in the world because God is 
 the greatest in the world, and "God is 
 love." Thus do we learn divine things 
 from the human, the great things from the 
 simple and the child-like. We know God 
 by the language He speaks, for it is the 
 language of the heart; and when the heart 
 speaks we understand, for it uses that 
 same heart-language of the Infinite. 
 
 46 
 
Flowers and Funerals 
 
 I NEVER have any flowers for funerals," 
 said a lady to a friend who was visiting 
 her one day. Of course that visitor was 
 fairly shocked at the statement, especially 
 as the utterance came from one who had 
 so many flowers and who was so well 
 known for her kindly disposition. But the 
 lady had a few more remarks to make on 
 the subject, and continued by saying, "I 
 give them all away before the people die." 
 Then she added these pertinent words, "It 
 makes me feel better to give them to my 
 neighbors while they are still living and 
 can enjoy them, rather than wait until they 
 are gone and then put them on the coffin." 
 And who will not agree that this phi- 
 lanthropist in flowers was right? If some 
 people could only get more flowers and 
 fewer thorns while they live, they might 
 stay with us longer than they do. A few 
 fresh, fragrant flowers in life were better 
 than a profusion of withering petals upon 
 a cold grave. Alas, that so many should 
 get the thorns while they live and the 
 47 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 roses when they die! The best time to 
 help people is while they are still alive. 
 Gifts to the grave were never very potent 
 for good, nor much comfort to the occupant 
 thereof. The flowers, with their beauty 
 and their fragrance, were intended as a 
 blessing for eyes that can behold the beau- 
 tiful, and lives that can revel in sweet- 
 scented air drink in that perfume. 
 
 So many poor souls there are trudging 
 along, battling the best they can, with but 
 little to cheer or encourage them. The 
 beauty of a kindly word would delight 
 them. The fragrance of a friendly act 
 would refresh them. The strengthening 
 touch of a brother's hand would give new 
 hope. A flower now and then, expressed 
 in any one of many different forms, would 
 help attest the fidelity of our friendship 
 and the sincerity of our tears. 
 
 If one's pathway could be strewn with 
 an occasional flower, it would not matter 
 much if there were not so many for the 
 funeral. 
 
 To live continually pricked with thorns 
 and briers, and then lie in a costly casket 
 covered with a wealth of flowers, is a 
 travesty on life and love. 
 48 
 
FLOWERS AND FUNERALS 
 
 Flowers and tears at death can not 
 atone for ill-treatment and neglect in life. 
 The love of children for mother is not 
 measured by the flowers they bring to her 
 funeral, nor the tears they shed at her 
 grave. 
 
 Good words said to the living were 
 better than the most flowery eulogy spoken 
 over the dead. The fragrance of true love, 
 and the perfume of genuine friendship, will 
 inspire the faltering and the faint-hearted, 
 spur them on to noble endeavor, and will 
 linger long about the lives that are so 
 hungry for sympathy and for help. But 
 they want it now. The heart's cry in the 
 following lines tells the story: 
 
 If I should die to-night, 
 My friends would look upon my quiet face 
 Before they laid it in its resting-place 
 And deem that death had left it almost fair, 
 And, laying snow-white flowers upon my hair, 
 Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness. 
 And fold my hands with lingering caress — 
 Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night! 
 
 If I should die to-night. 
 My friends would call to mind with loving 
 
 thought 
 Some kindly deed the icy hand had wrought, 
 4 49 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 Some gentle word the frozen lips had said, 
 Errands on which the wiUing feet had sped; 
 The memory of my selfishness and pride, 
 My hasty words, would all be put aside, 
 And so I should be loved and mourned 
 to-night. 
 
 If I should die to-night, 
 E'en hearts estranged would turn once more 
 
 to me, 
 Recalling other days remorsefully 
 The eyes that chill me with averted glance 
 Would look upon me as of yore, perchance, 
 And soften in the old, familiar way; 
 For who would war with dumb, unconscious 
 clay? 
 So I might rest, forgiven of all, to-night. 
 
 O friends, I pray to-night. 
 Keep not your kisses for my dead, cold brow. 
 The way is lonely; let me feel them now. 
 Think gently of me; I am travel-worn, 
 My faltering feet are pierced with many a 
 
 thorn. 
 Forgive, O hearts estranged, forgive, I plead! 
 When ceaseless bliss is mine I shall not need 
 The tenderness for which I plead to-night. 
 — Belle E. Smith. 
 
 50 
 
The Baby's Smile 
 
 I REM EMBER so clearly when our first 
 baby came to us. Just a wee bit of 
 flesh — and so helpless. It did not seem to 
 know anybody. It would not even look 
 at us. That was truly a wonderful hour. 
 I know how sweet the mother looked. I 
 know how proud the father felt. But the 
 baby did not seem to care. So well do I 
 remember how I looked and longed to see 
 a smile upon that little face, and to have 
 those eyes look into mine. I someway 
 fancied the smile would put us on more 
 familiar terms. It would show some of the 
 elements of gladness and gratitude. It 
 would be the baby's way of saying, "I 
 am all right, am glad I'm here; I like the 
 looks of you, and I mean to make you 
 proud." But there was no smile. There 
 was no look of recognition from those dim 
 eyes. I coaxed and watched and waited 
 through the days. Oh, how my heart 
 hungered for that smile ! The first thing in 
 the morning would I look to see if it was 
 51 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 there. Well nigh a thousand times through 
 every day I gently turned the covers down 
 to look again. But still no smile. I 
 talked to it, cooed to it, coaxed it, played 
 my fingers upon its cheeks, and did every- 
 thing I could think of to bring the smile; 
 but it did not come. The days passed by. 
 They multiplied. Oh, would the time never 
 come! My anxiety knew no bounds. 
 
 Then one glad day, without warning, 
 my waiting was rewarded. It was in the 
 morning. Breakfast was just over — for 
 baby and all. I touched the plump cheeks 
 tenderly with my fingers and spoke with 
 cooing, coaxing voice, when those eyes, 
 roving everywhere and looking at nothing, 
 seemed suddenly to catch my face and 
 stop. There was a certain light in them — 
 a look I had not seen before — and then the 
 sweetest smile broke on that face you ever 
 saw. That was Heaven. Ecstasy supreme. 
 The babe had given the father a look of 
 recognition and a smile of gratitude. Oh, 
 what reward! 
 
 I have thought of it a thousand times 
 
 since that glad day, and have said over 
 
 and over again, "What if the look and the 
 
 smile had never come?" That is not a 
 
 52 
 
THE BABY'S SMILE 
 
 pleasant thing to contemplate, as every 
 father will testify. But I have followed 
 that question by asking about the Heav- 
 enly Father. How long has He been look- 
 ing for recognition and watching for smiles 
 He has never seen? How many of His 
 earthly children turn their faces from Him 
 and break the heart of God by base in- 
 gratitude? He longs for a look. He longs 
 for a smile, and it never comes. With in- 
 finite patience He waits and watches. He 
 calls, and coos, and coaxes with every 
 providential care, with every kiss of ten- 
 derness, in every love-language, with every 
 last sacrifice of Self — and yet sees no 
 response. No look. No smile. Nothing 
 to indicate the high relationship of Father 
 and child. How must our Father feel when 
 treated thus? Every man who is a father 
 can answer that. How long has He waited 
 now? How long will you keep Him wait- 
 ing yet? 
 
 How glad God would be if all the chil- 
 dren of men would look up into His face 
 this day and smile their gratitude and their 
 adoration. As with the babe, that is the 
 sign of a normal life. Without it there 
 must be deformity, incompleteness some- 
 53 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 where in the life. How pathetic the 
 blasted or the undeveloped rose-bud! It 
 never rises to its highest. Never fulfills 
 its divine mission. The patient, expectant 
 owner gets no fragrance. How more pa- 
 thetic the undeveloped, the blighted, the 
 diverted life. Never comes to its highest. 
 Never fulfills its mission. Never reaches 
 the full bloom and beauty and fragrance 
 of its divine possibilities. When life blos- 
 soms into right recognition of the Father 
 above, and expresses itself in gratitude, 
 devotion, obedience, service, will He de- 
 light in His children and be glad that His 
 lavished love is not lost. 
 
 54 
 
Father and Child 
 
 WHEN the baby girl was a little over 
 two years old, the mother was going 
 out in town on a shopping trip one day, 
 and left the father in charge of the three 
 children. He was particularly cautioned 
 not to leave them or let them out of his 
 sight. Of course he promised, for that is 
 a way fathers have of doing. But no 
 sooner was the mother gone than he 
 thought of some very important matters 
 that called him to the study. He thought 
 the children could play about the house 
 and in the yard in all safety without his 
 presence or attention. So he left them and 
 went upstairs to his room. He had not 
 been there long when he heard a com- 
 motion below. Something had happened 
 among the children. Evidently some one 
 was hurt, for there was crying. Presently 
 he heard the noise of little feet upon the 
 stairs, accompanied by the sobbing of a 
 baby voice. When he entered his study a 
 while before, he locked the door as a pre- 
 55 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 caution against any possible emergency. 
 So when he heard the door-knob rattUng 
 he remained quiet, for he was busy and 
 did not care to be disturbed. 
 
 He could hear that voice in sobs. He 
 knew the tears were falling. But the door 
 refused to open, and he heard next this 
 plaintive plea, "Papa, I want in." Still 
 he made no response. Then the baby 
 cried out of its hurt heart, "Papa, I want 
 up on your lap." Whereupon that father 
 surrendered. For a lifetime leapt before 
 him in a single moment. He saw the baby 
 grow to womanhood and go away from 
 him and his home. By the magic of time 
 he was swept on into the years when he 
 would gladly give all the world to have 
 the baby with him again, crying to climb 
 into his lap, but knowing it could never be. 
 His heart was melted. His senses were 
 stirred. Quickly he opened the door. He 
 lifted the child to his breast, her arms went 
 round his neck, and her head fell in con- 
 tentment upon his shoulder. He sat down 
 and looked with all the longing of love 
 upon that tear-stained face until the eyes 
 closed and the child slept — all her troubles 
 gone. 
 
 56 
 
FATHER AND CHILD 
 
 Then that father mused, and said: 
 "Does our Heavenly Father ever shut us 
 out? Is He ever too busy to hear our com- 
 plaints? Does our oft-coming bother Him? 
 Will He ever refuse admission when we 
 come?" No, He never will! He. is always 
 ready to receive us when we come, and 
 sorry we did not come sooner. It does 
 not annoy Him. Whatever troubles have 
 touched us, we can go to Him and be sure 
 of a welcome to open arms. The door 
 stands wide. The Father's kiss awaits us. 
 He will smooth out our cares and give us 
 rest. The Father will never shut us out. 
 He hears the voice of our cry, and will de- 
 liver us, 
 
 I know what mother's face is like, 
 
 Although I can not see; 
 It 's like the music of a bell, 
 It 's like the way the roses smell — 
 It 's like the secrets fairies tell — 
 
 All these it 's like to me. 
 
 I know what father's face is like, 
 
 I 'm sure I know it all; 
 It 's like his step upon the stair, 
 It's Hke his whistle on the air, 
 It 's like his arms that take such care, 
 
 And never let me fall. 
 
 57 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 So I can tell what God is like, 
 
 The God whom no one sees. 
 He's everything my mother means, 
 He 's everything my father seems. 
 He's like my very sweetest dreams. 
 
 But greater than all these. 
 
 — Emily Sargent Lewis. 
 
 58 
 
Law and Love 
 
 f AW is our best friend. Instead of speak- 
 L-i ing of law and love as though they 
 were two different things, it were better 
 to say that law is love. As civilization has 
 advanced, love has expressed itself in law 
 for the protection of the weak and defense- 
 less. Hence it is at once the measure of 
 our moral standards and the index of our 
 civilization. The same law that forbids 
 you to kill, pledges the life and wealth of 
 the nation for your own protection. We 
 need not fear it, nor stand in awe of it. 
 
 Law is not so much for us to keep as 
 it is to keep us. When we trample on law 
 we trample on love. We trample on our- 
 selves. It is not the law that is so sacred, 
 but the love, of which it is the expression. 
 Law is the highest expression of love. The 
 law of the family is the love of the parents 
 for the children. Without love there could 
 be no law, for there would be no concern. 
 The law of the universe is the love of God. 
 It shows His care even for the sparrow. 
 59 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 So the law of the moral world is God's 
 love for men. All His laws are operating 
 only for their good. 
 
 Every act of God is most beneficent. 
 He never takes away a seeming pleasure 
 that He does not provide a real one to fill 
 its place. He never closes a door and for- 
 bids your entrance that He does not open 
 a wider one to richer fields. He turns men 
 from the dungeon only that they may live 
 in a palace; out of a hovel to live in 
 Heaven. He denies men the muck and 
 mire and the foul filth of unkept streets 
 that they may walk on streets well paved 
 with gold, and inhabit palaces and inherit 
 thrones. God the Father would stop your 
 dirge only to set you singing a psean of 
 victory. He would make your sighing 
 cease that you might shout forth the ex- 
 ultant strains of a sweeter music. He 
 would stop the flow of your falling tears to 
 make you glad with untroubled laughter. 
 Yea, He breaks those clouds away and 
 sweeps them back and hangs His rainbow 
 in the sky to give you promise and hope 
 and vision of the day undimmed with 
 trouble and ever radiant with eternal sun- 
 light. 
 
 60 
 
LAW AND LOVE 
 
 The poet has aptly said: 
 
 Who liveth best? Not he whose sail, 
 Swept on by favoring tide and gale, 
 
 Swift wins the haven fair; 
 But he whose spirit strong doth still 
 A victory wrest from every ill, 
 
 Whose faith sublime 
 On every cloud a rainbow paints — 
 
 'T is he redeems the time. 
 
 From "Poems With Power to Strengthen the 
 Soul," by Mudge, p. 180. 
 
 61 
 
The World God Makes and 
 the World Men Make 
 
 God builds a world of beauty. Men touch it and 
 
 it is tarnished. 
 God builds a world of purity. Men touch it and 
 
 it is defiled. 
 What God touches He glorifies. What man touches 
 
 he degrades. 
 
 I ONCE knew a fair young girl. She was 
 cultured and capable. She was blithe 
 and gay. Her form was perfect — a fit 
 model for the sculptor's skill. Her features 
 were fair as the lily and her cheeks like the 
 blushing rose. Her eyes were bright as 
 polished jewels, and sparkled like the dew- 
 drops of the morning. Her voice was 
 rhythmic and musical, and her laughter 
 like the rippling waters. She was as pure 
 as fragrance from a flower garden. High- 
 minded, handsome, cultured, ambitious, 
 noble, and good, she was fit to be the 
 queen of any home, or to reign supreme 
 upon the throne of any man's affections 
 and make of him the noblest, happiest, 
 manliest man, the proudest of all his kind. 
 The music of her gentle voice, like sweet 
 62 
 
THE WORLD GOD MAKES 
 
 echoes wafted from another shore, would 
 charm and strengthen and drive away the 
 cruel cares that chase him. The magic of 
 her presence would transform his burdens 
 into belssings and sweeten the bitterest 
 cup that ever pressed his lips. 
 
 Her origin was divine. Everywhere 
 were the finger-marks of God, and about 
 her the fragrant breath of heaven. She 
 was born to a high and holy purpose. 
 But alas! What a change! What a fall! 
 That which had come from the hand of 
 God as perfect as an angel form, and as 
 pure as a baby's dream, the hand of man 
 had touched and spoiled. When I saw 
 her the other day for the first time in a 
 number of years, it was hke the apparition 
 of a ghost. So pale, and poor, and hag- 
 gard. So bent, and broken, and shriveled. 
 No music in her voice, no sparkle in her 
 eye, no luster in her hollow cheeks. No 
 life, no ambition, no hope. Her voice was 
 like the fading echoes of hopeless creatures 
 lingering between despair and death. She 
 was like the fragrant flowers drooping and 
 dying under the biting of the fiercest frosts. 
 Like the blooming beauties scorched and 
 withered by the awful blasts from the hot 
 63 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 furnaces of hell. You ask the cause? Ah, 
 the one God had made to bless and beau- 
 tify this world and the next had fallen into 
 the hands of man. She had done as count- 
 less others have done — married a demon 
 in disguise, and the change followed. It 
 was as if the monster had taken the fairest 
 flower that blooms and blessed men with 
 its beauty and fragrance and thrust it into 
 the flames of the fiery furnace. As if he had 
 with his polluted hands reached out into 
 the sky and rudely grasped the fairest 
 angel there and dragged it in the slimy 
 sewer of a filthy city. The music of her 
 voice was stilled. The beauty of her face 
 and form was gone. The fragrance of her 
 life was gone. Hope was dead. 
 
 And that is the way man is marring the 
 world God would make beautiful. All the 
 scars and blemishes, all the wrecks and 
 ruins, all the agonies and heartaches, all 
 the faded beauty and withered hope, and 
 all the sighs and tears are man-made. 
 "God saw everything that He had made, 
 and behold it was very good." "And God 
 looked upon the earth, and behold it was 
 corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted His 
 way upon the earth." 
 64 
 
Opportunity 
 
 ONE of the greatest fallacies ever 
 couched in classic language is the 
 little poem by John J. Ingalls on "Oppor- 
 tunity:" 
 
 Master of human destinies am I, 
 
 Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait, 
 Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate 
 
 Deserts and seas remote, and passing by 
 Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late 
 I knock, unbidden, once at every gate! 
 
 If sleeping, wake — if feasting, rise — before 
 I turn away. It is the hour of fate. 
 And they who follow me reach every state 
 
 Mortals desire, and conquer every foe 
 
 Save death; but those who doubt, or hesitate, 
 
 Condemned to failure, penury, and woe, 
 
 Seek me in vain and uselessly implore; 
 
 I answer not, and I return no more. 
 
 That is fatalism complete. That hangs 
 leaden weights upon the wings of ambition, 
 and strangles hope to death. 
 
 Only one chance ! Then who would not 
 fail.? Opportunity going about knocking 
 ^ 65 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 at each man's gate, and only once, at that? 
 Never ! 
 
 This poem, while majestic in form and 
 beautiful in expression, furnishes no com- 
 fort for the weak, no encouragement for 
 him who has failed, and gives no inspira- 
 tion for noble endeavor. It has about it 
 the mystic atmosphere of despair. It is 
 not wholesome. 
 
 Is not the following much better? 
 wherein "Opportunity" says: 
 
 Man is my master. I on his footsteps wait. 
 Fame, love, and fortune will I give 
 To all who knock and enter at my gate. 
 To your door I come not, but you to mine; 
 And should you come and fail to find me in. 
 Return again — yea, do not turn away 
 Though I be slow and sluggish to respond; 
 Or if the door swings not on easy hinges at your 
 
 touch, 
 Lift up your hand and knock until you break it 
 
 down — 
 Then enter, and reach every state mortals desire. 
 My door is barred — sometimes with granite rocks, 
 Sometimes with mountain range or desert sands, 
 Or with wide-rolling seas. But you 
 Can reign if you beat through the gate. 
 It is the hour of hope. I wait — 
 From hovel, field, or palace you may come, 
 A conqueror, and obtain the crown I hold 
 For every one who dares to persevere. 
 66 
 
OPPORTUNITY 
 
 The following lines from the pen of 
 Walter Malone have in them the gospel of 
 good cheer and of high hope, and ought to 
 cause any man with drooping spirit to lift 
 his head and leap toward the sky. Every 
 man should thank his Maker for another 
 chance — and a chance, too, that has the 
 love and the look of the Father in it. Not 
 merely a chance to struggle on blindly, 
 alone and without help, but with the com- 
 panionship of One who knows the way and 
 understands the motive of human hearts. 
 
 They do me wrong who say I come no more 
 When first I knock and fail to find you in; 
 
 For every day I stand outside your door 
 
 And bid you wake and rise, to fight and win. 
 
 Wail not for precious chances passed away, 
 Weep not for golden ages on the wane! 
 
 Each night I burn the records of the day; 
 At sunrise every soul is born again. 
 
 Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped, 
 To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb; 
 
 My judgments seal the dead past with its dead. 
 But never bind a moment yet to come. 
 
 Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and 
 weep ; 
 
 I lend my arm to all who say, "I can!" 
 No shame-faced outcast ever sank so deep 
 
 But he might rise and be again a man. 
 
 67 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast? 
 
 Dost reel from righteous retribution's blow? 
 Then turn from blotted archives of the past 
 
 And find the future's pages white as snow. 
 
 Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell! 
 
 Art thou a sinner? Sins may be forgiven. 
 E^ch morning gives thee wings to flee from hell, 
 
 Each night a star to guide thy soul to heaven. 
 
 68 
 
Heresy and Love 
 
 MEN are prone to inquire about what 
 is right and what is wrong. 
 
 You can not catalogue those matters. 
 
 Love is always right. 
 
 Hate is always wrong. 
 
 Hate is heresy. It is the worst heresy. 
 It is the only heresy. 
 
 Love is the test of orthodoxy. It is 
 orthodoxy. It is the fragrance of the 
 flower. 
 
 God is love. God is orthodox. What 
 God does tells what God is. 
 
 If you want to know about a man's 
 orthodoxy, find out about his love. A 
 man's love determines the direction of his 
 life. 
 
 You can not hate men and love God. 
 
 One who loves can not be shut out of 
 God's Kingdom. Nor can one who hates 
 be taken in. 
 
 Jesus did not demand of His disciples 
 that they all think alike, but that they 
 love alike: "By this shall all men know 
 69 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 that ye are My disciples, if ye have love 
 one to another." 
 
 Love lifts. Hate is a heavy weight. 
 One is upward to light. The other down- 
 ward to darkness. 
 
 Love liberates. 
 
 Hate imprisons. 
 
 Love enlarges. 
 
 Hate is shriveling. 
 
 Hate is heresy. Love is orthodoxy. 
 
 Self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul, 
 Love is the only angel that can bid the gate unroll. 
 And when He comes to call thee, arise and follow 
 
 fast; 
 His way may lead through darkness, but it leads to 
 
 light at last. — Henry Van Dyke. 
 
 70 
 
Character 
 
 THE Aristocracy of Fine Souls is a 
 royal company to which not all people 
 belong. "Aunt Susan," as the young 
 people all called her, has been a life mem- 
 ber of that order. I never liked the name 
 Susan until I met her. Since then it has 
 been a name of beauty. Some people seem 
 to give luster to the most somber hues. 
 Some folks look dressed up in almost any 
 sort of garments, while others never do 
 look dressed up, no matter what they 
 wear. Almost any name is sweet when 
 borne by a fine character. 
 
 I have known the one above mentioned 
 for more than thirty years. She has reared 
 a large family of noble children, four of 
 whom have passed on into that country 
 that lies beyond the unseen sea. The 
 husband, too, both great and good, has 
 been gone now for many years. And while 
 the shadows have lengthened, she has been 
 walking the long way alone. Yet not 
 alone, for the Unseen Friend has walked 
 71 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL- 
 
 beside her all the way, and her face is 
 illumined by the inner light. She is a 
 radiant soul. 
 
 Always has this good woman been one 
 of the earth's real toilers, but always she 
 has had time to be helpful and kind. It 
 has seemed impossible for her to do too 
 much for others. Forgetting her own 
 hard tasks, her own cares, her own sor- 
 rows and bereavements, her own heavy 
 afiflictions, she has busied herself trying to 
 relieve other souls, encouraging them and 
 helping bear their burdens. Always does 
 she think of others, scarcely of herself at 
 all. Infinite in patience, incessant in toil, 
 rich in kindly ministries. She is never 
 captious or critical. She puts the best 
 construction upon word and deed. She is 
 most ready to excuse an error and to 
 spread the mantle of charity over a fault 
 in some one else. She heartens every one. 
 Whether appreciated or not, it has made 
 no difference with her. She is a lofty soul. 
 
 While the sorrows of her own life have 
 been many, she has borne them all with 
 sweet and uncomplaining silence, seeming 
 to forget them in the attention she gives 
 to those about her, and in her devotion 
 72 
 
CHARACTER 
 
 to the life she has spent in such unselfish 
 service. A pure mind. A great soul. A 
 life like a radiant sunbeam, and one that 
 helps every other life it touches. 
 
 This good woman has gone past her 
 threescore years and ten. Her long race 
 is nearly run. Just a few more setting suns 
 and it will be daybreak. But she has 
 never been a bright star in society. She 
 has made so little noise the big world has 
 scarcely been aware of her presence at all. 
 She has not been much in the public eye. 
 Not even prominent in women's clubs. 
 She will probably not appear in the "Hall 
 of Fame," though she has been an ideal 
 mother and as fine a friend as mortal ever 
 had, and on the inner wall of many a life 
 will hang the picture of her fair face and 
 the image of her great soul. And, after all, 
 the "Hall of Fame" is but a little play- 
 house for children, and is petty and insig- 
 nificant compared to the great world of 
 human hearts where "Aunt Susan" shall 
 be honored and shall live forever. 
 
 What an army of young people she has 
 
 helped and inspired ! Many of the "boys, " 
 
 when grown to be gray-haired men, will 
 
 remember with tearful gladness the times 
 
 73 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 of old when she would call them from their 
 bachelor quarters and poor fare while they 
 were struggling for an education, to those 
 sumptuous Sunday dinners prepared by 
 her kind hands. And how those invita- 
 tions would come about as often as Sunday 
 itself! No use to say, "No" to her. She 
 had planned it that way, and none must 
 be left out. And after dinner the boys 
 would talk it over and agree that it was 
 an imposition on good nature, and that 
 they would not go any more. But the 
 next Sunday — there would be the dinner, 
 and there would be "Aunt Susan," and 
 there would be the boys. She could not 
 escape the promptings of her own big soul, 
 and they could not escape the magic of 
 her ministries. 
 
 With her it was everything for others, 
 but nothing for self. No praise. No po- 
 sition. No pay. No reward. The doing 
 of the good was her compensation. She is 
 not rich, except in faith, and hope, and 
 character. In all these she is many times 
 a millionaire. 
 
 That is my idea of character. What 
 people actually are. What they are when 
 stripped of the flesh. What they are in- 
 74 
 
CHARACTER 
 
 side. What they are when no one is watch- 
 ing. What they are in the dark. What 
 they are when only the eye of God is upon 
 them. What they are when there is no 
 pay coming. What they are when there 
 is no applause. What they are when there 
 is no public account, and no "Hall of 
 Fame." What they are when there is 
 work to do, and when sacrifice is called for. 
 What they are when love is the only 
 motive, and perhaps ingratitude the sole 
 reward. Then character shines with un- 
 dimmed luster, for then is true character 
 revealed. Such is "Aunt Susan." 
 
 Character is as rich in rags as in royal 
 robes; it forges its own crown, and every 
 day is a coronation day. 
 
 Though thy name be spread abroad, 
 
 Like winged seed, from shore to shore, 
 What thou art before thy God, 
 That thou art, and nothing more. 
 From "Poems With Power to Strengthen the 
 Soul," by Mudge, p. 40. 
 
 75 
 
Mother 
 
 God thought to give the sweetest thing 
 
 In His Almighty power 
 To earth; and deeply pondering 
 
 What it should be — one hour 
 In fondest joy and love of heart, 
 
 Outweighing every other, 
 He moved the gates of Heaven apart 
 
 And gave to earth — a mother! 
 
 — G. Newell Lovejoy. 
 
 A YOUNG man of nineteen years was 
 leaving his Kansas home some years 
 ago to engage in the battle of life on his 
 own responsibility. He has said good-bye 
 to the old mother, whose blessing, like 
 sweet ointment, fell upon his head in 
 these two simple words, "Be good." His 
 wardrobe, library, and all his earthly pos- 
 sessions were packed in the old yellow 
 grip-sack, which he carried on a stick 
 swung across his shoulder as he walked the 
 distance of twelve miles to the nearest 
 railway station, where he was to take the 
 train for his destination in Nebraska. 
 As he reached the summit of the hill a 
 76 
 
MOTHER 
 
 heilf-mile from the old sod-house and home 
 he was leaving, he turned for a last look 
 at the place. His eager eyes were aston- 
 ished to see the mother at one corner of 
 the house, watching her departing boy as 
 he was about to disappear from her sight 
 out into the big, uncertain world. It 
 seemed to him she was holding the corner 
 of the old, faded calico apron to her face. 
 For what purpose? Ah, could it be she 
 was crying for her boy? She did not cry 
 when she said good-bye. No, she was too 
 brave then. But she is surely doing so 
 now. She was so strong in his presence 
 to encourage him, but when he was once 
 started the floods broke loose. And when 
 he passed from sight of her beyond the 
 hill she was still standing thus. 
 
 New thoughts were wakened in his 
 mind. New and nobler ambitions were 
 born in him. The very sight of that 
 mother watching her boy, and weeping 
 for him, gave him the assurance that she 
 was pushing him to higher levels with her 
 prayers to God. He would not fail. He 
 could not fail. He would never freeze those 
 tears, nor cause to fail those prayers, nor 
 disappoint that anxious heart by any low 
 77 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 aim or unworthy act of his. He would 
 never fall, with the memory of that mother 
 holding him up in tears and prayers. He 
 would work. He would dig. He would 
 climb. He would succeed, and be worthy, 
 knowing well that those eyes, though un- 
 seen, were upon him all the time. Her faith 
 and her love should be rewarded. 
 
 Before that time the boy had not 
 really appreciated his mother. Like a 
 great many other boys, he was thoughtless 
 and careless. But now he was thoroughly 
 awakened to a new life, and to a sense of 
 his great loss. That sweet, humble, faith- 
 ful, hard-working, loving, patient mother 
 had been giving her very life for him. 
 He did not think of it before, and now he 
 was leaving it all, never to live in the 
 very presence of a mother's holy influence 
 again. Those days and that sweet priv- 
 ilege were gone forever. As the full mean- 
 ing and realization of it all dawned upon 
 him, he was overwhelmed. 
 
 Boys who are rich in the love and care 
 of a good mother should appreciate her 
 while she lives, and while they live with 
 her, and should make her life both rich 
 and glad in the thought that she has a boy 
 78 
 
MOTHER 
 
 living a noble and useful life and loving 
 her too much to be less than she expects 
 him to be. 
 
 FOR HIS MOTHER'S SAKE 
 
 The florist's boy had just swept some broken 
 and withered flowers into the gutter when a ragged 
 "rchin darted across the street. He came upon a 
 rose seemingly in better condition than the rest. 
 But as he tenderly picked it up the petals fluttered 
 to the ground, leaving only the bare stalk in his 
 hand. 
 
 He stood quite still, and his lips quivered per- 
 ceptibly. "What's the matter with you, anyway?" 
 the florist's boy asked. 
 
 The ragged little fellow choked as he answered, 
 "It's for my mother. She's sick, and she can't eat 
 nothin', an' I thought if she'd a flower to smell, it 
 might make her feel better." 
 
 "Just you wait a minute," said the florist's boy 
 as he disappeared. When he came out upon the 
 sidewalk he held in his hand a beautiful half-opened 
 rose. "There," he said, "take that to your mother." 
 
 He had meant to put that rosebud on his own 
 mother's grave, and yet he knew that he had done 
 the better thing. "She'll understand," he said to 
 himself, "and I know this will please her most." 
 
 — Selected. 
 
 79 
 
The Model Young Man 
 
 Keep pure thy soul! 
 
 Then shalt thou take the whole 
 
 Of delight; 
 
 Then without a pang 
 Thine shall be all of beauty whereof 
 
 The poet sang — 
 The perfume and the pageant, the 
 
 Melody, the mirth, 
 Of the golden day and the starry night; 
 
 Of heaven and of earth. 
 Oh, keep pure thy soul! 
 
 — Richard W. Gilder. 
 
 THE model young man ! Have you seen 
 him? Does he Hve near you? Per- 
 haps you do not know him? Now, I can 
 tell the way you smile that you have never 
 so much as seen him, and you think he is 
 not. But he is. Of course you will be 
 very glad to know it, and to form his 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Remember, it is not the perfect young 
 
 man, nor the faultless young man, but a 
 
 human young man full of hot red blood, 
 
 full of life, full of vigor and virility, full 
 
 80 
 
THE MODEL YOUNG MAN 
 
 of ambition and hope, and beset by all the 
 trials and temptations that are common 
 to humanity. And withal, a young man 
 who thinks more of polishing his brains 
 than he does his shoes, and who is more 
 careful to keep his soul unstained than 
 he is to keep his clothing clean and his 
 trousers creased. 
 
 You say there are no model young 
 men? If that be true, then we have a 
 vast and unexplored region for some dar- 
 ing and courageous life to enter. And it 
 is a rich field, and a task that challenges 
 the mightiest efforts of towering manhood, 
 and is more worthy of attainment than to 
 reach either the North Pole or the South 
 in our little material world, or to carry off 
 the honors at a Marathon meet. If there 
 be none, then there yet remain other worlds 
 to conquer and higher heights to climb, and 
 the call would be for the young man big 
 enough, and good enough, and great 
 enough, and courageous enough to occupy 
 a field of wealth and power where he 
 would be the pioneer and hold undisputed 
 sway. 
 
 The model young man is clean. Now, 
 is that too much to expect or require? 
 6 81 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 Surely it is not. Who will dare say it is? 
 Who will thus confess himself a weakling, 
 or charge all others with being? Clean, to 
 be sure! Clean of body. Clean of mind. 
 Clean of soul. No physical habits that are 
 degrading. Harboring no thoughts that 
 are impure. A soul that stretches itself 
 up toward the light and truth of God. No 
 street loafer. No profanity. No vulgarity. 
 No obscenity. No carousing. No coarse 
 remarks when ladies pass upon the street, 
 and no low talk involving womankind. 
 Pure thinking, wholesome speaking, health- 
 ful exercise of body, and high aspiration of 
 soul. There is no excuse for an impure 
 young man, and he should be considered 
 an incubus on society, a dangerous germ, 
 subject to quarantine, or to be banished 
 from clean folk even as the loathsome 
 lepers are sent away. The passport of 
 any young man into good society should 
 be purity, rather than money, education, 
 family name, or all other accomplishments. 
 And the impure should be shunned as 
 one spreading the infection of a deadly 
 malady. 
 
 The model young man is brotherly. 
 That spells kindness, helpfulness, unselfish- 
 82 
 
THE MODEL YOUNG MAN 
 
 ness, sympathy, thought for others, in- 
 terest in others. Are these weak or un- 
 manly traits? Unworthy, are they? Im- 
 possible, do you think? These are the right 
 qualities for manhood. They make men 
 big and strong. The young man with a 
 warm heart, a brotherly grip, a tender and 
 gracious spirit, a generous soul, and a 
 beaming face is closely related to the 
 Infinite. The breath of immortality is 
 upon him. He is mighty in power. 
 
 Both swords and guns are strong, no doubt, 
 
 And so are tongue and pen, 
 And so are sheaves of good bank notes. 
 
 To sway the souls of men. 
 But guns and swords and piles of gold, 
 
 Though mighty in their sphere. 
 Are sometimes feebler than a smile. 
 
 And poorer than a tear. — Mackey. 
 
 The model young man is honest. 
 Would that be a curiosity in this day? Is 
 that too high a quality? Not so. There 
 are lots of honest people in the world, let 
 it be known, and one of the surest ways of 
 making yoimg men dishonest is to teach 
 them that honesty is a scarce commodity. 
 Nevertheless, honesty should be empha- 
 sized to-day perhaps as never before, 
 SS 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 simply because there has been so much 
 dishonesty in high places. The law, "Thou 
 shalt not steal," should be better under- 
 stood and more generally applied. There 
 are many ways to steal other than taking 
 a man's property. This law inflicts its 
 own penalty, just as the law of gravitation 
 is self-enforcing. The young man who 
 steals, that is, the one who is not honest — ■ 
 honest intellectually, honest morally, honest 
 physically — will fall, will go down by the 
 action of the higher moral law of gravita- 
 tion working in him just as surely as the 
 weight loosed from the hand will fall to 
 the earth by the action of the same law 
 in the material. Honesty is not merely 
 the "best policy," it is the only policy, for 
 it alone leads upward. 
 
 The model young man is truthful. Do 
 you think that is too much to expect of 
 him, or too hard a task for him to perform? 
 Too high for him to reach, is it? Who will 
 declare that it is ? Surely none. But 
 there are a lot of liars these swift days. 
 A lot of young men liars. A lot of high 
 school liars, and college liars. Liars nega- 
 tive and liars positive. Some lie with the 
 lips, some with their eyes, some with a nod 
 84 
 
THE MODEL YOUNG MAN 
 
 of the head; some with a wink, and some 
 with silence. Some He to their fathers and 
 mothers, some to their sweethearts, some 
 to their professors, and some to their em- 
 ployers. All these lie to God. And they 
 seem not to know that a falsehood is a 
 blemish on the life that prevents success, 
 and a leaden weight upon the wings that 
 holds one from rising to the heights. 
 
 The model young man is respectful to 
 parents. Again I ask, is that too much? 
 And again, will any affirm that it is? 
 None! He respects their judgment. He 
 respects their advice. He respects their 
 age. He respects their authority. He 
 respects their feelings. He respects them 
 too much ever to call his father "the old 
 man" or to break his mother's heart with 
 unkind words. If he does not, then he 
 can not respect himself, and no one else 
 will respect him. If a boy does not learn 
 to obey in the home, then the school will 
 have a hard time with him, and the State 
 will have a hard time with him. That boy 
 will have a hard time with himself. For 
 obedience is the first law, and must be 
 learned sooner or later if the individual 
 would hold his liberty. The place to learn 
 85 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 it is in the home, and the boy who does 
 not have respect for the authority of his 
 parents is likely to have little for any 
 authority. No young man can lay claim 
 to the high heritage of real manhood who 
 does not properly respect and lovingly 
 treat his parents. 
 
 The model young man is industrious. 
 Now what do you say? Does that require- 
 ment exact too much? Is the standard 
 placed too high? Of course you say it is 
 not. The New Yoi^k Evening Post asked a 
 number of eminent men why so many 
 young men were failures. The majority of 
 the answers attribute the failures to "lazi- 
 ness and indolence." Chauncey M. Depew, 
 in speaking about the failure of so many 
 young men he grew up with, said oine- 
 tenths of them owed their failure to drink. 
 That is either the fruit of indolence or the 
 cause of it. The question was asked about 
 a leading commercial man of a certain 
 large city, "What is there about him to 
 explain his success?" The answer was, 
 "Luck." But the facts were that thirty 
 years before he was working by the day 
 as an ordinary laborer. At the close of 
 each day he had his program of studies 
 86 
 
THE MODEL YOUNG MAN 
 
 which he industriously pursued. In due 
 time his strict attention to business, and 
 his marked attainments, attracted the at- 
 tention of his employers, and a partner- 
 ship ensued, and ultimately the head of 
 the business. "Luck?" "Genius?" Well, 
 you will notice as you jog along that 
 "luck" and "genius" and hard work are 
 always very closely associated, and that 
 the one who never cultivates the acquaint- 
 ance of hard work is almost never a 
 "genius," and scarcely ever meets up with 
 "luck." Some one has said, "The trouble 
 with young men to-day is, they want 
 pleasure and amusement." No, that is 
 not the trouble. The real trouble is, that 
 so many of them want nothing else. Too 
 many of them are looking for higher wages 
 and an easier job, while too many others 
 are looking for no job at all. They do not 
 want work. They depend upon their 
 fathers even for spending money. No 
 self-respecting young man will spend money 
 thus that he does not earn himself. And 
 it is well-nigh a crime for fathers to raise 
 young men to idleness and indolence and 
 allow them to form the bad habit of spend- 
 ing money not earned by themselves, 
 87 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 but furnished by foolish and indulgent 
 parents. 
 
 The model young man is choice of his 
 company. He will not associate with any 
 young lady that is not as good as he is. 
 He will not reflect upon his mother by 
 selecting a girl that is not at least her 
 equal. Nor will he resort with bad men. 
 He will keep no questionable company of 
 any kind. He knows full well that a pol- 
 luted atmosphere will taint the life, and 
 that men have no more right to be unclean 
 and then offer themselves to pure women 
 than women have to become foul with evil 
 habits and then expect good men to accept 
 them as their wives and the mothers of 
 their children. The model young man is 
 very choice of his company — because he 
 is choice of himself and his mother. The 
 following words of a mother to her son 
 are worth remembering: 
 
 Do you know that your soul is of my soul such a 
 
 part 
 That you seem to fiber and core of my heart? 
 None other can pain me as you, dear, can do; 
 None other can please me or praise me as you. 
 Remember the world will be quick with its blame, 
 If shadow or stain ever darken your name, 
 
 88 
 
THE MODEL YOUNG MAN 
 
 "Like mother, like son" is a saying so true, 
 The world will judge largely of "Mother" by you. 
 Be yours, then, the task, if task it shall be, 
 To force the proud world to do homage to me. 
 Be sure it will say, when its verdict you've won, 
 "She reaped as she sowed, Lo! this is her son." 
 
 — Selected. 
 
 89 
 
The Ideal Young Woman 
 
 BOTH tears and laughter are ordained 
 by the Infinite. They are the outlet 
 of the soul for grief or gladness. You find 
 these everywhere. The sea sobs out its 
 grief; it sighs, and moans, and heaves with 
 heavy-heartedness. The rills and the 
 rivers laugh with gladness. The trees clap 
 their hands for joy. The moon is a benign 
 smile, while the sun is a great burst of 
 laughter. So all nature is in closest sym- 
 pathy with mankind in joy and sorrow. 
 The mighty earthquake may be but one 
 of the earth's convulsive sobs, pent up for 
 ages. 
 
 Laughter and tears are but the flood- 
 gates for the overflow of our emotions, to 
 save us from breaking by an overstrain 
 either of sadness or gladness. Thus God 
 has made ample provision for our lives, 
 and wants us to live in a perfectly natural 
 way in harmony with ourselves and with 
 Him. Neither one extreme nor the other. 
 
 In speaking of the ideal young woman, 
 90 
 
THE IDEAL YOUNG WOMAN 
 
 it will be well to hold in mind the picture 
 of a real live person, and not some imag- 
 inary being that has no place in God's 
 order of things, and is unapproachable; a 
 fanciful creature that has never existed 
 and never can exist, except in some one's 
 wildest dream. We are talking about an 
 everyday, commonplace girl, who lives her 
 own life according to her own high nature 
 and the laws of her God. 
 
 Shall we dress her up just "so," and 
 make her walk just "so," and sit, and 
 talk, and act according to certain specified 
 rules of the so-called authorities? No! 
 For that would not be natural. And the 
 natural is the ideal. God made the natural. 
 That's why it is ideal. It can not be im- 
 proved. It is higher than any art. 
 
 Now, what is meant by "natural?" 
 Well, the canary sings; the eagle soars; 
 the fruit-trees bear apples, pears, or 
 peaches; the flower-plants give daffodils, 
 or crocuses, or pansies; the rose bush 
 gives bud, and blossom, and fragrance; the 
 roots pump up the moisture, while the 
 leaves transform the sunbeams and the air. 
 That is, each in the animal or vegetable 
 world does that which it was ordained to 
 91 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 do, and thus lives in perfect harmony with 
 its own nature. That is natural. That 
 is divine. Only the divine is natural. 
 Only the natural is the ideal. 
 
 So, in thinking of the ideal young 
 woman, hold in mind the one who lives in 
 harmony with herself, for that alone is 
 natural, and hence ideal. Of course all 
 will agree that the color of eyes and hair, 
 the beauty of face and perfection of form, 
 and the elegance of etiquette, however 
 important in themselves, are not the essen- 
 tial parts of the ideal woman. 
 
 The ideal young woman is not a con- 
 spicuous figure upon the street. She is not 
 loud and boisterous. She is not seen gad- 
 ding about by night nor by day. She is 
 not on the marriage market to be taken by 
 the highest bidder, nor on the bargain 
 counter to be carried away by the first 
 caller. She is not intoxicated by the cup 
 of worldly pleasure. The glare and glitter 
 and whirl of a worldly life do not satisfy 
 her. She thinks too highly of her powers 
 to put them to any inferior tasks or low 
 uses. Her intellectual respect will not 
 permit her to blow herself away in the 
 froth of society. She will in no manner 
 92 
 
THE IDEAL YOUNG WOMAN 
 
 belittle herself or allow her nature to be 
 perverted. 
 
 She is not easily flattered. And that 
 is no ordinary attainment, either. The 
 flatteries of men are a very potent influence 
 over the lives of so many women. Flattery 
 is the common bait that is used to entice 
 them into the invisible net. It is like the 
 spider's web to the unthinking fly. Happy 
 the woman that detects it, and is great 
 enough to frown upon it, and flee from it. 
 The silly, small talk of men will not de- 
 ceive the woman that is alert and wise. 
 She will keep free from the slimy coils of 
 such serpents. 
 
 Speaking now affirmatively, the ideal 
 young woman is watchful of her brother. 
 Do you recall that little story of the child 
 Moses and his sister Miriam? How that 
 sister, with all watchful solicitude, stood by 
 and kept her faithful vigil while the babe 
 lay hidden in the ark of bulrushes, and, 
 when he was discovered by Pharaoh's 
 daughter, she was on hand to take the 
 child in safety to its own anxious mother! 
 If only more girls were thus watchful of 
 their own brothers and solicitous for their 
 well-being, to save them from snares and 
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THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 pitfalls and the dangers that lurk about 
 them, and to lead them where a mother's 
 care can bless them and her influence 
 nourish them, fewer young men would be 
 lost and the "boy problem" would not be 
 half so serious. It is not as it should be 
 when a young lady is more interested in 
 some other girl's brother than she is in 
 her own. 
 
 The ideal young woman is considerate 
 of her mother. Of course some girls are 
 not. Some mothers, too, are silly about 
 their daughters. But the right sort of a 
 girl will not be spoiled, even by her mother. 
 She will not be content to pound the piano 
 all day and gad about all the evening while 
 her mother wears herself out in the drudg- 
 ery of the home. There is quite as much 
 culture in washing dishes, and cooking a 
 good meal, and tidying up the house as 
 there is in running the fingers up and down 
 the keyboard of a Steinway or torturing 
 people with the wonderful variations of a 
 high-pitched, squeaky voice, especially 
 when in doing the former you can give a 
 patient and long-sufifering mother a chance 
 to take a much-needed rest. The young 
 woman who shows high consideration and 
 94 
 
THE IDEAL YOUNG WOMAN 
 
 great tenderness for her mother is exhibit- 
 ing a quality of refinement worthy the 
 ambition of all to possess. Mother first 
 and self afterwards. Such a one belongs to 
 the real aristocracy. 
 
 The ideal young woman is independent. 
 She fits herself for a useful life instead of 
 continually posing for a marriage proffer. 
 She is one who appreciates her powers and 
 influence. No one has more power to-day 
 than woman, if she will only use it in the 
 proper way. This young woman will never 
 tolerate a young man that is not her equal 
 socially, mentally, and morally. She will 
 not marry a man to reform him. It is a 
 precarious business when any young woman 
 turns herself into a reformatory and under- 
 takes the hazardous task of reclaiming a 
 young man by the marriage process. If 
 she is unable to reform him before mar- 
 riage;' she can not do so afterwards. I 
 do not know of any young men that marry 
 girls to reform them. And besides, no 
 woman can associate with or marry a man 
 beneath her and hope to lift him up to her 
 level — she will descend to his. 
 
 At a temperance meeting one evening, 
 where were present a great many mothers 
 95 
 
THE UPPER TRAIL 
 
 and daughters, among the questions con- 
 sidered was the young man problem. 
 "How to save the young men," was their 
 cry. Very few young men were there. 
 Their absence was freely commented upon 
 and lamented. "Where are they, and why 
 are they not here?" mothers and daughters 
 queried. When the meeting was over, 
 their questions were quickly answered. 
 The young men were just outside the door, 
 waiting for the meeting to break up, and 
 they actually escorted these same young 
 ladies, daughters of those same mothers, 
 to their homes. 
 
 The dove, with its cooing, will not dull 
 the vulture's talons nor change its nature. 
 
 The bird, with its singing, will not stop 
 the serpent's sting, nor kill the poison. 
 
 The rose, with its fragrance, will not 
 quench the furnace fire nor heal its burn. 
 
 Above all, the ideal young woman is 
 godly, and is not ashamed of it. She will 
 not allow the holy fires that burn in her 
 soul to be quenched. She will not sacrifice 
 her faith nor surrender her religion for 
 any reason whatsoever. A modest, well- 
 behaved, sweet-tempered, devoted, high- 
 minded, Christian young woman is the 
 96 
 
THE IDEAL YOUNG WOMAN 
 
 queen of all queens and can reign supreme 
 in a world where hearts are the most val- 
 uable asset, and where men will pay a 
 homage that is divine. She thinks more 
 of cultivating a fine disposition than she 
 does of cultivating her voice. Her life is 
 pure; its atmosphere is wholesome; it is 
 laden with the rich aroma of an unselfish 
 soul. She is on her way to a kingdom and 
 a throne. Indeed, she is there already. 
 When she falls from that high estate it 
 shocks us. That is where she belongs, and 
 we are contented only when she is there. 
 Nothing less seems right. She is then in 
 harmony with her own nature, and in 
 tune with the Infinite. That is natural. 
 That is ideal. 
 
 Fairer than the fairest flowers that bloom, 
 Richer than the rose's sweet perfume; 
 Life as stainless as the stars above, 
 Soul that stretches upward — soul of love; 
 Woman — the finest work of God. 
 
 97 
 
OCT 11 1913