Glass _BX!£3i Book vf*te Copyright N° 1 . COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; The Palace of Mirrors and other Essays V BY REV. j/FRANK THOMPSON Author of Life Lessons 1S^ THE MURRAY PRESS BOSTON AND CHICAGO Copyright, 191 1, by UNIVERSALIST PUBLISHING HOUSE ©CLA283407 To Archibald Dann, M.D. My Friend of Many Years and Companion of Many Summer Days, This Book is Affectionately Dedicated. PREFACE These essays contain no new phi- losophy of life. Their purpose will be served if they emphasize the impor- tance of truths we already know; and since the writer has stated these as clearly as he could, a preface may seem needless. But every author hopes that his book will be read by some people whose names he does not know, and whose faces he may never see, but with whom he is glad to share his thoughts. To these unknown friends the preface is a word of personal greeting. J. FRANK THOMPSON. The Palace of Mirrors The Palace of Mirrors ^pHACKERAY begins his novel of " Vanity Fair" by describing J;he departure of two girls, of about the same age, from the boarding school where they had spent an equal number of years. One, notwithstanding her desire to be at home and her eager- ness to begin the larger social life that awaits her, regrets the parting from her schoolmates, and carries with her the recollection of many pleasant days spent in their companionship. She says that she has experienced nothing but good will, affection, and kindness in her intercourse with them; 2 THE PALACE OF MIRRORS and she fully believes in the sincerity of their professed wishes for her future happiness. The other declares that she has found only selfishness and deceit, and that she will be glad to get away and try her fortunes some- where else. She thinks that any change may be for the better and cannot be for the worse. But what the writer tells us, and proceeds to illustrate in subsequent chapters of the story, is that, in so far as their dispositions remain un- changed, each of these girls will find, wherever she may go, about what she found in the school which one left with gladness and the other with re- gret. "The world," he says, in sub- stance, "is full of looking-glasses, in which we behold our own reflection." The metaphor finds ample warrant THE PALACE OF MIRRORS 3 In our commonest experiences. A given mirror may, indeed, be cracked, or otherwise defective, so that the image fails to do us justice; but, in the main, the thing reflected is the thing that is. The material world abounds in such mirrors. The summer rain is one thing to the farmer whose heart glows with satisfaction at the thought of the crops that are being nourished, and quite another to the boy who scolds and mutters his resentment toward its interference with his holi- day. The falling snow does not look the same to youths and maidens who expect a sleigh ride, and the homeless wanderer who does not know where he may find a shelter for the night. To the spent traveler, the oasis in the desert, with its cluster of dwarfed 4 THE PALACE OF MIRRORS palms and its lukewarm spring, seems fairer than the stateliest of groves and the coolest of fountains to one who has no need of shade and drink. We have all observed how easily children obtain enjoyment from the most trivial circumstance when they are already in a happy mood, and how fruitless our best efforts to entertain them prove when they do not wish to be entertained. It is the same with ourselves. We get from our surroundings the reflection of our mood. If that is one of discontent and fretfulness, the weather will always be too warm or too cold, and all the beauty of the sky and land- scape will be as if it were not. On the other hand, if our hearts are filled with hope and cheerfulness, we shall be sensitive to all the delights which THE PALACE OF MIRRORS 5 nature offers to our senses. We shall be conscious of the grandeur of forests and mountains, the peaceful- ness of meadows and harvest lands, the fairness and fragrance of flowers, and the minstrelsy of birds and brooks, while the trifling discomforts of which we should otherwise complain will be only themes for jest and laughter. It will be the same if we place oceans and continents between us and our past surroundings. The Alps and Apennines are only larger looking- glasses than the Catskills and Adi- rondacks; and in the vineyards and orange groves of Italy and California we shall see only what we saw in the cornfields of Illinois or the orchards of New York. Rainbows and sun- sets have no charm for grazing sheep and oxen. There is no awe and 6 THE PALACE OF MIRRORS majesty in snow-clad height or starry firmament for minds that lack the sense of things sublime; and ocean waves will chant their anthems in vain for those who have no thoughts and feelings with which they har- monize. In like manner, just as we experi- ence an added satisfaction when the least pretentious of mirrors gives us back a reflection of the glowing cheek, the sparkling eye, and the smiling lips that betoken abundant health, or express the hope and joy and kind- ness with which the heart is filled, so very little things afford us pleasure when, by reflection, they increase the pleasure we already feel. It is thus also that we love to visit the place where we grew up and where each f amiliar scene recalls the boy or girl we THE PALACE OF MIRRORS 7 used to be; that old songs move us to smiles or tears which have their source, not in the words or music, but in some past association with them; and that lilacs are fragrant with memories of our childhood. All these are looking- glasses, reflecting what we are or have been. "The stranger at my fireside cannot see The sights I see, nor hear the sounds I hear; He but perceives what is, while unto me, All that has been is visible and clear." It is also true that we are interested in other people's ideas chiefly when they make clear, by reflection, some- thing of value that already exists in our own minds. All satisfying con- versation requires a topic of mutual interest. We like to listen to those who express what in some measure we have thought and felt. The failure 8 THE PALACE OF MIRRORS of a poem, or essay, or sermon to please us is no proof that it lacks essential worth. The explanation may be that we have had no experiences for which it provides a looking-glass. It does not image the longings we have felt, the joys we have known, the griefs we have endured, and the truths we have proved. In after years, when the experience described has become our own, we may read the same book, or listen to a like discourse, and find it rich in meaning. Any one whose childhood was spent in the country can enjoy Whittier's "Snow Bound." But his "Eternal Goodness" is best appreciated by those who, at the cost of severing human ties that were dear to them, have exchanged a creed against which their reason and con- science alike rebelled for a faith that THE PALACE OF MIRRORS 9 satisfies them both. Tennyson's "Brook" delights all lovers of beauty and melody as it makes articulate the gladness of the summer world through which it flows, but we do not greatly care for "In Memoriam" unless we have known the sorrow it portrays and the comfort of which it speaks. It is related that one of Mr. Beecher's ushers once asked him if he should wake up any one in the congregation whom he found asleep. "No," was the reply, "you are to come into the pulpit and wake me up." It was a good answer: yet it is probable that many people, if they did not sleep through some of Mr. Beecher's best discourses, listened with little pleasure or profit, because there were so few things in their own lives which they pictured. Even Jesus was obliged to 10 THE PALACE OF MIRRORS confess that, for many of those who heard, them, his words were as seed that fell by the wayside, since they found nothing in them that seemed worth remembering. In the characters of our associates we find a reflection of the good or evil qualities which belong to our own. If we are coarse, selfish, and unscrupu- lous, we shall attribute coarseness, selfishness, and injustice to them. If we are destitute of benevolence, we shall have no faith in their kindness. If our honesty and virtue is a pretense we shall credit them with an equal hypocrisy. In many instances the vices we thus discover are real, and we could not help perceiving them though our own faults were few; but even then our familiarity with them in ourselves may cause them to seem THE PALACE OF MIRRORS II much greater than they are. In other cases they are transient moods awak- ened by contact with our disposition, as when a scowl is answered by a frown, or an ungracious speech provokes a sharp retort, or an injurious deed is repaid by a harmful act. Instead of finding we create them. We are the authors of what we resent. Often, however, the depravity of which we complain is merely the product of our distempered fancy. It has no more substance than an image in a mirror. We say that we have found our asso- ciates rude or unsocial, indifferent or quarrelsome; that they care only for their own comfort and pleasure; whereas the truth may be that we have merely been looking at our own disposition in a glass, and are dissatis- fied with what we have seen. 12 THE PALACE OF MIRRORS The existence of any excellence in ourselves is our best help to the under- standing of it in others. In propor- tion as our thoughts are pure, our motives honorable, and our impulses generous, such refinement, integrity, and kindness as our neighbors really possess become visible to us. We see and appreciate virtues with which we are familiar because they are our own. And not only that, but we create such qualities where they were wanting, or awaken them where they were dor- mant. Rude people are made gentle by our courtesy; unsocial people re- spond to our cordial speech and man- ner; and selfish people reflect our generosity. We find purity and truth, honesty and kindness, sympathy and good will wherever we go, because, whether they were already there or THE PALACE OF MIRRORS 13 not, we at least carry them with us and are surrounded by human mirrors that reflect them. And in this we not only increase our own happiness, but contribute to the goodness of others as well. We may, indeed, work no miracle of transformation in the char- acter of those whose moods have been the reflection 'of our own; but some- thing at least, not only of transient joy but abiding worth as well, has been imparted. From a material mirror the image vanishes and leaves no trace; but the human soul that has once reflected the moral beauty of another has received what can never be entirely lost. In the attributes of God's char- acter we behold the reflection of our own. If we are vain and arrogant, we shall think of Him as delighted 14 THE PALACE OF MIRRORS with flattery, and caring more for the enforcement of His authority than the welfare of those over whom it is exercised. If we are wrathful and vindictive, we shall fancy that He is angry and revengeful. But if our disposition is to pity the evil-doer while abhorring his deeds, we shall re- gard God's sovereign justice as the instrument of His Fatherly Love, believing that it smites to bless and wounds to heal. That the Divine will would triumph in the destruction or eternal banishment of those who had resisted its authority, was the dream of human hatred; but human compassion and love suggested the story of the shepherd's quest, and the prodigal's return. The use of the thumbscrew and rack and belief in an endless hell began to pass away THE PALACE OF MIRRORS 1 5 together; and man has ever discovered something more worthy of reverence in the character of his God with each new excellence added to his own. Thus it is that the universe is a Palace of Mirrors, wherein we are sur- rounded by images of ourselves. We project our hopes and fears, our griefs and gladness, our memories and fore- bodings into the material world, and see in its varied phenomena the quali- ties with which our moods have in- vested them. We find in the thoughts of poets and seers the lessons that our own experience has taught us. We behold the greatness or littleness, the beauty or deformity, the nobility or baseness of our own souls in the char- acter of our fellow beings and the disposition of the Deity whom we worship. We get what we give. It l6 THE PALACE OF MIRRORS is only when our own lives radiate purity and truth, justice and kindness, that they shine back upon us from the lives of our human associates. It is only when our hearts are forgiving, compassionate, and helpful, that we can look up to the face of our Father in heaven and find it aglow with an infinite tenderness and love. " There are loyal hearts, there are spirits brave, There are souls that are pure and true: Then give to the world the best you have, And the best shall come back to you. Give love, and love to your heart will flow, A strength in your utmost need: Have faith, and a score of hearts will show Their faith in your word and deed. For life is the mirror of king and slave, 'Tis just what you are and do; Then give to the world the best you have, And the best will come back to you." Scaffolding and Building TN passing the place where a ma- terial edifice is in process of erec- tion, we see various temporary struc- tures and appliances that are only meant for use in constructing the permanent building. There are lad- ders up which the workmen climb, and platforms on which they stand. There are also derricks and pulleys for hoisting iron girders and blocks of granite and swinging them into place. All these have their present function; but when that has been performed they will be taken down and carried away, and there will remain only the building which the architect planned and the workmen fashioned. If that serves its intended purpose, the scaf- 17 l8 SCAFFOLDING AND BUILDING folding has been rightly used; but if the one proves worthless, the time and labor bestowed upon the other has been wasted. The truth thus illustrated is that our essential business in this world is to build a character and life that shall be noble and beautiful in itself, and rich in usefulness to others. What- ever else we may accomplish is valu- able and praiseworthy chiefly as it is related to this as scaffolding to building. Physical health is such a scaffolding. He who has it is thus far fortunate. But unless he uses it in creating for himself and others values that will survive its loss, it is like an outward and transient framework within which there rises no structure of abiding worth, and when it is finally taken SCAFFOLDING AND BUILDING 19 away nothing will remain. It is like the strength that Samson employed in feats that merely served to prove its possession. Another scaffolding is that of emi- nent social position. Those who oc- cupy it have splendid facilities for building noble and gracious charac- ters, honorable reputations, and be- neficent lives. There are so many public and private ways in which they can minister to the welfare of others, while increasing their own kindness through its constant use. But if they are content to live merely for their own comfort and pleasure, their occu- pation of the station they hold is not justified, and their place upon the social scaffolding would be better filled by those who were willing to use it for building purposes. 20 SCAFFOLDING AND BUILDING It is so of material prosperity. Achievement of any sort, especially when circumstances have made it difficult, proclaims a power that de- serves our admiration. We justly commend the intelligence and in- dustry, the courage and perseverance of the man who has risen by his own efforts from obscurity to prominence, or from poverty to affluence. A fore- sight that enables its possessor. to adapt present means to distant ends; skill to combine many causes in a single result; patience where waiting is needed, and promptness when action is required — all these are qualities that merit our high approval; and nowhere are they more clearly mani- fested than in the activities and achievements of the successful busi- ness man. Nevertheless the truth SCAFFOLDING AND BUILDING 21 remains that whether what he has thus effected was worth the time and labor that it cost depends upon the purpose it has been made to serve. If within the outward and temporary structure of his success he has all the while been building a character of which the elements are honesty and kindness, all his toil and pains have been wisely bestowed. Because the more one has to do with the more he can do, material possessions are greatly worth striving for. With such resources there is so much that one can do toward making his life helpful to others and winning a wholesome happiness for himself. With such a scaffolding what a splendid structure he may build — grand in its moral worth and radiant with spiritual beauty! But if his wealth has not 22 SCAFFOLDING AND BUILDING been consecrated to high ideals; if the method of its acquirement and the manner of its use has added nothing to the enrichment of his character and the beneficence of his life; then, while appreciating the intelligence and industry displayed in the construction of what, after all, was only scaffolding, we are compelled to ask, "To what purpose was it all done, since there is no building?" To challenge our ap- proval upon no better grounds than are thus furnished, is like asking us to applaud the ingenuity manifested in the invention of a machine that does nothing except run smoothly; a mill that grinds no grist; a loom that weaves no fabric; an engine that draws no train; an electric motor that, being geared to nothing, is as useless as a thunderstorm at sea. He says, "See SCAFFOLDING AND BUILDING 23 what I have done!" and we answer, "It is good; but what have you done with it? In the creation of what real and permanent values have you used it for yourself and others?" The labor and skill, the courage and patience have all been justified if when the scaffolding has been taken down there remains the brave struc- ture of a noble character, founded upon the bed-rock of moral principle, built of integrity and kindness, and domed with God's approval. They have been poorly employed if, when the sounds of sawing and hammering, the throbbing of the engine and creaking of the windlass have ceased, when the tools have been laid aside and the scaffolding removed, there is left only a vacant place. But outward prosperity is not the 24 SCAFFOLDING AND BUILDING only scaffolding within and by means of which we may build the structure of essential worth. What are called misfortunes frequently render us an equal service. Our best intellectual achievements are often the product of an adversity which, through pressure of need, stim- ulates our mental faculties to their best performance. Financial ruin was the scaffolding on which Walter Scott stood to build the structure of his literary greatness and renown. It was when Hawthorne had lost his position in the custom-house that he wrote "The Scarlet Letter." To divert his mind from the grief of be- reavement and the loneliness of exile Dante composed the poem that, while it is chiefly known by name to modern readers, was a peerless contribution SCAFFOLDING AND BUILDING 25 to the thought of the age in which he lived. Through needed effort to cure himself of stammering, Demosthenes is said to have become the prince of orators. The hardships of the Ayr- shire farm did more for the genius of Burns than the easy life at Edinburgh which followed his first success and lasted until his money was gone. The accident that made Josiah Wedge- wood a cripple lifted the manufacture of pottery to the dignity of a fine art. Beethoven dreamed, and wrote, and played for others the music to which his own ears were sealed. Because of her resolute endeavor to overcome what seemed the impassable barriers imposed by deafness and blindness, the mind and heart of Helen Keller be- came enriched, through sense of touch alone, with treasures of thought and 26 SCAFFOLDING AND BUILDING feeling that have made her more than the peer of most people who can see and hear. It is so of moral achievements. Just as sunshine and rain, light and dark- ness, summer and winter, have alike their needed ministry in the natural world, so our trials, no less than our manifest blessings, have their per- mitted uses in the enrichment of our inner life with moral strength and spiritual beauty. Into what a close and tender companionship of the heart the members of a household are often drawn by some sad experience through which they have passed to- gether, or some common peril that threatens them ! How thoughtful each becomes for the needs of the others! What blossoms of sweet and self- forgetful affection are nourished by SCAFFOLDING AND BUILDING 2^ their affliction, like flowers that spring from the earth when showers have made it fruitful! How sympathetic and helpful toward the sorrows of others some people whom we know have been made by the sorrows through which they have passed without the loss of their own courage and hopeful- ness! Few things better deserve our gratitude than the help we thus re- ceive from those who have come through great tribulation with their garments unspotted. In like manner there are those whose religious faith has become more clear and steadfast because they turned to it for strength and comfort in adversity and found it sufficient for their need. It is as when increas- ing darkness reveals the serene and watchful stars that we should never see if day were never changed to night. 28 SCAFFOLDING AND BUILDING And because these things are so, it follows that the worth of our life must be measured, not by our outward achievements or the experiences that come to us unsought, but the moral uses to which they are put. We are here to make goodness for ourselves and happiness for others, and by so much as we fail of this our earthly existence is a failure. Poverty and wealth, obscurity and fame, compan- ionship and loneliness, joys that glad- den the heart and griefs that sadden the soul — all these are but the scaf- folding; and the only question of importance is, What are we building? If worldly prosperity has been granted us, if we have been born to an exalted station or achieved distinction for ourselves, if we have succeeded in our ambitions and our craving for friend- SCAFFOLDING AND BUILDING 29 ship and affection has been amply- satisfied, we are to value these things, not chiefly for their own sake, but as helps to that moral attainment which is the supreme business of our life. And if riches and honor have been withheld, if our hopes have been dis- appointed and our affections bereaved, then we must turn our trials and losses to a like account — finding in them the potency they contain of minister- ing to our growth in goodness and use- fulness. When we look upon a material structure the worth of which is evident, we do not ask of what materials the scaffold that the builders used was composed: whether the trees that furnished its planks and beams were nourished by a rich or an im- poverished soil; whether they were buffeted by winter storms, or grew 30 SCAFFOLDING AND BUILDING tall and strong in a land of endless summer. It is enough that they have served their purpose. In like manner if, in our character and life, we are pure and honest, just and generous, sympathetic and helpful, it does not greatly matter what means of our own or God's providing have been em- ployed to make us so. If outward prosperity has furnished the help we needed, it is well; and if outward ad- versity has served our purpose, it is equally well. In either case, the re- sult outlasts the means; the structure of a manly worth or womanly goodness, the edifice of a noble character and beneficent life, remains when the scaffolding has been removed; and that is the only thing that really counts. THe KnocK at tKe Door TT was Charles Lamb who, living long before the era of electric bells, said, "Not many sounds in life, and I include all urban and rural sounds, exceed in interest a knock at the door." Each person leads a double life. He is an individual, and a member of society. He has thoughts and feelings and employments that are his own; and he has also sympathies and in- terests and duties that relate him to his fellow beings. From time to time, these two departments of experience, each of which is necessary to the other, come in contact; and of that contact the knock at the door is often the medium, and always the symbol. 31 32 THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR Let us say that the evening meal has been finished, and that the various members of the household group are busied with their occupations of read- ing, writing, sewing, or conversation. In the midst of these occupations comes the interruption of the knock at the door, announcing that private and domestic interests are about to be brought in contact with the larger life of the outward world. The summons is answered, and the expected or unlooked for guest is ushered in. The fact that he has thought enough about us to pay us this visit instantly changes the general re- gard, in which we may have included him with a great many other people, into a special liking; while his frank assurance of a welcome helps to create it. The conversation, beginning with THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR 33 the state of the weather, proceeds through inquiries about common friends, to the events of the day, and so reaches the discussion of books and that interchange of personal thought wherein mind speaks to mind. Perhaps, toward the close of the even- ing, the hostess mindful, like Martha of old, of bodily wants, provides some little collation, and so, with mutual good wishes and messages of kind re- membrance, the visit is ended. Such an event is a benediction to a household. Too much isolation is not good for either the individual or the family. Some one has said that we need other heads and hearts, just as we do other timepieces, by which to correct our own. In the absence of such correction, the head or heart, like the clock or watch, may go wrong 34 THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR without our suspecting it. The char- acter of the recluse, developing only along the lines of its original tendency, is seldom a healthy one. It possesses some qualities in excess, while in others it is sadly deficient. It is so with the family. Its members are too much alike to be sufficient com- pany for each other. Under the in- fluence of isolation, their resemblance to one another, and their unlikeness to other folks, steadily increases; until, at last, they come to be known as queer people, whom nobody cares to visit. On the other hand, when a given household is socially related to at least a few others, its life is usually fullest and richest in the elements of companionship between its own mem- bers. There is a domestic as well as a personal selfishness; and the evil THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR 35 effects of the one resemble those of the other. It is as true of families as of individuals that those who try to live unto themselves begin to die within themselves. Just as the water of the bay would become stagnant unless often renewed by the inflowing tides of the ocean, so the private life of the family requires channels of communi- cation with the social sea; and there is always something lacking in the home where the knock at the door is seldom heard. But the knock at the door has a figurative as well as a literal signifi- cance. It symbolizes any occurrence that makes us more appreciative of such blessings as we already possess, or terminates a mood that has lasted long enough, or enriches our life with some new element of use and happi- 36 THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR ness. It is emblematic of any event that substitutes variety for monotony in our experience ; any appeal addressed to our sympathy; any demand upon our faith and courage; any influence that widens the scope of our interests and activities. Some of these visitors are, indeed, poor company; and we act wisely in not encouraging them to prolong their stay. It is certain, for instance, that physical pain and mental suffering are not desirable guests, and that we should never choose them except as the alternatives to a moral injury that would be far more serious. Never- theless, their possibility exists in the scheme of things, and their experience cannot be altogether avoided. We need not invite them; but if they come unbidden, their visits, like those of THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR 37 some people we know, may at least serve by contrast to make our joys more vivid. It is pleasant, in a way, to live where roses bloom all the year, and cloudless skies last from May to December. But dearer, to most people, are the vernal seasons that wintry weather separates, and the June sunshine that an occasional tem- pest helps them to value. Starva- tion is never a blessing; but it is well for every one that hunger should pre- cede eating; and this applies not only to physical satisfactions, but to pleas- ures of the heart and mind as well. It may be well that want and care and grief should at times knock at our door, though we refuse to let them in. Elements of value in our character are developed by the necessary effort to prevent their entrance, while the 38 THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR sight of their faces and the sound of their voices make dearer to us the comfort, contentment, and gladness that daily sit by our fireside. I have said that the knock at the door symbolizes not only any excep- tional experience that makes us more appreciative of our constant blessings, but any event which terminates a mood that has lasted long enough. Thus, for instance, it has been wisely provided that we should be summoned by necessity, if other incentives are lacking, from the physical pleasures and social enjoyments that serve to renew our energies of body and mind, to the daily tasks in which we should find our highest happiness. Some one has said that recreation whets the scythe that cuts the grass. He who permits himself no diversion mows always THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR 39 with a dull scythe, and his work is poor in quality; but he who does nothing but play keeps the scythe sharp to no purpose. It is well to enjoy the so- ciety of our chosen friends, to visit the theatre, to belong to the club, and to permit ourselves the luxury of a sum- mer vacation. Still, an existence that was all holiday would soon become shallow and worthless. Therefore we have reason to be thankful that, in the midst of our self-indulgence, there comes the knock at the door, recalling us to that work of hand or brain by which we fill our place in the world's activities and achieve enduring results. It is even true that our religious feel- ings would be renewed from spiritual sources to little purpose, were it not for the frequent demands made upon our faith and sympathy by the needs 40 THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR of our fellow beings. On the mount of transfiguration, the happiness that Jesus found in personal communion with God passed into ecstacy. But down in the valley sounded the be- seeching cry of the father who had brought his sick child to be healed; and that cry was the knock at the door which summoned the Master back to the life of human service that gave to spiritual trust and love their practical value. And what thus adds usefulness to our pleasures, and prevents the loss of their wholesomeness, is often the best cure for our sorrows. It is not easy to resume our customary em- ployments when they have been inter- rupted by the experience of some great misfortune. All ordinary in- terests fade into dim remoteness, and THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR 41 every trivial incident seems an imper- tinence. We resent the practical light of day that seeks us out where we would fain be left to sit undisturbed amid the ruin of our hopes and the ashes of our joys. It seems strange that a world so changed in other re- spects should retain any of the things with which we were familiar, and de- mand our attention to them. Never- theless the common needs of the daily life keep knocking at the door, and we must go forth to meet them. The affairs of his kingdom will not permit David to remain in that chamber over the gate to which he has retired to mourn the fate of Absalom. Maud Muller must finish raking her hay, though she knows the judge will never ride that way again. The housework must be done, though the heart seems 42 THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR broken. Business must be transacted though the incentive that changed drudgery to delight has vanished. Weeping may endure for a night, but on the morrow we must take up the burden again. And it is well that this necessity is laid upon us. Work is a great comforter and renewer, espe- cially when it serves the needs of others with whose happiness we can sympa- thize while we await the return of our own. Whatever their trouble may be, those who obey the knock at the door that calls them back to the routine of daily duty usually rise above it, and retain, of its effects, only the strength and gentleness it has added to their character. It is as natural that we should renew the gladness of life, if we keep a vital hold on the world in which we live, as that night should give place THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR 43 to morning, and winter change to spring. There is an egotism of sorrow as well as of joy; and neither should be encouraged. Let us be thankful, therefore, if, when our self-pity has lasted long enough, it is interrupted by the knock at the door which bids us forget our grief in a renewed devo- tion to interests greater than our own. And, finally, every wise instruction, and every inspiring example is a knock at the door of our heart and mind, summoning us to a higher plane of thought, a purer quality of feeling, and a nobler manner of living. It is thus that Jesus invites us to the compan- ionship of his self-denial for duty's sake, and its supreme reward in the delights of sympathy and the blessed- ness of God's approval. He bids us lay down our life with him, that like 44 THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR him we may receive it back trans- figured. To each of us he says, "Be- hold I stand at the door and knock. If any man hear my voice and open the door, I will come in and sup with him, and he with me." THe Essentials of Happiness TT is an obvious fact that in the -* universal quest of happiness our activities are largely governed by our ideals. We seek most earnestly those things in the possession and use of which we hope to find the most enjoyment. It is also true that, of the various objects of desire, some are better adapted than others to our actual needs, and, through lack of ac- quaintance with ourselves or them, our choice may be unwise. The things we select may be worthless or harmful, or they may afford us less pleasure or profit than we would have obtained from other things that we have renounced for the sake of pro- curing them. 45 46 THE ESSENTIALS OF HAPPINESS There are, however, certain satis- factions essential to the welfare of every one, of which few if any of us need be altogether deprived, and for which our gratitude would still be due if all other gifts were withheld. First in the list is the physical health that makes the mere consciousness of existence, apart from any special pleasure that may come to us, a con- stant joy. To be strong and active; to have our daily bread sweetened by healthy hunger; to sleep soundly and awake refreshed; to breathe deeply and feel the prompting of a vigor that makes labor a delight; is by no means a happiness of which we should be so enamored as to ask for nothing else. But it is fundamental to all other en- joyments; and no one who has it should complain that life has proved THE ESSENTIALS OF HAPPINESS 47 a worthless boon, whatever hardships he may have to bear, or whatever cravings may be unsatisfied. It is, indeed, true that the experience of this blessing is seldom an unbroken one, and that few possess it in its amplest measure. Most of us, how- ever, might obtain more by the simple method of abandoning ourselves to the full enjoyment of what we have. In many instances, the chief need of people who are not so well as they and their friends could wish is the substi- tution of such wholesome pleasures as their limited health permits for the morbid satisfaction they find in the contemplation of their real or fancied ailments. There are blind people who learn to read with their fingers, which is surely better than to spend the time bemoaning the loss of their eyes. 48 THE ESSENTIALS OF HAPPINESS There are also invalids who instead of carrying the mood of their bad days into their good days, enjoy the latter with a zest proportionate to the inter- val that divides them. It is as when we get from the fairness of a perfect day in June a delight that makes amends for all the discomforts of the week of unpleasant weather which it follows. Such compensations are permitted us all; and the disposition to avail our- selves of them will do more than any self-pity, or any recital of our woes, to make our good days many and our bad days few. In this direction lies the mental wholesomeness without which the increase of physical vigor will be sought in vain. Next in importance to the happiness of physical health is that which we find in the faithful doing of our daily THE ESSENTIALS OF HAPPINESS 49 work, whatever it may be. Apart from the uses which it serves, we enjoy the employment of our faculties upon tasks to which they are adapted — the exercise of the intelligence that plans, the perseverance that overcomes, the strength or skill that achieves. It is also good to know that we are not drones in the industrial hive, but pro- duce at least as much of the honey as we consume. Beyond this we realize that the values we create are not mo- nopolized by those to whom our service of hand or brain is rendered, but, through the uses to which they are put, help to make the whole world richer in all the elements of physical comfort, mental enjoyment, and social happiness. Thus the delight of ser- vice is added to that of independence. These blessings are within reach of 50 THE ESSENTIALS OF HAPPINESS every one who has found the work that he can do; and the humblest toiler who experiences them has at least some satisfactions unknown to the in- heritor of ancestral wealth who spends but does not earn. If we are per- mitted to gain a livelihood by render- ing the world some needed service, one blessing essential to the happiness of every human being has been granted us. There are intellectual enjoyments the need of which is universal. It is worth our while to acquire a knowl- edge that may have no use beyond the mental enrichment to which it min- isters, and the mental pleasure it affords. For this reason, the artisan should cultivate an interest in matters not related to his craft, and the busi- ness or professional man should seek THE ESSENTIALS OF HAPPINESS 51 an information for which he may not hope to find a market. Such satis- factions are, as a rule, within reach of all who aspire to them, however cir- cumstanced their lives may be. In this age of cheap and abundant oppor- tunities, it rests chiefly with ourselves whether our mental horizon shall be wide enough to include a general ac- quaintance with the facts of science, the events of history, and the wise and inspiring thoughts of the best literature of prose and poetry, or limi- ted to the affairs with which, in our special vocation, we are directly deal- ing. We must keep our craft in the mid-channel of our chosen work, avoid- ing the rocks and shoals on either side; but there is no reason why our vision should be limited to the shore line. Our voyage will be more interesting 52 THE ESSENTIALS OF HAPPINESS if we give some heed to the near land- scape and the distant mountains. No life can be altogether happy to which aesthetic delights are wanting. And in this respect, as in most others, our opportunities often transcend the uses to which we put them. Such satisfactions may be permitted in largest degree to those whose circum- stances permit them to visit many lands and contemplate all that is grand and beautiful in the works of God and man; but they are by no means withheld from those to whom this advantage has been denied. The sky with its splendors of dawn and evening, and its stars that make the night more beautiful than day, encom- passes all the world. For those whose homes are in the country, nature is prodigal of gifts to eye and ear that THE ESSENTIALS OF HAPPINESS 53 vary with the passing seasons; while cheap transportation brings the en- chantments of field and forest within easy reach of their city neighbors. The chief necessity is the power to appreciate what is lavishly bestowed. "The poem hangs on the berry-bush when comes the poet's eye; And the whole world a pageant is when Shakespeare passes by." He for whom the wild rose and the thrush's song have no charm will find no pleasure in the beauty and fra- grance of tropical gardens, or the music of larks and nightingales. And as for Art, it is surely better to understand what is best in the least pretentious of collections, than to visit famous galleries filled with treasures gathered from every age and land, which lack of faculty prevents us from 54 THE ESSENTIALS OF HAPPINESS enjoying. It is also better to possess a single picture the intrinsic charm of which we can perceive for ourselves, than to cover our walls with master- pieces which afford us no satisfaction beyond that of owning what the judg- ment of critics has commended. The heart also has its needs, the satisfaction of which is essential to our happiness. No degree of material possession, mental culture, or aesthetic sensibility can compensate the want of that pleasure which consists in ap- propriating, through sympathy, the joys of other lives and welcoming them to a share in our own. In proportion as we have found it, we may rightly deem ourselves among the highly favored ones of earth, whatever bless- ings we may have missed. To be associated with at least a few people THE ESSENTIALS OF HAPPINESS 55 to whom our welfare is precious, and for whom we feel a like regard; to find in their faith in us an inspiration to all worthy achievement; and to know that their lives are strengthened and made glad by our love and service; is to have gone far toward attaining the highest good that life can offer. And this also is among the blessings that do not greatly depend upon our circumstances, and are therefore within reach of us all. Domestic affection is equally possible in the cottage or mansion; and material wealth or social position, while it may enlarge our visiting acquaintance, is not essential to our loyal and satis- fying friendships. Indeed it may easily prove more of a hindrance than a help, since the less we have to offer them apart from that the surer we 56 THE ESSENTIALS OF HAPPINESS may be that our associates prize the gift of ourselves. But however this may be, the fact remains that, whether we are rich or poor, obscure or famous, our kindness and faithfulness will, as a rule, win their merited return. If we lack true friendships to sweeten the joys of prosperity and lessen the hardships of adversity, the fault is chiefly our own. A blessing indispensable to many others, and without which none of them can wholly satisfy, is that of conscious rectitude. Physical health may exist in the absence of self-respect, but having that alone, we shall, at the best, be comfortable and not happy. Mental culture and aesthetic sensi- bility may provide channels of enjoy- ment; but a life most richly endowed in these respects is essentially poor THE ESSENTIALS OF HAPPINESS 57 if moral satisfactions are wanting. Wealth may be dishonestly obtained; but it will constitute a worthless pos- session. Our friends may be deceived into thinking more highly of us than we deserve; but our knowledge of the fact will go far toward depriving their regard of its intrinsic value. On the other hand, he whose circumstances have made the path of duty difficult, but who walks therein with unfalter- ing step, carries in his heart a peace that is better than any pleasure or profit from which he has turned aside for the sake of remaining loyal to the demands of righteousness. The glad- ness that comes of an honorable pur- pose unswervingly followed is worth the greatest hardship it may impose, or the utmost sacrifice it may require. It goes far toward taking from poverty 58 THE ESSENTIALS OF HAPPINESS its bitterness, from loneliness its de- pression, from calumny its power to wound, and from outward defeat its sense of failure. Whatever disap- pointment he may have experienced, whatever privations he may have endured, and whatever injustice he may have suffered, the man who has done nothing that he need blush to acknowledge to all the world is happier than if all other ambitions had been gratified at the expense of his desire to keep his integrity unsullied, his honor undefiled. A final element, without which our happiness is incomplete, is an un- faltering trust in God's present and eternal love and care for all His chil- dren. Such a faith is the richest enhancement of our joys and the best comfort for our sorrows. It "adds THE ESSENTIALS OF HAPPINESS 59 new lustre to the day," and puts a song in our heart when the shadows of night encompass us. It strengthens us to achieve and endure with its assurance that through all the duties to which we are called, and all the experiences that befall us, a benefi- cent purpose is being accomplished by a goodness that will never change and a love that can never fail. It makes each blessing that ministers to our earthly welfare prophetic of the better gifts that shall answer to our larger needs as we rise from height to height of the soul's unending journey. I think we may sum up all by say- ing that if our capacity for enjoying any of these essential blessings is represented by a pint cup, it makes little difference whether we fill it from a wayside spring, or dip it in the brim- 60 THE ESSENTIALS OF HAPPINESS ming river — since in either case we shall have only a cupful; and that, since, as a rule, there is always more within our reach than we can appro- priate, the enlargement of the cup is more important than access to a larger fountain. Happiness depends more upon what we are than how we are situated. "Let us," says Professor Swing, who preached the gospel of "the simple life" long before Charles Wag- ner became famous as its chief apostle, — "Let us learn to be content with what we have. Let us get rid of our false estimates, set up all the higher ideals — a quiet home; vines of our own planting; a few books, full of the inspirations of genius; a few friends, worthy of being loved, and able to love us in return; a hundred innocent THE ESSENTIALS OF HAPPINESS 6l pleasures that bring no pain or remorse ; a devotion to the right that will never swerve; a simple religion, empty of all bigotry, full of trust and hope and love — and to such a philosophy this world will give up all its empty joys." THe D\ity of Happiness 'T^HAT we have a perfect right to be as happy as we can within the limits of a just regard for the wel- fare of our fellow beings, is a truth which we all recognize. The Chris- tian world has pretty thoroughly out- grown the idea that there is a religious merit in self-denial by which no one is benefited; and that a sorrowful tone and mournful countenance are outward signs of an inward grace. We may, however, be less inclined to believe that cheerfulness is a moral obligation, and happiness a religious duty. Nevertheless, a little reflection should convince us that such is the fact. One reason for regarding personal 62 THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS 63 happiness as not only a privilege, but a duty, is that we owe it to God whose providence is the source of all our blessings. The child who makes no attempt to obtain from one or another gift that his father has bestowed the wholesome enjoyment it was meant to afford is guilty of filial ingratitude. Since it was intended to make him happy, his appreciation of the loving impulse manifested should inspire his endeavor to find happiness in its use. In like manner we prove ourselves unthankful children of our Father in heaven when we close our hearts against the inflow of the many joys which He offers us through the chan- nels of physical sense, of mental en- dowments and of social relationships. Since He has bestowed upon us the sense of beauty, and made the out- 64 THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS ward world fair to behold, He must desire that we shall rejoice in its love- liness. Since He has implanted in our nature a craving for companionship He must wish us to find, in the society of congenial associates, a constant delight. Since He has constituted us rational beings, it must be His will that we shall derive a rich and varied satisfaction from the use of our mental faculties. If, for any cause, we have lost our inclination to avail ourselves of what has thus been placed within our reach, our knowledge that in- difference to the gift is ingratitude to the giver should prompt us to strive for its renewal. When our human friends have planned some pleasure that shall increase our joy or make us forgetful of our sorrow, we feel a moral obligation to meet their generous im- THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS 65 pulse with an effort to interest our- selves in what they attempted for our sake. It is equally true that since God wants us to be happy, and is con- stantly seeking to make us so, we have no right to be discontented and miser- able. We may not always be able to fulfill His intent, since our moods are not absolutely subject to our will; but His kindness deserves that we shall at least try. Happiness is fullness of life; and we have no more right to reconcile ourselves to its absence, unless interests greater than our per- sonal welfare are thus served, than we have to allow ourselves to starve or freeze because we no longer care to live. And what we thus owe to the good- ness of God is likewise essential to the welfare of our fellow beings. It is our duty to be happy, because we cannot 66 THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS otherwise avoid making other people miserable. Our feelings are conta- gious; our moods are communicable; and if it is wrong to give other people a fever, it cannot be right to give them the blues. While we have no reason to suppose that our minds exhale their qualities as the rose yields its fragrance to the air, and noxious substances send forth poisonous gases, it is at least certain that our emotions of hope or fear, of fretfulness or cheerfulness, of grief or gladness, are manifested not only by what we say and do, but in every tone of the voice, and every expression of the countenance. For this reason, when we are mournful and despondent, we have a depressing influence upon every one with whom we come in contact. Our housemates are made more uncomfortable by our THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS 67 manner than by a stove that smokes or a roof that leaks. People who sit with us at the dinner table conclude that they were mistaken in supposing they were hungry; and those who meet us at a social gathering regret that they did not stay at home. Wherever we are, our associates incline to wish that either we or they were somewhere else. We surely have no right to cause so much unpleasantness if we can help it; and therefore we ought at least to try. It is indeed true that such a state of mind may have a cause so sufficient as to inspire a longing to comfort and help, rather than a disposition to escape. But if others are to help us, we must do our part, which consists in yielding ourselves to the charm of their cheerfulness, instead of soliciting 68 THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS them to share our dejection. The proverb says that " Misery likes com- pany," but what we like is not always what we need. It is better for us, and better for those who have visited us in our affliction, that we should be left smiling under the influence of their wholesome mood to which we have opened our hearts and minds as we open doors and windows for the en- trance of pure air and cheerful sun- light, than that they should go away weeping for the grief that refused to be consoled. If we have fallen into a way- side pit from which we cannot climb without assistance, it is one thing to grasp the proffered hand of the friend who has come to our aid and so be lifted to where he stands, and quite another to ask him to come down and take his place at our side in order that we THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS 69 may perish together. The first way is evidently best; but very many people insist upon being helped in the last, without considering the cruelty it in- flicts upon the helper. Their manner plainly says to those who strive by pleasant thoughts on other themes, to make them forgetful of their cause for sorrow, "We crave your sympa- thetic companionship; but we would rather drag you down than let you lift us up." It is as if a drowning person should say to one who endeavored to rescue him: "Do not try to save me. Above all, do not ask me to make the task an easy one by doing what I can to help myself. I really have no wish to be saved; but if you will kindly drown with me, I shall die more com- fortably." And the irony of it is that, in many instances, when those who 70 THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS tried to help them really have drowned, they themselves somehow manage to reach the shore, and pres- ently seem little the worse for their wetting. Being of hardier constitu- tion, they worry their sympathizers to death, and then recover. But while a gloomy disposition and forlorn air thus lowers the spirits of our associates and lessens their pleas- ures without adding to our own, a joyous heart and cheerful countenance constitutes our best qualification for ministering to their welfare. They receive, in the main, a greater benefit from the influence of what we are, than from the outward result of what we do. There may be some upon whom it has little effect, because they willfully resist it. But there are far more who not only need but welcome THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS 71 it; and to these it is like the refreshing showers that make the lawns and meadows green, or like the warmth and brightness of the sun that changes folded buds to opening flowers and sets the birds singing from orchard boughs and wayside hedges. Just to be with us when we are thus at our best, makes weak people strong, timid people brave, and despondent people hopeful. Its amplest blessing is bestowed on those who share our closest compan- ionship; but in some degree its inspira- tion is felt by all with whom our lives are brought in contact, and who will- ingly receive what we are fitted to impart. It is our duty to be as happy as we can, because it is our best way of making other people so. Not when we weep with those who are sorrowful, but when we win hearts that were sad 72 THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS to a share in our gladness, do we best perform the office of a comforter. If we seek those who dwell amid the shadows it should be not to abide with them there, but to lead them forth into the sunshine; and how can we do this unless we have found the sunshine for ourselves? In praying for his disciples, Jesus said, "For their sake I sanctify my- self." In like manner we ought to say, "For the sake of those who are nearest and dearest, and that of all others whose lives are influenced by our own, we will be as happy as we can. And to this end we will court the in- fluences and cultivate the habits that make for happiness. We will not sad- den ourselves with vain regrets, or discourage ourselves with useless fore- bodings, or subject ourselves to any THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS 73 disagreeable experience that can be avoided without sin. While trying to do our work well and find our chief enjoyment in doing it, we will have as good times, outside its daily routine, as we can without breaking any of the commandments. We will drink from every fountain of wholesome delight within our reach. We will read cheer- ful books, and seek innocent pleasures, and surrender ourselves to the charm of wonderful pictures, and listen to noble and joyous music. We will associate with people who are best fitted to help us, in order that their companionship may fit us for helping others. We will fill our hearts with all the gladness which God has made possible to us in order that its overflow may comfort the sorrow, renew the hope, and increase the joy of other lives. THe Value of Life ' I ^HERE are pessimistic philos- A ophers who insist that life merely cheats us with the promise of a happi- ness which it seldom bestows ; and that as soon as we have learned to know it as it truly is, it ceases to be an object of rational desire. They remind us of the many physical ills from which no one is exempt; the disappoint- ments in which our efforts to acquire wealth or fame so often end; the social mistakes for which there is no remedy; and the bereavements that go so far toward depriving the brief joys of friendship and affection of their value; and they affirm that because of these things our existence is a gift for which 74 THE VALUE OF LIFE 75 we owe small thanks to the power that has bestowed it. But whether the arguments for or against the value of life be few or many, our fondness for it is not greatly af- fected by them. Throughout the as- cending scale, from lowest to highest, a desire to live is the rule, and willing- ness to die the exception. This is true even when pleasures seem few, .and discomforts many. What a brave fight the plant on which no rain has fallen for many days, or the tree that has its roots where there is no richness of soil, makes for the mere existence from which it appears to derive so little satisfaction, and which can never attain to any large measure of com- pleteness! How reluctant the wild creatures of the field and forest are to abandon that incessant warfare with 76 THE VALUE OF LIFE unnumbered foes without which their lives could not be preserved for a single day! How grateful all things seem for the return of that good fortune in their enjoyment of which all suffer- ings are forgotten! To realize all this we have only to watch the withered verdure revive when the long needed shower has come; or note how cheer- fully the birds, when the first sunbeam announces the passing of the storm through which they shivered, call to one another from every dripping bough or rain-drenched thicket that once more all is well, and presently resume their interrupted tasks with rhythmic mo- tions set to song. It may be that the faculty of reason, if they possessed it, could not prove that their few and brief pleasures were worth the price of so many hardships. They simply THE VALUE OF LIFE 77 possess and act upon the instinctive conviction that life is a blessing which they do well to retain as long as they can, and enjoy whenever enjoyment is possible. Nor do human beings greatly differ in this respect from the lower creatures. To most people there come at times discouraged moods when the mind inclines toward the pessimistic theory; but it is seldom that a conviction of the worthlessness of life sinks deeply enough into the heart to become a motive for conduct. In one of the Old Testament stories we read that once the prophet Elijah, discouraged by the failure of the national reforms which he had undertaken, besought Jehovah to take away his life. But we are also told that the petition was uttered just as he was lying down for needed rest 78 THE VALUE OF LIFE from the long and rapid flight which had thus far preserved his life; and that, when he awoke, he did not refuse the food which an angel had brought to strengthen him for the completion of his journey. Such inconsistency is by no means rare. In many a modern instance, a sentimental long- ing for death goes hand in hand with a desperate endeavor to live; and however disposed we may be to grumble at the hard conditions which confront us in this world, very few are really impatient for the summons that shall call us to a better one. But while our fondness for life is thus chiefly a matter of instinct, there can be no reasonable doubt that, in the experience of most people, there actually is far more of happiness than misery. As in the world of Nature THE VALUE OF LIFE 79 there are more bright days than dark days, and more years of plenty than of famine, so in the life of the average human being there is more gladness than sadness, more laughter than tears, more hope than despair. Through our senses, our intellect, and our affec- tions, we enjoy far more than we suf- fer. Our years of health are cheaply purchased by our days of sickness; our many successes are worth the price of our few failures; our friends help us more than our enemies harm us; and our delight in life, while it lasts, is not spoiled by even the lifelong consciousness that we must sometime die. One would almost be justified in saying that the joys of childhood alone constitute payment in advance for more hardships than the majority of 80 THE VALUE OF LIFE people are destined ever to endure. I have more than once heard a man, who was rich and prosperous in every- way, say that he would gladly give all that the years had brought him if he could thus renew that power to enjoy all the simple things of life which he had when a boy. The statement was doubtless an exaggeration; but it did at least testify to his vivid remem- brance of the special charm which every one finds in the initial stage of life's pilgrimage, when the pleasure- seeking instinct extracts sweetness from innumerable little experiences, as the bee gathers his full supply of honey from countless blossoms, each of which yields only a tiny portion of the precious nectar; when freedom from care for the morrow permits perfect abandonment to the enjoyment of to- THE VALUE OF LIFE 8 1 day; when grief is soon forgotten, and gladness long remembered; when a year seems a century; and when old age, and the death that must come at last to all, appear as vague and distant as if they occupied no place in the world of time, but belonged to some far-off eternity. As each year has its springtime wherein the earth, feeling no presentiment of the autumnal sad- ness and the winter desolation, makes glad answer with verdure, flower, and song to the tenderness of the sky that woos it with showers and sunbeams, so to every human life has been given this one season in which it surrenders itself to present gladness without thought or care of what the future may hold in store. Whatever fortunes the after years may have brought us, we have all had our Eden. 82 THE VALUE OF LIFE And what the present is to child- hood, youth finds in the future. To those who stand upon the threshold of manhood or womanhood, the path of life traverses a landscape obscured by golden mists. Just what things are really hidden by these resplendent vapors, they do not know; but imagi- nation and hope fashion there an ideal world filled with noble ambitions, per- fect friendships, and unf ailing delights, all of which are destined to be realized. It is in this large world of anticipa- tion, and not within the narrow limi- tations of the present, that youth lives day by day; and just as the beauty and fragrance of the flower delight our senses none the less because we cannot tell what will happen to the fruit, so the happiness which such dreams afford, while they last, is THE VALUE OF LIFE 83 equally real whether they are fated to end in failure or achievement. Whether the youth is destined ever to live in his air castles or not, he at least enjoys building them; and if enjoyment is the measure of life's value, the season of anticipation is a gift that deserves our thankfulness. The enjoyments of mature life, while of a different kind, are no less ample than those that belong to its earlier stages. If we are less romantic, we are more practical. No longer in- clined to search for mythical treasure at the foot of the rainbow, we make better use of the actual resources within our reach. Ceasing to expect the impossible, we have learned to value the things which our circum- stances permit us to win and keep, but to which we were formerly indif- 84 THE VALUE OF LIFE ferent. The acquaintance we have made with ourselves; the increased knowledge of what we are fitted to do and become which experience has brought; the daily proof of our power in the conquest of obstacles; the joy of achievement; the growth of nature into character; the respect and love of our associates, deserved and won; the sense of responsibility for other lives that cures us of our selfishness; our early hopes and dreams corrected by experience, and now cherished for our children's future rather than our own; — all these are among the satis- factions which are possible in some degree to every one who has outgrown the careless happiness of childhood, and the boundless expectations that gladden the heart of youth. It is even true that our transient THE VALUE OF LIFE 85 afflictions may have a permanent use. Some add to our character a strength or gentleness that could come in no other way; while others, because of the contrast they afford, assist us to a better appreciation of our direct bless- ings. Out of the heart of the long- brooding winter is born the joy of the new springtime, and it is only because the radiant days are divided by dark- ness that the word " light" answers to any conception in our mind. If we had never been sick, we could not realize the blessing of health; and if treachery were a thing unknown, we should not rightly prize the sterling friendship that on dark days, as on bright days, holds our hand in its honest grasp. The sense of immor- tality is the fairest of earth's flowers; but it grows in the valley of the shadow 86 THE VALUE OF LIFE of death. The revelations of God's spiritual providence are frequently like stars whose beams are lost in the noontide brightness, and which are seen most clearly through the gloom that makes all earthly charms in- visible. And finally, because in so far as one has done the best he could life is worth the having lived, that period in which hope and achievement have been ex- changed for retrospection has also a charm peculiar to itself. Sweet is the memory of vanished joys; and sweeter still the recollection of powers and opportunities for serving others well employed, and the knowledge that while nothing more can be added to our life work its benefits will out- live ourselves. Because this is so, the old age of a well-spent life must be as THE VALUE OF LIFE 87 pleasant in its remembrance of the past as its childhood was happy in its abandonment to the present, and as its youth was joyous in its visions of the future. The afternoon is a time of peace, and the colors that adorn the evening sky rival those which made the morning splendid. Nor are the notes which sadder memories interpolate discordant ones. Indeed, such minor chords, no less than the tones that speak of gladness and triumph, are essential to the per- fect harmony that echoes from the past and makes the music to which old age delights to listen. An aged man will speak reverently, as we speak the name of God, of the wife who died in her youth, of the son who was called away in his prime, of the many friends whose loss he passionately bewailed 88 THE VALUE OF LIFE when they were taken from him; and in his quiet sadness there will be no bitterness of rebellion or despair. As he speaks and you listen, you both feel drawn into closer touch with the sacredness of life than the recital of any joyous experience could bring you. And the fact most evident is that, since these things had to be, he is glad to remember them; that he loves to think about them; that he would not forget them if he could. Among the many solemn mysteries of existence few things are more strange than this power which a sor- row long past has to sanctify the joys associated with it, and impart the peace of heaven itself to the soul that remembers both. It is like what hap- pens in the natural world when, a tempest has exhausted its fury; and THE VALUE OF LIFE 89 the great masses of blackness, from which the lightning issued and the rain descended, have melted into fleecy vapors or are tinged with golden splen- dors; and all the fierce tumult has changed to a serene peace which wins our hearts into harmony with itself, and causes us to feel that in spite of all the seeming ills that have ever happened or are yet to come, all things are and forever shall be well, on earth and in heaven. Explain it as we may, the truth remains that sorrow nobly borne creates a trust in the Eternal Goodness more perfect than can be inspired in any other way. But it is not merely or chiefly for its own sake that our present existence is a boon to be thankful for. Our confidence in the wisdom and good- ness that bestowed it inspires the be- 90 THE VALUE OF LIFE lief that all its experiences belong to the process of an education begun here, but destined to be continued hereafter until it results in our perfect holiness and happiness. We are even allowed to hope that, like the sons of Jacob, who had sold their brother into slavery, we shall find the cure of our remorse for sins committed, which is the worst of sorrows, in the discovery that what we meant for evil God per- mitted for good. The discipline that shapes our destiny works toward the fullness of righteousness and joy; and this shall be its final product. Our supreme cause for gratitude to the merciful kindness that bestows our earthly blessings is the conviction that it endureth forever. Some one has said, " There are no happy lives; there are only happy THE VALUE OF LIFE 91 days." It were wiser to say that most lives are mainly happy in spite of all unhappy days. Instinct and reason both assure us that our existence as a whole is a blessing that deserves our gratitude. For the bounties of nature, and the endowments of mind and body that fit us for their use; for childhood and youth; for ma- turity and age; for present satis- factions, and the delights of hope, and the pleasures of memory; for the ministrations of religion that enhance our joys, and comfort our griefs, and inspire our virtues; for the life that now is, and the better life for which its varied experiences are preparing us; we do well to render daily thanks. THe BrigfHt Side "TT\URING the pilgrimage," says a Turkish proverb, "every- thing does not suit the tastes of the pilgrim." In making a long journey, we enjoy many pleasures and endure many discomforts. No two days, and scarcely any two hours of the same day, are precisely alike. The scenery is sometimes varied and interesting; while at other times it is uniform and tiresome. There are long stretches where the road is shaded by trees, and the air is cool with morning dew and sweet with the breath of flowers; and there are also places where we are parched with heat and choked with dust. Frequently we fall in with companions whose sympathy 92 THE BRIGHT SIDE 93 increases our pleasure, or whose cheer- fulness makes us forgetful of our hard- ships; and occasionally we are quite alone, or would like to be and cannot, which is worse. Such things are to be expected; they happen to every traveler; and the sum of his pleasures will be greater or less according to the kind of experience upon which his disposition inclines him to dwell. It is so in the journey of life. The one, like the other, has its rough places and its smooth; and no traveler can hope to escape its hardships while enjoying its delights. It lies amid scenes of grandeur and beauty; but it also traverses many regions that are waste and desolate. The portion of it already completed has had its contrasts of grief and gladness; pain and pleasure alternate in its present 94 THE BRIGHT SIDE progress; and there is no reason for believing that its remaining stages will be marked by either constant misfortune or unbroken blessing. Whether, subject to these conditions, we have found and shall continue to find it worth making, depends very- much upon whether we have that genius for getting the most enjoy- ment, and the least discomfort, from our varied experiences that they are capable of yielding, which constitutes one a good traveler. It is by no means certain that the proportion of good and evil fortune is the same in every life. Still, in view of the fact that every blessing has its price, and nearly every calam- ity its compensations, the inequalities are often more apparent than real. Many poor people have as much to THE BRIGHT SIDE 95 be thankful for as those whose wealth is reckoned by millions. A kind dis- position may win for an exceedingly homely person a love which the rarest physical beauty would be powerless to inspire. It is even true that in- valids frequently have mental and social resources that fit them for better enjoyments than the most abundant health can supply. But however this may be, the fact remains that health and sickness, possession and bereavement, friendship and en- mity, attainment and disappointment, though variously mingled, are the common elements in all our lives. They constitute the sweetness of memory, and its bitterness as well; they make the sunshine and shadow of the passing hours; and their myriad possibilities give to our vision 96 the bright side of the future its brightness and its gloom. It is usually possible to discover what we constantly incline to search for. If in any department of our experience we are looking for selfish- ness and hypocrisy, we are more than likely to find them: but purity, truth, and honor lie within equal range of our vision. There are people who abuse our confidence, and reward our kindness with ingratitude; but there are also those whose love and con- stancy are fully equal to our desert. There are plenty of things in our daily life to cause the brow to scowl, and bring the droop of discouragement to the lips, if we think of them alone; but there are quite as many causes for smiles and laughter, if we yield our- selves to their enchantment. THE BRIGHT SIDE 97 And from all this it follows that our happiness will largely depend upon our inclination to make more account of our blessings than we do of our misfortunes; to forget our griefs and remember our joys; to think more about the roses in life's garden than the thorns that make their plucking less easy than we could wish; and to expect the best rather than the worst among the many things that may befall us. There is a familiar story of two buckets that hung in the same well, and passed each other many times a day on their way to and from the depths. One day, one asked the other what had occurred to make it look so melancholy. "Oh, nothing new has happened," was the reply. "It is the same old story. I was just 98 THE BRIGHT SIDE thinking, as I so often do, how dis- couraging it is that no matter how full we come up, we always go back empty. " " Why, ' * responded the first, "that is an odd way of looking at it. For my part, I was just congratulat- ing myself that no matter how empty we go down, we always come up full!" There is as much difference among human beings as there was between these two buckets. Amid the same circumstances, with like memories and equal prospects, one person may be forlorn and another cheerful. Their unlike temperaments absorb different emotions from the same sur- roundings, as lilies distil fragrance, and nettles poison, from the same soil, and under the same conditions of rain and sunshine. There are people who, if all the landscape, to the limit of THE BRIGHT SIDE 99 unaided vision, were blossoming with blessings, would sweep the horizon with a telescope in search of trouble; and there are those who, if their life contained but a single source of glad- ness, would be sure to find it — as hardy plants force their roots amid the fissures of some granite wall, and thence derive nourishment for the growth that lifts their leaves into the sunlight. An eccentric preacher once said that some folks are so critical that, being admitted to heaven, they would spend half their time squinting at the walls to see if they were plumb. He might well have added that others were so fortunately constituted that, being consigned to the other place, they would take a hopeful view of the situ- ation, and at once set about the or- IOO THE BRIGHT SIDE ganization of a hades improvement society. But our daily life has its horizon of past and future, and needs for its completeness the pleasures of hope and the joys of memory. These, also, are permitted us all; but if their needed service is to be rendered, they must be separated from the vain re- grets and useless fears that are equally possible — as grain is winnowed from its chaff, and flowers are culled from the midst of weeds that the same soil nourishes. Let us say that we are spending a summer vacation in the country. The landscape is varied. Without much searching, we can find a spot where the shade of a tree will protect us from the sun; where the open space about us will give access to the cool THE BRIGHT SIDE IOI breeze; where the brook will ripple an accompaniment to the rhythm of the poem which we read; and where, when our eyes are lifted from the book, they will rest upon an agreeable prospect. On the other hand, it is equally possible to find a dense thicket on the border of a swamp, where we shall be stung by mosquitoes, and poisoned by stagnant water, and to sit there every day; in which case our summer will be worse than wasted. Our memories and our anticipa- tions constitute such a landscape. In our moments of meditation we can recall pleasant recollections and con- template cheerful possibilities; or we can muse upon our sad experiences and prospects that are dark and threat- ening. The first is evidently the part of wisdom; yet how many people 102 THE BRIGHT SIDE there are who do the last, thus en- during a thousand times those disap- pointments and heart-achings which it is bad enough to have borne once, and suffering the full bitterness of innumerable evils that may never happen at all. There are people who, when the air is soft and balmy, and the golden haze of the Indian summer bathes the hills in beauty, invariably say that such a day is a " weather breeder," and so always carry in their minds the chill of the coming storm; and there are those who, if we met them in the fiercest blizzard that ever raged, would shout, as they passed us, their con- viction that such a^ storm must be followed by a great deal of pleasant weather! In like manner there are those to whom the most absolute THE BRIGHT SIDE 103 prosperity brings no cheerfulness, be- cause their thoughts are busy with past calamities and future misfor- tunes; and there are others whose happiness the darkest night of adver- sity is powerless to destroy, because the glow of yesterday's sunset lingers in their heart until their eyes behold the dawn that heralds a better to- morrow. The story used to be told of a man who went to consult the famous Scotch doctor, Abernethy, respecting some rheumatic ailment from which he suffered. In describing his symp- toms, the patient said, " When I raise my arm in this way," — suiting the action to the word, — "it hurts so that I can hardly stand it." To which the blunt doctor answered, "What a fool you must be to do it then!" The 104 THE BRIGHT SIDE criticism would have been equally sensible if the man had complained of a soreness in his memory instead of his shoulder. Even if life contained but one trouble, we should still be always miserable if we were continu- ally brooding over that — touching the tender spot in our recollection, as we sometimes do a bruised finger, just to see if it still hurts. The tendency toward such folly may be an unfortunate inheritance; but the fact that it has come through no fault of our own avails us nothing, since we must bear its consequences. It does, however, make a great deal of difference whether we fight against or encourage it. Unable to change, by direct volition, the current of our thoughts, we can busy ourselves with some employment the full demand of THE BRIGHT SIDE 105 which upon our attention will make such fruitless brooding, for the time, impossible. We can read a book that shall interest us in the fortunes of other people, and substitute whole- some smiles and laughter for useless sighs and tears. If we can find some one to laugh with us, that will be bet- ter still, since a pleasure shared is more than doubled. If we can de- vise some means of affording happi- ness to one whose need is greater than our own, that is best of all. The maxim, "Save thou another soul, and that shall save thine own" is just as true of salvation from sorrow as from sin. As a rule, it is not well to live much in the past, whether its memories are sweet or bitter. We should take example from Nature who treats the 106 THE BRIGHT SIDE things that have been, only as material for the new creations on which she is intent. The past is the stepping-stone by which we have reached the present; and our faces should chiefly be turned toward the nobler heights on which we are resolved to stand. Even when the things that grieve us are not merely misfortunes but sins, the time spent in bemoaning them may be ill employed. There is no virtue in the frequent renewal of our remorse unless our evil deeds have also been repeated. Permitted atonement for our faults must be made at any cost; but what we are powerless to change is best left to the providence of God, while we devote to duties still possible the time and strength that still remain. Even in old age, the backward should chiefly be indulged for the sake of the THE BRIGHT SIDE 107 forward look. The value of its en- forced leisure is that it enables us to "Take rest ere we begone Once more, on our adventure brave and new, Fearless and unperplexed, When we wage battle next, What weapons to select, what armor to endue." i Appreciation IN whatever we undertake, belief in our ability to succeed is essen- tial to the highest achievement. It minimizes every difficulty that we may encounter. It robs danger of its terrors and takes from exertion its hardship. It is a song in the heart that makes us forgetful of the long journey which separates us from our hearts' desire. It enables us to learn from past mistakes wisdom for future guidance, and thus makes every failure a means toward the final attainment on which we are resolved. While this faith in ourselves is largely due to temperament, it de- pends in some degree upon our sur- roundings; and among the influences 108 APPRECIATION 109 that renew and sustain it is the proof that other people perceive the value of what we have already done, and are confident of our further performance. Such assurance is like food to those who need it, or like water to a thirsty and drooping plant. We eat and are refreshed: we drink and our weak- ness is changed to strength. It re- sembles the applause of assembled spectators that makes the feet of a runner swift for the race, or the strains of martial music that hearten the soldier for the battle. We prove this truth in our experi- ence with children. When a boy has written a page in his copy-book, or drawn a map or a picture, or solved some difficult problem, the best incen- tive for him to do better next time is our recognition of whatever excellence HO APPRECIATION he has thus far achieved. Our ap- proval instantly exalts his purpose and inspires him with renewed hope and vigor. In his flushed cheek, and sparkling eye, and in his resolute and self-confident bearing, we perceive the response of his ability to the stimulus of our faith in him. On the other hand nothing so discourages and reconciles him to failure as the dis- covery that we perceive the defects of his work but are blind to its merits. The more we scold him for his blun- ders the more awkward does he be- come; and the more we blame him for being stupid the less intelligence does he display. His expectation of cen- sure suggests the conduct that de- serves it, and he justifies our rebuke because he has no hope of winning our praise. And this is not more true APPRECIATION III of his intellectual performance and acquirement than of his moral conduct and character. Our belief about him is a force that tends to lift him up or drag him down toward its own level. In taking his selfishness for granted we counteract such prompting toward generosity as he may receive from other sources; while our reliance upon his justice or kindness is a potent in- centive to its practice. We cannot show a lack of confidence in what he tells us without encouraging him to resort to falsehood whenever it may suit his convenience: while if we as- sume that he is too honorable to seek an advantage for himself by conceal- ing the truth from those who have the right to know it, no ordinary temptation is likely to prevent his instinctive response to this expres- 112 APPRECIATION sion of our perfect faith in him. It is, of course, unreasonable to demand in children a constant perfection which many years of experience has not produced in us; but if we act toward them as if we expected them, without compulsion, to speak the truth, and reverence their elders, and be kind to their associates, and loving and trustful toward God, we shall be working in the right direction, and our faith will, in the main, be justified. Such treatment surrounds them with a moral atmosphere which is like the springtime warmth to which the hid- den potencies of buried seeds, and dormant roots, and folded buds re- spond in growths that carpet the fields with verdure, and clothe the forests with foliage, and make the or- chards beautiful with their fair and APPRECIATION 113 fragrant prophecy of summer fruit- fulness. In our dealing with grown-up people, no less than with children, we dis- cover this tendency of human nature to conform, for the time at least, to our expectation of it. To the roving Arab, whose trade is robbery, the stranger who comes boldly to his tent, and confides in his hospitality, is sacred. If you treat the rudest and coarsest man as if he were a gentle- man, he will probably surprise him- self by feeling and acting like one. Just as there are few musical instru- ments so sadly out of tune that the touch of genius cannot evoke melo- dies and harmonies that are worth the hearing, so there are few souls so sordid and selfish as to be incapable of answering with a thrill of pure 114 APPRECIATION longing, and generous feeling, and up- lifting purpose, to the invitation that comes through our faith in their better possibilities. Such a faith frequently inspires a dormant conscience, a withered sympathy, or a palsied will, to that exercise of its present strength through which more is obtained. On the other hand it requires far more than the average amount of inherited goodness and personal endeavor to retain our moral self-confidence when we are constantly subjected to adverse criticism. For this reason people whose faults are watched for, while their virtues are quite unnoticed, and to whom the knowledge that they are always expected to do something wrong is a constant provocation, often appear at their worst and seldom at their best. Not infrequently they APPRECIATION 115 cease trying to do right through utter discouragement, and so justify in the end all that was said of them before the half of it became true. Habitual disapproval is the frost that blights those blossom buds of right desire from which the sunshine of a kinder treatment might have won the fruit- age of a noble character. We can no more scold grown-up people into the development of their highest possi- bilities than we can scold children into physical gracefulness, mental acuteness, or polite behavior. Most people want to be better than they are; and they try harder than we realize. They need not so much to have their failure chided as their success com- mended. I do not mean, of course, that we ought to treat our neighbors' vices as Il6 APPRECIATION if they were virtues; to sanction what is coarse, to praise what is dishonest, or to approve of what is malicious. Such treatment only reconciles them to their faults; whereas the thing needful is to excite their reverence and longing for their possible virtues. We ought to be as unwilling to per- ceive the moral infirmities of our asso- ciates as to notice their physical de- fects; but if they insist upon thrusting them before us and compelling us to pass judgment, then nothing remains but to manifest our disapproval. Still, while doing this, it is usually possible to make them understand that we know their disposition to have its better side upon which we are anxious to look; that we do not wish to see anything else unless they compel us. From such goodness as their better APPRECIATION 117 moods reveal we can fashion in our mind an ideal of what they ought to be and are capable of becoming; and, in so far as their present conduct makes it possible, we can act toward them as if they were already that. We can idealize them as we need to be idealized by others. We can treat them as the cherishing sunlight treats the barren field already rich in the potency of future harvests; the empty garden where by and by the flowers will bloom; the naked tree which leaves shall clothe and blossoms adorn; and the homely bush whose thorns will presently be hidden by clustering roses. We can feel and act toward them as God feels and acts toward us all. This is the supreme service which one human soul can render another. As we are sensible of moral shrinkage II 8 APPRECIATION at the touch of disparaging criticism, so are we conscious of moral growth under the influence of generous ap- proval. It has been well said that a friend's regard is a perpetual challenge to us to become worthy of it. It is like the mental vision that inspires the sculptor to carve into its likeness the block of marble on which he works — developing the lines of strength and beauty, until the thought and the fact are one. But those of our associates who will thus be helped to outgrow their imper- fections are not the only ones who are benefited by the recognition of their virtues. Even the people in whose character and conduct there is nothing to blame and everything to praise crave and need our appreciation of what they are and do. Jesus himself APPRECIATION 1 19 who found his chief joy, as we should find ours, in the consciousness of God's approval, was not insensible to the tokens of human reverence and love. He was grieved when only one of the ten lepers who had been cleansed re- turned to thank him. To Peter's recognition of him as the Christ he answered, "Blessed art thou Simon Bar-jona." He could not be bribed to forsake his mission by the promise of the kingdoms of the world and the glory of them; but he was glad to hear the children's voices swelling the ho- sanna anthem that welcomed him as one who came in the name of the Lord. He was strong enough to endure mar- tyrdom; but he was grateful to Mary for all that was signified by her gift of precious ointment. He was never alone, since the Father was with him; 120 APPRECIATION yet he craved the companionship of the disciples who understood him best, alike upon the mount of transfigura- tion and amid the shadows of Geth- semane. It is so of all who, whether in public or private life, cherish the same ideals and devote themselves to a like service. It may not make them better, but it does make them happier to know that the loftiness of their purpose and the earnestness of their endeavor are understood and valued; that we love and honor them for the faithfulness to duty in which we find an inspiration to our own; and that our lives really are made sweeter and richer by the ministrations of their kindness, as they desire them to be. The Child in the Temple 'T^HE feast of the passover was ■*■ about to be celebrated at Jeru- salem. As usual all the country people were going. Many weeks in advance they began their preparation. Mary called upon Martha to ask if she would go, and Martha said of course she would. Then together they went to the homes of Rebecca and Leah, where they put the same question and received the same answer. It was agreed to make up a large party, com- posed of many families who would journey and eat and camp together. The children were not slow to catch and even excel the enthusiasm of their elders. On the way to and from school, and on the play-ground, they 122 THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE talked only of what they would see at Jerusalem, and the good time they would have going and coming. On the night before the eventful day there was no slumber in the little village of Nazareth — at least among the children. Little heads rolled rest- lessly upon their pillows: little eyes looked through latticed windows, im- patient for the first gray streak of dawn that should warrant the awak- ening of father and mother with the news that it was time to get ready. By sunrise all members of the party had assembled at the house that was most convenient for a starting point. Hotels being few, and ready money scarce, they were obliged to carry enough provision to last until the end of their hundred-mile journey. As there were no wagons, it may be that THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE 123 all the lunch baskets and other lug- gage were bound together with a stout rope, and fastened to the back of a mule that belonged to some richer member of the party, and that the boys took turns acting as drivers. All day they journeyed through pleasant byways; across green fields; beside sparkling waters; and past vineyard hillsides where, by-and-by, the purple vintage would be gathered. At night, with the earth for bed, and the gleaming sky for tent, they rested in some grove of olive or palm trees that encircled a spring of water. At every place where two ways met they were joined by other parties, formed in the same way, and bound for the same destination. The chil- dren easily became acquainted; the fathers and mothers recognized people 124 THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE whom they had met the year before; and, in a little while, everybody knew everybody else. As they approached the confines of Judea, and when they had crossed its boundary, the throng increased. Every lane poured its contribution into the procession that thronged the highway: all individu- ality was lost in the crowd; and mothers had serious trouble in keep- ing the children together. When they drew near the city and saw the sacred hill in the midst, with the temple of snow-white marble on its side, rising terrace above terrace and reflecting the sun from its roof of burnished gold, some one began sing- ing a sacred psalm. Then the groups that were nearest him took up the refrain and passed it on to others, until all the hills and valleys seemed THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE 1 25 to join in the mighty chorus — accord- ing to the saying, "the mountains shall break forth before thee into sing- ing, and all the trees of the wood shall clap their hands." This was the song they sang: "I was glad when they said unto me, let us go to the house of the Lord. Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth, is Mount Zion, on the sides of the north, the city of the great King. God is known in her palaces for a refuge. Jerusalem is a city compact together, whither the tribes go up to worship, even the tribes of Israel. Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: they shall prosper that love thee. Peace be within thy walls, and prosperity within thy palaces. For my brethren and companions' sake I will now say/ peace be within thee.' " Thus, singing as they went, they as- 126 THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE cended the hill, and passed through the city street, and entered the courts of the temple. When the appointed hour had arrived, they saw the priests, clothed in white, standing about the marble altar, and sounding their silver trum- pets for the opening service. They saw the lamb slain and its flesh con- sumed in the fire. They heard the Levites sing their psalms to the music of silver trumpets, and clashing of brazen cymbals, and sweet pleading tones of stringed instruments. Then the high priest, passing through a door surmounted by a golden vine that bore clusters of golden grapes, entered the sanctuary to burn incense there upon an altar where no blood was ever shed. When he returned, all the people bowed their heads to THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE 1 27 receive his blessing. As they saw and heard all these things, a great gladness fell upon them because they were the children of Abraham, and heirs to the promise; and so, when it was all over, they carried back to Galilee, back to their fishing and farming, a renewed sense of their blessing in being in- cluded among God's chosen people. Among the others was a child whose parents were descended from the royal family of David. But that family was no longer royal; the father was a carpenter; the mother had been a simple peasant girl; and their child, whose life work was destined to be the central fact in the world's history, had been born in a stable, and reared in a humble home, and was being taught to earn his daily bread by daily toil. This child was now about twelve 128 THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE years old; and already his soul was being overshadowed by the conscious- ness that Heaven had destined him for some high mission, the full mean- ing and scope of which he, as yet, saw but dimly. He had been instructed in all things which it was deemed needful that a Jewish child should know. He had been taught that the God who ruled the universe was, in an especial sense, the sovereign of the Jews; and that His court was held at Jerusalem, where His people might go once a year, to renew their vows of obedience and re- ceive the assurance of their Heavenly King's continued providence. But it seemed to him that God might be found in places nearer than the sacred city. To him the summer dawn was a living face full of prophecy THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE 129 and promise. The full-orbed splendor of noon was an omnipotent provi- dence, scattering, with royal prodi- gality, sunbeams of blessing upon all its creatures — the good and the evil. The dewy twilight was the caress of an infinite love, real and tender as the kiss of his own mother. And when he stood beneath the mystic splendor of the starry night, and saw the far-off snowy summit of Hermon gleaming through the vast silence, and the white moonlight flooding the rugged land- scape and blending all harsh outlines into softest harmony, he thought that they did greatly err who spoke of empty space; for, to him, all space between the earth and sky was filled with an infinite soul. And this ever-present life of things, that " wooed the folded leaf from out 130 THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE the bud"; and wove earth's emerald carpet in a viewless loom; and gave the lily its royal robe; and taught the song birds their music; and adorned the dome of the sky with pictures of sunrise and sunset beauty; and mar- shaled the starry processions of the night; and through all the channels of the universe poured inexhaustible streams of blessing to nourish the happiness of all its children: he had learned to call by the name of Father. He had been told that the Book of the Law contained the whole duty of man: but, in his own heart, he heard a never-silent voice, urging him to the practice of virtues for which the Law had no name; and this voice he called the commandment of his Father. This child had also the humility that belongs to true greatness — the THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE 13 1 willingness to learn, which is the be- ginning of the power to teach. There- fore he believed in the wisdom of the Jewish Rabbis, and thought that per- haps they might aid him in making clear the full meaning of what the voice was saying. That was why, although the stately ritual had, per- haps, impressed him less than it had the others, and seemed less divine than what he had found among the Gali- lean hills, he yet remained, after the crowd had gone, to talk with the wise teachers. These Rabbis were men who spent all their time poring over the pages of the written Law, sifting the sense of every passage, and applying its literal precepts to all the affairs of life. They were worshipers of the Book; but they had little knowledge of that 132 THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE living spirit, out of whose inspiration the Book first grew, and of whose new message the world has always as great a need as of its past utterances. We do not know what it was that the child from Nazareth asked them. A child may seem rather dull when you question him; but he grows strangely wise when he begins to ques- tion you. The roots of his questions pierce deep into the soul of things; and we, unable to answer, presently become quite ashamed of our preten- tious philosophies. Perhaps he asked how it is that men dare to cherish wicked thoughts, and speak false words, and do evil deeds, with the pure sky above them, and the honest sunshine round about them, and God's eyes looking down upon them in the white light of stars. Per- THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE 133 haps he asked why people are content with the beggar's crust of selfishness, when they might easily exchange it for the royal banquet of sympathy; and how it is that, like savage beasts, men will strive to benefit themselves by injuring their neighbors, when all might be happy together, if only they would consent to help one another. He may even have asked them why they themselves said so much about the duty of fasting and formal prayer, and had so little to say about those practical obligations of truth, and justice, and kindness, which men owe to God and one another. To some of these questions the Rab- bis doubtless returned wise answers; but concerning others they probably said, "The knowledge for which you ask has not been revealed in the Law." 134 THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE As for the " Voice/' they had not heard it, and doubted if he had. Upon the whole, they thought that he would do well to give up his idle fancies, and not seek to be wise beyond what was written. The child was disappointed. He had found darkness where he looked for light. He had asked bread, and been given a stone. Disappointed he was, but not dis- couraged. Henceforth he would look to God, and not to man; and he was not without hope that, in proportion as he obeyed what he could under- stand of the bidding of the voice, its utterances would become more clear. That this hope was prophetic of the fact we are told in the simple but sufficient statement that he "grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man." With the passing of THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE 135 the years that power of spiritual seeing and hearing which is germinal in every soul obtained its full development. Thus it came to pass that, on the bap- tismal day which marked the begin- ning of his ministry, he saw the opening heaven, and heard the voice of God saying, "Thou art my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased." It is held by some interpreters that every Bible story has a mystical as well as a literal sense. However this may be, the picture of the child in the temple, instructing his nominal teachers, at least suggests the truth that young people, consciously or unconsciously, teach us quite as much as we do them; and that, in doing this, they, no less than Jesus, are about their " Father's business." In fact our children become the agents through 136 THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE whom God instructs us in life's most valuable lessons long before they them- selves have acquired any knowledge. It frequently happens that the character of a woman whose early lif e was thoughtless or selfish is utterly changed after she has become a mother. She has acquired the power of forget- ting her own personality. By a subtle instinct, she divines the presence of joy or grief. In her tone, her manner, and her well-chosen words, there is a delicate sympathy that goes straight to the heart of sorrow or gladness. Older people approve of her: young girls go to her with their perplexities; everybody says, " How greatly she has changed; how womanly she has be- come!" The explanation is simple. The responsibility of motherhood, the dependence of her child's weakness THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE 137 upon her strength; the necessity for gentleness and patience, and self- forgetf ulness — these things have quickened in her nature the latent germs of pity, tenderness, sympathy, and self-denying love, which, when developed, constitute the supreme beauty of womanly character. It may even be that she herself first learns to pray by teaching her child to say: "Our Father who art in heaven" — that she finds her own way to the heart of God by taking her child by the hand and leading it into His presence. It is so with the father. The man whose companionships and amuse- ments have been questionable; whose habits have been impoverishing alike to his intellect, his morals, and his pocket-book, whose life has been tend- 138 THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE ing downward for want of any serious purpose to make it tend upward, feels that it is time to reform when his boy has become old enough to be his critic. He is anxious that his son shall avoid the mistakes that he himself has made, and realize the possibilities that he has missed. What is evil in his nature he knows full well; but this boy has absolute faith in his goodness, and will follow where he leads. In the child's thought of him he perceives, for the first time, his ideal self — the sort of man he ought to be. He hungers first to keep that respect, and presently to be worthy of it. Thus, day by day, his ideals and as- pirations become of a higher order; his character and lif e assume a nobler tone; and all who know him say that he is a changed man. THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE 139 In the world of human life, as in the realm of outward nature, the most potent forces are often the gentlest in their action. It seems strange that the quiet ministrations of sunbeams and raindrops should carpet the brown earth with verdure and cover the gnarled branches of orchard trees with masses of fragrant bloom: but an equal marvel is wrought when giant passions in the souls of men and women are held in check by the clasp of children's arms; when blossoms of peace and joy spring up in the soil of home beneath their feet; and when, in all our hearts, narrow selfishness changes to generous and self-denying love at the touch of baby fingers. Finally, the child's confidence in those whom he loves instructs us how we ought to feel toward God. The 140 THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE peasant child teaching the gray- haired doctors of divinity truths which were beyond their intellectual grasp, but which had always been knocking at the doors of their hearts, is a sym- bol of the rightful supremacy of the emotional over the purely intellect- ual elements in religion. When a mother has lost her child, and her heart is an empty nest from which the bird has flown, we do not talk to her about force and phe- nomena — the infinite energy from which all things proceed, and the proc- ess of evolution that works through countless births and deaths toward the achievement of its purpose. But we do speak of the Divine compassion that pities our sorrows, and seeks to console our griefs. We speak of Jesus comforting Mary and Martha; affirm- THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE 141 ing that the centurion's daughter was not dead but sleeping; taking little children in His arms and blessing them, and saying that in heaven their angels do always behold the face of the Father. A religion may be very instructive in its picturing of the Divine wisdom and power as manifested in all the works of creation, and very wise in its ethical teaching; but it will fail to serve our deepest need unless it also causes us to realize that we may live in a daily companionship with God as intimate and satisfying as that be- tween a child and its human parents; that, in the life to come, there is an infinite tenderness that shall forever cherish those who have gone from us to it; that the Eternal Father will never withhold His forgiveness from 142 THE CHILD IN THE TEMPLE those who ask it; and that no soul can ever wander beyond reach of the love that seeks until it finds that which was lost. This is what the Master meant when, in after years, he said, "Whosoever humble th himself and becometh as a little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven." This, also, is the supreme meaning of the story of the child Jesus stand- ing in the temple, and affirming the religion of God the Father as distinct from that of God the king. MAI? 15 1911 One copy del. to Cat. Div. MAK 15 19U