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THE FRIENDLY AID SOCIETY

of 246-248 East 34th Street, New York City, has published
this Memoir to be sent to its friends. The Society deems it
helpful in actualizing the value of such a life to the community.

This action is in accordance with paragraph seven of the
Memorial Resolutions, which will be found on page thirty-
seven of this volume.

" Resolved — That a brief Memoir be printed by this Society
in recognition of the principle that stewardship of one's life
and fortune is of inestimable civic value."

(GodctardJ

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ct 1 vi /Aid. 2o c i et y^ New )o r^

Ifn /Ifoemoriam

Warren IRorton (Sobbarb

3ul£ 17, 1857— 3ul£ 24, 1900

" The souls of the sons of God are greater than
their business. . . . He hath put us in this world
not so much to do a certain work, as to be a
certain thing."

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Ube fmfcbecbocfter iprcas, f^cw Uorfc

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prefatory Bote

Warren N. Goddard was born in the city of
New York on July 17, 1857. His father was
Joseph Warren Goddard, and his mother Celestine
Gardner. His earlier education was under private
tutors, until he was about twelve years of age, when
he was sent to Europe for two years. Upon his
return to New York he attended the Anthon Gram-
mar School, and was there prepared for college.
He entered Harvard College in the fall of 1875,
graduating in 1879. He was especially distin-
guished in college in mathematics. His favorite
athletic exercise was rowing, and he became cham-
pion oarsman of Harvard College, and held the
championship with single sculls until his gradua-
tion. He rowed a match race against Livingston
of Yale, whom he defeated. Upon his graduation
in 1879 ne went into the employ of Goddard &
Brother, as the firm was then known, and about a
year later was admitted to partnership, and the

in

IV

name of the concern was changed to J. W. Goddard
& Son.

Mr. Goddard early developed a great interest in
the practical study of sociology, finding the first
field for his interest among his own employees, for
whose betterment the firm of which he was a mem-
ber has steadily worked ; but in 1892, with a group
of friends, he aided the Rev. Theodore C. Williams
at that time Pastor of the Church of All Souls,
in establishing the Friendly Aid Society, of which
he became President, holding that office until his
death on July 24, 1900. The development of the
Friendly Aid Society has been largely due to his
interest, activity, and generosity, and its establish-
ment as a social settlement was the end for which
he steadily worked and which he was happy in
having brought to its present accomplishment. His
fellow-workers of the Friendly Aid Society place
upon record in this memorial volume their appre-
ciation of Warren N. Goddard's devotion to what-
ever would make human life stronger and better
and more worth living.

His friends gathered for his burial on the morn-
ing of July 28th in the Church of All Souls, of

y

which Mr. Goddard was a member, and with which,
from his earliest boyhood, he had been identified,
first as student of the religious life, and then as
a helper in every good work. The service was
conducted by the pastor, Rev. Thomas R. Slicer,
who read the Scriptures which appear in this
volume.

After the simple religious service held at the
church, the interment at Greenwood followed.

On September 23d, the friends in the neighbor-
hood of the settlement gathered for a little service
of a very simple and informal kind, and brief ad-
dresses were delivered by the Rev. Theodore C.
Williams, Mrs. Mary Kingsbury Simkhovitch, Mr.
Slicer, and representatives from the Civic Club
Junior. This service was held in the settlement
house where Mr. Goddard had on so many Sunday
evening's conducted a religious service for his
friends of the neighborhood, and to which many
persons, especially the children, look back with
great interest.

The sermon upon " The Trusteeship of Wealth "
which follows, was preached November 18, 1900, to

VI

the congregation of the Church of All Souls by the
pastor, as a memorial of the distinction in Mr.
Goddard's character which the sermon sets forth.

The Memorial Service of the Friendly Aid So-
ciety, which is here set forth, was held on November
19, 1900, in the assembly room of the Friendly
Aid House. The loving friends and associates of
Mr. Goddard were present, and Mr. John Harsen
Rhoades presided.

1bol$ Scriptures

Church of All Souls
SulB 28, 1000

Blessed are the pure in heart : for they shall see
God.

Pure religion and undefiled before our God and
Father is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in
their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from
the world.

Then shall the King say, Come ye blessed of my
Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from
the foundation of the world : for I was a hungered,
and ye gave me meat : I was thirsty, and ye gave
me drink : I was a stranger and ye took me in :
naked, and ye clothed me : I was sick, and ye vis-
ited me : I was in prison, and ye came unto me.

Then shall the righteous answer him, saying,
Lord, when saw we Thee a hungered and fed Thee ?
or thirsty, and gave Thee drink ?

And the King shall answer and say unto them,
Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it
unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have
done it unto me.

The Lord is my light and my salvation ; whom
shall I fear ? The Lord is the strength of my life ;
of whom shall I be afraid ? The Lord is good, a
strong hold in the day of trouble ; and He knoweth
them that trust in Him. Like as a father pitieth
his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him.
For He knoweth our frame, He remembereth that
we are dust.

Hast thou not known ? Hast thou not heard,
that the Everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of
the ends of the Earth, fainteth not, neither is
weary? There is no searching of His understand-
ing. He giveth power to the faint ; and to them
that have no might He increaseth strength. They
that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength.
Wait on the Lord : be of good courage and He
shall strengthen thy heart : wait, I say, on the
Lord.

The Lord is my shepherd : I shall not want. He
maketh me to lie down in green pastures : He
leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth
my soul : He leadeth me in paths of righteousness
for His Name's sake. Yea, though I walk through
the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no
evil : for Thou art with me : Thy rod and Thy
staff they comfort me. Surely goodness and mercy
shall follow me all the days of my life : and I will
dwell in the House of the Lord forever !

Every good gift and every perfect gift cometh
from above, and cometh down from the Father of
lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow
of turning. Truly my soul waiteth upon God :
from Him cometh my Salvation : He is my de-
fence, I shall not be greatly moved.

When thou passest through the waters, I will be
with thee ; and through the rivers, they shall not
overflow thee : when thou walkest through the
fire thou shalt not be burned ; neither shall the
flame kindle upon thee. For I am the Lord thy
God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour.

Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind
is stayed on Thee : because he trusteth in Thee.
Trust ye in the Lord forever : for in the Lord our
God is everlasting strength.

Thou hast mercy upon all ; Thou lovest all the
things that are, and abhorrest nothing which Thou
hast made ; for never wouldest Thou have made
anything, if Thou hadst hated it. And how could
anything have endured, if it had not been Thy will ?
or been preserved, if not called by Thee ? But
Thou sparest all : for they are Thine, O Lord,
Thou Lover of Souls !

O Lord, Thou hast searched me and known me.
Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising ;
Thou understandest my thought afar off. Thou
compassest my path and my lying down, and art
acquainted with all my ways. For there is not a
word in my tongue, but, lo, O Lord, Thou know-
est it altogether. Thou hast beset me behind and
before, and laid Thy hand upon me. Such know-
ledge is too wonderful for me : it is high, I cannot
attain unto it.

Whither shall I go from Thy Spirit ? Or,

5

whither shall I flee from Thy Presence ? If I as-
cend up into Heaven, Thou art there: if I make
my bed in the grave, behold, Thou art there : if I
take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the
uttermost parts of the sea ; even there shall Thy
hand lead me, and Thy right hand shall hold me.
If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me ; even
the night shall be light about me. Yea, the dark-
ness hideth not from Thee, but the night shineth
as the day ! The darkness and the light are both
alike to Thee !

It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power : it
is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body.
There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual
body. Howbeit that was not first which is spirit-
ual, but that which is natural : and afterward that
which is spiritual. As is the earthy, such are they
also that are earthy : and as is the heavenly, such
are they also that are heavenly. And as we have
borne the image of the earthy, we shall also bear
the image of the heavenly. Now this I say,
brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the
Kingdom of God ; neither can corruption inherit

incorruption. For this corruptible must put on in-
corruption, and this mortal must put on immortal-
ity. So when this corruptible shall have put on
incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on
immortality, then shall be brought to pass the say-
ing that is written : Death is swallowed up in
Victory !

For we know that, if the earthly house of this
tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of
God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the
things that are Heavenly. For in this we groan,
earnestly desiring to be clothed upon with an house
which is from Heaven : if so be that being clothed
we shall not be found naked. For we, that are in
this tabernacle, do groan being burdened : not for
that we would be unclothed, but clothed upon, that
mortality might be swallowed up of Life.

Wherefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stead-
fast, unmovable, always abounding in the work of
the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labor
is not in vain in the Lord. Amen !

Gbe Grusteesbip of TCBealtb

" Is it not lawful for me to do what I will with mine own?" — Matt, xx : 15.

"For none of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself."
— Romans, xiv : 7.

" If ye have not been faithful in the unrighteous mammon, who will com-
mit to your trust the true riches ? If ye have not been faithful in that which
is another's, who will give you that which is your own?" — Luke xvi : II, 12.

" It is required in stewards that a man be found faithful." — 1 Corinthians,
iv : 2.

You may inquire naturally, Why use texts from
an ancient book when you have a book of life whose
pages you may turn ? I use texts out of the text-
book of the Christian Church because I am speak-
ing to what I assume to be a Christian congregation,
and I desire to remind these men and women who
were the associates of Warren Goddard's life, what
are the fundamental principles upon which the
Christian life is built, and without which no life can
be called Christian in fact. And any life, though
it may not read the New Testament, though it may
be Jewish in origin or pagan in environment, is
Christian so far as these principles are represented

7

8

and illustrated in it. I ask you then, to allow me
to remind you that it is fundamental to the faith we
hold, that it belongs in the very inception of our
thinking, that we shall give ourselves away ; that we
are not concerned in being saved, but in being
worth saving ; that we are not anxious about our
souls as to what shall become of them, but only that
they shall be of such stuff as must persist, unless
God dies ; that it is fundamental to our thinking
that man, though he has a body, is a spirit, and
that as a spiritual being he is charged like his Maker,
the Infinite Spirit, with creative, preservative, and
responsible functions. Once given the Creator,
some measure of His power must be in all that
He makes. Once given the Preserver, the function
preservative, the right to save, belongs to every
creature that shares His beino;.

We are in the world, but not of it. That is, we
are not made out of dirt, we are not formed of the
dust of the ground, without the inspiring spirit that
made us living souls. In the old legend in that
sacred cosmogony which we find in the Book of Gen-
esis it is a significant and wonderful statement that
11 God made man of the dust of the earth and then

breathed into his nostrils the breath of life ; and man
became a living soul." He has been a living soul
ever since, whatever body he may carry around it.
Man has a body, but man is a. spirit, and because he
is a spirit he must be creative, preservative, and
responsible for the functions of his life. That is,
God works in the stuff that we call matter not
knowing what it is. There is not a man living that
knows whether matter is a precipitate of spirit or
spirit the sublimation of matter. There is not a
man thinking in the world who can answer that
question. But our observation is that in what we
call matter God works, transforming it. It was a
mulberry leaf ; it is a bit of satin ; and all that has
happened is that God gave a commission to the silk-
worm moth to lay its egg upon it. Straightway
the green mulberry leaf becomes a bit of silk or
satin. It was a brown bulb ; it is a spike of lilies ;
and all that has happened to it is that God whis-
pered love's secret to the brown, shaggy bulb, that
it should tell again to the juices of the earth, and
they procreate a spike of lilies. It is the creative
energy passing into the things that God makes. It
was the American Desert ; short buffalo grass early

IO

burnt up ; little brilliant flowers soon consumed by
July's heat ; it is a great irrigated farm land with
marvellous products of grain and fruit and vegeta-
ble. Why ? Because God taught that the down-
fall from on high that the clouds withheld from the
land, might be wooed from the hills where the
clouds had emptied themselves in streams, and
when poured over the desert, straightway it blos-
somed like the rose. It was the creative energy
of God working in an alkali desert.

Now man is God's steward. Man is charged
with the same functions as the Being that made
him. He is the only creature in the world, so far
as we know, that has the power to say that he " will
not." Others are obedient because they are worked
upon. Man's high prerogative is that he shall obey
and be " a worker together with God ! ': That is
the splendid challenge that comes to the devout
soul ; not stuff to be worked in, but a creative agent
to work upon the stuff that God Himself can use.
So the man keeps his body as the temple of the
Holy Ghost. He keeps his mind as the chamber
in which God is hospitably received in terms of
thought. He keeps his aesthetic nature as the place

II

where shall be seen the beauty of holiness. He
keeps his imagination pure so that he shall not be
ashamed when the angels walk its corridors for
fear of what they may see ; and he keeps himself a
minute-man, ready for the rolling summons of some
instant signal to be about the work of God. It is
because God works in matter that man has learned
the art of doing the same thing. The builder wasp
takes mud and makes a plaster tenement. And
the builder man takes stone and mortar and mud
and builds a model tenement for the children of
the poor. He takes the mud, calling it clay now,
and makes of it some form of beauty, that the
sculptor's art may show how God thinks His thought
beautifully through the minds of men. He takes
the pigments that are only dirt ground up into
paint, and paints the Last Judgment by the hand
of Michael Angelo, or the Sistine Madonna by the
hand of Raphael, or the beauty of modern life by
the hand of some one who has seen the vision of
what may be done for the betterment of his kind.

It is fundamental that we are a method of the
Divine Life ; that we are only fit for our function
to which we are set by the decree of Heaven that

12

made us, when we are instruments through which
the Divine thought speaks, the Divine act works,
the Divine life thrills. The organ is a cunning
device of pipes and stops and motive power. In all
nature is the same music outdoors. There is not
a note that sounds but has sounded since the world
began through the great organ-pipes of the world.
But God has ordained that there are some who can
hear what others cannot, and with ear adjusted to
the harmonies of the natural world, shall reproduce
them by subtle touch upon the keys of the cunning
instrument that man has devised in imitation of the
sweet sounds of the outdoor world. We are in-
struments for the hand of God who shall press the
keys. We are methods of the Divine Life among
men, instruments of the Divine Will. As a corol-
lary of this proposition, then, we get the inevitable
conclusion — there is no escaping it — that man is
not an end in himself, that he cannot do anything
that is an end in itself. This would not be a uni-
verse if there had been floating in last summer's
air a single ephemeral winged life that was an end
in itself. If there were a black beetle next spring
crawling in the woods that was an end in itself,

13

this would not be a universe. The fact is, there is
no power in the world that can draw a line around
anything that God has made and dislocate it from
the sum of things.

Nothing is an end in itself. Everything is a
means to an end. This principle we carry up from
the natural world and then express it in terms of
spiritual power. It means self-regulation. It means
the power to disobey. It means also man's splendid
prerogative to be a worker together with God.
It constitutes him maker, preserver, and saviour
in his own order. Man is not an end in himself.
Immediately you are confronted, because of the
very suggestion of the word "means," — that he is
not an end, but a means to an end, — by the man
who says in answer to the claim concerning the
trusteeship of wealth, the reservoir of power for
distribution, — " Now you have uttered the word
that is our difficulty, for we must have a means of
living." That is exactly what I said — that living
is not an end in itself ; that what we call our wages,
our compensation, our salary, our earnings, is a
means of living. A man says, " I have very little
means." Is he willing to say he has very little

H

life ? He says, " My means are much restricted."
It may be, therefore, that the range of his life's
possibilities are so far restricted. And yet that
very man will say, " ' My mind to me a kingdom
is.' I repudiate the right of any person to dictate
the terms of my life. If I cannot make head alone
I will join with my fellows and by combination
will make a stand against the dictation of the terms
of my life." From the man who is working as a
day laborer on scantiest reward to the man who is
troubled from morning to night to know how he
shall invest the wealth of his life, — from the lowest
to the highest, — there is no difference ; it is a
means of living, and the living takes the emphasis,
not the means. Because, though man is a spirit,
he is under the necessities of the body. He can
do nothing unless he can keep the body and spirit
on good terms with each other. Here is the pro-
blem set us. How far can we carry out the ideals
that haunt us? How far may we be obedient to
the inexorable ideals when " Duty, stern daughter
of the voice of God," sounds in our minds ? How
far can we match its challenge with our perform-
ance ? It is true that the vast majority of people

i5

are living on the narrowest margins. It is true
that their life is restricted in the possibilities of its
enlargement. It is true that all government is meant
to serve three ends, — the protection of life, — the
cultivation of life, — its enrichment, — and the joy of
life. And we are striving with all our might, every
one of us, to see how far we can achieve these ends for
ourselves. How can we defend ourselves ? How can
we add to our power? How can we heighten our
joy? Now what is the means to these ends is the com-
mon problem of every-day life. I do not stand with
those who hold that the man who has is bound to
divide it with the man who has not, so that we may
all be in about the same commonplace condition.
What he is bound to do is to know who the man
is that has not, and why, and under what conditions
that which he lacks may be supplied, so that he
shall be more man when he is free — not simply
have more things. " A man's life consisted not in
the multitude of the things that he possesseth."
You cannot make an equation between a man and
a man's "things" — possessions. Mark you what
happens sometimes. The man begins to accumu-
late. He has ambitions, he has responsibilities,

i6

he has those that are dependent upon him, he has
energy. He begins to gather to himself the means
of living — I still hold to the good word, " the
means of living." One of two things happens to
him. Either he tries to get all these things into
himself in contradiction of the natural prohibition
that he is not an end, but a means to an end ; or
else he goes out into these things, so that work
becomes a vocation, profession becomes an inspira-
tion, the achievement of his mind. He has put
himself into his work, so that it is splendid and
sublime. What happens in that aspect of our trus-
teeship ? The desire that arose in necessity to
keep the soul and body together, to provide for
those that are dependent upon us, the recognition
of the stern responsibility, that having become au-
thors of life we must be preservers of life — this,
that began so, becomes in the work we do in the
world immensely interesting to us. Why ? Be-
cause we have discovered that we can make out of
the dull material of our life something- of value.
May I remind you of a common illustration that
you may find in almost any book of mechanical
science ? — that common illustration, where a small

17

deposit of iron ore — less than a dollar's worth of
iron ore — brought to the furnace, becomes pig
iron, with larger remuneration than the ore. Pres-
ently it is horseshoes ; then it is table-knives ; then
it is moulds for buttons ; then it is needles ; then it
is spiral springs ; presently it is hair springs ; and
finally it is pallet-arbors for a watch ; and less than
a dollar's worth of iron ore has reached the tre-
mendous value of two million five hundred thousand
dollars' worth of pallet-arbors for watches. What
has taken place ? The creator, man, has been put-
ting himself into a dollar's worth of iron ore. That
is all. Nothing has happened, but the putting of
time and men into that small dun heap of iron ore.
No wonder life grows interesting !

Now reverse the process, and think of a man
who does not realize that he can put himself into
dull matter and make it live ; that he can subdivide
it and make it useful, that he can model and fash-
ion it, and increase and beautify its possibilities ;
that he can turn iron into steel, and steel into
keeping time for the work of the world. This man
realizes none of these things, but says, " I will
gather all that my hands can hold, and all that my

i8

heart can dote on, and all that my mind can devise,
and I will put it into my single self." That is per-
dition. That constitutes hell. That is a soul lost.
That is a man who has thought that he was an end
not a means, and he is wrenched away and dislo-
cated from the order of the natural world. No,
the interest of life comes by paying it out. Not
wasting it, but paying it out. It is true ever for us
in the ratio of our meanness, rather than our means
of living, that

" The world is too much with us. Late or soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers :
***** *

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! "

That is perdition. The miser is the lost man. The
story of his wanderings has never yet been written.
The story of his niggard sordidness has never yet
been portrayed. Words were made to describe
living things. Colors were meant to illuminate
life. Music was meant to enliven the thoughts of
men. There is no stuff given to the human spirit
to describe such a life as that. It is too sordid,
too low, too grovelling for description. It wanders

19

alone, because it is not a trustee of the gifts of
God. It is " the grave of God's mercies," and
there is no resurrection.

I pass for a moment to conclude that the man
upon whom the trusteeship of wealth has come,
who realizes that he is not an owner but a trustee,
feels that much of his responsibility arises from the
fact that he is the heir of an immeasurable past.
If the world had started with him he might have
excuse. If he were the first man to whom this
creative faculty, this preserving faculty, this power
to make things right, had been given, he might
have some excuse for beino- an end in himself. But
what is he? He is the culmination, as he stands
here, of an immemorial past. For twenty millions
of years, it is estimated, — since the higher organic
life came upon the planet, — things have been getting
ready for him. He can understand that when you
say to him, " You were born into the world a little
puling infant, and everything was waiting for you
— deep-breasted love, hearts of tenderness and
solicitude." I recall an evening in which Warren
Goddard and I went into a tenement house on the
East Side to see a new baby, because they wanted us

2G

to know that it had come. Everything was waiting
for it. There were at least ten little girls in that
tenement house who wanted to hold the baby.
There were mothers from the ground floor to the
roof of the building who were interested in the ar-
rival of that child. Man can understand about his
infancy that everything was waiting for him —
even in the poorest, love is waiting ; love that
divides, and as we so seldom realize, divides its
least possession with those that have a little less.
You can understand that of infancy. But it is true
of you as you sit here to-day, that for twenty mil-
lions of years the world has been getting ready for
you. Its industries, its knowledge, its wealth, its
resources, its cycles of history, its eras and epochs,
its whole accumulated power, meet right behind
your head. And the man who realizes that he is
a trustee of all this gets a solemn sense of obliga-
tion that is like a-oino- to the sacrament. Warren
Goddard learned that lesson. He did business as
a means to an end, not as an end in itself. He
would have told you perhaps, that being in a busi-
ness house that since 1847 nad kept one consistent
line of industry and prosperity, he owed something

21

to the past of his business career — loyalty to the
man whose name stands as his father still in the
title of the house, a sacramental, knightly loyalty ;
he would have told you that. It was more than
that. He learned that all the past had floated him
out to see what he would do with it. That is the
case with each one of us. We are floated by the
tides of an immemorial past into the sunlight of
this present hour, and we are asked, What will you
do with it ? That sense of obligation is what we
mean by the trusteeship of wealth. There are
three things we may do with it.

A man who feels that he is a trustee and not an
owner, that he holds a life tenure over things that
have been brought to him or that he has won in the
struggle, may do one of three things — all of them if
he have wealth enough. He may devote himself to
gathering up the relics of the past that we may
understand what it was ; and it is no mean ambi-
tion to make a great collection of art in painting,
in architecture, in sculpture. He may delve in the
buried cities of the past, and write a new book that
will tell the present world what it was like before
Genesis was written, or before Abraham lived.

22

He may sail up the Nile and read inscriptions upon
temples. He may translate the Book of the Dead
of ancient Egypt, and tell how men worshipped
four thousand years before Christ came. He may
do such things, and he shall have served his
generation well.

Or he may enlarge the intellectual possibilities
of his time. You can understand very well what
that means when you think of a frail body being
developed into stalwart strength, of flaccid muscles
being made tough and hard and firm, and the man
who wants to fit himself for some supreme effort
going into training for it. That we understand
very well. But there is such a thing as a man's re-
alizing that he is a trustee of wealth to put the mind
of his time into training, develop its educational
power. Peter Cooper, who sat in this congrega-
tion for years under the ministry of Dr. Bellows,
has not built a monument simply to himself \n the
Cooper Union through his own wealth and that
which the successors to his trusteeship have held
with open hand. He started out in his trusteeship
to make good the enrichment of the mind in the
working power and intellectual force of the genera-

23

tions that should come after him, and he paid that
tribute to the future by virtue of what he had won
out of the past. He put himself thus into life
in new terms. To him it came in terms of
mechanic industry. To us it comes in terms of in-
tellectual power and art and skill. That is the
way in which men reinvest themselves who are
heirs of the past.

And finally (and this is what we may all do from
our least possession to the greatest), a man may
pay the debt he owes to the past by transmuting
the treasure that he holds into human life. Life is
at a low level with most people. Its streams run
between deserted banks, and the flood is scant and
low. For the most part they hold on to life because
they are afraid to let go. Their strength is little,
their wisdom less. They have learned to be cun-
ning, instead of learning to be wise. They have
had to defend themselves and they take up most of
the time in keeping off the marauder instead of
carrying the line of defence farther afield. Take
for illustration this whole East Side of New York,
where people are battling for their homes, trying to
save their girls, trying to give the proper view of

24

the chivalry of life to their boys ; where people are
serious as death about the issues that confront
them, knowing that the filthy stream that flows by
their doors is not fit for their children to wade out
to life in. A man may reinvest himself in the life
of the world as Warren Goddard did. He loved
these people. He and those associated with him
conceived the idea of making a centre of better-
ment over there — not among the abjectly poor, but
among the people who are curious about life, who
have avidity of interest in what life means. Realiz-
ing that they are scant of power, he reinforced their
endeavor ; realizing that they lacked continuity of
effort, he showed them an example of persistent
endeavor. It was a reinvestment in the life of the
world in order to pay his debt to the past.

I have named all the ways in which we may re-
state our life in terms of power. To be a leader
of men is the best ; to make human life so sacred
to our thinking that any of it lost is lost to us. We
go no longer in search of the Holy Grail. The cup
we seek is made of iron, not gold. The cup we
seek — this iron cup — is brimming with the tears
and sorrows of the world. We go on no quest for

25

the Holy Grail. We go to find hearts that are
sore, and circumstances that are pinched, and
eagerness that has no chance to learn, and virtue
that is all imperilled by the very place in which it
lives.

Trustees of wealth ! We do well to ask the
question in the sense in which the parable puts it.
" Shall I not do what I will with mine own ? " And
may the Infinite Good-Will that moves in the
hearts of men and becomes a method of the Divine
Life among men, give you a will " to do what you
will with your own." " For none of us liveth to
himself, and no man dieth to himself." "If ye have
not been faithful in the unrighteous treasure, who
will commit to your keeping the true riches ? " " For
it is required in stewards that a man be found
faithful."

Hbfcresses Deliver at Memorial Service

/nbonDag, IRovembec I9tb

Mr. Rhoades.

I deem it a rare privilege to be asked to come
here to-night and preside at this service in memory
of my friend. Mr. Goddard's father was an old,
lifelone friend of mine, and I knew his sons from
boyhood up. When the father died, the sons turned
somehow to me at times for advice, and the friend-
ship which I held for the father fell upon the
shoulders of the sons. In the death of Mr. God-
dard, I feel as if I had suffered not only a personal
loss, but as though I had been bereft of one of my
own family.

" And the stately ships go on

To their haven under the hill ;
But oh, for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still ! "

As we gather to-night in loving memory of our

friend who has left us, a sense of loss is keenly

26

27

felt. Warren Goddard, as the world goes, was not
an ordinary man. Though genial by nature and
tender by instinct, it was difficult to understand
him ; and even those who knew him long and best
rarely reached the mainspring of his action and
knew him for what he really was. Keen in the
affairs of business, he never seemed to care for the
accumulation of wealth for the sake of accumula-
tion. Desirous of being successful as a merchant,
it was as though the desire came only from an am-
bition to show that he was capable of succeeding.
Proud of the good name and honorable career of a
loved father, though by that father's death he be-
came possessed of an ample fortune, he continued
the mercantile career because his father wished it,
and in that continuance it was his aim that the hon-
orable name and the high standing- of the firm
should be maintained, as a precious memorial to the
one from whom above all others he had drawn the
inspiration of his own life. This was Warren God-
dard as the world saw and knew him, — cold at times,
and at times distant ; but a man in whom the sense
of right and wrong held full sway, and who judged
carefully and felt keenly the responsibilities of the

28

trusteeship given him to share his wealth with his
fellow-men. He had a deep and sincere love for
the church and the faith into which he had been
born, and in which he had always lived. One day
he said to me that something must be done to wake
All Souls' Church into more activity ; that no church
could last and live and grow strong unless its peo-
ple were engaged in active service in the community
in which the church existed. Then in his strong
and earnest way he said, " I am going to see what
I can do." And what he did is present here around
you to-night. This society owes its foundation to
him, and since the foundations were laid, he has
been the moving spirit in this work, and to it he
devoted all his spare hours and many which he could
not spare. I need not tell you what this work is or
what it has accomplished. We all know the story ;
we all realize fully the loss of the hand which has
guided and the wise counsel which has controlled
this effort to do something for the children of the
people. And yet if he were present here to-night
in the flesh as he is in spirit by the light of his ex-
ample and the tender consciousness which with us
will ever surround his memory, — he would say to

29

us and to all who are interested in this work :
" Though I have fallen grieve not for me. Let the
dead bury their dead. But take you up the burden
I have laid down and bear it bravely, earnestly, and
to the end. Your work is feeble, but if you do this
it will grow strong. The seed you are sowing will
take root and grow and spread in many a humble
home, and the work is worth all the cost if only
here and there you lift a human soul out of the
poverty of its environment and better fit it for the
service of life. You are trustees of the gifts which
God has given to you, and they are given for His
service and to His glory."

And so, my friends, out of the sadness of this
memorial hour come a light and joy which spring
from the sweet and loving memory of our friend,
who has set us an example we are to follow, and
has shown us the way whereby we are to go in
order that we may better serve our fellow-men.
Our friend has but passed on before. His life
work is over, his duty well performed. And in the
silence of this hour of communion, I seem to hear
floating down the ages the voice of the Great
Teacher saying, " Inasmuch as ye have done it

3Q

unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye
have done it unto me."

Mrs. Simkhovitch.

I think that one of the chief forces that has led
to the development of the settlement movement in
this country, as well as in England, has been a
revival of primitive Christianity, — a real renais-
sance ; and I know that you will all recognize in
Mr. Goddard's character, those of you who knew
him, as most of you here did, what a very simple
Christian he was, what a very primitive type of
Christian he was. I think it was his interest,
primarily, in Christianity and his simple faith that
led him to take an interest in this humanitarian
movement. He had two ideals for this house, —
we often used to talk it over together. One was
that as the work of this house developed, it should
be along lines that were anything but institutional.
His idea in that was that this house should not de-
velop as an institution with mechanical methods.
That was farthest from his thought. His idea was
that here we should have a centre and gradually start
other co-operating centres, all of which should come

3i

together, having the same aim, but having indi-
viduality, which the large institution often loses.
The other aim was that this settlement might have
a certain mental prestige. The two things that he
valued most were personal service and high thought
along these lines. With him money gifts were of
the least importance. His own generosity never
seemed the primary thought with him, but rather a
corollary of all he thought and felt. He had his
own personal convictions. These led him along
this line of work, and as a necessary corollary to that
came the generosity for which he is known to us
all. Thus, as I say, what characterized him least
in a way was his generosity along money lines. I
think it was the humanness of this movement that
attracted him. He was thought a cold and re-
served man, but there never was a man more
democratic. Class distinctions were particularly
odious to him. I have often heard him express
himself along these lines, — that the only classes
that were fundamental in any way were those peo-
ple who were working for the realization of the
Kingdom of Heaven on earth and those who were
not. Those classes he recognized. Other classes,

32

other differentiations did not appeal to him in any
way. He felt most perfectly at home among these
people. I think there are a great many people
who have these ideals, who think of life in this
way, who have the same kind of personal convic-
tions he had, who are not able to get on with peo-
ple who have different culture, different education,
different tastes. But differences never seemed to
be any barrier to his getting on with people of a
very different kind of education and bringing up.
I have thouQ-ht this was because he had so much
human sympathy that those things which are alike
in man and man appealed to him more strongly
than the differences which arise between man and
man.

His connection with this house was never a
formal one. You know many presidents who
come to meetings and that is all. He was not
that kind of president. His connection with this
house was a very vital and real one. He directed
the work of the Young Men's Club. He was in-
terested in the work of the Woman's Club. He
was the leader of the Sunday evening neighbor-
hood meeting. He was a constant visitor in the

33

homes of our neighbors, where he was always a
welcome guest He had very real friends among
our neighbors, and valued those friendships very
highly, as his friends valued his friendship.

His connection with this house which was so vital
led him into other lines of social work, and I think
he had the right idea, if I may say so, in looking at
economic problems, by seeing first how things act-
ually are and then thinking about them. He did
not have any cut and dried economic, philanthropic,
and religious notions. All these things he gath-
ered from life itself as he saw how people lived, the
disadvantages under which a great many lived, how
few privileges a great many have, how few opportun-
ities there are for many of our fellow-men. This
was very distressing to him. All the theories he
had on these subjects he gathered from direct per-
sonal contact with people who were laboring under
a great many disadvantages. Thus it was that his
interest was ever growing and deepening along
lines of economic thought. It was a curious thing
that one so conservative should at the same time be
so radical. It was interesting to see how often he
would speak of great changes he contemplated in

34

this work, and how he wanted to develop it in this
way or broaden it in that way, and his theories of
developing the work were all the time growing
more liberal, even radical along many lines.

He was interested in the whole subject of capital
and labor. I am sure all his employees will say
what a very different kind of employer he was from
many employers. He took a very warm and per-
sonal interest in all his employees.

One thing that I think especially marked him
was his distaste for business that could not be
shared. He did not object at all to having money ;
there was nothing sentimental in his make-up ; but
it was, I am sure, very distressing to him to feel
that so many people were without opportunities.
He had that in common with all the deepest spirit-
ual people of our time, that it was a matter of real
discomfort to him to feel that he could not share all
he possessed. I never shall forget that day in
Litchfield when we were there and were looking
over his beautiful place. Finally there was a
silence, and then Mr. Goddard said, " I often re-
gret that I cannot make more use of this place."
One of us who was listening supposed he meant it

35

could be used to greater advantage agriculturally,
but on expressing this idea, Mr. Goddard said,
" Oh, no ; I meant if Litchfield were only a little
nearer New York we could have so many more of
our neighbors and friends around us to share the
pleasures of country life." He said it so simply
and truly, and I know it was really distasteful to
him to think that beautiful place was so far away
that it could not be used for the purpose of a vaca-
tion house.

I think it would be a great mistake for us ever to
think of Mr. Goddard as a philanthropist. I think
that is the last word he himself would have chosen
to express the idea of his work. I think of him as
a unity, as a person who was interested in this work,
but who was, in one way, no more interested in it
than he was in carrying out his business properly
or anything else in which he was engaged. His
was a unified personality. This work did interest
him, but as it should interest all people who look
into the life of the great masses of our cities. I do
not think he would have cared at all to be called a
philanthropist. He never would be considered a
philanthropist in the sense in which I understand

36

the word to be commonly used, as if philanthropy
were a sort of speciality belonging to one part of
one's nature. It was a natural thing for him to do
good. That doing good was only one of the ex-
pressions of the Divine Life living in the soul of
the man. I think his death has — as very often
death" does — given a sacred touch to his work. I
have never seen a more devoted spirit than I see
now among those who are working for the interests
of this house. It has been really a very touching
thing to me to see how the people are brought to-
gether in carrying out this work. Of course there
is no other memorial worthy at all of him except
the carrying out of this work he was so interested
in, so devoted to, in the spirit in which it was
begun.

•{Resolutions

Presented to the Memorial Meeting by Mr.
Slicer for the Advisory Board of the Friendly Aid
Society.

Whereas, In His Infinite Love and Wisdom our
Heavenly Father has taken from our number

Marren IRorton eofcoarfc,
that He may give to him the Joy and Peace of the

Eternal Life,

Therefore be it Resolved, That with grateful
hearts we thank the Giver of all good gifts that in
the midst of an age troublous with worldliness and
self-seeking, there has been vouchsafed to this So-
ciety the inspiration of a noble type of manhood ;
that by the life of this man our hearts are filled
afresh with the realization that anything less than
our best from each of us is unworthy.

Resolved, That although this Society has sus-
tained an irreparable loss, it has had set before it a
standard of personal devotion and earnestness, of

37

33

steadfastness, loyalty, and high endeavor, which
must offer it an incentive to build up a living
memorial among the people he loved and served.

Resolved, That we recommend to the Annual
Meeting of the Friendly Aid Society, that the
name

Warren (Boooavo ibouse

be given to this settlement as soon as sufficient
means be raised by popular subscription to realize
the ideals of our President.

Resolved, That since this consecrated life re-
mains among us an abiding witness of God, we
commemorate it by a tablet on these walls, and
that the Annual Meeting of the Friendly Aid So-
ciety be requested to carry out this purpose.

Resolved, That a brief Memoir be printed by this
Society in recognition of the principle that steward-
ship of one's life and fortune is of inestimable civic
value.

Resolved, That a copy of these Resolutions be
sent to the family of Mr. Goddard, and that they
be given such publicity as may be deemed helpful
in actualizing the value of such a life to the
community.

Hfcbress by HDr. Slicer

I remember very distinctly the impression that
was made upon me by Mr. Goddard first among
the people of All Souls' Church, and for a very
simple reason. One Sunday in May, 1897, I
preached at All Souls', and after the service Mr.
Goddard asked me if I would not go down to the
Friendly Aid House with him in the afternoon.
He said, " I will meet you after dinner and then
we will go down to the little service at the Friendly
Aid House." I went down in the afternoon, and
Mr. Goddard went on and conducted that service
as if I were not there, as if I were not the visiting
minister. He did the thing which he had in-
tended to do before it was my turn to preach in
All Souls' Church. Afterwards he said, " Won't
you say a word to these children ? " They were
mostly children at the service. So I told them a
story. Then he said, " Let us go around to Nor-
ton's room." (His brother Norton was then living

39

40

on 33d Street, just back there a little way.) So
we went to his brother's room and sat there and
talked until nearly midnight, about the kind of
thing he was trying to do in this neighborhood,
and which his brother was interested in doing in
another aspect of it. And I saw a good deal more
to interest me in the Friendly Aid work as it was
presented in that conversation, than I saw oppor-
tunities of a church kind as connected with All
Souls' Church ; I will explain what I mean by
that statement, for it is a little unusual. Churches
are very many ; their differences are not very great.
Any difference that they have one from the other
is in the intenser religious life that they possess.
The order of service is sufficiently near alike not
to discriminate one church very strongly from an-
other. I could understand that there might be a
great many churches like All Souls' Church ; I had
never seen just the way of taking hold of people
that these two men presented in the conversation
that I had with them.

That was the first impression made upon me by
the personality of Mr. Goddard. Mr. Rhoades says,
with some degree of accuracy, that I perhaps knew

41

quite intimately Mr. Goddard's religious and inner
life. That was not because I was his minister, but
because he had a transparent nature that he showed
to anybody that he completely trusted. I saw him
once or twice almost every week during the months
of each year that we were in the city together. We
lunched together nearly every week once, at least,
— not simply for friendship's sake, but for the sake
of talking over the thing that we were immensely
interested in achieving for the Church through the
church in the neighborhood in which this place
stands. Warren Goddard never hid anything of
his inner life if he trusted the person to whom he
was to speak. He was capable of immense reserve.
He had for certain people the frigid exterior to
which Mr. Rhoades has referred. He could turn
the glacial side of his nature outward if it was
necessary. He could be tremendously severe on
occasion. He knew how to speak the English
tongue under incentive much more fluently than
he spoke in such an address as he might have made
here at an annual meeting. The ease with which
he wrote, the clearness with which he expressed him-
self with the pen, which was quite unusual, appeared

42

in speaking when something stirred him to quick re-
sponse ; but for the most part he was like a child
in the simplicity of the way in which his mind acted.
His peculiarity was that he gave himself absolutely
to the thing in hand. He fished with all his might
when he was in camp. He enjoyed Litchfield until
his very pores took in the radiance of the beauty
of that place and its surroundings. His mind was
open at the top for every descending ray of the
truth that was to enter. He pursued his business
for all there was in it ; but what was in it was a
means to an end, and not an end in itself. I recall
a humorous illustration of that. When the present
storehouse was opened, one of their customers, a
small Jewish trader, who had a little capital, and
turned it over a great many times during the year,
went all over the place, and came down to the
office and said, " Mr. Goddard, if I had this place,
I should never want to die." The comment which
one of the brothers made to me was, " Imagine a
man having to trade through all eternity ! " The
remark was perfectly characteristic of him. He
enjoyed the business, enjoyed trade. He enjoyed
the revenue that came from it, but it was always a

43

means to an end, and not an end in itself ; and I
hold that to be a radical distinction in character.
It makes all the difference between the man who
lets the power of commercial life pass through him
into the community through every avenue of his
nature and every power of his being, and the man
who is simply an absorbent, and has only retained
that fundamental action of the one-valved creature
with which organic life began, which could contract
and distend, contract and distend, and never got
beyond that. That is the antithetic character from
the one I have just described.

I was very much impressed with the deep relig-
ious character of Mr. Goddard's mind. He was
singularly free from effluent emotion. He had
very little capacity for effervescent religious expres-
sion, but it was crystalline and clear and uncritical.
Questions of criticism did not much interest him.
If it was a question of interpretation of Scripture,
it was never interesting critically to him until he
got it down to the root and set the root in the soil
of common, practical life. He had a habit of per-
petual commentary that ran from the pinnacles of
intellectual apprehension down through the warm

44

avenues of spiritual life, and found its expression by
deployingitself upon thelevelof common experience.
That process went on in him all the time, — to ap-
prehend clearly, to feel calmly and confidently, and
to apply instantly the thing he understood. I do not
know how it would be possible to describe a simpler
intellectual and spiritual outfit than that phrase de-
scribes,— " He was a deeply religious man." It was
natural to him to pray. It was easy for him to
pray. He thought he knew, and he really did
know, the conscious communion of the ultimate
reality whose insufficient name is God, with his
conscious spirit. No text would be easier for him
to understand than that which declares that " His
Spirit witnesseth with our spirits that we are the
children of God " ; and there was a childlike sim-
plicity and abandon to the confidences of prayer that
I may not speak of with explicitness, but that he most
implictly felt. It was the natural expression of the
soul at its best when it seeks that which is best for
the soul. For that reason it would have been
strange if he had died without praying if he had
been conscious. In those four hours in which he
was drawing near to that bourne over which our

45

thoughts travel to him to-night, it would have
been strange if he had simply spoken of what in-
terested him, and of the loves of his life, without
praying. It was perfectly natural that he should
have recited to the little group that pressed about
him with a tenderness that is beyond all expression
— " The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow
of death, I will fear no evil." It would have been
unnatural for him not to call them near to him,
that in those whispered last hours he might pray
for them and with them. This was the very sus-
tenance and substance of his life, and I am glad
that he was so keen in business and yet so fervent
in prayer. The two things are perfectly germane to
a simple nature, are perfectly normal in a well con-
stituted mind, — that we should go out strongly in
the activities of life, and turn the forces of the soul
toward God in times of intense feeling.

I want to say a word, if you please, Mr. Chair-
man, about his relations to his employees. We
talked that over too. He was the head of a family
of working people in his business. He had no
quixotic ideas about business relationship. I sup-

46

pose he would have been as little likely to have his
business interfered with from the outside by his
employees as any of us. But he believed in organ-
ization and in esprit de corps in business. The
champion single-sculler of his college, it was natural
he should organize an athletic association among
the men of his employ, and that he should take an
immense interest in the gymnasium in this place.
I was thinking, as I sat here, hearing some young
men in the gymnasium below, pounding the punch-
ing-bag or throwing the medicine-ball — how fitting
he would have felt thought of him to be while we
let that go on just as we have ; because it is their
night to do that thing down there. That is the
class that belongs in the gymnasium to-night, and
we would not deprive them of it if we could. It was
perfectly fitting to let that go on as we talked about
him in a tender way.

As to his own group of employees, I think the
gentlemen who are here who belonged in his em-
ploy will bear me out in saying that while it was
not always possible to carry out the idea of closing
that business at three o'clock on Saturdays through-
out the year, when it was necessary to run until

47

four, they all ran together until four ; but the thing
he strove for was to close at three. Every man
and boy in his employ had a Saturday or Monday
every six weeks.

No man employed by him ever lost a day's wages
by being sick. The affairs of their families were
matters that they might bring confidently to him.
No man could be discharged, or can be now dis-
charged, from the employ of that house without its
being known and the reason for it known and the
question settled by the head of the house. Men
can be employed there without consulting the head
of the house, but no man can be discharged with-
out a perfectly clear understanding as to why it is
and how it is, and every least possible detail con-
cerning it. That is worth a great deal in a coun-
try where English people complain that they
cannot get near the employer, that there are always
middle-men between them and the boss, — a super-
intendent or manager, — so that they cannot get up
to the boss. That is a common complaint among
working people. It is not so in that business.
Every man in it can go to the office and wait his
turn to say the thing which he wishes heard.

48

I speak of these things, not because they are
great things, but because they are characteristic
things. That is a family; this is a family. He
gathered about him groups that were infected at
once with the feeling of family communion. I re-
call, as I said to you yesterday, a most affecting
thing, yet so simple — hardly worth mentioning it
was so simple. One evening a little girl came to
him and said : " Won't you, and Mr. Hoyt, and Mr.
Sheer come down and see our new baby ? " So we
went down, and a trail of little girls who knew
about this baby followed us into the house on one
of the streets near by. We waited until the oldest
sister went and got the baby and brought it in,
and there was a deep breath of satisfaction running
through all the little people that looked at it, until
one of them could not stand it any longer, and
said, " Oh, Mr. Goddard, is n't it grand ! " Well it
was only a few days old, and it really was n't grand,
you know. But he was so accessible to them.
They understood the family relation, the conscious-
ness of having a big brother come in and see the
baby, and I stepped back into the background and
let them have it out together.

49

I wish I might say all that is in my heart to say
about this matter. Warren Goddard's death is a
great loss to me. Last summer a year he wrote
me a long letter about the church ; about the
church as it appeared to him ; about the deeper
life that he hoped for in the church ; that he
sought to bring about so far as influence went ;
and he thought of your relation to this work, not
as something simply that you were doing for this
community, although that was suggested in his
thinking ; but as something it was doing for you
also, by the play of affection, and by the deep re-
ligious interest awakened in the hearts of those
who were devoting themselves to it. For you
know he believed, as we all do, that the blessing is
in loving, not in being loved ; and so he was anx-
ious that the church should spend itself in interest,
in money, in personal service upon this work.

I want to say a single word in conclusion with
regard to that characteristic that so constantly ap-
peared in Warren Goddard, — what I can only phrase
as human interest. I think he had less curiosity than
most people about human interests, about people's
affairs. He was singularly devoid of all speculative

5o

quality in his mind. But he had human interest, —
what George McDonald means when he speaks of
loving a child for the very " childness " of it, for the
fact not that it was anybody's child, but for the fact
that it was just that thing you call a child. That
which George McDonald means when he says that,
appeared in this nature that we are contemplating,
as human interest ; the consciousness in him of being
part of the tissue that we call human life ; that it can-
not suffer without the pang registering through the
nervous system of this man that feels ; that it can-
not be unjustly dealt with without his feeling that
the injury is his. This sense of the organic whole-
ness of human life was in him in larger degree than
belongs to most people. The philanthropist is a
different kind of man. He is haunted with a vision
of what he will do for this or that section of hu-
manity. Mr. Goddard's feeling was what human
life oueht to be, and how far he could add the
transfusion from his own life to the scant veins that
need more blood. That was his feeling, — that
here is a little group that lacks vitality. Cannot I
lay my heart against it and warm its action ? Can-
not I transfuse the current of my own full heart

5i

into the scant veins that run near dry ? Cannot I
give it stronger and more heroic action ? The
chivalrous character of the man was shown in that.
It was the same thing that led him into loyalties
that were of the very essence of his mind, loyalties
that knew nothing of distrust, repression, or double
meaning.

I have spoken of this matter to-night more at
length than I had meant. But it is only a part of
that story of a simple nature that let itself out to
others and bestowed itself here. He loved these
people that we are working for. He did not work
for them ; he worked with them. They were of
his thought. They lay in his thought as in every
pastor's mind his congregation lies consciously,
family by family, and name by name. That is the
everyday experience of a true minister's life. So
he was a minister by the grace of God to this peo-
ple who lay thus in his mind, in constant meditation
and constant calculation as to how he might serve
them.

Some Extracts from Stresses bp
TKHarren 1R, (Sofcbarfc

53

jfrom an Hfctoress b\> flDr. (5ofc>barfc>

as president of tbe ffrienols BID Society, upon tbe ©petting of
tbe Vacation ffarm at Spring ©reen

My Friends : — From the very earliest times, the
pursuit of happiness has been one of the principal
occupations of mankind. Next to the struggle for
life and existence, the search for happiness has en-
grossed the attention of all peoples ; and this is
true notwithstanding the fact that the ideal of
happiness has varied ; that the definition of happi-
ness has rarely remained fixed for any considerable
period. In the pursuit of happiness, men have
fought and enslaved nations ; they have lived in
caves in the desert, or among the snows of the
Alps ; they have sailed over trackless oceans and
met hardships and death ; they have given them-
selves up to the most luxurious lives of idleness ;
and have practised self-denial and endured martyr-
dom. Each individual, and each nation, sought

55

56

happiness according to the definition of happiness
each adopted. We, of this time and this country,
deem ourselves fortunate that our definition of hap-
piness is finer and purer than any hitherto written,
and that it is understood and accepted by a large
and constantly increasing number of our citizens.

Fortunately the idea which prevailed among the
early settlers of New England, that happiness and
joyousness were a snare, and to be shunned and
feared, has passed away. We now recognize that
happiness is part of the wonderful birthright of
every one of God's children. This belief has
gradually grown up under the glorious principles
on which our country was founded, and on which
alone it will stand, that all men are born free and
equal ; that in the sight of our Father, we are all
His children, whom He expects to strive to do His
will; and in the fulfilling of His will we find se-
curity, which enables us to gain a livelihood and
happiness, which makes life worth living.

This law of equality carries with it the relation
of brotherhood, and that relation carries responsi-
bilities to one another.

No one is so rich as to be removed beyond the

57

need of assistance of some sort ; and no one so
poor that he cannot give sympathy and love, the
choicest treasures within the gift of mortals. It is
the recognition of this mutual responsibility, this
mutual interdependence, which is gradually giving
the Golden Rule new vitality, and is making its
precept a growing force in the world. To believe
that we should do to others as we would that they
should do to us, is to supply one's self with a
constantly renewed inspiration, which constantly
presses the believer on to new efforts, and grad-
ually writes for him a new definition of happiness.
It brings a happiness which is unfailing, for that
happiness depends not on worldly possessions, not
even on health, but on a heart at peace with God
and with itself.

Those who have attained to this frame of mind
will tell you that they find the promise fulfilled,
that to those that have, to them shall be given, and
they shall have more abundantly. And what do
they receive ; lands, houses, and fine clothes ?
Those things were never meant, and are not the
gifts to which the lovers of their fellow-men refer
when they tell you that all things are " added

58

unto them." They mean that they find a new and
surprising pleasure in the so-called common things
of life. They see in the ocean, with its changing
aspect, the grandeur and power of the Creator ; in
the fields and orchards, His generous provisions
for our wants ; in the birds and flowers, His appre-
ciation of our needs for the beautiful ; in the strug-
gles of human beings to do His will, the love which
He has put into the heart of each one of us. They
are able to enjoy God's society, the brightest joy
promised to humanity.

And so we come back to our statement that we
are fortunate in living in a time and in a country
where a high ideal of happiness is generally ac-
cepted ; and where, therefore, the pursuit of such
happiness is not only a privilege but a duty.

The recognition of this privilege and duty caused
the Friendly Aid to come into existence. Because
the Friendly Aid kept this ideal clearly and con-
stantly in view it made friends ; and now, those
who use the House freely have come to regard each
other as friends, equal before God and men, all
striving to give to each other whatever of value
they possess.

59

This striving to give and to help has brought us
this beautiful farm, with its fresh air, health-giving
tranquillity, and generous hospitality. It is worth
while, at this time when we are met here to cele-
brate the opening of this house, to recall the detail
of how it comes to be in our possession, for it has
come to us as a direct result of this desire for the
true happiness, and the loving wish to help others
which it engenders.

Two members of the Monday Club of our House,
one of whom is present, and one who is doing good
work in charge of the Holly Club House, — another
work of love growing out of our Friendly Aid
House, — came to me last fall and said the women of
that Club thought the House should have a farm,
and wanted permission of the Management to
gather funds to buy one. This was heartily granted,
and the handsome sum of over four hundred dollars
was raised among the Clubs of the House, by means
of a fair and theatrical and musical entertainments.
The time, however, was too short to raise a suffi-
ciently large sum to buy this spring ; and, while
disappointed, the Monday Club resolutely deter-
mined to continue their efforts, with confidence

6o

that in time — in one or two years — the necessary
sum would be gathered.

For a month, disappointed resignation reigned
in the House, when one of its best friends offered
to buy the farm and let the Friendly Aiders have
five years in which to raise the purchase price, at
the same time generously giving us the use of it
for all that time free of rent. At the same time two
other of our friends gave one thousand dollars, six
hundred dollars to go toward repairing and furnish-
ing the House, and four hundred dollars toward the
purchase fund. Several other donations were made
for running expenses, and thus the House and farm
were suddenly produced, as by a magician's waving
wand. All tricks of magic are simple beyond words,
when we know how they are done, and we exclaim :
11 Why how easy ! " So this stroke, too, of magic is
so easy when we know the way it was done. I have
told the secret. It was done by love.

And now, in love let us use this farm, and the
happiness of the Peace of God, which passeth
understanding, will be ours.

XIXBbat a Settlement ought to be anfc Do

Settlements have been established in the poorer
sections of our large cities by persons earnestly de-
voted to improving the condition of humanity, be-
cause they have found that only by locating their
homes right among the poor could they carry to
them their choicest and most valuable possessions,
— those things the poor need most, namely :

First : A broader education, with its larger
views, quicker perceptions, livelier imagination, and
sounder judgment.

Second: Enlarged affections, with their higher
aspirations, gentler feelings, finer susceptibilities,
and greater spiritual capacity, and

Third : A more developed will, with its persist-
ence, courage, and strength.

The people need friends who are wise and high-
minded and actuated by an enthusiasm for human-
ity arising from devotion to the will of God, and
when they have such friends they show in a short

61

62

time the effect of association with them. The
effect of bad company is well known ; it is pro-
verbial. A good man or woman just as surely
exercises an influence for good.

It is self-evident that a force of workers concen-
trated in a house of the neighborhood, guided and
inspired by the Head, united by a common spirit
of earnest and loyal devotion, must produce re-
sults, not only on the neighborhood, but on them-
selves, far beyond the powers of the most ardent
and capable individual workers.

The Settlement aims first to improve the indi-
vidual, physically, intellectually, and morally, and
this is done by the Clubs and classes and personal
intercourse supplied in the House ; and secondly,
to improve the community by working for all things
that tend to make the city a better place to live
in.

Only by personal association long continued do
we come to understand our neighbors, and only by
degrees do they gain confidence in our sincerity,
wisdom, and affection. The workers increase in

63

knowledge of neighborhood conditions and difficul-
ties, and also increase in experience in meeting
them, and come to regard less and less the lines of
class demarcation and so gain in sympathy with the
poor. The effect on the neighbors is to make
them gradually become familiar with all that the
worker has in his heart and brain to communicate.

The proper attitude of a Settlement toward the
facts and conditions of society about it is that it
should be ever ready to learn and adapt itself and
its methods to those facts and conditions as fast as
they are discovered. It should not have completed
and accepted theories of ideal social conditions and
seek to impose them on its neighborhood. On
the other hand, it should secure itself against the
weakness of a vacillating point of view. It should
do nothing which could in the slightest degree
shake the confidence of its neighbors in its devo-
tion to the highest and finest ideals. To create
the belief in its neighbors that it stands for the best
in social, civic, and spiritual life it must itself have
strong convictions. By a wise and harmonious
combination of these two points of view, the Set-

64

tlement should be able to discover a new step in
social development, and this as no other agency
has been able to do. To be effective along these
lines, a Settlement must see to it that it does not
settle into a rut, and that its work does not become
stereotyped, but that it remains alert and sympa-
thetic and enthusiastic.

The visitor meets people who are in the position
of striving with the practical difficulties involved in
endeavoring to live decently and happily in a
crowded house and to support a family on from four
to fourteen dollars a week. The problem of how to
make life more endurable is presented, how to in-
troduce thrift, cleanliness, sweetness, hope, and
joy where want, dirt, extravagance, churlishness,
and hopelessness seem at home.

No doctrinal teaching is given other than that
involved in recognizing that the brotherhood of
man is dependent on the existence of a Heavenly
Father whose love for us and whose will for us have
been made clear to mankind by the life and teach-
ings of Jesus Christ. The attitude of the Friendly
Aid House toward religion is that it is non-sectarian

65

in that it aims at no particular religious propaganda,
but, in the words of Mr. Wood of Andover House,
the " Settlement ought to undertake its work feel-
ing the stirring of the religious motive. It ought
to be prepared to bring to the people the influence
of a broad and free religious enthusiasm, which
shall show the insignificance of differences com-
pared with the unity of spirit in which every man
is in some sense religious."

After this hasty bird's-eye glance at the Settle-
ment, will any one venture to doubt its efficiency
as a power for good, or begrudge the money that it
costs ? So far as the future is concerned does it
not justify the hope that at last through it we may
find the solution of some of the tremendous social
problems which confront us ? So far as the present
is concerned, does it not surely offer a blessed op-
portunity to each one of us to minister directly or
indirectly in a thoroughly effective way to those less
happy than ourselves, and thus to gain the approv-
ing word, " Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one
of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it
unto me ?"

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