The palace of mirrors, and other essays

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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