Chapter II

But ill for him who, bettering not with time,
Corrupts the strength of heaven-descended Will,
And ever weaker grows thro' acted crime,
Or seeming-genial venial fault,
Recurring and suggesting still!
He seems as one whose footsteps halt,
Toiling in immeasurable sand,
And o'er a weary sultry land,
Far beneath a blazing vault,
Sown in a wrinkle of the monstrous hill
The city sparkles like a grain of salt.

_Alfred Tennyson._

FABLE

To be impressed by a thing merely because it is big is a human failing. Yet our standard of judgment would be truer if we considered, instead, the success of that thing in performing its own particular task. And quality is better than quantity. The lioness in the old fable was being taunted because she bore only one offspring at a time, not a numerous litter. "It is true," she admitted; "but that one is a lion."

The mountain and the squirrel
Had a quarrel,
And the former called the latter "Little Prig";
Bun replied,
"You are doubtless very big;
But all sorts of things and weather
Must be taken in together,
To make up a year
And a sphere.
And I think it no disgrace
To occupy my place.
If I'm not so large as you,
You are not so small as I,
And not half so spry.
I'll not deny you make
A very pretty squirrel track;
Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;
If I cannot carry forests on my back,
Neither can you crack a nut."

_Ralph Waldo Emerson._

DUTY

When Duty comes a-knocking at your gate,
Welcome him in, for if you bid him wait,
He will depart only to come once more
And bring seven other duties to your door.

_Edwin Markham._

From "The Gates of Paradise, and Other Poems."

PRAYER FOR PAIN

"The thief steals from himself. The swindler swindles himself," says Emerson. Apparent gain may be actual loss; material escape may be spiritual imprisonment. Any one may idle; but the men who are not content unless they climb the unscalable mountains or cross the uncharted seas or bear the burdens that others shrink from, are the ones who keep the heritage of the spirit undiminished.

I do not pray for peace nor ease,
Nor truce from sorrow:
No suppliant on servile knees
Begs here against to-morrow!

Lean flame against lean flame we flash,
O, Fates that meet me fair;
Blue steel against blue steel we clash--
Lay on, and I shall dare!

But Thou of deeps the awful Deep,
Thou Breather in the clay,
Grant this my only prayer--Oh keep
My soul from turning gray!

For until now, whatever wrought
Against my sweet desires,
My days were smitten harps strung taut,
My nights were slumbrous lyres.

And howsoe'er the hard blow rang
Upon my battered shield,
Some lark-like, soaring spirit sang
Above my battlefield.

And through my soul of stormy night
The zigzag blue flame ran.
I asked no odds--I fought my fight--
Events against a man.

But now--at last--the gray mist chokes
And numbs me. _Leave me pain!
Oh let me feel the biting strokes
That I may fight again!_

_John G. Neihardt._

From "The Quest" (collected lyrics).

STEADFAST

No one ever has a trouble so great that some other person has not a greater. The thought of the heroism shown by those more grievously afflicted than we, helps us to bear our own ills patiently.

If I can help another bear an ill
By bearing mine with somewhat of good grace--
Can take Fate's thrusts with not too long a face
And help him through his trials, then I WILL!
For do not braver men than I decline
To bow to troubles graver, far, than mine?

Pain twists this body? Yes, but it shall not
Distort my soul, by all the gods that be!
And when it's done its worst, Pain's victory
Shall be an empty one! Whate'er my lot,
My banner, ragged, but nailed to the mast,
Shall fly triumphant to the very last!

Others so much worse off than I have fought;
Have smiled--have met defeat with unbent head
They shame me into following where they led.
Can I ignore the lesson they have taught?
Strike hands with me! Dark is the way we go,
But souls-courageous line it--that I know!

_Everard Jack Appleton._

From "The Quiet Courage."

IF

If I were fire I'd burn the world away.
If I were wind I'd turn my storms thereon,
If I were water I'd soon let it drown.

_Cecco Angolieri._

If I were fire I'd seek the frozen North
And warm it till it blossomed fairly forth
And in the sweetness of its smiling mien
Resembled some soft southern garden scene.
And when the winter came again I'd seek
The chilling homes of lowly ones and meek
And do my small but most efficient part
To bring a wealth of comfort to the heart.

If I were wind I'd turn my breath upon
The calm-bound mariner until, anon,
The eager craft on which he sailed should find
The harbor blest towards which it hath inclined.
And in the city streets, when summer's days
Were withering the souls with scorching rays,
I'd seek the fevered brow and aching eyes
And take to them a touch of Paradise.

If I were water it would be my whim
To seek out all earth's desert places grim,
And turn each arid acre to a fair
Lush home of flowers and oasis rare.
Resolved in dew, I'd nestle in the rose.
As summer rain I'd ease the harvest woes,
And where a tear to pain would be relief,
A tear I'd be to kill the sting of grief.

If I were gold, I'd seek the poor man's purse.
I'd try to win my way into the verse
Of some grand singer of Man's Brotherhood,
And prove myself so pure, so fraught with good.
That all the world would bless me for the cup
Of happiness I'd brought for all to sup.
And when at last my work of joy was o'er
I'd be content to die, and be no more!

_John Kendrick Bangs._

From "Songs of Cheer."

THE GIFTS OF GOD

Why are we never entirely satisfied? Why are we never at absolute peace or rest? Many are the answers that have been made to this question. The answer here given by the poet is that so richly is man endowed with qualities and attributes that if contentment were added to them, he would be satisfied with what he has, and would not strive for that which is higher still--the fulfilment of his spiritual cravings.

When God at first made Man,
Having a glass of blessings standing by;
Let us (said He) pour on him all we can:
Let the world's riches, which disperséd lie,
Contract into a span.

So strength first made a way;
Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honor, pleasure
When almost all was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that alone, of all His treasure,
Rest in the bottom lay.

For if I should (said He)
Bestow this jewel also on My creature,
He would adore My gifts instead of Me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature.
So both should losers be.

Yet let him keep the rest,
But keep them with repining restlessness:
Let him be rich and weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to My breast.

_George Herbert._

A PHILOSOPHER

"The web of our life is of mingled yarn, good and ill together," says Shakespeare. It behooves us therefore to find the good and to make the best of the ill. Two men were falling from an aeroplane. "I'll bet you five dollars," said one, "that I hit the ground first."

To take things as they be--
Thet's my philosophy.
No use to holler, mope, or cuss--
If they was changed they might be wuss.

If rain is pourin' down,
An' lightnin' buzzin' roun',
I ain't a-fearin' we'll be hit,
But grin thet I ain't out in it.

If I got deep in debt--
It hasn't happened yet--
And owed a man two dollars, Gee!
Why I'd be glad it wasn't three.

If some one come along,
And tried to do me wrong,
Why I should sort of take a whim
To thank the Lord I wasn't him.

I never seen a night
So dark there wasn't light
Somewheres about if I took care
To strike a match and find out where.

_John Kendrick Bangs._

From "Songs of Cheer."

THE LIFE WITHOUT PASSION

A person may feel deeply without shouting his emotion to the skies, or be strong without seizing occasions to exhibit his strength. In truth we distrust the power which makes too much a display of itself. Let it exert itself only to the point of securing the ends that are really necessary. Restraint, self-control are in truth more mighty than might unshackled, just as a self-possessed opponent is more dangerous than a frenzied one. Moreover, there is a moral side to the question. A good quality, if abused or allowed free sway, becomes a force for evil and does its owner more harm than if he had not possessed it in the first place.

They that have power to hurt, and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow,--

They rightly do inherit heaven's graces,
And husband nature's riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others, but stewards of their excellence.

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die;
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:

For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

_William Shakespeare._

CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE

"I'd rather be right than President," said Henry Clay. It is to men who are animated by this spirit that the greatest satisfaction in life comes. For true blessedness does not lie far off and above us. It is close at hand. Booker T. Washington once told a story of a ship that had exhausted its supply of fresh water and signaled its need to a passing vessel. The reply was, "Send down your buckets where you are." Thinking there was some misunderstanding, the captain repeated his signal, only to be answered as before. This time he did as he was bidden and secured an abundance of fresh water. His ship was opposite the mouth of a mighty river which still kept its current unmingled with the waters of the ocean.

How happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another's will;
Whose armor is his honest thought
And simple truth his utmost skill!

Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Not tied unto the world with care
Of public fame or private breath;

Who envies none that chance doth raise
Or vice; who never understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise
Nor rules of state, but rules of good;

Who hath his life from rumors freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make accusers great;

Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless day
With a well-chosen book or friend;

--This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.

_Sir Henry Wotton._

ESSENTIALS

The things here named are essential to a happy and successful life. They may not be the only essentials.

Roll up your sleeves, lad, and begin;
Disarm misfortune with a grin;
Let discontent not wag your chin--
Let gratitude.

Don't try to find things all askew;
Don't be afraid of what is new;
Nor banish as unsound, untrue,
A platitude.

If folks don't act as you would choose
Remember life is varied; use
Your common sense; don't get the blues;
Show latitude.

Sing though in quavering sharps and flats,
Love though the folk you love are cats,
Work though you're worn and weary--that's
The attitude.

_St. Clair Adams._

THE STONE REJECTED

The story here poetically retold of the great Florentine sculptor shows how much a lofty spirit may make of unpromising material.

For years it had been trampled in the street
Of Florence by the drift of heedless feet--
The stone that star-touched Michael Angelo
Turned to that marble loveliness we know.

You mind the tale--how he was passing by
When the rude marble caught his Jovian eye,
That stone men had dishonored and had thrust
Out to the insult of the wayside dust.
He stooped to lift it from its mean estate,
And bore it on his shoulder to the gate,
Where all day long a hundred hammers rang.
And soon his chisel round the marble sang,
And suddenly the hidden angel shone:
It had been waiting prisoned in the stone.

Thus came the cherub with the laughing face
That long has lighted up an altar-place.

_Edwin Markham._

From "The Gates of Paradise, and Other Poems."

GOOD DEEDS

The influence of good deeds usually extends far beyond the limits we can see or trace; but as well not have the power to do them as not use it.

How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
Heaven doth with us as we with torches do;
Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues
Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
As if we had them not.

_William Shakespeare._

YOU MAY COUNT THAT DAY

A class of little settlement girls besought Mrs. George Herbert Palmer, one insufferable summer morning, to tell them how to be happy. "I'll give you three rules," she said, "and you must keep them every day for a week. First, commit something good to memory each day. Three or four words will do, just a pretty bit of poem, or a Bible verse. Do you understand?" A girl jumped up. "I know; you want us to learn something we'd be glad to remember if we went blind." Mrs. Palmer was relieved; these children understood. She gave the three rules--memorize something good each day, see something beautiful each day, do something helpful each day. When the children reported at the end of the week, not a single day had any of them lost. But hard put to it to obey her? Indeed they had been. One girl, kept for twenty-four hours within squalid home-walls by a rain, had nevertheless seen two beautiful things--a sparrow taking a bath in the gutter, and a gleam of sunlight on a baby's hair.

If you sit down at set of sun
And count the acts that you have done,
And, counting, find
One self-denying deed, one word
That eased the heart of him who heard--
One glance most kind,
That fell like sunshine where it went--
Then you may count that day well spent.

But if, through all the livelong day,
You've cheered no heart, by yea or nay--
If, through it all
You've nothing done that you can trace
That brought the sunshine to one face--
No act most small
That helped some soul and nothing cost--
Then count that day as worse than lost.

_George Eliot_.

SADNESS AND MERRIMENT

(ADAPTED FROM "THE MERCHANT OF VENICE")

In this passage Antonio states that he is overcome by a sadness he cannot account for. Salarino tells him that the mental attitude is everything; that mirth is as easy as gloom; that nature in her freakishness makes some men laugh at trifles until their eyes become mere slits, yet leaves others dour and unsmiling before jests that would convulse even the venerable Nestor. Gratiano maintains that Antonio is too absorbed in worldly affairs, and that he must not let his spirits grow sluggish or irritable.

_ANT._ In sooth, I know not why I am so sad:
It wearies me; you say it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn.

_Salar_. Then let's say you are sad
Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy
For you to laugh and leap, and say you are merry,
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time:
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes
And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper,
And other of such vinegar aspect
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

_Gra_. You look not well, Signior Antonio;
You have too much respect upon the world:
They lose it that do buy it with much care:
Believe me, you are marvelously changed.

_Ant_. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano
A stage where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.

_Gra_. Let me play the fool:
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,
And let my liver rather heat with wine
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man whose blood is warm within
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
Sleep when he wakes, and creep into a jaundice
By being peevish? Fare ye well awhile:
I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

_William Shakespeare._

APPRECIATION

Life's a bully good game with its kicks and cuffs--
Some smile, some laugh, some bluff;
Some carry a load too heavy to bear
While some push on with never a care,
But the load will seldom heavy be
When I appreciate you and you appreciate me.

He who lives by the side of the road
And helps to bear his brother's load
May seem to travel lone and long
While the world goes by with a merry song,
But the heart grows warm and sorrows flee
When I appreciate you and you appreciate me.

When I appreciate you and you appreciate me,
The road seems short to victory;
It buoys one up and calls "Come on,"
And days grow brighter with the dawn;
There is no doubt or mystery
When I appreciate you and you appreciate me.

It's the greatest thought in heaven or earth--
It helps us know our fellow's worth;
There'd be no wars or bitterness,
No fear, no hate, no grasping; yes,
It makes work play, and the careworn free
When I appreciate you and you appreciate me.

_William Judson Kibby,_

KEEP SWEET

Even the direst catastrophes may be softened by our attitude to them. Charles II said to those who had gathered about his deathbed: "You'll pardon any little lapses, gentlemen. I've never done this thing before."

Don't be foolish and get sour when things don't just come your way--
Don't you be a pampered baby and declare, "Now I won't play!"
Just go grinning on and bear it;
Have you heartache? Millions share it,
If you earn a crown, you'll wear it--
Keep sweet.

Don't go handing out your troubles to your busy fellow-men--
If you whine around they'll try to keep from meeting you again;
Don't declare the world's "agin" you,
Don't let pessimism win you,
Prove there's lots of good stuff in you--
Keep sweet.

If your dearest hopes seem blighted and despair looms into view,
Set your jaw and whisper grimly, "Though they're false, yet I'll be true."
Never let your heart grow bitter;
With your lips to Hope's transmitter,
Hear Love's songbirds bravely twitter,
"Keep sweet."

Bless your heart, this world's a good one, and will always help a man;
Hate, misanthropy, and malice have no place in Nature's plan.
Help your brother there who's sighing.
Keep his flag of courage flying;
Help him try--'twill keep you trying--
Keep sweet.

_Strickland W. Gillilan._

MORALITY

We can't always, even when accomplishing, have the ardor of accomplishment; we can only hold to the purpose formed in more inspired hours. After a work is finished, even though it be a good work which our final judgment will approve, we are likely to be oppressed for a time by the anxieties we have passed through; the comfort of effort has left us, and we recall our dreams, our intentions, beside which our actual achievement seems small. In such moments we should remember that just after the delivery of the Gettysburg Address Lincoln believed it an utter failure. Yet the address was a masterpiece of commemorative oratory.

We cannot kindle when we will
The fire which in the heart resides;
The spirit bloweth and is still,
In mystery our soul abides.
But tasks in hours of insight will'd
Can be through hours of gloom fulfill'd

With aching hands and bleeding feet
We dig and heap, lay stone on stone;
We bear the burden and the heat
Of the long day and wish 'twere done.
Not till the hours of light return,
All we have built do we discern.

_Matthew Arnold_

A HYMN TO HAPPINESS

A man who owed Artemus Ward two hundred dollars fell into such hard circumstances that Artemus offered to knock off half the debt. "I won't let you outdo me in generosity," said the man; "I'll knock off the other half." Similarly, when we resolve to live down our causes of gloom, fate comes to our aid and removes most of them altogether.

Let us smile along together,
Be the weather
What it may.
Through the waste and wealth of hours,
Plucking flowers
By the way.
Fragrance from the meadows blowing,
Naught of heat or hatred knowing,
Kindness seeking, kindness sowing,
Not to-morrow, but to-day.

Let us sing along, beguiling
Grief to smiling
In the song.
With the promises of heaven
Let us leaven
The day long,
Gilding all the duller seemings
With the roselight of our dreamings,
Splashing clouds with sunlight's gleamings,
Here and there and all along.

Let us live along, the sorrow
Of to-morrow
Never heed.
In the pages of the present
What is pleasant
Only read.
Bells but pealing, never knelling,
Hearts with gladness ever swelling.
Tides of charity up welling
In our every dream and deed.

Let us hope along together,
Be the weather
What it may,
Where the sunlight glad is shining,
Not repining
By the way.
Seek to add our meed and measure
To the old Earth's joy and treasure,
Quaff the crystal cup of pleasure,
Not to-morrow, but to-day.

_James W. Foley_.

From "The Voices of Song."

OPPORTUNITY

Procrastination is not only the thief of time; it is also the grave of opportunity.

In an old city by the storied shores
Where the bright summit of Olympus soars,
A cryptic statue mounted towards the light--
Heel-winged, tip-toed, and poised for instant flight.

"O statue, tell your name," a traveler cried,
And solemnly the marble lips replied:
"Men call me Opportunity: I lift
My winged feet from earth to show how swift
My flight, how short my stay--
How Fate is ever waiting on the way."

"But why that tossing ringlet on your brow?"
"That men may seize me any moment: _Now_,
NOW is my other name: to-day my date:
O traveler, to-morrow is too late!"

_Edwin Markham._

From "The Gates of Paradise, and Other Poems."

TO A YOUNG MAN

"Jones write a book! Impossible! I knew his father." This attitude towards distinction of any sort, whether in authorship or in the field of action, is characteristic of many of us. We think transcendent ability is entirely above and apart from the things of ordinary life. Yet genius itself has been defined as common sense in an uncommon degree. The great men are human. Shakespeare remembered this when he said, "I think the king is but a man as I am." We should take heart at the thought that since the great are like us, we may develop ourselves until we are like them.

The great were once as you.
They whom men magnify to-day
Once groped and blundered on life's way,
Were fearful of themselves, and thought
By magic was men's greatness wrought.
They feared to try what they could do;
Yet Fame hath crowned with her success
The selfsame gifts that you possess.

The great were young as you,
Dreaming the very dreams you hold,
Longing yet fearing to be bold,
Doubting that they themselves possessed
The strength and skill for every test,
Uncertain of the truths they knew,
Not sure that they could stand to fate
With all the courage of the great.

Then came a day when they
Their first bold venture made,
Scorning to cry for aid.
They dared to stand to fight alone,
Took up the gauntlet life had thrown,
Charged full-front to the fray,
Mastered their fear of self, and then
Learned that our great men are but men.

Oh, Youth, go forth and do!
You, too, to fame may rise;
You can be strong and wise.
Stand up to life and play the man--
You can if you'll but think you can;
The great were once as you.
You envy them their proud success?
'Twas won with gifts that you possess.

_Edgar A. Guest._

SLOGAN

Some men want ideal conditions with pay in advance before they will work. But the world does not want such men, and has little place for them.

Don't prate about what is your right,
But bare your fists and show your might;
Life is another man to fight
Catch as catch can.

Don't talk of Life as scurvy Fate,
Who gave you favors just too late,
Or Luck who threw you smiles for bait
Before he ran.

Don't whine and wish that you were dead,
But wrestle for your daily bread,
And afterward let it be said
"He was a man."

_Jane M'Lean._

SMILES

Smiles bring out the latent energies within us, as water reveals the bright colors in the stone it flows over.

Smile a little, smile a little,
As you go along,
Not alone when life is pleasant,
But when things go wrong.
Care delights to see you frowning,
Loves to hear you sigh;
Turn a smiling face upon her,
Quick the dame will fly.

Smile a little, smile a little,
All along the road;
Every life must have its burden,
Every heart its load.
Why sit down in gloom and darkness,
With your grief to sup?
As you drink Fate's bitter tonic
Smile across the cup.

Smile upon the troubled pilgrims
Whom you pass and meet;
Frowns are thorns, and smiles are blossoms
Oft for weary feet.
Do not make the way seem harder
By a sullen face,
Smile a little, smile a little,
Brighten up the place.

Smile upon your undone labor;
Not for one who grieves
O'er his task, waits wealth or glory;
He who smiles achieves.
Though you meet with loss and sorrow
In the passing years,
Smile a little, smile a little,
Even through your tears.

_Ella Wheeler Wilcox._

From "Poems of Power."

SIT DOWN, SAD SOUL

"A watched pot never boils." Though the pot be the pot of happiness, the proverb still holds true.

Sit down, sad soul, and count
The moments flying:
Come,--tell the sweet amount
That's lost by sighing!
How many smiles--a score?
Then laugh, and count no more;
For day is dying.

Lie down, sad soul, and sleep,
And no more measure
The flight of Time, nor weep
The loss of leisure;
But here, by this lone stream,
Lie down with us and dream
Of starry treasure.

We dream: do thou the same:
We love--forever;
We laugh; yet few we shame,
The gentle, never.
Stay, then, till Sorrow dies;
_Then_--hope and happy skies
Are thine forever!

_Bryan Waller Procter._

SONG OF ENDEAVOR

Don Quixote discovered that there are no eggs in last year's bird's-nests. Many of us waste our time in regrets for the past, without seeming to perceive that hope lies only in endeavor for the future.

'Tis not by wishing that we gain the prize,
Nor yet by ruing,
But from our falling, learning how to rise,
And tireless doing.

The idols broken, nor our tears and sighs,
May yet restore them.
Regret is only for fools; the wise
Look but before them.

Nor ever yet Success was wooed with tears;
To notes of gladness
Alone the fickle goddess turns her ears,
She hears not sadness.

The heart thrives not in the dull rain and mist
Of gloomy pining.
The sweetest flowers are the flowers sun-kissed,
Where glad light's shining.

Look not behind thee; there is only dust
And vain regretting.
The lost tide ebbs; in the next flood thou must
Learn, by forgetting.

For the lost chances be ye not distressed
To endless weeping;
Be not the thrush that o'er the empty nest
Is vigil keeping.

But in new efforts our regrets to-day
To stillness whiling,
Let us in some pure purpose find the way
To future smiling.

_James W. Foley._

From "The Voices of Song."

KEEP A-GOIN'!

Some men fail and quit. Some succeed and quit. The wise refuse to quit, whether they fail or succeed.

Ef you strike a thorn or rose,
Keep a-goin'!
Ef it hails, or ef it snows,
Keep a-goin!
'Taint no use to sit an' whine,
When the fish ain't on yer line;
Bait yer hook an' keep a-tryin'--
Keep a-goin'!

When the weather kills yer crop,
Keep a-goin'!
When you tumble from the top,
Keep a-goin'!
S'pose you're out of every dime,
Bein' so ain't any _crime;_
Tell the world you're feelin' _prime_--
Keep a-goin'!

When it looks like all is up,
Keep a-goin'!
Drain the sweetness from the cup,
Keep a-goin'!
See the wild birds on the wing,
Hear the bells that sweetly ring,
When you feel like sighin' _sing--_
Keep a-goin'!

_Frank L. Stanton._

From "The Atlanta Constitution."

WHEN EARTH'S LAST PICTURE IS PAINTED

What is it that a human being wants? Most of us have something that we like to do more than anything else. We are not free to do it as we wish. We are handicapped by the need to earn a living, by physical weariness, by the carpings and scoffs of the envious, by the limited time we have at our disposal. But underneath all this is _the spirit of work_--the desire to take up our task for its own sake alone, to give our whole selves to it, to carry it through, not in some partial way, but in accordance with the fulness of our dream. We want to be free from distractions and interruptions; if we are driven at all, we want it to be by our own inner promptings, not by obligation or necessity. Of course these favorable, these ideal conditions belong to heaven, not to earth. Kipling here explains what they will mean to the artist, the painter; but in doing so he expresses the longings of the true workman of whatsoever sort--he sums up the true spirit of work.

When Earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried,
When the oldest colors have faded, and the youngest critic has died,
We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it--lie down for an aeon or two,
Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall set us to work anew.

And those that were good will be happy: they shall sit in a golden chair;
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets' hair.
They shall find real saints to draw from--Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;
They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all!

And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame;
And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They are!

_Rudyard Kipling._

From "Rudyard Kipling's Verse, 1885-1918."

INDEX BY AUTHORS

A

ADAMS, ST. CLAIR. Born in Arkansas, 1883. University education; European
travel; has resided at one time or another in nearly all sections of
America. Miscellaneous literary and editorial work. _A Problem to Be
Solved; Essentials; Good Intentions; It Won't Stay Blowed; Jaw; Never
Trouble Trouble; Ownership; The Rectifying Years; The Syndicated
Smile; Tit for Tat; Wanted--a Man_.

ALEXANDER, GRIFFITH. Born at Liverpool, Eng., Jan. 15, 1868. Educated
in public schools; came to the United States 1887; been connected with
newspapers in great variety of capacities; President of the American
Press Humorists. _Gray Days; Life; The Grumpy Guy_.

ANONYMOUS. _De Sunflower Ain't de Daisy; Hope; I'm Glad; Is It Raining,
Little Flower?; Keep On Keepin' On; Playing the Game; To the Men Who
Lose_.

APPLETON, EVERARD JACK. Born at Charleston, W. Va., Mar. 24, 1872. Very
little schooling, but had advantages of home literary influences and a
good library; at seventeen went into newspaper work in his home town;
later went to Cincinnati, and worked on the daily _Tribune_, then on
the _Commercial Gazette_; later connected with the Cincinnati
_Times-Star_. For five years he wrote daily column of verse and humor;
besides his newspaper work, he has written over one hundred and fifty
stories, hundreds of poems, many songs, and innumerable jokes,
jingles, cheer-up wall cards, and the like. Author of two books of
poetry, "The Quiet Courage" and "With the Colors." With such intense
work his health broke down, and for a number of years he has been a
chronic invalid, but his cheer and his faith are as bright as ever.
_Hold Fast; Meetin' Trouble; Steadfast; The Fighting Failure; The One;
The Woman Who Understands; Unafraid; What Dark Days Do_.

ARNOLD, MATTHEW. Born at Laleham, Middlesex, Eng., Dec. 24, 1822; died at Liverpool, Apr. 15, 1888. Educated at Winchester, Rugby, and Oxford. Became Lord Lansdowne's secretary 1847; became inspector of schools 1851; appointed Professor of Poetry at Oxford 1857; continental tours to inspect foreign educational systems 1859 and 1865; assigned a pension of £250 by Gladstone 1883; lecture trips to America 1883 and 1886; retired as inspector of schools 1886. Among his works are "Empedocles on Etna, and Other Poems," "Essays in Criticism" (first and second series), "Culture and Anarchy," "Literature and Dogma," "Discourses in America," and "On the Study of Celtic Literature." _Morality_; _Self-Dependence_.

B

BANGS, JOHN KENDRICK. Born at Yonkers, N.Y., May 27, 1862; died Jan. 21,
1922. Received Ph.B. degree from Columbia 1883; associate editor of
_Life_ 1884-8; has since served in various editorial capacities on
_Harper's Magazine, Harper's Weekly_, and the _Metropolitan Magazine_.
Among his books are "The Idiot," "A House Boat on the Styx," "The
Bicyclers, and Other Farces," "Songs of Cheer," "Line o' Cheer for
Each Day o' the Year," "The Foothills of Parnassus," "A Quest for
Song," and "The Cheery Way." _A Philosopher_; _A Smiling Paradox_;
_If_; _The Kingdom of Man_; _The Richer Mines_; _The Word_; _To
Melancholy_.

BARBAULD, ANNA LETITIA AIKIN. Born at Kibworth-Harcourt, Leicestershire,
Eng., June 20, 1743; died at Stoke-Newington, Mar. 9, 1825. Poet and
essayist. _Life and Death_.

BENÉT, WILLIAM ROSE. Born at Fort Hamilton, New York Harbor, Feb. 2, 1886.
Graduated from Albany, N.Y., Academy 1904; Ph.B. from Sheffield
Scientific School of Yale University 1907. Reader for _Century
Magazine_ 1907-11; assistant editor of the same 1911-14. 2d Lieutenant
U.S. Air Service 1914-18. Assistant editor of the _Nation's Business_
1919. His books are "Merchants from Cathay," "The Falconer of God,"
"The Great White Wall," and "The Burglar of the Zodiac." _His Ally_;
_Mistress Fate_.

BENJAMIN, PARK. Born at Demerara, British Guiana, Aug. 14, 1809; died at
New York City, Sept. 12, 1864. Connected with various periodicals.
_Press On_.

BINNS, HENRY BRYAN. _Ultimate Act_.

BRADFORD, GAMALIEL. Born at Boston, Mass., Oct. 9, 1863; privately
tutored till 1882; entered Harvard College 1882 but was obliged to
leave almost immediately because of ill health. Contributor of essays
and poems to various magazines; has a remarkable insight into the
characters of historical figures, and in a few pages reveals their
inner souls. Among his books are "Types of American Character," "A
Pageant of Life," "The Private Tutor," "Between Two Masters," "Matthew
Porter," "Lee, the American," "Confederate Portraits," "Union
Portraits," "A Naturalist of Souls," and "Portraits of American
Women." _God; Heinelet; The Joy of Living_.

BRALEY, BERTON. Born at Madison, Wis., Jan. 29, 1882. Graduated from the
University of Wisconsin 1905; reporter on the Butte, Mont., _Inter
Mountain_ 1905-6; later with the Butte _Evening News_ and the
Billings, Mont., _Gazette_; with the New York _Evening Mail_ 1909;
associate editor of _Puck_ 1910; free lance writer since 1910; special
correspondent in Northern Europe 1915-16; in France, England, and
Germany 1918-19. Among his books are "Sonnets of a Freshman," "Songs
of a Workaday World," "Things as They Are," "A Banjo at Armageddon,"
"In Camp and Trench," and "Buddy Ballads." _Opportunity; Playing the
Game; Start Where You Stand; Success; The Conqueror_.

BRANCH, ANNA HEMPSTEAD. Born at New London, Conn. Graduated at Adelphi
Academy, Brooklyn, 1893, from Smith College 1897, and from the
American Academy of Dramatic Art, New York, 1900. Among her books are
"The Heart of the Road," "The Shoes That Danced," "Rose of the Wind,"
and "Nimrod, and Other Poems." _Gladness_.

BROWNING, ELIZABETH BARRETT. Born at Coxhoe Hall, Durham, Eng., Mar. 6,
1806; died at Florence, Italy, June 30, 1861. A semi-invalid all her
life. Married Robert Browning 1846, and resided in Italy for the
remainder of her life. Author of "Casa Guidi Windows," "Aurora Leigh,"
and "Sonnets from the Portuguese." _Cares_.

BROWNING, ROBERT. Born at Camberwell, Eng., May 7, 1812; died at Venice,
Italy, Dec. 12, 1889. Educated at home and at London University; well
trained in music. Travel in Russia 1833; considered diplomatic career;
trip to Italy 1838; married Elizabeth Barrett 1846, and during her
life time resided chiefly at Florence, Italy. After her death in 1861,
he lived in London and Venice. Among his works are "Pauline,"
"Paracelsus," "Strafford," "Sordello," "A Blot in the 'Scutcheon,"
"Colombe's Birthday," "Dramatis Personae," "A Soul's Tragedy," "Luna,"
"Men and Women," "The Ring and the Book," "Fifine at the Fair," "The
Inn-Album," "Dramatic Idyls," and "Asolando." _Man, Bird, and God;
Pippa's Song; Prospice; Rabbi Ben Ezra_.

BURNS, ROBERT. Born at Alloway, near Ayr, Scotland, Jan. 25, 1759; died
at Dumfries, Scotland, July 21, 1796. Received little education;
drudgery on a farm at Mt. Oliphant 1766-77; on a farm at Lochlea
1777-84, during which time there was a period of loose living and bad
companionship; at the death of his father he and his brother Gilbert
rented Mossgiel farm near Mauchline, where many of his best poems were
written; winter of 1786-7 he visited Edinburgh, and was received into
the best society; winter of 1787-8 revisited Edinburgh but rather
coolly received by Edinburgh society; 1788 married Jean Armour, by
whom he had previously had several children. Took farm at Ellisland
1788; became an excise officer 1789. Removed to Dumfries 1791; later
years characterized by depression and poverty. Some of his best-known
poems are "The Holy Fair," "The Cotter's Saturday Night," and "Tam
O'Shanter"; wrote many of the most popular songs in the English
language. _A Man's a Man for A' That; Borrowing Trouble; The Gift_.

BYRON, LORD (George Gordon Byron). Born at London, Jan. 22, 1788; died
at Missolonghi, Greece, Apr. 19, 1824, and buried in parish church at
Hucknell, near Newstead. Born with a deformed foot; much petted as a
child; inherited title and estate at death of his granduncle, William,
fifth Lord Byron, 1798. Studied at Harrow and at Cambridge University,
receiving M.A. degree 1808. Traveled in Portugal, Spain, Greece, and
Turkey 1809-11. In 1815 married Anna Milbanke, who left him 1816. In
1816 met Miss Clairmont at Geneva, who bore him an illegitimate
daughter, Allegra, 1817; in 1819 met Teresa, Countess Guiccioli, at
Venice, and remained with her during his stay in Italy. Joined the
Greek insurgents 1823, and died of a fever in their cause of freedom
from the Turks. Among his works are "Hours of Idleness," "English
Bards and Scotch Reviewers," "Childe Harold," "The Giaour," "The
Corsair," "The Prisoner of Chillon," "Cain," "Manfred," and "Don
Juan." _Serenity_.