Chapter 45

A beautiful statue once stood in the market-place of an Italian city. It was the statue of a Greek slave-girl. It represented the slave as tidy and well drest. A ragged, uncombed little street child, coming across the statue in her play, stopt and gazed at it in admiration. She was captivated by it. She gazed long and lovingly. Moved by a sudden impulse, she went home and washed her face and combed her hair. Another day she stopt again before the statue and admired it, and she got a new idea. Next day her tattered clothes were washed and mended. Each time she looked at the statue she found something in its beauties until she was a transformed child.

The history of the Christian religion has been a continuous record of men transformed by contemplation of the great Example. (Text.)

(1525)

SeeChrist Inviting Men;Example, Power of.

IMITATION DISAPPROVED

It is no use to try to get another man’s style, or to imitate the wit or the mannerisms of another writer. The late Mr. Carlyle, for example, did, in my judgment, a considerable mischief in his day because he led everybody to write after the style of his “French Revolution,” and it became pretty tedious. They got over it after a time, however. But it was not a good thing. Let every man write in his own style, taking care only not to be led into any affectation, but to be perfectly clear, perfectly simple.—Charles A. Dana.

(1526)

IMITATION OF GOD

For the Father of all sends sun and rainOn the good and ill and shows that we,If we would his perfect children be,Must love not only the good and kind,Must teach not only the true and wise,But patience must open the eyes of the blindAnd love must conquer her enemies.(Text.)—Charles William Pearson, “A Threefold Cord.”

For the Father of all sends sun and rain

On the good and ill and shows that we,

If we would his perfect children be,

Must love not only the good and kind,

Must teach not only the true and wise,

But patience must open the eyes of the blind

And love must conquer her enemies.(Text.)

—Charles William Pearson, “A Threefold Cord.”

(1527)

IMITATION OF NATURE

How far the manual and technical arts of human life owe their suggestion and origin to imitation is a point which, so far as I know, has not been fully considered. That the first canoe was made in imitation of a rotten tree which had served as a ferry-boat; that the first pillar was constructed in the likeness of an erect tree; that the Gothic arch was made to represent the overreaching boughs in some forest glade; that the triglyph in the Doric frieze represents the ends of the cross-beams which rested on the architrave—all this seems very probable, and suggests that further investigation might show that to a great degree imitation of the objects of nature, or of earlier structures, underlies all the various arts and products of human labor.—Lord JusticeFry,Contemporary Review.

(1528)

SeeNature a Model.

IMMANENCE OF GOD

But where shall we look for the highest, the most complete and perfect revelation of God that the human mind is capable of grasping? Grant the truth there is in all the symbols which the imagination of men has produced. The earth is like the little ball you can hold in your hand. The solar system is like the revolving electric lights in the Museum of Natural History. The infinite and eternal energy is like the sun radiating light and heat and life upon the earth. He is like the flaming fire which consumes the evil and purifies the good. He is like the wind and like the ocean and like the most beautiful statue that art can produce. More than that. God is not only like all these symbols; He is in the symbols. God is in the solar system, the very life and soul of the universe. God is in the fire that consumes and purifies. God is in the flower and the bird and the beast.—Frank O. Hall.

(1529)

The immanence of God is illustrated in these lines from an unidentified source:

“Oh, where is the sea?” the fishes cried,As they swam the crystal clearness through.“We’ve heard from of old of the ocean’s tide,And we long to look on the waters blue.The wise ones speak of an infinite sea,Oh, who can tell us if such there be?”The lark flew up in the morning bright,And sung and balanced on sunny wings;And this was its song: “I see the light,I look on a world of beautiful things;But flying and singing everywhere,In vain I have searched to find the air.”

“Oh, where is the sea?” the fishes cried,

As they swam the crystal clearness through.

“We’ve heard from of old of the ocean’s tide,

And we long to look on the waters blue.

The wise ones speak of an infinite sea,

Oh, who can tell us if such there be?”

The lark flew up in the morning bright,

And sung and balanced on sunny wings;

And this was its song: “I see the light,

I look on a world of beautiful things;

But flying and singing everywhere,

In vain I have searched to find the air.”

(1530)

Immensity of Space Reveals God—SeeConverted by the Comet.

Immigrant Savings—SeeProsperity as an Advertisement.

IMMIGRATION

There is an ominous side to immigration, but there are alleviating facts. One of these was thus referred to by Bishop Warren of the Methodist Episcopal Church:

A while ago I was in a small country village in New England. For the first time in my life I looked upon a Methodist Episcopal church, once filled with happy worshipers, but now closed and abandoned. The population of the entire township was declining, and tho a few of the last remaining Methodists had added their help to the older and stronger Congregational church, even this was looking into the future with fear and trembling. Many of the native stock had died or moved away, and “foreigners were creeping in.” I got a boy to guide me to where one of these foreigners—a Finlander—lived. It was a neatly painted home, with a fine garden and an acre of land, all paid for, and occupied by the Finn and his son. All the foreigners in the village were Finns and there were of them just six men and four women. Of the latter, two were wives of two of the men and two were young women serving in American families. And what sort of people were they? One of the six men, I was told, was a lay preacher and, as Sunday services were a long way off and quite irregular, this little homeless community of ten dreaded and shunned immigrants were maintaining a weekly prayer-meeting! (Text.)

(1531)

The total immigration to the United States for 1909 was 751,786. The net gain in foreign population was 718,433. The comparative immigration from the leading countries of the world for three years is shown in the following table:

The reader sees at once that more immigrants came from Italy than from any other country. In fact, the immigrants from Germany,England, Ireland, Scotland, France and Scandinavia numbered altogether 198,630, while those from Italy alone were 190,398. Of these Italian immigrants 25,150 (in 1908, 24,700 and in 1907, 51,564) came from northern Italy and 165,248 (in 1908, 110,547 and in 1907, 242,497) from southern Italy.Of the total 751,786 immigrants, 220,865 or 29.4 per cent., declared that the State of New York was their intended place of residence (of Hebrews 60.2 per cent., of Italians 39.9 per cent., of Poles 23.8 per cent.).

Of the total 751,786 immigrants, 220,865 or 29.4 per cent., declared that the State of New York was their intended place of residence (of Hebrews 60.2 per cent., of Italians 39.9 per cent., of Poles 23.8 per cent.).

(1532)

IMMORTALITY

The heart of man hears the call and feels the attraction of life beyond, as the woodland brook hears the call of the distant sea and hastens on to meet it.

(1533)

The fadeless hope of everlasting life is thus exprest by St. John Adcock:

I, that had life ere I was bornInto this world of dark and light,Waking as one who wakes at mornFrom dreams of night.I am as old as heaven and earth;But sleep is death without decay,And since each morn renews my birthI am no older than the day.Old tho my outward form appears,Tho it at last outworn shall lie,This that is servile to the years,This is not I.I, who outwear the form I take,When I put off this garb of flesh,Still in immortal youth shall wakeAnd somewhere clothe my life afresh.(Text.)—The Monthly Review.

I, that had life ere I was bornInto this world of dark and light,Waking as one who wakes at mornFrom dreams of night.

I, that had life ere I was born

Into this world of dark and light,

Waking as one who wakes at morn

From dreams of night.

I am as old as heaven and earth;But sleep is death without decay,And since each morn renews my birthI am no older than the day.

I am as old as heaven and earth;

But sleep is death without decay,

And since each morn renews my birth

I am no older than the day.

Old tho my outward form appears,Tho it at last outworn shall lie,This that is servile to the years,This is not I.

Old tho my outward form appears,

Tho it at last outworn shall lie,

This that is servile to the years,

This is not I.

I, who outwear the form I take,When I put off this garb of flesh,Still in immortal youth shall wakeAnd somewhere clothe my life afresh.(Text.)—The Monthly Review.

I, who outwear the form I take,

When I put off this garb of flesh,

Still in immortal youth shall wake

And somewhere clothe my life afresh.(Text.)

—The Monthly Review.

(1534)

When the late Dr. Reese, of Swansea, preached the last time in North Wales, a friend said to him—one of those who are always reminding people that they are getting old: “You are whitening fast, Dr. Reese.” The old gentleman did not say anything then, but when he got to the pulpit he referred to it and said: “There is a wee white flower that comes up through the earth at this season of the year. Sometimes it comes up through the snow and frost; but we are glad to see the snow-drop, because it proclaims that the winter is over and that the summer is at hand. A friend reminded me last night that I was whitening fast. But heed not that, brother; it is to me proof that my winter will soon be over; that I shall have done presently with the cold east winds and the frosts of earth, and that my summer, my eternal summer, is at hand.” (Text.)—Vyrnwy Morgan, “The Cambro-American Pulpit.”

(1535)

James T. White is the author of the following lines, entitled “A Sea Shell.” They appeared in the New YorkTribune:

Imprisoned in the shellAre echoes of the far-off ocean’s roar.May not our hopes of immortality,That deep within us dwell—Instinctive to the soul, and more and moreInsistent to the heart—may not they beSoul-echoes of the swellThat ceaseless beats on an eternal shore?

Imprisoned in the shell

Are echoes of the far-off ocean’s roar.

May not our hopes of immortality,

That deep within us dwell—

Instinctive to the soul, and more and more

Insistent to the heart—may not they be

Soul-echoes of the swell

That ceaseless beats on an eternal shore?

(1536)

IMMORTALITY, A SYMBOL OF

This apostrophe to a butterfly was written by Alice Freeman Palmer:

I hold you at last in my hand,Exquisite child of the air;Can I ever understandHow you grew to be so fair?You came to this linden-treeTo taste its delicious sweet,I sitting here in the shadow and shinePlaying around its feet.Now I hold you fast in my hand,You marvelous butterfly,Till you help me to understandThe eternal mystery.From that creeping thing in the dustTo this shining bliss in the blue!God, give me courage to trustI can break my chrysalis, too!

I hold you at last in my hand,Exquisite child of the air;Can I ever understandHow you grew to be so fair?

I hold you at last in my hand,

Exquisite child of the air;

Can I ever understand

How you grew to be so fair?

You came to this linden-treeTo taste its delicious sweet,I sitting here in the shadow and shinePlaying around its feet.

You came to this linden-tree

To taste its delicious sweet,

I sitting here in the shadow and shine

Playing around its feet.

Now I hold you fast in my hand,You marvelous butterfly,Till you help me to understandThe eternal mystery.

Now I hold you fast in my hand,

You marvelous butterfly,

Till you help me to understand

The eternal mystery.

From that creeping thing in the dustTo this shining bliss in the blue!God, give me courage to trustI can break my chrysalis, too!

From that creeping thing in the dust

To this shining bliss in the blue!

God, give me courage to trust

I can break my chrysalis, too!

(1537)

IMMORTALITY, EVIDENCE OF

Man, who builds bridges, sails ships, fights battles for liberty, erects cathedrals, writes hymns and prayers, founds homes, is given a little handful of thirty or forty years. Nor can the bulk of the elephant above man’s size ever explain the two hundred years given to some Jumbo munching hay, or the three thousand years given to some tree that is dead, inert and voiceless. The architectbuilds a marble palace for centuries, stores it with art treasures, that all the generations may throng in and out, feeding the eye and feasting the hunger for beauty, in form and color. But God spent millions of years upon this body, fearfully and wonderfully made, storing the soul’s temple with intellect, memory and judgment, with conscience, affections and moral sentiments. And did He build this soul that goes laughing, weeping, inventing, praying, through life, for that goal named a black hole in the ground?—N. D. Hillis.

(1538)

IMMORTALITY, FEELING OF

Living on the surface of the earth sense impressions constrain us to regard the earth as flat and still, and the sun and other heavenly bodies as moving across the heavens above our heads. But astronomers know that by long watching of the heavenly bodies an observer comes often to feel the motion and sense the rotundity of the earth.

So of the man who will live in the spiritual altitudes. He reasonably believed before in the future life, but all his impressions have been earthly, materialistic. But on the higher level he actually “lays hold on the powers of an endless life.”

(1539)

IMMORTALITY, INTIMATIONS OF

Eugene Field is the author of this:

Upon the mountain height, far from the sea,I found a shell;And to my listening ear the lonely thingEver a song of ocean seemed to sing,Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell.How came the shell upon that mountain height?Ah, who can say?Whether there dropt by some too careless hand,Or whether there cast when ocean swept the land,Ere the eternal had ordained the day.Strange, was it not! Far from its native deep,One song it sang—Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide,Sang of the misty sea, profound and wide,Ever with echoes of the ocean rang.And as the shell upon the mountain heightSings of the sea,So do I ever, leagues and leagues away—So do I ever, wandering where I may,Sing, O my home! sing, O my home! of thee. (Text.)

Upon the mountain height, far from the sea,I found a shell;And to my listening ear the lonely thingEver a song of ocean seemed to sing,Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell.

Upon the mountain height, far from the sea,

I found a shell;

And to my listening ear the lonely thing

Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing,

Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell.

How came the shell upon that mountain height?Ah, who can say?Whether there dropt by some too careless hand,Or whether there cast when ocean swept the land,Ere the eternal had ordained the day.

How came the shell upon that mountain height?

Ah, who can say?

Whether there dropt by some too careless hand,

Or whether there cast when ocean swept the land,

Ere the eternal had ordained the day.

Strange, was it not! Far from its native deep,One song it sang—Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide,Sang of the misty sea, profound and wide,Ever with echoes of the ocean rang.

Strange, was it not! Far from its native deep,

One song it sang—

Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide,

Sang of the misty sea, profound and wide,

Ever with echoes of the ocean rang.

And as the shell upon the mountain heightSings of the sea,So do I ever, leagues and leagues away—So do I ever, wandering where I may,Sing, O my home! sing, O my home! of thee. (Text.)

And as the shell upon the mountain height

Sings of the sea,

So do I ever, leagues and leagues away—

So do I ever, wandering where I may,

Sing, O my home! sing, O my home! of thee. (Text.)

(1540)

A solemn murmur in its soulTells of the world to be,As travelers hear the billows roll,Before they reach the sea.

A solemn murmur in its soul

Tells of the world to be,

As travelers hear the billows roll,

Before they reach the sea.

(1541)

IMMORTALITY OF INFLUENCE

Richard Watson Gilder writes this verse about a dead poet:

I read that, in his sleep, the poet diedEre the day broke;In a new dawn, as rose earth’s crimson tide,His spirit woke.Yet still with us his golden spirit stayed,On the same pageThat told his end, his living verse I read—His lyric rage.Behold! I thought, they call him cold in death;But hither turn,See where his soul, a glorious, flaming breath,Doth pulse and burn.This is the poet’s triumph, his high doom!After life’s stress—For him the silent, dark, o’ershadowing tombIs shadowless.And this the miracle and mystery—In that he givesHis soul away, magnificently free,By this he lives. (Text.)—The Outlook.

I read that, in his sleep, the poet diedEre the day broke;In a new dawn, as rose earth’s crimson tide,His spirit woke.

I read that, in his sleep, the poet died

Ere the day broke;

In a new dawn, as rose earth’s crimson tide,

His spirit woke.

Yet still with us his golden spirit stayed,On the same pageThat told his end, his living verse I read—His lyric rage.

Yet still with us his golden spirit stayed,

On the same page

That told his end, his living verse I read—

His lyric rage.

Behold! I thought, they call him cold in death;But hither turn,See where his soul, a glorious, flaming breath,Doth pulse and burn.

Behold! I thought, they call him cold in death;

But hither turn,

See where his soul, a glorious, flaming breath,

Doth pulse and burn.

This is the poet’s triumph, his high doom!After life’s stress—For him the silent, dark, o’ershadowing tombIs shadowless.

This is the poet’s triumph, his high doom!

After life’s stress—

For him the silent, dark, o’ershadowing tomb

Is shadowless.

And this the miracle and mystery—In that he givesHis soul away, magnificently free,By this he lives. (Text.)—The Outlook.

And this the miracle and mystery—

In that he gives

His soul away, magnificently free,

By this he lives. (Text.)

—The Outlook.

(1542)

IMMORTALITY, PROOF OF

“Proof,” asks the Soul, “that that which is shall be?That which was not, persist eternally?Faith fails before the mortal mystery.”Yet more miraculous miracle were this:The mortal, dreaming immortality;The finite, framing forth infinity;The shallow, lightly plumbing the abyss;Ephemeral lips, creating with a kiss;The transient eye, fixt on eternity! (Text.)—Grace Ellery Channing,The Century.

“Proof,” asks the Soul, “that that which is shall be?That which was not, persist eternally?Faith fails before the mortal mystery.”

“Proof,” asks the Soul, “that that which is shall be?

That which was not, persist eternally?

Faith fails before the mortal mystery.”

Yet more miraculous miracle were this:The mortal, dreaming immortality;The finite, framing forth infinity;The shallow, lightly plumbing the abyss;Ephemeral lips, creating with a kiss;The transient eye, fixt on eternity! (Text.)—Grace Ellery Channing,The Century.

Yet more miraculous miracle were this:

The mortal, dreaming immortality;

The finite, framing forth infinity;

The shallow, lightly plumbing the abyss;

Ephemeral lips, creating with a kiss;

The transient eye, fixt on eternity! (Text.)

—Grace Ellery Channing,The Century.

(1543)

Immunity from Colds—SeeVitality Low.

IMMUNITY FROM DISEASE

The island of Barbados, in the West Indies, is remarkably free from malaria, and this immunity from a disease which is so common in the tropics has been attributed to a species of fish that inhabits the waters of that island, and whose chief food is the larvæ of the mosquito. These fish are tiny minnows, never exceeding an inch and a half in length, and are generally known as “millions,” altho they bear a most impressive scientific name. They belong to the family of “top minnows,” feeding on the surface of the water, and their diminutive size enables them to swim over lily-pads and similar vegetation, which is covered only by a thin film of water, and there feast upon mosquito larvæ and other insects.These fish thrive in stagnant or running water, and whether it is fresh or brackish appears to have no effect upon them. The minnows will swim up stream against a strong current and then enter the smaller rivulets, thus distributing themselves over an entire water system. The young of these fish are not hatched from eggs, but are born alive.The Panama Canal Commission has decided to employ these minnows in the fight to rid the Isthmus of the malarial mosquito, and has imported a great quantity of the little fish. There are mosquito-eating fish in the Panama waters, but they are not sufficiently numerous to be of much value. However, a systematic stocking of the lakes and streams in the Canal Zone with the “millions” from Barbados should act as a severe check on the mosquito population of Panama, and indirectly aid in stamping out malaria.—Harper’s Weekly.

These fish thrive in stagnant or running water, and whether it is fresh or brackish appears to have no effect upon them. The minnows will swim up stream against a strong current and then enter the smaller rivulets, thus distributing themselves over an entire water system. The young of these fish are not hatched from eggs, but are born alive.

The Panama Canal Commission has decided to employ these minnows in the fight to rid the Isthmus of the malarial mosquito, and has imported a great quantity of the little fish. There are mosquito-eating fish in the Panama waters, but they are not sufficiently numerous to be of much value. However, a systematic stocking of the lakes and streams in the Canal Zone with the “millions” from Barbados should act as a severe check on the mosquito population of Panama, and indirectly aid in stamping out malaria.—Harper’s Weekly.

(1544)

SeeDisease, Exemption from.

Immutability—SeeIndividuality of Germs.

IMPARTIALITY

Lieut. Edmund Blaney, of the Atlantic Avenue police station, Brooklyn, who locked up his son brought in on the charge of fighting, is to be commended for his determination that his own shall be treated no better than others. It is a gratifying instance of the absence of “pull” and a delightful example of paternal willingness to see that punishment is meted out when it should be. Lieutenant Blaney could have let his fighting son, a man of twenty-three, and the other prisoner go upon their promise to appear in court, and no one would have taken exception to such a display of fatherly interest, but he preferred the Spartan attitude. The public need not expect this rule to be generally followed, for not many parents have the firmness to deal out the same degree of severe treatment to their own offspring as to those of others. A not to be overlooked feature of the case is the evident reduction of the young man’s opinion of his ability to violate the law and escape the consequences. He thought, or said, that he could not be arrested because he was an officer’s son. That was yesterday. To-day he is wiser and it is hoped a slightly better citizen from a forced realization that ordinances are intended for all alike.—BrooklynStandard Union.

(1545)

Impartiality of God—SeePrivilege.

IMPATIENCE

Victor Hugo pictures a man who is so maddened by failure and misfortune that he resolves on suicide. He is at the end of his resources, and he capitulates to death. No sooner has he committed suicide than the postman drops a letter in at his door which contains the information that a distant relative has left him a large fortune. If he had waited but one hour longer! For want of patience he lost all!

(1546)

Sergeant Cotton in his book “A Voice from Waterloo,” tells us what Wellington thought Napoleon ought to have done:

Napoleon never had so fine an army as at Waterloo. He was certainly wrong in attacking at all. He might have played again the same defensive game in the French territory which he had played so admirably the year before; that campaign of 1814 I consider the very finest he ever made. He might have given us great trouble and had many chances in his favor. But the fact is he never in his life had patience for a defensive war.

(1547)

IMPATIENCE OF REFORMERS

The besetting sin of the reformer is his impatience. The world must be redeemed at once. “The trouble seems to be,” said Theodore Parker of the anti-slavery cause, “thatGod is not in a hurry, and I am.” “If my scheme is not sufficient to redeem society,” said a labor leader not long ago, “what is yours?” as tho every self-respecting man must have some panacea of social salvation. The fact is, however, that a time like ours, whose symptoms are so complex and serious, is no time for social panaceas. As one of the most observant of American students of society has remarked: “When I hear a man bring forward a solution of the social question, I move to adjourn.” Jesus proposes no surgical operation which at one stroke can save the world. He offers no assurance that the tares of the world shall be exterminated by one sweep of the scythe. He adds faith to patience.—Francis Greenwood Peabody, “Proceedings of the Religious Education Association,” 1904.

(1548)

IMPERFECTION IN NATURE

It is constantly felt by thoughtful minds that nothing is complete in this universe. We wait for perfection and can not know it in this life or in this world.

In the world of flowers there are three primary colors, of which many broken shades form a countless number of secondary tints. But the scientific botanist points out a remarkable fact: many flowers are of compound colors. Some are red and blue; some are red and yellow; some are blue and yellow; but there never has been such a thing as a plant whose flowers burst into all three of the primary tints. Roses are red in various shades, and yellow also in many shades. But that is all; no florist has ever been able to produce a really blue rose. The same fact applies to the chrysanthemum; it may be red in some shade or other, or it may be yellow in a whole range of alternative tints; but the vain dream of the Japanese is to find the fabled “blue chrysanthemum.” A great fortune would await any one who could produce by his art a blue rose or a blue chrysanthemum. Nature denies to flowers the ability to range through the whole gamut of the colors of the rainbow.

(1549)

IMPERFECTION, MAN’S

Upon all man’s works we write one word—imperfect. Full as our world is of the beautiful and the useful, it also holds much of immaturity, wreckage and failure. The scientist insists that there is not one perfect leaf in the forest, not a red rose but holds some blemish, not a cluster or bunch but has suffered some injury. The winters chill the roots, untimely frosts bite the seed, rude storms strain the boughs. What Nature offers man is not perfection, but enough of use and beauty to satisfy to-day’s hunger, and to allure man to something better. Dwelling, therefore, under skies that oft are unfriendly, we perceive that even man’s best work shares in imperfection. His trains jump the track, his bridges break, his ships sink, rust destroys his tools, fire smites his factories, epidemics shorten his life. His fine arts are elective, representing the selection of the best elements carried up to the ideal conditions, and yet even man’s arts represent many forms of injury. All the treasure-houses of the world fail to show one statue that is perfect. The Winged Victory is without a head, the Venus di Milo is without arms, the Minerva has a black stain on the forehead, while only the torso of Jupiter remains, all else having gone.—N. D. Hillis.

(1550)

Imperfection, Value of—SeeDiverse Influences.

IMPERFECTIONS CORRECTED

Some years ago I visited Albany, N. Y., when the Capitol was not finished. I saw men at work, apparently, removing stones from the wall on one side. When I asked about it, a workman said: “When that wall was erected they were unable to get granite of the right quality and color to complete the architect’s design. In order that the work might not be delayed, some blocks of wood were used temporarily. Now they have the quality and color of granite required, and are taking out those wooden blocks and replacing them with granite.” The Capitol was being built up, after the fashion of the architect’s ideal.So it is to-day with us. In the temple, our character, which is His dwelling-place, there are faulty stones. As we come to a clearer knowledge of the person of Jesus we perceive these imperfections and replace them with alabaster hewn from the Rock of Ages, “carved as the angels carved their crowns in the fadeless days of June.” If we are living up to the requirements of our profession, we are thus being built up in Him, continually approaching the ideal of the Master architect. (Text.)—H. G. Furbay.

So it is to-day with us. In the temple, our character, which is His dwelling-place, there are faulty stones. As we come to a clearer knowledge of the person of Jesus we perceive these imperfections and replace them with alabaster hewn from the Rock of Ages, “carved as the angels carved their crowns in the fadeless days of June.” If we are living up to the requirements of our profession, we are thus being built up in Him, continually approaching the ideal of the Master architect. (Text.)—H. G. Furbay.

(1551)

Imperfections in Character—SeeDiverse Influences.

Imperviousness—SeeEvil, Repellence of.

Impoliteness—SeePoliteness.

Importance, not Size—SeeWork Despised.

IMPOSSIBLE, ACHIEVING WHAT SEEMED

Hon. Richmond P. Hobson gives his impressions of army achievements as he recalls his prison experiences in a Spanish fortress, and has this to say:

From my prison window in Santiago, which was but little in the rear of the Spanish line of entrenchments, I saw the Spaniards fortifying the city for twenty days. I watched them with critical interest. I saw them bring up guns from the ships and place them. Then I saw our men come up and drive the Spaniards into those entrenchments, and when they had driven them into the entrenchments I saw them go on and try to take the entrenchments themselves. It looked to be an impossible thing, but as yet the artillery was silent. The men came on up the hill and the artillery opened, and my heart sank when I saw that it was flanking artillery. For a moment the American fire ceased as tho the enemy’s guns had been a signal. “Now, then,” said I to myself, “this is the place where the individuality of the soldier will appear, for each man there knows that he is just as likely as any other man to be struck with that shrapnel.” None of them had ever been under fire before; they could not be put to a harder test; but how did they respond to it? Instantly after the lull a more rapid fire set in, and a more rapid rush of men up to the trenches. In spite of flanking artillery we had taken those fortified trenches with unsupported infantry—a thing that army experts the world over said could not be done.

(1552)

IMPOSSIBLE, NOTHING

At the dedication of the Bunker Hill monument, when it appeared that an accident was imminent by the surging of the crowds against the speakers’ platform, Webster requested the people to kindly move back. A man in the crowd answered back: “It is impossible!” Thereupon the great Massachusetts statesman cried out: “Impossible! Impossible! Nothing is impossible on Bunker Hill!”—Charles E. Locke.

(1553)

IMPRECATION IN PSALMS

Said one Unitarian minister to another, about the time when the breaking out of our Civil War exposed the wickedness of its instigators: “I never before felt so much like swearing.” “Well,” was the reply, “I felt as you do; but I turned to the Old Testament, and picked out one of good old David’s imprecatory Psalms. I read it twice aloud, and since then I have felt much better.”

(1554)

IMPRESS

I took a piece of plastic clayAnd idly fashioned it one day,And as my fingers prest it still,It moved and yielded to my will.I came again when days were past;The bit of clay was hard at last,The form I gave it still it bore,But I could change that form no more.I took a piece of living clay,And gently formed it day by day,And molded it with power and art—A young child’s soft and yielding heart.I came again when years were gone;He was a man I looked upon;He still that early impress wore.And I could change him never more.(Text.)

I took a piece of plastic clayAnd idly fashioned it one day,And as my fingers prest it still,It moved and yielded to my will.

I took a piece of plastic clay

And idly fashioned it one day,

And as my fingers prest it still,

It moved and yielded to my will.

I came again when days were past;The bit of clay was hard at last,The form I gave it still it bore,But I could change that form no more.

I came again when days were past;

The bit of clay was hard at last,

The form I gave it still it bore,

But I could change that form no more.

I took a piece of living clay,And gently formed it day by day,And molded it with power and art—A young child’s soft and yielding heart.

I took a piece of living clay,

And gently formed it day by day,

And molded it with power and art—

A young child’s soft and yielding heart.

I came again when years were gone;He was a man I looked upon;He still that early impress wore.And I could change him never more.(Text.)

I came again when years were gone;

He was a man I looked upon;

He still that early impress wore.

And I could change him never more.(Text.)

(1555)

IMPRESSION BY PRACTISE

A native Korean, who was told to memorize the entire Sermon on the Mount, did so with remarkable exactness. When asked how he accomplished it, he said: “My teacher told me to learn it with my heart as well as with my memory, so I hit on this plan. I would try to memorize a verse, and then find a heathen neighbor of mine and practise it on him. I found the verse would stick after I had done that, and I couldn’t forget a word of it.”

(1556)

IMPRESSIONS

On almost any sea beach you may see lying together smooth white pebbles, and ragged sponges, both drying in the sun andwaiting the return of the tide. But when the tide comes and strikes the pebbles not a drop of the water enters them, thousands of years they have rolled up and down there, wearing smoother and growing more impervious all the time. But at the first touch of the incoming tide the sponges drink themselves full.

There is the same difference in men. Tides of spiritual influence flow around some men and they keep growing harder—the same tides fill and transform others.

(1557)

SeeTestimony of Nature.

IMPRESSIONS, EARLY

The things children most quickly note and in which they take most interest may indicate their bent of mind and help parents and instructors to shape their education along lines of least resistance. Thus R. H. Haweis says:

“Long before I had ever touched a violin I was fascinated with its appearance. In driving to town as a child—when, standing up in the carriage, I could just look out of the window—certain fiddle-shops hung with mighty rows of violoncellos attracted my attention. I had dreams of these large editions—these patriarchs of the violin, as they seemed to me. I compared them in my mind with the smaller tenors and violins. I dreamed about their brown, big, dusty bodies and affable good-natured-looking heads and grinning faces. These violin shops were the great points watched for on each journey up to London from Norwood, where I spent my early days.”

(1558)

Impressions Permanent—SeeTeachers’ Function, The.

Impression, Vivid—SeeReminder, Severe.

IMPRISONED LIVES

In the Persian desert the sad sight may be seen of brick pillars in which many an unfortunate victim has been walled up alive, as a horrible method of inflicting capital punishment. Some awful tales of cruelties perpetrated here are told. The victim is put into the pillar, which is half built up in readiness, then, if merciful, the executioner will cement quickly up to the face, when death comes speedily; but sometimes the torture is prolonged, and the inmate has been heard groaning and calling for water for three days.

How many lives are walled lives—built around and bricked in by torturing limitations that suffocate joy and hope, and are no more than a lingering death!

(1559)

IMPROVED CONDITIONS

In a district of Glasgow where the death-rate used to be forty in a thousand, sanitation has brought it down to twenty-eight, and it has been brought down to seventeen or eighteen in some parts of London. Boston reduced its death-rate from thirty-one to twenty, and Croydon, Eng., from twenty-eight to thirteen. Even the friction-match has had its share in prolonging life. “Doubtless many a fatal pneumonia and pleurisy has been contracted when the luckless householder’s lire had died out overnight, and he was struggling with flint, steel and tinderbox.” In London during the last century nearly two hundred thousand persons perished of smallpox. Macaulay says that a person without a pitted face was the exception. But, thanks largely to vaccination, in a recent year there were only fourteen cases of smallpox among New York’s inhabitants, and in the German army, where vaccination is compulsory, the dread disease has been eradicated. The production of pure water by distillation has done much to abolish alimentary diseases among sailors at sea, and lime-juice defends them from scurvy. When the first emigrant ships went out to Australia, one-third of the passengers perished on the voyage, but when the ship-owners were forced to alter their terms and receive pay only for those they landed safely, the death-rate became smaller than when these same persons were living upon shore. In Queen Elizabeth’s time, one in two thousand of her London subjects was murdered annually. At the same rate there would be 2,500 murders every year in London now, whereas the number is no more than twelve. This is what the lighter street and a more efficient police have done for the British metropolis. Facts like these are a most wholesome and agreeable corrective for the lament over the departure of the “good old times,” so much affected by the cynic and the pessimist.—BostonJournal.

(1560)

IMPROVEMENT

He came to my desk with a quivering lip,The lesson was done—“Dear teacher, I want a new leaf,” he said,“I have spoiled this one.”In place of the leaf so stained and blotted,I gave him a new one all unspotted,And into his sad eyes smiled—“Do better now, my child.”I went to the throne with a quivering soul,The old year was done—“Dear Father, hast Thou a new leaf for me,I have spoiled this one?”He took the old leaf, stained and blotted,And gave me a new one all unspotted,And into my sad heart smiled—“Do better now, my child.”

He came to my desk with a quivering lip,

The lesson was done—

“Dear teacher, I want a new leaf,” he said,

“I have spoiled this one.”

In place of the leaf so stained and blotted,

I gave him a new one all unspotted,

And into his sad eyes smiled—

“Do better now, my child.”

I went to the throne with a quivering soul,The old year was done—“Dear Father, hast Thou a new leaf for me,I have spoiled this one?”He took the old leaf, stained and blotted,And gave me a new one all unspotted,And into my sad heart smiled—“Do better now, my child.”

I went to the throne with a quivering soul,

The old year was done—

“Dear Father, hast Thou a new leaf for me,

I have spoiled this one?”

He took the old leaf, stained and blotted,

And gave me a new one all unspotted,

And into my sad heart smiled—

“Do better now, my child.”

(1561)

We can all help make the world better, as suggested by Annie Aldrich in these verses:

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