E

Duplicity, rending apart, partition of the will and of the heart, lamentable division—that is our life! It is not a continuous chain; it is only links broken and dispersed. We are peace-loving, just, truthful, sober, chaste, disinterested; but we are also malicious, unjust, cunning, intemperate, impure. We are like those ships that carry to the colonies, along with the Bibles and religious tracts, cannon, alcohol, and opium; or those poets full of contrary talents, who play turn by turn on the sacred lyre and on the strident conch-shell.

(815)

DOUBT ISSUING IN PEACE

The peace of God descends more softly shedThan light upon the deep,And sinks below the tumult of my yearsDeeper than dreams or sleep.And somehow, as of dusk was born the starWhose fire is on the sea,Another star from doubt’s profounder darkIs risen and shines on me. (Text.)—Henry Fletcher Harris,Harper’s Magazine.

The peace of God descends more softly shedThan light upon the deep,And sinks below the tumult of my yearsDeeper than dreams or sleep.

The peace of God descends more softly shed

Than light upon the deep,

And sinks below the tumult of my years

Deeper than dreams or sleep.

And somehow, as of dusk was born the starWhose fire is on the sea,Another star from doubt’s profounder darkIs risen and shines on me. (Text.)—Henry Fletcher Harris,Harper’s Magazine.

And somehow, as of dusk was born the star

Whose fire is on the sea,

Another star from doubt’s profounder dark

Is risen and shines on me. (Text.)

—Henry Fletcher Harris,Harper’s Magazine.

(816)

DOUBTS, DISSOLVING

Crossing the Atlantic, a vessel is often encircled by small ice-floes, looking like a flock of white sheep on the blue ocean. When they started on their course southward, those ice-floes were great frozen masses. But the warm Gulf Stream played on them beneath, and the sun melted them from above, till they dwindled as they entereda warm atmosphere. A man’s doubts at first seem large enough to freeze his faith, but let him go steadily onward into the warm atmosphere of Christian love, and gradually his doubts will no more impede his progress than the ice-floes impede an ocean-liner.

(817)

DOURNESS

If I could present the picture of a Scotch Highland cow, with her calf by her side, watching the approach of a tourist whom she thinks is coming too near—could I depict the expression of her face; that, I would say, would fairly represent what is meant by “dour.” Not that the cow would take the aggressive, but, if interfered with, I’ll warrant she would not be the one permanently injured. Led by this trait a certain Scotchman always stood up during prayers when others were kneeling, and sat down when others stood to sing, because, as he exprest it, the ordinary method was the only one used by the English and he wasn’t going to do as they did.—John Watson.

(818)

DOWN GRADE, THE

The terrible crimes and miseries of the East End of London have recently been brought into great prominence, and one of the most distressing features of this subject is that considerable numbers of these appallingly miserable characters were once respectable and happy. They were the children of honorable parents, they were trained in schools and sanctuaries, they were members of rich and influential circles; then they chose the down grade; they were first guilty of unbecomingness, then of acts of graver misconduct; at length their friends lost sight of them, they lost sight of their friends; then ever lower lodging-houses, lower ginshops, lower pawnshops, until at last those who had been tenderly nursed, educated in universities, clothed in scarlet, were submerged in filth, crime, misery, simply unutterable. All this dire catastrophe once seemed impossible to them, as now it seems impossible to us; but forget not that the doubtful ever passes into the bad, the bad into the worse, the worse into the unspeakable.—W. L. Watkinson, “The Transfigured Sackcloth.”

(819)

DREAM, VALUE OF THE

A pillow-dream is a night adventure of your subconscious self. You wander without volition in a weird world and come back with a tantalized and fleeting recollection of fantastic persons and impossible situations. The metaphysical mystery of this sort of dreams has never been cleared, but it is certain that the fruits gathered in these sunless excursions are of doubtful flavor and quickly perishable. Fortunately, we are capable of dreams which are not pillow-dreams—dreams which are best dreamed when the spine is vertical and every fiber of mind, soul, and heart vibrant and vital. On these occasions we are in the clasp of our best mood—the mood of concept and creation. The wine of this mood is red like blood and the resultant intoxication is the holiest experience of which we are capable. In its high hours the soul is never maudlin or fuddled; it grips life strongly and deals with it in divine fashion, whipping its fugitive elements into orderly submission, compelling them to assume a useful steadiness like that of the dependable planets which can be found nightly at a given point in the heavens.—Metropolitan Magazine.

(820)

DREAMS

(“Behold, this dreamer cometh”)

They stript me bare and left me by the wayTo pine forsaken in a lonely land;They gave me to night-frosts and burning dayTo griefs none understand.They took my silver from me and my gold,The changing splendors of my rich array;Night’s silver rain of dew escaped their hold,And the fine gold of day.On the world’s highway in vain pomp they tread;By paths unknown I stray and hidden streams;They took all else and left me there for dead;They could not take my dreams.Still, morning comes with marvel as of old;Still in soft rose descends the eventide;Still in the castle of my heart, grown bold,The sweet, swift thoughts abide.Pass by, pass by, O clamorous folk and wild!To this last fortress of the soul I cling;Men gave me winter weather from a child,But God has given me spring. (Text.)—Robin Flower,The London Spectator.

They stript me bare and left me by the wayTo pine forsaken in a lonely land;They gave me to night-frosts and burning dayTo griefs none understand.

They stript me bare and left me by the way

To pine forsaken in a lonely land;

They gave me to night-frosts and burning day

To griefs none understand.

They took my silver from me and my gold,The changing splendors of my rich array;Night’s silver rain of dew escaped their hold,And the fine gold of day.

They took my silver from me and my gold,

The changing splendors of my rich array;

Night’s silver rain of dew escaped their hold,

And the fine gold of day.

On the world’s highway in vain pomp they tread;By paths unknown I stray and hidden streams;They took all else and left me there for dead;They could not take my dreams.

On the world’s highway in vain pomp they tread;

By paths unknown I stray and hidden streams;

They took all else and left me there for dead;

They could not take my dreams.

Still, morning comes with marvel as of old;Still in soft rose descends the eventide;Still in the castle of my heart, grown bold,The sweet, swift thoughts abide.

Still, morning comes with marvel as of old;

Still in soft rose descends the eventide;

Still in the castle of my heart, grown bold,

The sweet, swift thoughts abide.

Pass by, pass by, O clamorous folk and wild!To this last fortress of the soul I cling;Men gave me winter weather from a child,But God has given me spring. (Text.)—Robin Flower,The London Spectator.

Pass by, pass by, O clamorous folk and wild!

To this last fortress of the soul I cling;

Men gave me winter weather from a child,

But God has given me spring. (Text.)

—Robin Flower,The London Spectator.

(821)

SeeFulfilment Disappointing;Ideals.

DRESS AFFECTING MOODS

Mrs. Bishop, in theChautauqua Herald, says:

It may never have occurred to some of you that dress has any reactionary influence upon the inner states, but so potent is this influence that frequently we can change the mental states by a change of dress. When tired, gloomy or fretful, a change in apparel often means a change in mood. Many actors say that to be drest for the part is a great help toward feeling the part. An army general once declared that he could not fight without his uniform, that an ordinary hat and coat took all the courage out of him.

(822)

Dress in the East—SeePropriety, Observing the rules of.

Drifting Avoided—SeeDanger, Avoiding.

DRINK

“Many a good story is told of the old bonanza days,” said a San Franciscan. “I liked especially a whisky story.“A tenderfoot, the story ran, entered a saloon and ordered whisky. Whisky in those days and in those parts was a very weird drink. Queer effects were sure to follow it. The tenderfoot knew he must expect something out of the common, but, for all that, he was taken aback when the bartender handed him a small whisk-broom along with the bottle and glass.“Tenderfoot-like, he didn’t care to expose his ignorance by asking what the whisk-broom was for, so he just stood there and fidgeted. He didn’t drink. He waited in the hope that somebody would come in and show him what was what.“Well, in a few minutes a big chap in a red shirt entered. He, too, ordered whisky, and he, too, got a broom.“The tenderfoot watched him closely. He poured himself a generous drink, tossed it off, and, taking up his whisk-broom, went over into a corner and carefully cleaned, on the floor, a space about 7 feet by 3. There he laid down and had a fit.”—DetroitFree Press.

“Many a good story is told of the old bonanza days,” said a San Franciscan. “I liked especially a whisky story.

“A tenderfoot, the story ran, entered a saloon and ordered whisky. Whisky in those days and in those parts was a very weird drink. Queer effects were sure to follow it. The tenderfoot knew he must expect something out of the common, but, for all that, he was taken aback when the bartender handed him a small whisk-broom along with the bottle and glass.

“Tenderfoot-like, he didn’t care to expose his ignorance by asking what the whisk-broom was for, so he just stood there and fidgeted. He didn’t drink. He waited in the hope that somebody would come in and show him what was what.

“Well, in a few minutes a big chap in a red shirt entered. He, too, ordered whisky, and he, too, got a broom.

“The tenderfoot watched him closely. He poured himself a generous drink, tossed it off, and, taking up his whisk-broom, went over into a corner and carefully cleaned, on the floor, a space about 7 feet by 3. There he laid down and had a fit.”—DetroitFree Press.

(823)

SeeAbstainers Live Long;Beer, Effect of;Alcoholic Bait.

DRINK AND NATIVE RACES

Missionaries are constantly emphasizing the horrors consequent on the drink traffic among the natives of Africa. Bishop Johnson, one of its able native bishops, declared that “European commerce, weighted as this commerce has been for many years with the liquor traffic, has been as great a curse to Africa, a greater than the oceanic slave-trade.” Even still more effective was a statement made by a Christian negro speaking to an audience in England, when he brought out of a bag an ugly idol and said, “This repulsive object is what we worshiped in times past,” and then he added, “Now I will show you what England has sent to be our god to-day,” and produced an empty gin-bottle.—Jesse Page, “The Black Bishop.”

(824)

DRINK, EFFECTS OF

I was standing on the sidewalk in a Southern city where at the time I was engaged in evangelistic work. A physician who was an active helper came along in his buggy, and, stopping his horse, requested me to take a seat at his side.“I want to take you,” he said as we drove off, “to see a most deplorable and helpless case—a widow and her son. She is totally blind; in fact, she has cried her eyes out. You have heard of people who cried their eyes out, but now you will see one of whom it is literally true. The son is only twenty-four years of age, and a splendid machinist; but he got to fooling with drink and wild young men, until now the habit is so fixt upon him he is almost an imbecile. I have a commitment for him in my pocket to send him to the asylum. It is the only hope for him now.”We arrived at the house, a poor little desolate-looking place, in painful accord with the pitiful lives within. The woman rose to greet us at the sound of the doctor’s voice. She was of medium size, neatly drest, but plainly. Her white face, without the slightest suggestion of color, was partly framed with grayish-brown hair. Her eyes did not seem sightless to me, but only a dull dark blue.There sat the young man, his face buried in his hands, the picture of misery, a life surrendered to the evil of drink, and in ruins. “I have brought the minister,” said the doctor, “because I knew you’d like to have him pray with you and talk with your son.” She assented readily, and even with an effort to smile; but the smile died upon her lips. The young man was perfectly sane, and talked willingly of his condition. “I just can’t help it,” he said. “I love mother, and I can easily take care of her; but, when I get where whisky is, I can’t help gettingdrunk. Then it looks as if I’d never get sober any more. Yes, sir,” he said in reply to the doctor, “I’ll be glad to go. I hate to leave mother,” nodding his head toward the frail creature who sat silent while the tears literally rolled down her face; “but I’m willing to do anything to get right.”Months passed. I was there again. Meeting the doctor one day in the street, I stopt him.“Tell me about the poor woman, doctor, and her boy,” I asked. “Get into my buggy, and we will take a drive, and you shall see for yourself.” We drove along, talking as we went; but he did not explain. He continued his drive out of the city, and finally turned his horse’s head into what I saw was the cemetery. Passing monuments and vaults and richly carved marble, we went on to the very outer edge. “Now we will get out and walk a few steps,” he said. I followed him, knowing now, of course, what it meant; but I knew only in part. Stopping at two unmarked graves, not a stone or board or flower, desolate in death as in life, he pointed to one, and said: “That’s the son. He came back from the asylum, and we thought he was cured; but he fell in with his old companions, and a few days later his body was found in a pond near the city, and a bottle half filled with whisky in his pocket. And that’s the mother. She survived him only a few days. When they brought his body into her little home, she sank under her weight of grief, and never rallied. She had cried herself to sleep.”—H. M. Wharton,Christian Endeavor World.

“I want to take you,” he said as we drove off, “to see a most deplorable and helpless case—a widow and her son. She is totally blind; in fact, she has cried her eyes out. You have heard of people who cried their eyes out, but now you will see one of whom it is literally true. The son is only twenty-four years of age, and a splendid machinist; but he got to fooling with drink and wild young men, until now the habit is so fixt upon him he is almost an imbecile. I have a commitment for him in my pocket to send him to the asylum. It is the only hope for him now.”

We arrived at the house, a poor little desolate-looking place, in painful accord with the pitiful lives within. The woman rose to greet us at the sound of the doctor’s voice. She was of medium size, neatly drest, but plainly. Her white face, without the slightest suggestion of color, was partly framed with grayish-brown hair. Her eyes did not seem sightless to me, but only a dull dark blue.

There sat the young man, his face buried in his hands, the picture of misery, a life surrendered to the evil of drink, and in ruins. “I have brought the minister,” said the doctor, “because I knew you’d like to have him pray with you and talk with your son.” She assented readily, and even with an effort to smile; but the smile died upon her lips. The young man was perfectly sane, and talked willingly of his condition. “I just can’t help it,” he said. “I love mother, and I can easily take care of her; but, when I get where whisky is, I can’t help gettingdrunk. Then it looks as if I’d never get sober any more. Yes, sir,” he said in reply to the doctor, “I’ll be glad to go. I hate to leave mother,” nodding his head toward the frail creature who sat silent while the tears literally rolled down her face; “but I’m willing to do anything to get right.”

Months passed. I was there again. Meeting the doctor one day in the street, I stopt him.

“Tell me about the poor woman, doctor, and her boy,” I asked. “Get into my buggy, and we will take a drive, and you shall see for yourself.” We drove along, talking as we went; but he did not explain. He continued his drive out of the city, and finally turned his horse’s head into what I saw was the cemetery. Passing monuments and vaults and richly carved marble, we went on to the very outer edge. “Now we will get out and walk a few steps,” he said. I followed him, knowing now, of course, what it meant; but I knew only in part. Stopping at two unmarked graves, not a stone or board or flower, desolate in death as in life, he pointed to one, and said: “That’s the son. He came back from the asylum, and we thought he was cured; but he fell in with his old companions, and a few days later his body was found in a pond near the city, and a bottle half filled with whisky in his pocket. And that’s the mother. She survived him only a few days. When they brought his body into her little home, she sank under her weight of grief, and never rallied. She had cried herself to sleep.”—H. M. Wharton,Christian Endeavor World.

(825)

DRINK, HERITAGE OF

The jovial, genial drunkard of the Anglo-Saxon times is a rare personage nowadays, and tho there may be men as fond of sack as Falstaff himself, they seem to have lost the intense sociability which was the characteristic of the burly knight. Nearly all the great men of the Napoleonic era were drinkers—Pitt, Fox, Sheridan, Wellington himself. Napoleon’s marshals had the soldier’s pet failing, and it is said of stern old Blücher that he slept in his boots and went to bed in a more or less pronounced condition of intoxication for thirty years. Byron boasted of having drank a dozen bottles of wine in a day, and his “Don Juan” was composed under the influence of gin. Thackeray loved the bottle, so did Dickens. The children suffer for the failings of their sires, and many of the nervous symptoms and morbid cravings which perplex physicians in the young men and women of to-day are in reality legacies bequeathed by overbibulous ancestors. (Text.)—BaltimoreHerald.

(826)

DRINK, PERIL OF

A number of years ago a certain firm of four men in Boston were rated as “A1.” They were rich, prosperous, young and prompt.One of them had the curiosity to see how they were rated, and found these facts in Dun’s and was satisfied, but at the end these words were added: “But they all drink.”He thought it a good joke at the time, but a few years later two of them were dead, another was a drunkard, and the fourth was poor and living partly on charity.That one little note at the end of their rating was the most important and significant of all the facts collected and embodied in their description. (Text.)

A number of years ago a certain firm of four men in Boston were rated as “A1.” They were rich, prosperous, young and prompt.

One of them had the curiosity to see how they were rated, and found these facts in Dun’s and was satisfied, but at the end these words were added: “But they all drink.”

He thought it a good joke at the time, but a few years later two of them were dead, another was a drunkard, and the fourth was poor and living partly on charity.

That one little note at the end of their rating was the most important and significant of all the facts collected and embodied in their description. (Text.)

(827)

DROUGHT, RESPONSIBILITY FOR

When the electric trolley-cars were first set running in Seoul, a peculiar result manifested itself in the nation. We quote fromThe Outlook:

Little by little the heavens grew dry and the earth rolled up clouds of dust; day followed day with no signs of rain, and the caking paddy-fields grinned and gasped. What could be the cause of it? The geomancers and ground-prophets were consulted, and their answer was, “The devil that runs the thunder and lightning wagon has caused the drought.” Eyes no longer looked with curiosity but glared at the trolley-cars, and men swore under their breath and curst the “vile beast” as it went humming by, till, worked up beyond endurance, there was a crash and an explosion, one car had been rolled over, and another was set on fire, while a mob of thousands took possession of the streets foaming and stamping like wild beasts.

(828)

DRUDGERY

It may be that even the work of “holystoning” the deck of a ship could become an act of devotion if done in the right spirit, notwithstanding this seaman’s aversion to it:

“This is what you call the sailor’s prayer-book,” a seaman said bitterly as he kicked a holystone out of the way. “Why is it called that? Well, in the first place, it is called that because in using it, in holystoning the deck, the sailor has to kneel down; and in the second place, because all holystoning is done on Sunday. Don’t you know the chantey?

“‘Six days shalt thou work and do all that thou art able,And on the seventh holystone the decks and scrape the cable.’

“‘Six days shalt thou work and do all that thou art able,

And on the seventh holystone the decks and scrape the cable.’

“The stone is called holystone because the first holystones were bits of tombs stolen from cemeteries. It’s got a pious, religious sound—holy, and prayer-book, and Sunday and all that—but it is when he is using this stone that the seaman is most profane.”

(829)

SeeBest, Making the.

Drudgery as a Teacher—SeeHumdrum Development.

DRUDGERY RELIEVED

When Lucy Larcom was fourteen years old she worked in a cotton-mill in Lowell, Mass. After she had been there a few weeks, saysThe Youth’s Companion, she asked and received permission to tend some frames which were near a window, through which she might look out on the Merrimac River and its picturesque banks.After she had worked there a little while longer, she began to make the window-seat and frame into a library. She pasted the grimy paint all over with clippings of verse which she gathered from such newspapers and magazines as fell into her hands.So the little factory drudge secured for herself three essentials for human happiness: work, the sight of nature, and the beauty of the poet’s vision. No doubt the work was often wearisome. Perhaps some of the poetry was not very good. But the river and its meadows and hills must have been always refreshing, and the spirit which so intelligently desired the best in the world could not have faltered even on a toilsome path.

After she had worked there a little while longer, she began to make the window-seat and frame into a library. She pasted the grimy paint all over with clippings of verse which she gathered from such newspapers and magazines as fell into her hands.

So the little factory drudge secured for herself three essentials for human happiness: work, the sight of nature, and the beauty of the poet’s vision. No doubt the work was often wearisome. Perhaps some of the poetry was not very good. But the river and its meadows and hills must have been always refreshing, and the spirit which so intelligently desired the best in the world could not have faltered even on a toilsome path.

(830)

Drunkard’s Fate—SeeDrink, Effects of.

Drunkards Saving Drunkards—SeePersonal Influence.

Drunkard’s Soul—SeeDefacement of Soul.

DRUNKARD’S WILL, A

It was written just before he committed suicide. “I leave to the world a wasted character and ruinous example; I leave to my parents as great a sorrow as in their weakness they could possibly bear; I leave to my brothers and sisters as much shame and dishonor as I could have brought them; I leave to my wife a broken heart and a life full of shame; I leave to my children poverty, ignorance, a bad character and the memory of their father lying in a drunkard’s grave and having gone to a drunkard’s hell.” This is typical. Decent men are becoming sick at heart with this thing. We are now in the midst of a war that promises to become world-wide, relentless until our Christian obligation to the world is fully met. Since religion, business, science, education and the State have taken the field against drink there is certain promise of victory.—Methodist Recorder.

(831)

Drunkenness, Disastrous—SeeDebauch, Fatal.

Drunkenness, Safeguard Against—SeeSafeguard for Drunkards.

DRUNKENNESS, THE TRAGEDY OF

A recent orator gives this incident:

I think the subject has been kept back very much by the merriment people make over those slain by strong drink. I used to be very merry over these things, having a keen sense of the ludicrous. There was something very grotesque in the gait of a drunkard. It is not so now; for I saw in one of the streets of Philadelphia a sight that changed the whole subject to me. There was a young man being led home. He was very much intoxicated—he was raving with intoxication. Two young men were leading him along. The boys hooted in the street, men laughed, women sneered; but I happened to be very near the door where he went in—it was the door of his father’s house. I saw him go up-stairs. I heard him shouting, hooting and blaspheming. He had lost his hat, and the merriment increased with the mob until he came up to the door, and as the door was opened his mother came out. When I heard her cry, that took all the comedy away from the scene. Since that time, when I see a man walking through the street, reeling, the comedy is all gone, and it is a tragedy of tears and groans and heartbreaks. Never make any fun aroundme about the grotesqueness of a drunkard. Alas for his home!

(832)

DUAL CHARACTER

Samuel Johnson (1709–1784) who was certainly not the greatest writer of his age, perhaps not even a great writer at all, but who was nevertheless the dictator of English letters, still looms across the centuries of a magnificent literature as its most striking and original figure. Here, moreover, is a huge, fat, awkward man, of vulgar manners and appearance, who monopolizes conversation, abuses everybody, clubs down opposition—“Madam” (speaking to his cultivated hostess at table), “talk no more nonsense”; “Sir” (turning to a distinguished guest), “I perceive you are a vile Whig.” While talking he makes curious animal sounds, “sometimes giving a half whistle, sometimes clucking like a hen”; and when he has concluded a violent dispute and laid his opponents low by dogmatism or ridicule, he leans back to “blow out his breath like a whale” and gulp down numberless cups of hot tea. Yet this curious dictator of an elegant age was a veritable lion, much sought after by society; and around him in his own poor house gathered the foremost artists, scholars, actors, and literary men of London—all honoring the man, loving him, and listening to his dogmatism as the Greeks listened to the voice of their oracle.—William J. Long, “English Literature.”

(833)

DUALITY

The peculiarity of the chameleon here described recalls Paul’s description of the conflict between the natural and spiritual man:

Notwithstanding the strictly symmetrical structure of the chameleon as to its two halves, the eyes move independently of one another and convey separate impressions to their respective centers of perception. The consequence is that when the animal is agitated its movements resemble those of two animals, or rather, perhaps, two halves of animals glued together. Each half wishes to go its own way and there is no concordance of action. The chameleon, therefore, is the only four-legged vertebrate that is unable to swim; it becomes so frightened when dropt into water that all faculty of concentration is lost, and the creature tumbles about as if in a state of intoxication. (Text.)—The Scientific American.

(834)

Duality of Human Nature—SeeNature Dual in Man.

Duel by Mail—SeeMake-believe.

Dutch Trait, A—SeeHunger, Enduring.

DUST AND VIOLETS

O sister mine—hold on a spaceIn your dreadnaught campaign;A few weeks more—the selfsame placeWill show more dust again;Just take a sniff of springtime airAnd let the cleaning wait;For, “Dust will keep, but violets won’t,”As some find out too late.—Ada M. Fitts,Unity.

O sister mine—hold on a space

In your dreadnaught campaign;

A few weeks more—the selfsame place

Will show more dust again;

Just take a sniff of springtime air

And let the cleaning wait;

For, “Dust will keep, but violets won’t,”

As some find out too late.

—Ada M. Fitts,Unity.

(835)

Dust Particles—SeeImpurities.

DUTIES, CATCHING ONE’S

“Caleb Cobweb,” of theChristian Endeavor World, gives the following quaint advice:

Some workmen were repairing the Boston Elevated Railway. One of them took a red-hot bolt in his pincers and threw it up to another workman, who was to place it in the hole drilled for it. The second workman failed to catch it, and it fell to the street below. There it struck a truck-load of twenty bales of cotton, a thousand dollars’ worth, that was passing at the moment. The cotton instantly took fire, but the driver knew nothing of it. The flames had made considerable headway when the cries of the onlookers informed the driver of what was going on. He had only enough time to leap out of the way of the flames and save his horse. The Boston Fire Department was summoned and put out the fire.This is a fair sample of what happens every time one of us workmen on the great edifice of human society misses a bolt that is thrown to him. They are many—these bolts—and they come thick and fast. They are red-hot, too, for they are duties that are in imperative need of getting done. If they are not at once stuck into the proper hole, and the top at once flattened out by sturdy blows, they grow cool and useless. They can not be put into the structure; or, if we go ahead and hammer them in, they are not tight and they may bring about disaster.No, there is nothing for it but to catch the bolts on the fly. Let one fall, and some one gets hurt—or some thing, which in the end, means some one. No one knows whatwill be hit when a worker misses a red-hot duty that comes flying at him.There is only one safety for the workman or for the rest of us: Catch them!

This is a fair sample of what happens every time one of us workmen on the great edifice of human society misses a bolt that is thrown to him. They are many—these bolts—and they come thick and fast. They are red-hot, too, for they are duties that are in imperative need of getting done. If they are not at once stuck into the proper hole, and the top at once flattened out by sturdy blows, they grow cool and useless. They can not be put into the structure; or, if we go ahead and hammer them in, they are not tight and they may bring about disaster.

No, there is nothing for it but to catch the bolts on the fly. Let one fall, and some one gets hurt—or some thing, which in the end, means some one. No one knows whatwill be hit when a worker misses a red-hot duty that comes flying at him.

There is only one safety for the workman or for the rest of us: Catch them!

(836)

DUTIES DISTRIBUTED

Here is a short sermon by a woman, tho not preached from a pulpit. It is a good one, and is pretty sure to hit your own case somewhere, whatever may be your age and circumstances:

The best thing to give your enemy is forgiveness; to an opponent, tolerance; to a friend, your heart; to your child, a good example; to your father, deference; to your mother, conduct that will make her proud of you; to yourself, respect; to all men, charity.—The Interior.

(837)

DUTY

There was a boy in Glasgow apprenticed to a gentleman who made telegraphs. The gentleman told me this himself. One day this boy was up on top of a four-story house with a number of men fixing up a telegraph-wire. The work was all but done. It was getting late, and the men said they were going away home, and the boy was to nip off the ends of the wire himself. Before going down they told him to be sure to go back to the workshop, when he was finished, with his master’s tools. “Do not leave any of them lying about, whatever you do,” said the foreman. The boy climbed up the pole and began to nip off the ends of the wire. It was a very cold winter night, and the dusk was gathering. He lost his hold and fell, upon the slates, slid down, and then over and over to the ground below. A clothes-rope, stretched across the “green” on to which he was just about to fall, caught him on the chest and broke his fall; but the shock was terrible, and he lay unconscious among some clothes upon the green. An old woman came out; seeing her rope broken and the clothes all soiled, thought the boy was drunk, shook him, scolded him, and went for a policeman. And the boy with the shaking came back to consciousness, rubbed his eyes, and got upon his feet. What do you think he did? He staggered, half-blind, away up the stairs. He climbed the ladder. He got up onto the roof of the house. He gathered up his tools, put them into his basket, took them down, and when he got to the ground again, fainted dead away. Just then the policeman came, saw there was something seriously wrong, and carried him away to the hospital, where he lay for some time. I am glad to say he got better. What was his first thought at that terrible moment? His duty. He was not thinking of himself; he was thinking about his master.—Henry Drummond.

(838)

SeeGreatness;Higher Law.

DUTY BEFORE PLEASURE

Dr. Johnson, himself a glutton in talk, complained to Patty Wesley of her brother: “I hate to meet John Wesley,” he said. “The dog enchants you with his conversation, and then breaks away to go and visit some old woman.”But for Wesley, the “old woman” represented duty. She was an immortal spirit, as precious in the sight of God as Dr. Johnson himself.—W. H. Fitchett, “Wesley and His Century.”

But for Wesley, the “old woman” represented duty. She was an immortal spirit, as precious in the sight of God as Dr. Johnson himself.—W. H. Fitchett, “Wesley and His Century.”

(839)

DUTY, DEVOTION TO

The late Sir Andrew Clarke was once attending a comparatively poor man who was so seriously ill as to need his constant and assiduous attention. He was fighting death step by step, and seeing his efforts meet with success. As he bent over and watched his patient, a telegram was handed him asking him to come over and consult some wealthy idler in the south of France, offering a special train to Dover, a packet chartered to Calais, another special train to Nice, and a fabulous fee. He looked at the patient, folded the telegram, and said to his assistant, “Reply that I am needed here and can not leave,” and turned to tend the poor man again.Much has been said in praise of this heroic self-abnegation. But, after all, the doctor simply did his duty.

Much has been said in praise of this heroic self-abnegation. But, after all, the doctor simply did his duty.

(840)

SeeFaithfulness.

DUTY, FAITHFUL TO

Emperor William recommended the promotion of a private in his army for the strict observance of orders while acting as sentry at Swinemunde, Germany. The Emperor, accompanied by several officers, the entire party in civilian dress and wearing Panama hats, approached the entrance to the west battery, where the sentry prevented their further progress. His Majesty, much amused, again vainly tried to pass by. He said to the sentry: “You must let me pass. Don’t you know me? I am the Emperor.”The sentry then looked more closely at the Emperor, not quite reassured, but evidently recognized his Majesty’s features, as he presented arms and allowed him to pass.

The distinction of the sentry lay in the fact that, under every circumstance, he was faithful to his duty.

(841)

DUTY IN DEATH

At Gettysburg a soldier in an ambulance heard the sound of battle. He arose to go. “Where are you going?” asked a comrade in a tone of remonstrance. “To the front,” said the wounded man. “What, in your condition!” “If I am to die,” he said, “I would rather die on the battle-field than in an ambulance.” (Text.)

(842)

DUTY MORE THAN GLORY

The citizen on great occasions knows and obeys the voice of his country as he knows and obeys an individual voice, whether it appeal to a base or ignoble, or to a generous or noble passion. “Sons of France, awake to glory,” told the French youth what was the dominant passion in the bosom of France, and it awoke a corresponding sentiment in his own. Under its spell he marched through Europe and overthrew her kingdoms and empires, and felt in Egypt that forty centuries were looking down on him from the pyramids. But, at last, one June morning in Trafalgar Bay there was another utterance, more quiet in its tone, but speaking also with a personal and individual voice: “England expects every man to do his duty.” At the sight of Nelson’s immortal signal, duty-loving England and glory-loving France met as they have met on many an historic battle-field before and since, and the lover of duty proved the stronger. The England that expected every man to do his duty was as real a being to the humblest sailor in Nelson’s fleet as the mother that bore him.—George Frisbie Hoar.

(843)

Duty Plus a Little More—SeeOverplus of Duty.

DUTY, SENSE OF

Calif Omar, with his venerable teacher, Abou-Zeid, walked forth in the darkness of the night, far from his palace gate, where he saw a feeble fire burning. He sought it and found a poor woman trying to bring a caldron to the boiling-point while two wretched children clung to her, piteously moaning. “Peace unto thee, O woman! What dost thou here alone in the night and the cold?” said the calif. “I am trying to make this water boil that my children may drink, who perish of hunger and cold; but for the misery we have to bear, Allah will surely one day ask reckoning of Omar, the calif.” “But,” said the disguised calif, “dost thou think, O woman, that Omar can know of thy wretchedness?” She answered: “Wherefore, then, is Omar, the calif, if he be unaware of the misery of his people and of each one of his subjects?” The calif was silent. “Let us go hence,” he said to Abou-Zeid. He hastened to the storehouses of his kitchen, and drew forth a sack of flour and a jar of sheep’s fat. “O Abou-Zeid, help thou me to charge these on my back,” said the calif. “Not so,” replied the attendant; “suffer that I carry them on my back, O Commander of the Faithful.” Omar said calmly: “Wilt thou also, O Abou-Zeid, bear the weight of my sins on the day of resurrection?” And Abou-Zeid was obliged to lay the jar of fat and the sack of flour on the back of the calif, who hastened to the woman by the fire, and with his own hands did put the flour and the fat into the caldron over the fire, which fire he quickened with his breath, and the smoke whereof filled his beard. When the food was prepared, with his own breath did he cool it that the children might eat. Then he left the sack and the jar and went his way saying: “O Abou-Zeid, the light from the fire that I have beheld to-day has enlightened me also.”—James T. White, “Character Lessons.”

(844)

SeeFaithfulness.

Dying Like Ladies—SeePride.

DYNASTIC NAMES

Most royal families have a given name they employ as a sort of distinctive dynastic hallmark. George and Frederick are distinctively Hanoverian, as Edward is distinctively English. The late king selected Edward rather than Albert from motives at once filial and politic. He desired that his father should stand alone in his glory as Albert in English history, and Edward was associated with old and stately traditions of the Plantagenets and Tudors. Similarly the French Bourbons usually have a Louis or a Charles among their string of names, and the Bonapartes never forget Napoleon at the baptismal font. The most striking instance of reverence for a dynastic name is found in the princely family of Reuss, in Germany. There aretwo principalities of Reuss, respectively representing the elder and the younger lines. Every reigning prince must bear the name of Henry. Henry XXIV reigns over one principality, and Henry XIV over the other. All the heads of the houses for nine hundred years have been Henrys, and in a grand family council early in the eighteenth century it was decreed that the figures should not exceed one hundred, after which a new series should begin with Henry I. As both branches clung to Henry a working arrangement was patched up by which the younger line begins a new group-numbering with each century. The first Henry born in the twentieth century who shall mount the tiny throne must revert to Henry I, and similarly his descendant senior among the Henrys of the twenty-first century is foreordained to be I, too.—BostonTranscript.

(845)

Early Conditions in America—SeePoverty, Early, of United States.

EARLY HABITS TELL

The tree will not only lie as it falls, but it will also fall as it leans; that is, we shall go after what we are inclined to—is not that so?—which makes it all in all to us what the bent of our mind is.Twenty years ago there were two boys in my Sabbath-school class, bright, lively fellows, who interested me very much; only one of them made me sometimes feel anxious. I often found him out evenings in company with young rowdies. When I asked him how it happened, he used to say he was only out on an errand; the boys spoke to him, and he could not help speaking, he was sure. Perhaps that was so, still it made me uneasy. I once said to his mother: “Is not Willie out of nights too much?” “Willie out nights! Oh, no; Willie does not go out nights.”

Twenty years ago there were two boys in my Sabbath-school class, bright, lively fellows, who interested me very much; only one of them made me sometimes feel anxious. I often found him out evenings in company with young rowdies. When I asked him how it happened, he used to say he was only out on an errand; the boys spoke to him, and he could not help speaking, he was sure. Perhaps that was so, still it made me uneasy. I once said to his mother: “Is not Willie out of nights too much?” “Willie out nights! Oh, no; Willie does not go out nights.”

(846)

The other boy, whose name was Arthur, I never met among the rowdies. His evenings, I am sure, were spent at home. I always found him studying his lessons, or reading with his sisters, or amusing himself at home.That was twenty years ago. Both boys had begun to show which way they were leaning, and how their tastes inclined them. Twenty years will show it plainer.The other day I heard of Willie. Somebody met him in Chicago.“What is he?” I asked.“A good-for-nothing, certainly, if not worse,” was the answer; “a shabby, idle, drinking fellow, whom nobody wants to employ.”“Oh, I’m sorry to hear it—sorry, but not surprized. I wonder where Arthur is!”“Arthur! Why, didn’t you know, he has just been taken into partnership with that old firm with which he served his time? They could not spare him, so they had to take him in.”“Good!” I said. “It is just what I should have expected. He learned right.”—Young Folks.

That was twenty years ago. Both boys had begun to show which way they were leaning, and how their tastes inclined them. Twenty years will show it plainer.

The other day I heard of Willie. Somebody met him in Chicago.

“What is he?” I asked.

“A good-for-nothing, certainly, if not worse,” was the answer; “a shabby, idle, drinking fellow, whom nobody wants to employ.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear it—sorry, but not surprized. I wonder where Arthur is!”

“Arthur! Why, didn’t you know, he has just been taken into partnership with that old firm with which he served his time? They could not spare him, so they had to take him in.”

“Good!” I said. “It is just what I should have expected. He learned right.”—Young Folks.

(847)

EARLY PROMISE

Two of the most celebrated historic rivers are the Abana and Pharpar. These streams begin their course under the most promising auspices. Their source is in Lebanon. The Abana, now called the Barada, is the pride and joy of the plain below. It forces its way from the declivity where it has its cradle through a rocky barrier and spreads out fan-like in seven streams over the plain. “Everything lives whither the river cometh.” A meadow, in which the whole Oriental world exults, holds in its lap Damascus, the most beautiful garden city in the world. Its many minarets and domes tower up above the countless bowers in the courts of the old houses. Abana still as ever sustains this fruitfulness and splendor. But only a few miles from its source its waters are exhausted, for the desert swallows it, and the Pharpar also. Both die, forming great swamps and evaporating.

So it is with many human beings whose lives are for a few years efficient and full of promise and even performance, only very soon to flag and fade and to fall into utter desuetude. (Text.)

(848)

SeeGreat Men’s Beginnings.

EARLY RELIGION

Back to Index Next