IVDUTY DOING
It is not always necessary that a man should be aquainted with another to be able to repose implicit confidence in him. A life of fearless, straightforward duty-doing will inevitably leave its record in the face. Sometimes a frank, open countenance that cannot be misread is far better than any letter of introduction.
"We are suspicious of strangers," a man said to one who had sought at his hands a favor that called for trust; then he added, with a smile, "but some faces are above suspicion," and proceeded, with overwhelming generosity, to grant far more than had been asked.
Years ago a business man unexpectedly found himself without sufficient funds to continue his journey through Europe. As this was before the days of travelers' checks or the ocean cable, he was at a loss what to do. In his uncertainty he went to an Italian bankinghouse and asked them to cash a large draft on his home bank. After an instant's pause the request was granted. Years later the merchant again saw the accommodating banker, and asked why a stranger was given such a large sum. "In plain truth, it was just your honest face, and nothing else," was the reply. On another trip abroad the merchant had a similar experience. During a thunderstorm he took refuge with his wife in a curio shop. The English-speaking woman in charge was so cordial, and her goods were so pleasing, that the visitor said he would have liked to make some purchase, but his remaining funds were not more than sufficient for his journey home. The reply was: "Take whatever you please, sir. No one could look in your face and distrust you."
A similar story was told by a Russian Jew who entered New York a penniless immigrant. After a disheartening period of working in the sweatshop he saw an opportunity to start in business for himself. But he had no capital. At a venture he asked a business man to trust him for the stock in trade. After gazing at him closely the man said, "You have a credit face, so I will do as you ask."
It is worth while to have a face that insuresconfidence. But let it be remembered that the possession of such a face is not an accident; it belongs only to those who have the courage to think honestly, deal fairly and live truly.
VFINDING HIS LIFE
During the boyhood of Charles Abraham Hart, who was later the youngest soldier in the War with Spain, he was on confidential terms with his mother. One day when they were visiting together, she asked him about something that had happened the winter before, which she was unable to understand. His father had given to him and to his brothers two dollars each to spend for Christmas presents. William spent the entire sum, but Charles bought cheap presents, and it was evident that he had kept back a part of the amount. Other members of the family misunderstood him, but his mother thought she knew him well enough to be sure he had done nothing selfish.
The record of the conversation between mother and son is told in the boy's biography:
"The presents you bought were very cheap presents," she said to him. "I don't think they could have cost more than seventy-five cents."
"They cost sixty-five cents," he told her.
"And your father asked what you had done with the rest of your money, and you said you didn't want to tell him."
"Yes, I remember that father thought I was stingy, too."
"Do you mind telling me now what you did with the money?"
The boy did not answer for a few moments. Then he said, quietly:
"I bought a Bible for Fred Phillips. He didn't have a good Bible, and I thought he needed one more than you and the boys needed expensive presents."
"But why didn't you tell your father?"
"Because Fred was ashamed not to be able to buy the Bible for himself, and he wouldn't take mine until I had promised that I wouldn't tell anybody that I had given it to him. Since Fred has moved to Boston, I feel he wouldn't care if I told you. I want you to know, for I just heard to-day that Fred has joined the church. Isn't that good news?"
"Yes, indeed. Perhaps your giving him the Bible helped him to do it, too. Charles, when you get to be a man, do you suppose you will always be so careless of how others may misunderstand you?"
"I am not careless of that now," he declared. "The desire to be popular is one of the things I have to fight against all the time."
What shall we choose? Comfort of service? Ease, or honorable performance of duty? The desire for popularity, or the purpose to be of use? Service is the best way to find comfort; honorable performance of duty is the sure road to the only ease worth while, and thoughtfulness for others is the open sesame to popularity.
There is nothing new in this statement. It is only one of the thousand and one possible applications of the lesson taught by the great Teacher when He said, "He that loseth his life for My sake shall find it."
FROM Norway comes a moving tale of a lighthouse keeper. One day he went to the distant shore for provisions. A storm arose, and he was unable to return. The time for lighting the lamp came, and Mary, the elder child, said to her little brother, "We must light the lamp, Willie." "How can we?" was his question. But the two children climbed the long narrow stairs to the tower where the lamp was kept. Mary pulled up a chair and tried to reach the lamp in the great reflector; it was too high. Groping down the stairs she ascended again with a small oil lamp in her hand. "I can hold this up," she said. She climbed on the chair again, but still the reflector was just beyond her reach. "Get down," said Willie, "I know what we can do." She jumped down and he stretched his little body across the chair. "Stand on me," he said. And she stood on the little fellow as he lay across the chair. She raised the lamp high, and its light shone farout across the water. Holding it first with one hand, then with the other, to rest her little arms, she called down to her brother, "Does it hurt you, Willie?" "Of course it hurts," he called back, "but keep the light burning."
The boy was wise beyond his years. He would do the important thing, no matter how it hurt. Here the thing of chief importance was looking out for the men at sea. To put them first took real courage. But what of it? That is the attitude toward life of the worker worth while; he does not stop to ask, "Is this easy?" Instead he asks, "Is this necessary? Will it be helpful?" Having answered the question he proceeds to do his best. It may hurt at first, but the time will come when it will hurt so much to leave the service undone that the inconvenience involved in doing it is lost sight of.
IIMPARTING COURAGE
A young man won local fame as a bicycle long-distance rider. But over-fatigue, possibly coupled with neglect, caused contraction of certain muscles. He was unable to stand erect. He walked with bent back, like an oldman. "What useful work can he do, handicapped as he is?" his friends asked.
But he did not lose courage. He continued to smile and make cheer for others. Finally he secured work in the office of the supervisor of a National Forest. And he made good. Most of his activities were at the desk; when he sat there his back was normal.
According to the idea of many, it would have been enough for the crippled man to look out for himself. What could he do for others? But he had not been trained in such a school; the cheerfulness that enabled him to be useful made it impossible for him to see another in need and not plan to do something for him.
The man who needed him was at hand—a cripple, whose feet were clumsy, misshapen. No one else thought that anything could be done for him but to speak dolefully and to assure him that he was fortunate in having parents and brothers who would look out for him.
But the man in the Forestry Service urged the cripple to apply for a summer appointment on the rocky, windy summit of a mountain nine thousand feet high. There it would be his duty to keep a vigilant eye on the forest stretching far away below his lofty eyrie, and to report the start of a forest fire. At first helaughed at the idea; had he not been told that he could never hope to do anything useful? Yet as he listened to his friend his eyes began to sparkle. Finally he dared to agree to make application for the position.
During the winter months the forester spent many evenings with his friend, coaching him in some of the lore of the forests, giving him books to read, and showing him what his specific duties would be, and how to perform them.
In the spring the situation was secured, and when the season of forest fires came the young man bravely climbed the steep trail over the snow to his lonely cabin. An able-bodied man is able to make the climb from the end of the wagon road in much less than an hour; the cripple required more than five hours to reach the top. Then he took up his residence there, cooking his own food, making his observations from morning until night, receiving his mother and his brothers when from time to time they came to see how he was getting on and to help him in some of the rougher tasks about the cabin. They thought they would need to speak words of cheer to a lonely, discouraged man, but they soon learned their error; not only did he have cheer enough for himself, but he was able to send his visitors awayhappier than when they came because of their contact with the man for whom life had been made over by the acts of a thoughtful friend, a friend whose own courage had been increased by his efforts to encourage a friend.
IICONQUERING HAPPINESS
In a volume of short stories published some years ago there is included the vivid narrative of two humble citizens of an Irish village, a husband and wife, upon whom hard times have come. The husband is too feeble to make his living as of old at his trade as a road-mender. Their only hope is a son in America, and not a word comes from him, so they are compelled to go to the poor house.
Friends condole with them, and they are sad enough to suit the notions of those who feel that an awful ending is coming to their lives. One of the saddest of their friends is their physician who dreads going to see the unhappy old people in their new home. At last, however, he drives to the entrance to the poor farm. There he has his first surprise. Instead of seeing the disreputable place he had been accustomed to, he notices that the gate is on its hinges, theweeds by the side of the driveway are no longer in evidence, and an attempt has been made to give the house itself a more presentable appearance. About the doors are no discontented-looking old people, quarreling with one another. And when the wife of the poor farm keeper answers his knock at the door, the doctor hardly recognizes her; instead of a discouraged-looking slattern she is actually neat and cheerful looking.
"You wonder what has happened here, don't you?" the woman remarks. "It's all because of those blessed old folks you are asking for. They were disheartened, just at first, but soon they began to do helpful things for the rest of the folks. That cheered us all up, and it's made a different place of the farm."
The doctor's errand that day is to take word to the couple that their son from America wishes them to spend the remainder of their days with him. He has expected them to be overjoyed by the news. But, after talking together of the invitation, they assure him that their place is where they are. "We be road-mending here, making ways smoother for the folks that have rough traveling," is the explanation. "We think we ought to bide at the farm."
Thus the old people took the way of conquering unhappiness made known so long ago by Him who set the example of finding joy in caring for other people, the way taken by a modern follower of His who wrote home from the army:
"I cast my lot where I knew the road would be rough, and why should I complain? It seems to me at times that I must give way to my lower self and let the work slip off my back on others perhaps more tired than myself. But I have a tender, kind Father in heaven who tells me that my way is right. I have very little to uphold me in this work away from my friends. My happy moments are those which I spend with my Bible during my night watches, or thinking of happy days gone by, or building me air-castles for days to come. I am happy, too, when I read the little verse written in the front of my Testament, and so thankful for the power to understand it:
"So nigh is grandeur to our dust,So near is God to man,When duty whispers low, 'Thou must,'The youth replies, 'I can.'"
Yet there are those who insist that it is the duty of one whose lot is hard to be morose and sad; that by covering his sadness with thegladness of service he is making a cheat of himself! In verse a writer with insight has pilloried such critics:
"He went so blithely on his way,The way men call the way of life,That good folks who had stopped to pray,Shaking their heads, were wont to say,It was not right to be so gayUpon that weary road of strife."He whistled as he went, and stillHe bore the young where streams were deep,He helped the feeble up the hill,He seemed to go with heart athrill,Careless of deed and wild of will—He whistled, that he might not weep."
IIIMAKING LITTLE THINGS COUNT
There are people who spend so much time looking for the large, spectacular opportunities for serving others, that they pass by as unworthy of notice the opportunities for doing what seem to be little kindnesses. Fortunately, however, there are people who are so taken up with rendering what they call little services, that they have no time to worry because the big opportunities do not come their way.
A magazine writer tells of one of these doers of simple kindnesses:
"I was the shabbiest girl in the office," she says. "It was no one's fault and no one's shame that we were poor. I had intelligence enough to know that. I knew, too, what a sacrifice mother had made to pay for my tuition at business school. Still, the knowledge of my shabby clothes forced itself upon me, particularly my old black skirt! Mother had cleaned it and pressed it and cleaned it, but it seemed bent with age, and all the office girls looked so fresh and pretty in their trim business suits. I imagined all the first morning that they were pitying me and felt them looking at my shabbiness, and during noon hour I was so miserable; but when I went back next morning, I noticed that one of the girls had on nearly as old clothes as I did, and she was so nice to me that I fancied she was glad I had come because of our mutual poverty. Not until after I earned enough money to buy some suitable, nice clothes did I realize that the 'poor girl,' as I thought her, had drifted back into the prettiest, most tasteful clothes worn by any of the girls. She had only borne me company at a most trying time, and she knew, because her fellow-workers all admired her, that the little object lesson would keep them from hurting my feelings. The day has come now when new clothes areusual, when I may even achieve an appearance that is known as 'stylish.' But in my office, when a girl comes in shabby, painfully sensitive, as I was, I 'bear her company' until the better times shall come."
From another observer comes the story of the simple deeds of kindness done by a company of young people in Brooklyn to a young woman married to an elderly and uncongenial man. She showed symptoms of taking her life into her own hands. She felt that the world owed her happiness, and she was tempted to take it anywhere it might be found, especially in one undesirable direction. She was poor and outside of many ordinary social pleasures. The word was passed along the line that Mrs. D. . . needed especial attention and friendliness shown her. Immediately one girl, whose notice was in itself a compliment, invited her to attend a concert with her. Two more volunteered to see her home from Sunday school, and call for her as well. Books were loaned her, calls made, and in brief, a rope of warm sturdy hands steadying her over the hard place in the road, until she found herself and settled down to the duty she was on the point of leaving forever.
The widespread hunger for such little kindnesseswas shown one day when a New York man accosted in Central Park a poor foreigner, who could speak little English. Noting that the man looked dejected, he offered him his hand. Then he asked the man if he was in need. "No, I don't need money," was the reply; "I was just hungry for a handshake." Blessings on those who are not too busy to think of the poor who are hungry for the little services they can render.
If they could know the ultimate effect of some of their deeds, these would not always seem insignificant. The man who is always on the lookout for little chances for service is more apt to perform services that are of great importance, than the man who spends his time dreaming of big things he will do some day.
IVDID HE GO TOO FAR?
When an urgent call went out from Washington for physicians to go to France for hospital work among the men of the American Expeditionary Force, a specialist in a city of the Middle West decided to respond. Of course some of his friends told him he was foolish; they urged that he was needed for service athome. "Let doctors go who can be spared better than you," they said. "Think of the great work you are doing—work that will be more than ever necessary because thousands of others are leaving practices and going to the Front. Think of your past—how you worked your way through medical college at cost of severe toil; think of your family and the increasing demands on you; think of the future—what will become of your lucrative practice?"
The specialist did think of these things; he had delayed decision because the arguments had presented themselves forcibly to his own mind.
At last, however, his mind was made up. He would go to France. He would leave his patients in charge of two capable friends who would do everything possible to turn over, on the return of the volunteer, the lucrative office practice built up through many years.
He spent six months in camp with the members of the hospital unit of which he was given charge. Just before he went "over there" a friend said to him:
"It is fortunate that your practice is to be cared for so efficiently."
"What's that?" was the reply. "Oh, you mean the colleagues who took over my patients?They, too, have enlisted, and will soon be going abroad."
"But what of your $35,000 income?" was the dismayed rejoinder. "Surely you haven't the courage to give up all that!"
The major snapped his fingers, and said, with a smile, "Thatfor the practice! It is my business to respond to my country's call. Don't talk of the sacrifice. What if I do have to start all over again when I come home? Just now I don't have to think about that."
This incident came to mind when reading in a popular weekly a telling story, camouflaged as to names, location and business, but recorded as the experience of a captain of industry. The story made him a manufacturer of shoes who, in the beginning, was rejoicing that his plants were running full time, turning out so many shoes for the regular trade that the profits of the year were bound to be tremendous. With others, he heard the plea of the Government for shoes for the soldiers. Carefully he assured himself that he would not need to respond; there were many manufacturers who would rush headlong for government contracts. When he learned that there were not enough volunteers he felt uncomfortable.Then, to his relief, he was asked to take the chairmanship of the subcommittee on shoes of the State Council of Defense.
"I'll do it!" he decided. "That will let me out honorably. As chairman I shall be criticized if I bid on the contracts myself."
Of course he learned his mistake. At length he decided to turn over one of his six plants to government contracts. The decision made him feel quite virtuous. Content was his only a little while, however. So he decided to devote another plant. Yet when he made his figures he thought he would add five cents a pair to his bid, as an extra margin of safety. Again his calculations were upset when his son told him that he had enlisted.
"That wasn't necessary," the father said. "What made you do it?"
"Why, dad, you know you'd expect me to feel ashamed if you didn't do just every little thing you could in a business way to help win this war—if you held back a shoe that would help the Government or charged a cent more than you ought to. You furnish the shoes and I'll furnish the shoots!"
Of course more had to be done after that. Soon half the plants were enlisted for the country. Surely nothing more could be asked thanthat he should go fifty-fifty, half for the country and half for himself.
The remainder of the story can be imagined—in one form it was lived out in the experience of millions. "Why don't you have done with that half-way patriotism?" came a voice that he could not silence.
The battle between Patriotism and Private Profits was decided gloriously—in the only possible manner. Away with fifty per cent. patriotism! Every one of the plants was put on Government orders.
Naturally there were those who asked, "Was such a sacrifice necessary?" But the reply was convincing.
That is the question that has been asked of Christians ever since the day when Christ said to Peter and Andrew, "Follow me." Our hearts are stirred by the simple record of what followed: "Straightway they left their nets,"—their livelihood, their associates, their families, their position in the world, everything—"and followed Him." The question was put to Prince Gallitzin when he renounced title and fortune and went to the mountains of Pennsylvania to make a home for some of his oppressed Russian countrymen. The words were hurled at the son of a wealthy English brewer,because he decided that if he would obey Christ fully he must renounce the source of his wealth as well as the money that had been made in an unrighteous business. The inquiry was heard many times by Matthias W. Baldwin, the builder of Old Ironsides and founder of the Baldwin Locomotive Works, when he gave up the making of jewelry because he thought that, as a Christian man, he ought to make his talents count for something more worth-while, and later on when he insisted on borrowing from the banks in time of financial panic to pay his pledges to Christian work.
Still the query persists, as it will persist long as the world stands.
You have heard it yourself, if you, like Caleb of old, are trying to follow God wholly. "Was the sacrifice necessary?"
Beware of the question, for it is a temptation to slack service, though often spoken by one who would show himself a friend. Necessary? Of course. Isn't it involved in courageous following of Christ?
"There is so much good in the worst of us,And so much bad in the best of us,That it hardly becomes any of usTo talk about the rest of us."
THAT popular rhyme hits the nail squarely on the head. We are not to judge others. The world would be a pleasanter dwelling place if we would lay aside our critical attitude, and look on the best side of the men and women about us. Instead, however, it sometimes seems as if we were determined to forget all the good, and remember only the evil. Our additions to the comments of others are not praise, but blame. We do not seek to correct an unfavorable comment by saying, "But think of the good there is in his life"; we insist on drowning merited praise by saying, "But think how selfish he is; how careless of the comfort of others!" That is the cowardly thing to do. And life calls for courage.
The worst thing about the maker of suchcommentsis that the readier he is to see—orimagine—faults in another, the more blind he is apt to become to faults in himself. This inability to see his own shortcomings would be ludicrous if it were not so pitiful. Yet these shortcomings are apparent to all who know him. Jesus, who knew human nature, said, "Judge not, that ye be not judged . . . first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye."
The courageous task of reforming ourselves seems prodigious when we think what good opinions we have of ourselves and what poor opinions we have of others, but the task is not impossible, for God has promised to give us the help we need, and He will never disappoint us. An earthly father knows how to give good things to his children; shall not the Heavenly Father do as much and more?
Since we have such a Father, it is the least we can do to learn of Him the true philosophy of life. Listen while He tells us what it is:
"All things, therefore, whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, even so do ye also unto them."
Impossible and impracticable? Let us see.
ILOOKING OUT FOR OTHERS
The president of a big manufacturing concern, who is also its active operating head, is quoted as saying that he finds a growing tendency among young men to go after business by sharp practice when they cannot get it any other way. They will "cut the corners of a square deal to land an order." In applying for positions, he goes on to say, some young fellows have tried to recommend themselves by telling how they got orders for former employers by some neat trick.
"I have had to tell them, square and plain," he adds, "that there wasn't any recommendation in that kind of talk with me. I have made up my mind that I am going to write out some plain talks on righteousness and post them up around the offices and shops where everybody will have a chance to read them. I have explained my plan about these bulletins to a number of other manufacturers, and I think several of them are going to do the same thing. Besides the moral reasons for the policy, it's the only policy to build up a sound business on. Take even the men who would be willing to make profit for themselves by shady deals,and they all want to buy goods for themselves of a firm that they can depend on. I think our history this past year has proved the wisdom of it; business has been rolling in from points that we never had an idea of getting anything from. The Golden Rule works."
Nathan Strauss was once asked what contributed most to his remarkable success. "I always looked out for the man at the other end of the bargain," he said.
In 1901 the State of Wisconsin struck a beautiful bronze medal in honor of Professor Stephen Moulton Babcock, the inventor of the milk test machine. Professor Babcock, so one admirer says, "knew its value to farmer and dairyman. He also knew its possibilities of fortune for himself. This invention has 'increased the wealth of nations by many millions of dollars and made continual new developments possible in butter and cheesemaking.' All this Professor Babcock knew it would do when he announced his discovery in a little bulletin to the farmers of Wisconsin. But at the bottom of that bulletin he added the brief and unselfish sentence, 'this test is not patented.' With that sentence he cheerfully let a fortune go. He wanted his invention to help other people, rather than make himself rich."
What a difference it would make if everyone should take the Golden Rule as the motto for each day, asking Christ's help in living in accordance with it! What a difference it would make in every home if father and mother and all the sons and daughters should resolve to make theirs a Golden-Rule household! The first thing necessary in bringing about such a change in the home is for one member to make the resolution and to do his best to live up to it. Others will follow inevitably when they note his careful, unselfish life and helpful acts.
There is a Jewish tradition that a Gentile came to Hillel asking to be taught the law, in a few words, while he stood on one foot. The answer was given, "Whatsoever thou wouldst that men should not do to thee, that do not thou to them." This was good, as far as it went, but there was nothing positive about it. Christ's teaching supplies the lack, showing what we are to do as well as what we are to leave undone. Christ always gives the touch required to make old teachings glow with life.
IISUCCEEDING BY COURAGEOUS SERVICE
When John E. Clough was a student working his way through college, he was employed in a menial capacity at a hotel in a western town. His employer was absent for a season and the student was compelled to take charge of the hotel. He was successful, for he learned how to handle men of many sorts, how to provide for their comfort, how to make them feel that he was doing his best for them.
Years later, when he was a missionary in India, it became necessary for him to plan for the temporary entertainment of the men and women who came to the mission station by hundreds, and even by thousands, seeking Christian baptism. For days it was necessary to provide for their comfort. Many men would have been dismayed by the task, but to Dr. Clough the problem presented was simple; he had only to do on a large scale the very things which made his boyhood efforts at hotel-keeping such a pronounced success.
Experience in a hotel is a good course of preparation for any young man, whether he plans to be a missionary or to serve in any of the home callings that demand the Christian's time andthought. However, it is not possible for more than a very small proportion of young people to serve a period in a hotel; so it will be helpful to them to read some of the suggestions that have been made by a successful hotel proprietor. Those who heed these suggestions are apt to be successful in dealing with men and women anywhere.
It is worth while to note some of these rules:
"The hotel is operated primarily for the benefit and convenience of its guests.
"Any member of our force who lacks the intelligence to interpret the feeling of good will that this hotel holds toward its guests, cannot stay here very long.
"Snap judgments of men often are faulty. The unpretentious man with the soft voice may possess the wealth of Croesus.
"You cannot afford to be superior or sullen with any patron of the hotel.
"At rare intervals some perverse member of our force disagrees with a guest as to the rightness of this or that. . . . Either may be right. . . . In all discussions between hotel employees and guests, the employee is dead wrong from the guest's standpoint, and from ours. . . .
"Each member of our force is valuable only in proportion to his ability to serve our guests.
"Every item of extra courtesy contributes towards a better pleased guest, and every pleased guest contributes toward a better, bigger hotel. . . ."
Yet a young man should not have to go to a hotel to learn these lessons. They were taught in the Book that every one of us should know better than any other book in our library. Listen to these messages of the Book, and compare them with the rules of the hotel:
"Not looking each of you to his own things, but each of you also to the things of others. . . .
"Be tenderly affectioned one to another, in honor preferring one another. . . .
"Judge not that ye be not judged. . . . The rich and the poor meet together: Jehovah is the maker of them all. . . .
"Better it is to be of a lowly spirit. . . .
"He that is slow in anger appeaseth strife. . . .
"I am among you as he that serveth. . . .
"Ye are the light of the world. . . ."
The best book for anyone who is trying to be a success in the world is the Bible, for the Bible teaches how to serve, and he who has the courage best to serve his fellows in the name of the great Servant is the most successful man.
IIISERVICE BY SYMPATHY
It has been said that, while the word "sympathy" does not occur in the Bible, the idea is there; it is in bud in the Old Testament, but it is in full blossom in the New Testament. Christ was always sympathetic. He felt for the disturbed host at the wedding; His heart went out to Zaccheus; He wept with Mary and Martha; He listened to the plea of the blind and the lepers; He was deeply stirred as He saw the funeral procession of him who was the only son of his mother, a widow.
An eloquent preacher was talking to his people of this glorious flower of the Christian life. "Beholding the lily," he said, "sympathy breathes a prayer that no untimely frost may blight the blossom; beholding the sparrow, sympathy fills a box with seeds for the birds whose fall 'the Heavenly Father knoweth'; beholding some youth going forth to make his fortune, sympathy prays that favorable winds may fill these sails and waft the boy to fame and fortune. Do the happy youth and maiden stand before the marriage altar, the Christian breathes a prayer that love's flowers maynever fall, and that 'those who are now young may grow old together.'"
One of the pleasing stories told of Richard Harding Davis, the writer and war correspondent, was of an incident when real sympathy transformed him.
In May, 1898, when the Massachusetts troops were about to go from Florida to Cuba, Mr. Davis entered the encampment as the men were saddened by the first death in the company. At once his cheerful face took on a subdued look. The next day proved to be "a broiling dry hot day which set the blood sizzling inside of one," but Davis tramped for two hours in the search of flowers. Then he learned that eight miles away he might secure some. Though no one was abroad who did not have to be, Mr. Davis started on a sixteen-mile horseback trip. Securing the flowers, he brought them back and made a cross of laths on which he tied them. Then came the search for colors to make the flag. Again he tramped a weary distance, but at last he found red, white and blue ribbon. That night he laid his tribute on the casket.
An American author who lived several generations before Davis was noted for his sympathetic attitude to the suffering. RichardHenry Dana was compelled when a young man to take a voyage around Cape Horn on a sailing ship. That classic of the sea, "Two Years Before the Mast," was one of the results of that experience. Another result was that when the author became a lawyer in Boston, his knowledge of ships made him a favorite advocate in nautical cases. His knowledge of the sufferings of the men before the mast, who were so often abused, was responsible for his taking their part in many an unprofitable case. He had learned by bitter experience what the sailors under a brutal captain had to suffer, and any mistreated seaman had in him a firm friend and a fearless pleader.
The truest sympathy comes from those who, like Dana, know what suffering means. An author in Scotland, who lived in Dana's generation, never heard of the American friend of seamen, but he had the same spirit, born of his own suffering. He was not accustomed to complain, and was always reticent in speaking of himself. Once, however, for the sake of a friend, he allowed himself to tell of his own life:
"With all your sorrows I sympathize from my heart," he wrote. "I have learned to do so through my own sufferings. The same feeling which made you put your hand into yourpocket to search among the crumbs for the wanting coin for the beggar, leads me to search in my heart for some consolation for you. The last two years have been fraught to me with such sorrowful experiences that I would gladly exchange my condition for a peaceful grave. A bankrupt in health, hope and fortune, my constitution shattered frightfully, and the almost certain prospect of being a cripple for life before me, I can offer you as fervent and unselfish a sympathy as ever one heart offered another. I have lain awake, alone, and in darkness, suffering severe agony for hours, often thinking that the slightest aggravation must make my condition unbearable and finding my only consolation in murmuring to myself the words patience, courage and submission."
That, surely, is a part of what Robert Louis Stevenson meant when, as one element in his statement of the ideal for the perfect life, he named "to be kind." True kindness is impossible without sympathy.
So long as there is so much real sympathy in the world there can be no place for the maunderings of a pessimist. Every sight of a man, a woman or a child whose life is beautified by the outgoing of sympathy is an effective message of courage, of cheer, of hope.
IVDOING BUSINESS FOR OTHERS
A Boston boy, Samuel Billings Capen, wanted to become a minister. Yet it did not seem possible to secure the special training which was essential. Instead of being discouraged, he determined to go into business.
But he resolved that he would be a business man of God. From the first he carried his Christian principles with him into the carpet business. His faithful work as office boy was a part of his testimony for Christ, and when—within five years—he became a member of the firm, he was known as one of the solid Christian men of the city. Always his duty to Christ came first. In the words of his biographer, "There was not a moment when he would not have left the firm with which he was associated had the business demanded any compromise with the best things of character."
Once he spoke to young men of these few things essential to vital living:
"The first is fidelity—that kind of conscientiousness which performs the smallest details well.
"The second condition is earnestness. There is no chance for the idle or indifferent.
"The third condition is integrity—not that lower form which refuses to tell a downright falsehood, but that higher form of conscientiousness which will not swerve a hair's breadth from the strictest truth, no matter what the temptation; the courage to lose a sale rather than to do that which is mean or questionable.
"The fourth condition I would name is purity of heart and life. I do not believe it is possible for any man to be true and pure and faithful in every respect without help from above. We need the personal help of a personal God."
Thirteen years after beginning his service as apprentice, Mr. Capen's health failed. For many months his life was in danger. God used the sickness to draw the young man nearer to Himself. "Compelled to remain for months in absolute idleness, unable to talk to his friends except to a limited extent, he made the solemn resolve with his God that if his health was restored he would never shirk any work nor complain of any task that might be presented to him."
For a generation he was not only a leader in business, but he was as conspicuous in his service of the State as in his services in the Church.
Why did he succeed? He was not a genius.His health was poor. He was not mentally brilliant. In these respects he was just an average man. But in other respects he was above the average. He had the courage to give himself in service of his fellows. "He believed that conscious fellowship with God is the foundation of every strong life."
A life like that influenced for good everyone about him. Many men were drawn by him into the paths of righteousness. Others were held back by him from ways of evil. Once he presided over a public meeting which corrupt politicians had planned to capture for their own purpose. But they made no attempt to carry out their plans. "How could we succeed with that man watching us?" they asked their friends.
It is good to be a minister of the gospel. But for every minister the world needs hundreds of men who are possessed of Samuel B. Capen's courageous eagerness to live for God in the midst of business cares.
VPRAYING AND HELPING
A business man entered the office of a friend just as the friend was hanging up the receiver of the telephone. There were tears in the eyesof the man at the desk as he turned from the instrument to take the hand of his visitor.
"I'm afraid you have had bad news," the visitor said, deciding that it was not a propitious time to talk of the matter on which he had come.
"No bad news—the best of news," was the reply. "Now see if you don't agree with me. This morning my wife, who is always thinking of other people, remarked that it was too bad my pastor's wife could not have a vacation this summer; she shows the need of itbecauseof a severe strain that had been on her. Yet we knew that she could not look forward to a vacation.
"'Let's pray about it,' my wife suggested, just before we knelt at the family altar. We prayed then; we've been praying since. And the answer has come quickly. My wife was on the telephone just now; she told me that the postman had brought a letter from a California friend of whom we had all but lost sight. Fifteen years ago we lent him a sum of money which we never expected to see again. Yet the letter contained a check for the amount of the loan!
"'What shall we do with the money?' my wife asked.
"'I wonder if you are not thinking the same thing I am,' I said to her.
"'Yes, isn't it the answer to our prayer?' she replied. 'I'm going to take it to our pastor's wife right now.'"
The business man was thoughtful as he passed from his friend's office. Just a few hours before he had been told by an acquaintance of his longing, when on a long trip, to have such a glimpse of the life of one of the many passengers near him that he would be able to help that passenger before the end of the journey. The wish was a prayer. Not long after the making of the prayer he noted a man who was so restless that he could not sit still. Every moment or two he looked at his watch, then studied his time table. Evidently he was disturbed because the train was late.
"I hope you are not to lose a connection in Chicago?" the observing traveler said to him.
"Yes, I'll miss it—and my baby is dying five hours from Chicago," was the response, given with a sob.
The time was short, but there was opportunity for the interchange of a few words, then for a conference with the conductor, who wired asking that the connecting train—at another station and on another road—be held for ten minutes.
A week later came a note from the happy father. His babe was rapidly recovering. "And I'll never forget the words you spoke to me in my agony," he wrote. "God is more real to me since our talk as we went into Chicago. You put heart into me."