IN THE DEPTHS OF THE SOUL.
Stores of information; rich mines of knowledge; uncut gems and precious metal awaiting the discoverer—Psychic and spiritual faculties—Strange attraction of soul to soul—The Rock of Ages—The Voice of the Soul.
Deep down in the soul are stores of information awaiting to be brought to the surface of consciousness. Rich mines of knowledge are there—uncut gems rest there awaiting the day when they will be uncovered and brought into the bright light of consciousness—rich veins of precious metals are there awaiting in patience the day when some Divine Adventurer will search for them and bring them to light. The human mind is a wonderful storehouse, concealing all sorts of treasures and precious things, only a fraction of which have been discovered so far.
We have faculties not yet recognized by the science of the day—psychic and spiritual faculties—just as real as the recognized faculties, playing an important part in our everyday lives, particularly when we have been made aware of their existence. In many of us these faculties are scarcely recognized, and many of us doubt and deny their very existence. Others have a faint perception of their existence, but do not know how to use them, and get but the slightest benefit from them. Others have awakened to the wonderful faculties which are developing and unfolding within them, and a few have gone so far as to aid in this development of these higher faculties of the mind, and have been almost startled at the results obtained. The Orientals have their ways of development of these faculties, and we Occidentals have ours. Each best serves the purposes of the particular people using it.
As we bring these faculties out of the realm of the super-conscious into the field of consciousness, life takes on an entirely different meaning, and many things heretofore dark are seen plainly and understood. No one can understand the Oneness of things until his spiritual faculties are sufficiently developed to make him conscious of it. Blind belief or reliance upon the words of another will never do for the seeker after Truth that which is accomplished by a single gleam of consciousness resting upon some of the hidden treasures of the soul. One glimpse into the depths of the soul will do more than the reading of thousands of books, the teaching of hundreds of teachers. This glimpse, once had, will never be forgotten. Its reality may be questioned at times—at other times the memory may seem dim and unreliable—but it will return in all its freshness and brightness, and even in the moment of doubt we cannot entirely escape it.
Our real knowledge of the existence of GOD is not obtained from the intellect. We can take up the subject of GOD and reason about it all our life, only to find ourselves, in the end, in a worse muddle than when we started. And yet one single ray of consciousness reaching down into the depths of our inner being will bring to us such a complete certainty of GOD'S existence and being, that nothing afterward will ever shake our faith in the reality and existence of the Supreme Power. We will not understand the nature of his being—his existence—his power—but we will know that he exists, and will feel that peacefulness and infinite trust in him which always come with the glimpse of the Truth. We will not understand any better the many theories of Man regarding GOD and his works; in fact, we will be more apt to turn away, wearied, from Man's discussion of the subject—the attempt of the finite to describe and limit the infinite. But we will know that at the Center of things is to be found that Universal Presence, and we feel that we can safely rest ourselves on his bosom—trust ourselves in his hands. The cares, sorrows and trials of Life seem very small indeed when viewed from the absolute position, although from the relative position this world often seems to be a very hell.
Another glimpse into the recesses of the soul reveals to us the Oneness of things. We see GOD as the great Center of things, and all the Universe as but One. The Oneness of all Life becomes apparent to us and we feel in touch not only with all mankind, but with all life. The petty distinctions of class, race, rank, caste, nationality, language, country fade away and we see all men as brothers. And we feel a kindly feeling and love toward the lesser manifestations of life. Even the rocks and the stones are seen as parts of the Whole and we no longer feel a sense of separateness from any thing. We realize what the Universe is, and in our imagination visit the most distant stars and instinctively know that we would find nothing foreign to us there—all would be but bits of the same thing.
And we begin to understand those strange attractions of soul to soul, instances of which have come to all of us. We realize that it is possible to entertain a feeling of love for every living creature—to every man or woman, the manifestations, of course, varying in degree and kind, according to sex and closeness of soul relation. It makes us more tolerant and causes us to see but ignorance in many things in which we saw but sin before. It makes us feel pity rather than hate. Ah, these little glimpses into the inmost recesses of the soul they teach us many new lessons.
And one of the greatest lessons that we may acquire in this way is the recognition of the eternal life of the soul. We may believe, with greater or less earnestness, in the doctrine of the immortality of the soul, our beliefs and conceptions depending more or less upon the teachings which we have received from early childhood, but until we become conscious of that which lies within us, we are never really certain—we do not know. Many good people will deny this statement, and will say that they have never doubted the life of the soul after death, but see how they act. When death comes into their houses they mourn and cry aloud in their agony, and demand of GOD why he has done this thing. They drape themselves in mourning and mourn and weep as if the loved one had been destroyed and annihilated. All of their actions and conduct go to prove that they have no abiding sense of the reality of the continuance of life beyond the grave. They speak of the dead as if they were lost forever—as if a sponge had been passed over the slate of life and naught remained. How cold and hollow sounds the would-be comforting words of friends and relatives, who assure the mourning ones that the being who has just laid aside the body is "better off now," and that all is "for the best," and all the rest of conventional expressions that we make use of. I tell you that one who has had a glimpse into what lies within him knows so well that he is eternal that he finds it impossible to look upon death in the ordinary way, and if he is not very careful he will be regarded as heartless and unfeeling for the sorrows of others. And he will be regarded as a fool in his views of life by those around him who attend church regularly every Sunday, and who profess a full belief in all its doctrines. If he considers that he himself is his soul, and that he is as much an immortal being now as he ever will be—that his body is but as a garment to cover him, or an instrument through which he manifests himself—if he considers that he is in eternity now just as much as he ever will be; that he cannot be destroyed by Mt. Pelee eruptions or railroad accidents—if, in short, he feels these things so strongly that they have become a part of his real everyday life—why, he is looked upon as "queer" by those who hear these things taught them every Sunday, and who would feel horrified if they were accused of harboring a doubt regarding them. This is one of the things that go to show the difference between "believing" a thing and "being conscious" of it.
Now, don't run away and say that I held that the church-goers have no conception of the reality of the immortality of the soul, for I haven't said any such thing. There are many church-goers who have experienced a full realization of the feeling I mention, and there are many more church-goers who have not. And there are many men and women who scarcely ever enter within the walls of a church who have had this experience, and it means more to them than all the preachments they have ever listened to. It is not a matter of being "in-church" or "out-of-church," it is a matter of spiritual development, that's all. I attend churches of all denominations, and I find all of them good. The service of the Catholic Church appeals to me, and so does the meeting of some old-fashioned Methodist congregation. I do not accept all the doctrines and theories I hear in the various churches, but I manage to get some good out of all. If I have any preference whatever, it is for an old-fashioned Quaker meeting, where, perhaps, not a word is said from beginning to close, but where there is undoubtedly a strong spiritual power manifested. I have even found much good in attending a certain orthodox church, where the venerable preacher, who does not believe in the "higher criticism" or creed revision, often gives us a delightful sermon on the horrors of hell and the state of the damned, including the unbaptized infants. I can listen to a sermon like this with a thrill of delight—a feeling of intense joy which comes to me because I have been given the inward assurance that there exists a GOD who is Love, instead of the hating, wrathful, vengeful creature that the poor preacher tries to make us believe is the Infinite Power—the Universal Presence—the Loving Father. Oh, no, I am not condemning churches—I like them all, and think that each one is doing the best possible work for the particular people who are attracted to it. I have listened to the exercises of the Salvation Army, and have seen much good in it. How many of you New Thought people, or you high-toned church members, would make half the sacrifices for what you consider Truth that the Salvation Army soldier or the Hallelujah lassie make every day of their lives? Stop a moment before you laugh at them. Some of these people have more spirituality in their little finger than many of us have in our whole bodies.
There are times when we feel disturbed and full of unrest. We seek to use our intellects and solve all the problems of life. We fret and chafe under the restrictions which have been placed upon us. We wish to KNOW all things. We reason this way and that way, follow up every lane, alley and street in the city of Thought, but, alas, we find not that which we seek. And in our search we are apt to forget that we have within us an assurance that all is well with the world, and with us. We rebel against the leadings of the Spirit—against the knowledge that has come from the inner self—and we want to get our knowledge over the old channels—by means of the Intellect. Well, at such times we storm and fume and fret, and complain at our inability to solve the problem. We set up ideas only to tear them down again. We assume and then abandon one position after another, until there is nothing left. And the end of all the intellectual debauch is to say finally, "I do not know." And then, after the struggle is over, we see, just as plainly as ever before, the glimpse of Truth that has come to us from within—we hear the words of the soul—we have the same old consciousness. We say to ourselves, "I may not get this thing intellectually, but I KNOW it is true. I cannot doubt the voice of the Soul."
This knowledge which comes from within is like the rock against which beat the storms of the sea—against which dash the waves which completely cover it and which hide it from sight, until it seems that it has disappeared forever from view, carried away by the attacking waves. The lightning flashes, the thunder rolls, the fury of the tempest seems concentrated against this rock, and the demon of the storm seems intent upon destroying every particle of it—of tearing it to little bits with which to strew the shores. All is darkness—all is blackness—all is fury, raging and terror. After hours, the storm subsides, and then later morning comes, and the first rays of the rising sun kiss lovingly the rock which has stood the fury of the storm, and has emerged unhurt, a witness to its superiority to the elements.
Storm away, ye who would destroy this rock—dash your waves of Doubt, Logic, Criticism, Unbelief, Dogma, Theory, against this rock of the Spirit. Exert yourself to the utmost—expend all the force that is within you—do your best—do your worst. Tear and twist, pull and wrench, beat and pound, and what have you accomplished? After the storm has passed away—after the clouds have dispersed—when the sky again is blue and the sun again is shining—the rock still stands, undisturbed, unchanged, unshaken. And stand it will for ages and ages. And Man shall begin to know of the stability and firmness of this rock. He will begin to realize just what it means to him, and he will know that while the waves that beat upon it are good and needful, and not to be despised, that only upon the rock can he safely build.
Do not despise the intellect and its teachings, but know that ye have within ye another source of knowledge—that ye have spiritual faculties which are developing and which you can use. And trust the work of these faculties—listen to the voice of the Soul.
"FORGET IT."
Why worry about the past?—Hugging old sorrows to your bosom—What to do with them—Don't poison your life—Pain brings experience—Learning your lesson—How to get rid of a gloomy thought—Throw it away—Forget it.
One can often get some useful lesson from the slang and current phrases of the day. There is something particularly attractive to me about slang, and the pat phrases that are passed along from one to another on the streets. Many of these phrases condense in a few words certain practical truths that one could use as a basis for a sermon, an essay, or even a book. They are the practical experiences of the people crystallized in a catchy phrase. The phrase which I hear so frequently on the street just now, "Forget it," seems to me to contain much practical common sense, and if people would put it into practice there would be many more brighter faces—many more lighter hearts. What's the use, anyhow, of carrying around a long face or a heavy heart, just because away back in the past something "went wrong" with us, or even if we "went wrong" ourselves (and most of us have—I have, I know)? What's the use? Forget it!
Of course you will not forget the experiences of the past, and you do not want to. That's one of the things we are living for—gaining experience. When we have once really learned a thing through experience, we never forget it—it is a part of us. But why bother about the memory of the pain, the mortification, the "slip-up," the heartache, the wounded feelings, the misplaced confidence, the thing done in the wrong way, the chance you let slip by, the folly, the sin, the misery, the "might-have-beens," and all the rest. Oh what's the use? Forget it I say, forget it.
If one is to worry about all the things that went wrong—all the things that didn't come right—in the past; if he has to take out each memory every day, and after carefully dusting it off, fondle and caress it, and hug it close to his bosom; if he has to raise up these ghosts from the past—these phantoms of long ago—these musty, moth-eaten things—why he will have no time for the affairs of to-day. He will lose all the joy of the now—all the pleasure of life of the moment—all the interest in the things of to-day. Oh, dear, dear, what's the use? Forget it—forget it.
Some people are not happy unless they have some old faded sorrow hugged up close to their bosoms, and they feel guilty if they happen to smile and forget the old thing for even a moment. Oh, how they do gloat over their own revamped unhappiness—how they enjoy the relieving of the pains and sorrows, mistakes and ignorance of years gone by. How they love to hold the fox to their sides and let it eat out their heart. These people are really happy in the unhappiness, and life would not be worth living if they were deprived of their pet sorrows. Of course, if these people are really happy because they are unhappy, I have no objection. Every man or woman has the right to pursue happiness in his or her own way, and I suppose that that is as good a way as any other, and I should not find fault if somebody else's way is different from mine. But doesn't it seem like a pity to see people wasting their time, energy, thoughts and life on these old sorrows? If they must think of the past, why not think of the bright things that came into their lives, instead of the dark ones? Think of the moments of happiness, not of the moments of sorrow. Don't make a tomb of your mind. Don't let that particular painful experience poison your present life. Don't do it—don't do it. What's the use? Forget it.
Every bit of pain that has happened you has brought its experience to you—you are better, wiser and broader for it. Look at it in that way, and you will cease to mourn and wail and wring your hands over the fact that in the past you "have done those things which you ought not to have done, and have left undone those things which you ought to have done." Nonsense! You have gained the experience and know better now. If you were placed back in the same old position, and lacked the experience that you have gained by just such things, you would do the same old thing over again, and in the same old way. You couldn't help it, because you would be the same old person. What you would like to do would be to be placed back in the same position, and face the same old temptation or problem, but you would want to take with you the experience you have gained by your former mistake. You want the cake and the penny at the same time. You want the experience without the pain. Oh, yes, you do, now, that's just what you want—I've been through it myself, and know all about it. You've gained the experience, be satisfied. Some day you'll need that experience, and will be glad you have it, and will see that it was worth all you've paid for it. No, you don't see it that way? Well, maybe you haven't had enough of it—haven't learned your lesson yet. If that is the case, some of these days the law will drop you back into the pot, until you're well done. The law is not satisfied with underdone people. Oh, you're making a big mistake. Forget it—forget it.
The people who carry these old things around with them generally get themselves into the mental attitude that draws other things of the same sort to them. Misery likes company, and a miserable thought also likes companionship, and almost always manages to attract some other miserable thing to it, to keep it from being lonesome. The only way to get rid of a thought of this kind is to—forget it.
Now if you have some pet thing that is gnawing out your vitals—is corroding your heart—is poisoning your mind—take it out and look at it for the last time. Give it a last long lingering gaze. Kiss it good-bye. Weep over it if you like, for this is the last you will see of it. Then throw open the window of your mind and pitch it out into the outer darkness.
FORGET IT!
"THE KINDERGARTEN OF GOD."
Life a great school—Man a child learning his lesson—Preparing for higher grades—The game-task—What it all means—Things as they are—The rules wise and good—Each task means something—Greeting the Kindergartner.
I see Life as a great school—Man as a tiny child, learning his little lessons, performing his little tasks, playing his little games, enjoying his little pleasures, suffering his little pains, disappointments, trials and sorrows.
I feel that we are in but the kindergarten stage of existence, learning the first lessons of Life—fitting ourselves for the grander, broader, fuller life in store for us. And I feel that this little kindergarten experience will continue until we have learned its lessons well—have firmly grasped the principles designed for our baby minds. And I feel that when we have proven our ability to weave our little mats—build our little blocks—draw our little pictures—mold our little clay forms—sing our little songs—then, and not until then, will we pass into a higher grade, where we will spell out the lines of the Primer of Life, and acquire the elementary principles of Cosmic Mathematics. And I feel that each little lesson must be learned, thoroughly, before the next step is taken. And I feel that every one of us must perform his own task—must memorize his own lesson—before he can gain the experience—can profit by the knowledge acquired in the performance of the task. We may be inspired by some brighter pupil—be encouraged by the loving sympathy of some fellow-scholar, but the task is ours to perform, sooner or later—and ours is the joy of accomplishment.
I believe that as some children, even whilst fascinated by the game-task of the kindergarten, know that it is only a childish task and not the real thing of life, so may we come to a point, where, whilst enjoying the constantly changing play of life, we will realize that it is but the training for greater things, and important only in that sense. The perception of this fact by the child need not interfere with his interest in the game—need not prevent him from feeling the joy of doing, creating, working, gaining new experiences; nor need it prevent us from playing the kindergarten games of grown-up life with a zest and interest, not alone because we realize that we are learning valuable lessons, but, yea, even from the very excitement and joy of the game itself.
When we realize just what this view of Life means, we will find new pleasures in everyday life—will learn to laugh with childish glee at our little successes in molding the clay into the desired shape—in the clever weaving of the mat. And we will learn to smile, through our tears, if our little mat happens to tear in two—if our little clay sphere drops to the floor and is shattered—if the hour's work is destroyed.
And we will learn our little lesson of Love—of Comradeship. We will learn by experience that if we lead the narrow, selfish life we will miss the joy that falls to the lot of those who have learned to express more fully the love-nature within them—we will find that Love begets Love—that the love-nature, expressed, attracts to itself the love in the hearts of our little playmates. We will find that the child who carries within him the love for others, and expresses that love, need never want for friends or companions, need never suffer from loneliness, need never fear being left out in the cold. The true Personal Magnetism of the child (and the grown-up) consists largely of—Love, which never fails in its drawing power. And we will learn, from bitter experience, the folly of the idea of separateness from our little playmates—will know that the standing apart brings nothing but sorrow to us. We will realize that selfishness brings nothing but pain—that giving has its pleasures as well as receiving. And we will learn something of Brotherhood, and its goodness—we will have the True Democracy of the kindergarten impressed upon us. These lessons (and others) we will learn well, before passing on.
We, like the child, often wonder what is the use of it all—fret over our enforced tasks—chafe at the confinement—rage at the restrictions, and, failing to comprehend it all, indulge in complaints, protests, rebellion. And, like the child, we cannot expect to understand the whyness of it all, certainly not until we pass beyond the kindergarten stage of existence and reach the higher grades.
When one begins to realize what he is—begins to be conscious of the I AM—begins to know things as they are—he gradually learns to appreciate things at their true worth, and, although not released from the necessity of playing out his kindergarten game tasks, is able to, practically, stand aside and watch himself play them out. He knows that he is gaining knowledge—is mastering his lessons—is living-out, and out-living, his desires—is acquiring and storing up new experiences—but he values things only at their final worth, and is not deceived by the apparent value of the moment. He begins to see things in their proper relations. He does not take himself (or things) too seriously. He enjoys the pleasure of the game—but he knows it to be but the play and pleasure of the child—he laughs, but is not deceived. He suffers, also, the sorrow, grief, disappointment, humiliation and chagrin of the child-nature—but even though the tears are falling he, knowing, smiles. He laughs with joy—with pain he cries, but he knows—he knows. He enjoys the playthings, gifts, rewards, but he knows them for what they are—he knows. He plays the games with the children who do not know—and well he plays—but he knows. His disillusionment spoils not the sport—he plays on (for play he must), knowing, but enjoying. Yes, enjoying because of the knowing. He knows that the child-things are good—but he sees them as but shadows of the Good to come. He knows that he "cannot escape from his own good." And he knows that the Good is also in store for his playmates (though they know it not) and, being full of love, he rejoices.
He feels that the rules of the School are wise and good, and that, though he cannot see it clearly now, INFINITE JUSTICE rules all, as will in the end appear. He knows that promotion will be gained, just as soon as earned. He knows that just as soon as he is able to master a task, that task will be set before him—not a moment before. And he knows that no task will be allotted him even one moment before the possibility of its accomplishment.
He knows that he is being tested, trained and strengthened, day by day—that every unpleasant and disagreeable task has an important end in view. And he knows that every task placed before him is in accordance with a Law that takes cognizance of his powers, failings, capabilities, short-comings—that understands him better than he does himself. He knows that the very allotment of the task is a guarantee of his ability to perform it. He knows that within him are latent powers, potential forces, hidden knowledge, which will well forth from his sub-conscious mentality when bidden by the Confident Expectation of Intelligent Faith.
And, knowing these things, he is filled with Courage—and presses forth eagerly to the tasks of the day. And, knowing, he casts off all Fear, Worry, Discouragement and Discontent, and, with the smile of Love on his face and the joy of Faith in his heart, he greets THE KINDERGARTNER with Confidence and Trust.
THE HUMAN WET BLANKET.
Sees no good in anything—Expects the bad and gets it—Attracts it to him—Depresses everything and everyone—Carries an aura of negative depressing thought—Clammy—Puts out the fire of energy—Take warning.
Did you ever meet the Human Wet Blanket?
To start with, he sees no good in anything. To him every man is a rogue—every woman a schemer trying to pull the wool over the eyes of some man. He looks for the Bad—expects to find it—and find it he does. One generally gets what he looks for. He attracts to him that for which he looks, and he cannot see any other qualities than those possessed by himself. Everyone is trying to cheat him, and out-wit him, so he thinks, and I have no doubt that the Law brings him a fair share of people of this kind. In order to prevent other people from taking advantage of him, he endeavors to take advantage of them in the same small way that he fears they will use on him. The consequence is the people with whom he has dealings are apt to give him a dose of his own medicine. He trusts no man. He's so shrewd that he measures off a spool of thread in order to be sure that the storekeeper has not robbed him of a yard or two. And the funny thing is, that he sets in motion the Law which causes the one short-measure spool in the case to fall into his hands. He just draws these things to him. He thinks himself a marvel of cunning, and endeavors to manifest it in petty practices, the result being that he attracts to himself all the little schemers, and some of the big ones, who happen to be within the radius of his attracting power, while the other type of people are repelled by his mental attitude and thought-force. Funny, isn't it?
Then he sees nothing but disaster ahead in any plan, and, sure, enough, if he gets near enough to the plan to contaminate it, trouble is sure to happen. As an attractor of Negative Thought he is a glittering success. He seems to have a positive genius for doing things the wrong way. And yet, he doesn't believe in the Attractive Power of Thought or "any such nonsense." He's too shrewd to take any stock in such ridiculous theories, although he exhibits in his life a most convincing proof of the truth of New Thought teachings.
He never says "I Can and I Will," and if he hears anyone around him indulging in such heretical notions, he promptly proceeds to squelch him by a few "Supposings," "Buts," "What ifs," and two or three gloomy shakes of the head, and a few sighs. His motto seems to be "There's no use trying, you can't do it." With him the country seems always to be going to the dogs, and the poorhouse is constantly looming up before him.
I need scarcely add that Fear, Worry, Jealousy, and Suspicion are his bosom friends. He holds these thoughts constantly, and they and the rest of the negative brood are devouring him. They are making their home in his mentality and are increasing rapidly, besides frequently inviting their friends for a visit.
Of course, it's nobody's business if he likes this sort of thing, but it is not pleasant to come in contact with him. He is surrounded with an aura of negative, depressing, gloomy, thought-force, which is manifest to all with whom he comes in contact. Turn him loose in a roomful of cheerful people, and in a few minutes the conversation has lagged, the warmth of love and friendship has disappeared and things begin to feel damp and chilly, and someone will begin to make inquiry regarding the furnace or the steam radiators, and wondering why the janitor does not keep up the fire on such a day. Approach him when you feel fired with energy, ambition and push—when you feel that you can go out and conquer any obstacle—and you will feel the clammy wet blanket thrown over you, putting out your fire of energy, and in a moment or two you will wonder "What's the use." That is, unless you understand your business, and know how to throw off the influence of the negative thought-waves emanating from this man. Look out for him.
From the bottom of my heart, I pity this man and his kind. He gets none of the sweet things of Life—he doesn't see them lying around. He misses the joy of living. He sees everything through jaundiced eyes. He knows nothing of the happiness of the clear head, warm heart, and brotherly hand. He is so occupied in looking for the spoiled fruit on the ground that he does not see the perfect fruit on the branches above his head, begging to be picked. He is so much engrossed in the mud upon the road, that he does not see the bright blue sky above his head; the beautiful landscape; the children playing on the grass; the mother nursing her babe; the old couple trudging along hand in hand. These things do not exist for him. His mind is so full of Fear, Suspicion, Distrust, and Petty Spite, that Love finds no room. But even this is Good—for many find their way to Optimism only by first sinking to the depths of extreme Pessimism. They reach the Celestial City by the road that winds through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Even these things shall pass away.
All's well.
AIM STRAIGHT.
Fear attracts, as well as Desire—Learn to aim straight and aim at the right thing—Examples—The bowler—The bicyclist and the car—The bicyclist and the post—The boy and the marbles—Wisdom from the babe—Look straight; Think straight; Shoot straight.
A strong Desire or a strong Fearthought is an aim at the thing desired or feared. And in proportion to the degree of Desire or Fear, will we be carried toward the thing at which we aim. Confident Expectation is manifested in a Fearthought as well as in an earnest Desire, and when we confidently expect a thing to happen we are carried toward it by an irresistible force. It may seem strange to you to hear that Fear is akin to Desire, but this is the truth. It matters not whether we call it Desire or Fear, the gist of the matter lies in the Confident Expectation. A faint Hope and a lurking Fear have about the same attractive force—a Desire coupled with a firm belief in its realization attracts strongly, but no more strongly than does a Fear coupled with a feeling of certainty of its realization. The thing upon which your Thought is firmly fixed or drawn toward, will be the thing you will realize. Therefore Aim Straight.
We have heard much of the Attractive Power of Thought as applied to Desire. I will now say something to you about the same force called into operation by Fearthought. It is far more pleasant for me to speak of the bright side of the question, but I would be neglecting my duty toward you if I failed to direct your attention to the reverse of the shield. When you thoroughly realize that Thought-force works both ways, you will know how to handle it, and will understand many things that have heretofore been dark to you. You will learn to AIM STRAIGHT, but will also learn to be careful at what you aim. You will learn to avoid the aim inspired by Fear, and will hereafter use all your energies to pointing your mental arrow at the bull's-eye of Happiness and Success.
Let us take a few facts from the physical plane in order to illustrate things as they are on the mental plane of effort. Life has its correspondences on all its planes, and by taking examples from one plane, we will be able to more readily understand the workings of the Law on other planes.
Some time ago, I was talking to a number of people about this subject, and gleaned from each an illustration of the workings of the Law of Attraction on the physical plane. And each example although on the physical plane, showed the power of Mind behind it. I will tell you what some of these people said, and you can see for yourself just what I mean.
The first man was a printer, who after hours spent much time in bowling, and who was looked upon as an expert in that game. He said that some time before he was playing a game, and at a critical point when he was taking aim and endeavoring to put the ball in between the 1 and 2 pins (a specially advantageous shot), his opponent spoke up and said "Just watch him hit the 4 pin." I do not know anything about bowling, but it seems that to hit the 4 pin is about the worst thing that can happen to a bowler, outside of missing the pins altogether. Well, to go on with the story, with the remark of his rival, Fearthought entered the mind of the printer, and he couldn't get the 4 pin out of his mind. He kept on looking at the place he wanted to hit, but his mind was on the 4 pin, and he feared that he would hit it. To use his own words, he "got rattled," and away went the ball striking the 4 pin fair and square. He concluded the story by saying: "And so instead of making a 'ten strike' I got only a 'split.'" Maybe you understand those terms better than do I, but at any rate you will see what a Fearthought brought to this typographical bowler in his little game of ten-pins. Moral: When you wish to place the ball Energy between the 1 and 2 pins of Life, don't allow Fearthoughts to switch you off to the 4 pin, thereby giving you a "split" instead of the coveted "ten-strike."
Another friend told me that, a few days before, he had been riding on the front bench of a grip-car on a Chicago cable-line. Hearing the gripman break into the vernacular in a vigorous style, he looked up, and saw a colored man on a bicycle trying to cross the track "on the bias," as the girls say, just ahead of the car. There was plenty of time—plenty of room—for the man to get across, but when he reached the middle of the track Fearthought got hold of him, and in spite of himself his wheel turned and he headed straight for the car. He headed straight for the gripcar, just as if he had aimed at it, and the next moment he went "bang" right into it. He escaped injury, but his wheel was wrecked. When asked about it, he said that from the moment he got afraid of the car his wheel "ran away with him," right into the thing he Feared. Moral: Keep your mind fixed on the thing you want—not on the thing you don't want.
Another man, to whom I related the story of the man on the wheel, said that he had the same trouble when he was learning to ride the wheel. He was getting along pretty well and could manage to steer half-way straight, although in a wobbly manner, until one day he happened to see a certain telegraph pole in front of the place where he was learning to ride. The pole seemed to hypnotize him, and from that day he couldn't keep his front wheel away from it. He couldn't keep away from that pole—he was afraid of it. The pole seemed to have magnetic qualities and the result was "Bump." He remounted, over and over again, but the result was the same. At last he made up his mind that he was going to get ahead of that pole somehow, and he mounted the wheel with his back toward the pole (but his Mind was still on it) and lo! the front wheel described a semi-circle, and back to the pole he went. Moral: Don't let a pole hypnotize you with Fearthought—keep your Mind on the place to which you wish to go.
But the best example was given by a boy who had kept his eyes open and his thinker working. Maybe I had better tell you in his own words. This is what he said, just as he said it:
"Oh, pshaw!" said the Boy, "you're making a big fuss over nothing. Every feller knows that you've got to think about a thing if you want to hit it, and if you think about the wrong thing, why, you'll hit the wrong thing. If I fire a stone at a tin can, why, I just look square at the can and think about the can for all I'm worth, and the can's a dead one, sure. If I happen to let my mind wander to the cat what's on the shed over to the left of the can—well, so much the worse for the cat, that's all. To shoot straight, you've got to aim straight; and to aim straight you've got to look straight; and to look straight you've got to think straight. Every kid knows that, or he couldn't even play marbles. If I get my heart set on a beauty marble in the ring, I just want it the worst way and says I to myself, 'You're my marble.' Then I look at him strong and steady-like and don't think about nothing else in the world but that beauty. Maybe I'm late for school, but I clean forget it. I don't see nothing—nor think nothing—but that there marble what I want. As the piece in my reader says, it's my 'Heart's Desire,' and I don't care whether school keeps or not, just so as I get it. Then I shoot, and the marble's mine. And, at school, when our drawing teacher tells us how to draw a straight line, she makes two dots, several inches away from each other. Then she makes us put our pencils on the first dot and look steady at the other and move our pencil towards it. The more you keep thinking about the far off dot, and the less you think about the starting dot or your hand, the straighter you're going to get your line. Wonst I looked straight at the far-off dot with my eyes, but I kept thinking about a red-headed girl on the other side of the room, and what do you think, the line I was drawing slanted away off in her direction, although I had kept my eyes glued on the far-away dot and never even peeped in the kid's direction. That shows, sure, that it's the thinking as well as the looking. See?"
All of the examples above given contain within them the principles of a mighty truth—a working illustration of a great law of Life. If we are wise we will profit by them. Many things are happening around us every day, from which we might gain lessons if we would only think a little, instead of playing "follow my leader" and accepting other people's thought, ready made. We have gotten so accustomed to these "hand-me-down" thoughts, that we have almost forgotten how to turn out thoughts for ourselves. The day has come when we are required to do a little thinking on our own account, instead of humbly bowing before moth-eaten Authority perched upon a crumbling base. The time has arrived when we must strike out for ourselves, instead of following a musty Precedent which has "seen better days." This is the age of the Individual. This the time for the "I" to assert itself.
I wish you would pay attention to what the Boy said. It is not the first time that we have gone to the babe for wisdom. Although a child has an imagination beyond our comprehension, he, at the same time, is painfully and even brutally, matter of fact. He is continually asking: "Why," and when we grown-ups are unable to answer him he answers the question himself, often better than we could have done. He doesn't theorize, but gets down to business, and works things out for himself. This boy knew all about the Thinking part of the problems, and had put it into practical application, while we were theorizing about it. He had discovered that in order to get things we must first earnestly Desire them; then Confidently Expect that we would get them; then go to work to procure them. That's the true philosophy of getting things. He tells us, about the marble, that he first "wanted it the worst way" and "didn't care whether school kept or not" just so he got the marble. Then he "looked strong and steady-like" at the marble, saying: "You're my marble." Then he shot, and the marble was his. Can any of you describe the process of getting things better than this? If we grown-ups would only put into our daily tasks the interest and attention that the boy put into his game of marbles, we would "get the marble" oftener than we have been doing.
Of course, it may be true, that the principal joy is in the getting of things rather than in the possession of them—that the Game of Life is like the game of marbles in that respect, but what of that? That needn't spoil the game. The boy knows enough to enjoy playing for a few marbles that may be obtained for a penny-a-fistful at the corner store—but that fact doesn't bother him at all. He knows that when he gets the marble it will not seem half so beautiful in the hand as it did in the ring—but he gets ready to shoot for the next one with just as much zest and enjoyment. He finds a joy in Living; Acting; Doing; Expressing; Growing and Outgrowing, Gaining Experiences. Take a lesson from the Boy—while you are in the Great Game, take a boy's interest in it; play with a zest; play your level best, and get the marble. The Boy instinctively knows that the joy of life consists of Living, while we poor grown-ups vainly imagine that our pleasure will come only in the trophies of the game—the glass-marbles of Life—and look upon the playing of the game as drudgery and work imposed upon us as a punishment of the sins of our forefathers. The boy lives in the Now, and enjoys every moment of his existence—his winnings, his losings, his victories, his defeats, while we, his elders and superiors in wisdom groan at the heat of the day and the rigor of the game and are only reconciled to our tasks by the thought of how we will enjoy the possession of the marbles, when we get them at the end of the game. The Boy sucks his orange and extracts every particle of its sweet contents, while we throw away the juicy meat and aim only to secure the pips. Oh, yes! the boy not only knows how to "get there," but he has also a sane philosophy of Life. Many of us grown-ups are now re-learning that which we lost with our youth.
You will notice that the bowler, the bicyclists and the others, got what they didn't want, because they were afraid of it, and allowed it to distract their thoughts from the object of their Desire. To Fear a thing is akin to Desiring it—in either case you are attracted toward it, or it to you. It's a rule that works both ways. You must think about the Thing you Want—not about the Thing you Don't Want, for the thoughts you are thinking are the ones that are going to take form in action, as the Boy said: "You've got to think about a thing if you want to hit it, and if you think about the wrong thing, why, you're going to hit the wrong thing." Watch your Ideal, not your Bugbear. Concentrate on your Ideal—fix your thought and gaze upon it, like the boy upon his marble—and don't allow Fearthought to sidetrack you. Select the thing you want to be, and then grow steadily into it. Pick out the thing you want, and then go straight and steadily to it. Replace your old whine: "I Fear," with the New Thought shout: "I Can, and I Will." Then you will experience an illustration of "Thought taking form in Action."
Look Straight; Think Straight; Shoot Straight; in these three things lie the secret of Success.
AT HOME.
Don't be afraid—You are at home—Not here by chance—You belong here—YOU are the soul—YOU cannot be hurt—YOU cannot be banished—YOU are right in the universe, and there is no outside—Great things are before you—Make yourself at home.
Don't be afraid. You're living in your own home. This Universe was built for you to inhabit—to occupy—to enjoy. Do not feel strange—make yourself at home. The wonderful laws of nature—those which have been discovered, and those which remain to be discovered—are all laws for your use, when you grow large enough to understand how to make use of them.
Did you think you were here by chance, or that you were an alien? If so, learn better. You are to the manor born—you are the heir. Everything around the place is for your use, when you grow up. No one can dispossess you—no one can put you out. You are at home.
Do you long for another home? Do you fret and chafe at the trials and troubles of this world, and imagine that somewhere else things will be better? Well, they'll never be better for you until you have met and conquered the trials and troubles of this place. You are just where you belong. You are surrounded with just the things you need. You are getting just what you deserve. And until you learn the truth of this, you will have the same surroundings—the same environments. And then when you learn that the things around you are all right—that you are being treated justly—that you are getting just what you have attracted, and are attracting, to yourself—then you will be ready for the next step in the journey, and you will have new surroundings and new environments—new tasks—new lessons—new pleasures.
I hear some of you talking about Death. You seem to think that you will be another order of being as soon as you take your last breath upon earth. You talk about being a "spirit," bye-and-bye. Do I believe this? Of course, I believe it. I know it. But I also know something else, and that is that you are a spirit now, just as much as you will be in another world. Did you think that some wonderful essence was going to grow from you, and that that essence would be what you call a spirit? Nonsense! YOU are the spirit, and the not-you part which will be discarded never was you. The You which says I AM is the real thing—the real self—and the rest of you is but tools and instruments which YOU are using. Why can't you see this? You talk about "my soul," "my spirit," and so on. You make me tired. Why, the thing which is thinking and speaking—YOU—is the "soul" or "spirit" of which you are talking. You talk as if the physical part of you, which is changing continually, was you. You are like the boy with the old knife. He was continually having the knife repaired. He had had seven new blades and three new handles put on it, and yet it was the same old knife. Why, you could step right out of your body (and maybe you do, more than you have any idea of) and it would be the same old YOU. You could discard your body just as you do your clothes, and yet YOU would be the same individual. There is a wonderful difference between individuality and personality. One you cannot get rid of; the other may be changed.
What's the use in being afraid? Nobody can hurt the real YOU. You cannot be wiped out of existence. If a single spirit atom should be destroyed, the entire structure would smash up. You cannot be banished from the Universe, for there's nowhere else to put you. You cannot get outside of the Universe, for there's no outside. There's no place for you outside of everywhere.
And you talk about time and eternity. Why, you're in eternity right now. You are right in it this moment. It is always to-day—to-morrow never comes. And you are right at home in the Universe, and always will be. You are always there, for there's nowhere else to go.
So what's the use in being afraid? Who's going to hurt you? They can't kill YOU. They can't put you out of existence. They cannot expel you from the Universe. So what are they going to do about it anyhow? And, after all, who are "They?" You talk as if there were outside forces and influences antagonistic to you. Outside of what? No matter what beings of earth or air there may be, they are creatures like yourself. They are all a part of the Whole Thing—all made of the same material—all come from the hand of the same maker—you are all cut from the same piece of goods. The apparent differences are illusions—the difference and separateness is only relative, and not actual.
So, make yourself at home. Take a look around and see what a nice bit of the Universe you have to live in. Some of your family have been trying to occupy the whole house instead of only their share of it, but those things are gradually working out, and all will be better within a comparatively short time. This is going to be a better world to live in when men take time to think a little. And you'll be around to enjoy it when it comes—never fear. You cannot get away, even if you want to.
And, what's the use of waiting for to-morrow. There's lots of things in which you can find happiness to-day, if you will only stop worrying about to-morrow. The little child knows more about enjoying life than you do. The little child feels at home anywhere and starts in to enjoy it, and get the most out of it, until he grows old enough to be hypnotized by the race belief.
You are at home here. Just as much at home as is the fish in the sea—the bird in the air. Realize this, and make the most of it. Stop being afraid. Stop fretting. Stop worrying. Realize that yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow, you are here in the Universe. It's a good Universe, and it grows better as man grows in wisdom to take advantage of its goodness. And it is not yet "sun-up" here. Great things are before us. And you will see them and take part in them. Make yourself at home, for you're going to be around here for some time.
THE SOLITUDE OF THE SOUL.
Lorado Taft's group—Description—Each stands alone—Each is in touch with every other—Soul communion in silence—Silence is the sanctuary of the soul—The oneness of life and its apparent separateness—The message.
In one of the rooms of the Art Institute, in Chicago, stands a remarkable group, by Lorado Taft, the sculptor, entitled "The Solitude of the Soul." The average visitor stops a moment and passes on, commenting on the beauty of the figures composing this group. A few hurry past, afraid to look at the figures, for they are nude—as naked as the human soul before the gaze of its Creator. (Some people are afraid of things not hidden by draperies—even the naked Truth shocks them.) But the man or woman who thinks and understands—stops long before this group, conscious that it tells the tale of a mighty truth.
Around a large rock, stand four human figures—two men and two women. They are so placed that but one figure is in full sight from any given point of view, although the connection between any figure and the two on each side of it may be seen. It is necessary to walk completely around the group to see the idea of the sculptor—to read the story that he has written into the marble.
Each figure has an individuality. Each stands alone. And yet each is in touch with the one behind, and the one before. Each one is connected with all, yet each one stands alone. One figure extends a hand to her brother just ahead of her, and on her shoulder rests the tired head of the brother following her. Hand in hand, or head on shoulder stand they, each giving to the other that human touch and contact so dear to the soul craving that companionship of one who understands.
Each face shows sorrow, pain, and longing—that longing for that complete union of soul with soul—that longing that earth-life cannot satisfy. And each feels and knows that the other has the same longing. And each gives to the other that comforting touch that says "I know—I know." Each face shows a great human love mingled with its pain. Each face shows resignation mingled with its grief. It is the old story of human love and human limitations. It is also a story of deeper import—the story of the soul.
Every lip is closed. Each man and woman is silent. And yet each understands the other. Soul is communing with soul, in the Silence. And in the Silence alone can soul converse with soul. Words cheapen the communication of soul to soul. With those who understand us well, we can best commune in Silence. Hand in hand—cheek to cheek—sit those who love well. The tale of love is told and re-told without a word. Words serve their purpose in conveying the commonplaces of life, but seem strangely inadequate to express the deeper utterances of the soul. The tale of love—the story of sorrow—needs no words. The soul understands the message of the soul—mind flashes the message to mind—and all is known. The fondest memory of the one whom you loved and lost, is not of moments in which he spoke even the most endearing words. The memory most sacred to you is that of some great Silence lived out with the loved one—some moment in which each soul drew aside its veil and gazed with awe into the depths of the other soul. Silence is the sanctuary of the soul. Enter it only with due reverence. Uncover the head—tread softly.
Each figure stands alone, and yet in touch with all the rest. Each is apparently separate and yet each is but a part of the whole. Each feels the frightful solitude which comes to the soul when first it recognizes what it is. And yet, in that dreadful moment each knows itself to be in touch with all of life. Each feels that intense longing for a closer soul union—a reunion of the separated parts of the whole. And yet each realizes the impossibility of the consummation of that desire at this time—and they show their grief—they place the head upon the shoulder of the other—they clasp the hand of the other—they touch the flesh of the other—all as a symbol of the desire for the union of the soul.
This group is a symbol of the oneness of life and its apparent separateness. A picture of the in-touchness of each part of the whole, with every other part. A story of the pain of the soul in its awful solitude—of its impotent striving for at-one-ment. A representation of the communion of soul with soul, in the Silence. A tale of the comfort and joy in the presence of another human form. A message of The Brotherhood of Man. All this—and more—is in this group.
I wonder if the sculptor saw it all, or whether he chiseled better than he knew. Sometimes the Divine in man causes him to write better—paint better—cut better—than he realizes. Others see much more in his essays, stories, poems, paintings, statuary, than the maker knew was there. And the man himself, after years have past again views his work, and wonders at the new story he reads there. He feels dazed at having portrayed truths of which he dreamt not while he worked. There are within us unexplored depths, of the existence of which we do not dream. And from these depths, now and then, rise into our consciousness beautiful thoughts—beautiful images—which we reproduce on paper—canvas—marble. We do not understand these things, and we join with others in the feeling of wonder inspired by the sight of the reproduction of that which came from the depths of our mental being. And some, who have grown closer to the Real Self within them, see beauties in our work to which we are blind. Not until the scales fall from our eyes, do we realize the full meaning of our work.
Some call this Inspiration. But those who have pierced the veil know that it is inspiration from within, not from without. It is the voice of the Divine spark within man, whispering to the consciousness which is struggling to know better that Higher Self—a whisper of encouragement and good cheer—a portent of the future—a glimpse of the distant light—a bestowal of a few crumbs from the table of the Spirit.
I know not, I say, whether Lorado Taft knew what he chiseled. I know not whether he is a man of deep spiritual insight. But this I do know, that this group, "The Solitude of the Soul" is the work of the Spirit within this man. And his work carries a deep spiritual message to those who are ready to receive it. And in years to come this message will be understood by thousands, for everyone who receives it to-day. This work shall live long after its maker has forsaken the earthly body that he now uses as an instrument. It will live because it carries a message—because it conveys a mighty truth.
JERRY AND THE BEAR.
The Law's plan of developing an individual—Folly of clinging to old worn out sheaths—The story of Jerry and the Bear—Who Jerry was—He meets the Bear—The fight—The result—The consequences—The change in Jerry—The moral.
The Law, in its efforts to develop Man into a self-reliant being—into an individual—first tries the simpler plan of bringing a steady pressure to bear in the direction of gradual progress and growth, impelling the man to think and act himself into a more positive condition each day. After a while the man, feeling behind him the steady push of Life, and being conscious of the attracting power of the Absolute drawing him to higher things—leading him up the mountain path of Attainment—learns to trust the propelling and attracting power, and, ceasing his resistance, moves along in the direction of gradual unfoldment and growth. He casts off sheath after sheath—and grows. He does not attempt to impede or interfere with his development, but cheerfully and joyfully presses forward to his unfoldment. He finds pleasure in each stage, and should pain manifest itself he knows it as the growing pains of the child—a promise of greater things.
There are some, however, who seem determined to cling to their old sheaths, and resist the pressure of growth to the utmost. They are unable to withstand the steady pressure, and the attracting power, carrying them forward, and their resistance brings them much pain and friction, and they are pushed this way and that by the pressure of the growing Self, resisting and struggling all the time. The Law has several ways of dealing with these people, for their own good, and often, with a supreme effort, tears them from the surrounding sheath to which they are clinging and forces them into a broader and wider life, against their wishes and in spite of their struggles and cries.
Many of us, looking back over our past lives, smile as we recognize how we were forced into new fields of work and endeavor—how we were broadened out in spite of ourselves—how we were torn from our old surroundings and environments, in spite of our lamentations, reproaches, and cries, and placed amid new scenes and faces. This thing is repeated over and over again, until we learn the lesson and cease to be unduly attached to persons and things, and become willing to yield ourselves to the onward moving force and co-operate with the Law instead of opposing it.
Many men and women who steadily refuse to stand erect and assert their independence, are deliberately worked into a position where they must declare their freedom from the things upon which they have been leaning, and are forced to stand up and face conditions from which they have shrunk all their lives. The Law has a way of picking up those shivering mortals who stand around the river's edge, and throwing them into the stream, bidding them to strike out and SWIM. It prefers the easier way of teaching you to swim by degrees—of acquiring knowledge by easy stages—but if you refuse to learn in this way, it will resort to the vigorous plan just mentioned—but swim you must, one way or the other.
I am going to tell you a story—not a particularly pretty one, but one that will give you an idea of what I mean, and how the plan works. It's about animals—but many a truth has been conveyed by fables in which animals were the actors, and this homely little tale from the wilderness may convey to your minds the point of this talk better than do my words. Here's the story:
Once upon a time a man, away up in one of the Northwestern States, owned a dog named "Jerry." He was not very much on looks—and less in good qualities. He was not of any fancy breed—just Dog, that's all. He had drifted on to the farm from Somewhere and had been kicked and cuffed around in his early youth, until he was afraid to claim a right to live at all. He grew up into a worthless animal—snapped at by smaller dogs—bullied by those of his own size—looked down upon by all. He expected to be kicked by everybody in sight—and, of course, got kicked. (Men and dogs who go around expecting to be abused, always draw upon them the thing they fear and expect.) His tail seemed a magnet which attracted all the tin cans around that neighborhood. Pitying did not seem to do him any good—it only made him more miserable and abject than ever, just as it acts in the case of some people. The poor chap gradually dropped down to the lowest state of dogdom, and his case seemed hopeless. The farmer would drive to town every once in a while, and Jerry would sneak along under the wagon, in manner seeming to apologize for taking up even that space. His appearance would be the signal for all the dogs of the several farms along the road to chase down to the wagon, rout him out, and roll him over in the dust, the performance being repeated at every farm to and from the town. The farmer, at last, feeling that the dog was bringing his establishment into disrepute, and knowing that "Hopkins' Jerry" was becoming a township jest, determined to put an end to the animal's unhappy career. But Destiny intervened—possibly in order to give me a tale to point the moral of this talk—and to give you something to remember in trying circumstances.
Jerry strayed away from the farm one evening, being chased a part of the distance by some of the smaller dogs who delighted in bullying him. He traveled some distance from home and entered the woods. Bear tracks had been discovered in that region, and some of the boys had dug a pit, baiting it with some choice tid-bit pleasing to his bearship, and covering it over with a thin roof which would yield to a light weight. Jerry started across the roof, and in he went. Some hours after a young bear came sniffing around, and he, too, dropped in the pit. Then the trouble commenced.
The bear feeling infuriated by his unceremonious drop, reached out for Jerry and gave him a scratch which caused him to yell. The bear, seeing that there was no fight in his opponent, chased him round and round the pit, until it seemed only a matter of a few minutes more until the dog would be relieved of his misery. Things took an unexpected turn, however. The bear knocked Jerry over on his back, and began giving him the finishing touches. This seemed to bring to life the last remaining touch of self-respect left in the poor brute, and with a mighty effort he sprang straight at the bear's throat and gave him a bite in which was concentrated all the repressed bites of a lifetime. The bear, with a roar, sprang back to the other side of the pit. It was hard to tell which was the most surprised of the two, the bear at the sudden courage of his opponent, or Jerry at the fact that he could fight bear. The dog's self-respect and confidence went up nearly to par. The bear's caution adjusted itself accordingly. After a bit the bear cautiously worked his way over toward Jerry, but the dog snarled fiercely and showed his teeth. They had several rounds before things quieted down, and each time Jerry showed his mettle, and although he was badly scratched he had bestowed upon the bear several tokens of his valor. His self-respect and confidence was now an assured thing, and the bear treated him with considerable deference and consideration. After matters adjusted themselves, the bear and the dog each retired to their respective sides of the pit, and declared a truce.
In the morning the boys came to the pit, shot the bear and lifted Jerry out and carried him home. His tail was several inches shorter, and one ear was missing, and his body was scarred and scratched like the face of a Heidelberg student, but away down in his heart he felt good—and he showed it. The farmer, feeling proud of the animal, carefully nursed him until he was able to move around the house, and then allowed him to go out of doors. As soon as he appeared the other dogs made a rush for him, but something in his look caused them to keep at a safe distance, and they contented themselves with barking at him and keeping out of reach. He did not seem anxious to fight, but he had that look of confidence in his eyes that kept them where they belonged. He had ceased to fear. His tail no longer drooped between his legs, but was held aloft as is the tail of every self-respecting dog. And somehow, that tail did not have the attracting power for tin cans that had formerly marked it. The boys recognized that Jerry had advanced in the scale, and there was something about him that they liked and respected.
About ten days after the dog got well, the farmer took a trip to town, and Jerry accompanied him, trotting along in an unconcerned manner, alongside, behind, or any other place that suited him. As the first farmhouse was reached the dogs came rushing down to have some fun with our friend. They pitched into him as of yore. Something happened. The pack ran yelping back to the house for surgical attention—and Jerry trotted on just the same. This scene was repeated at every farm along the road, Jerry repeating the object lesson each time, finishing up his task by rolling into the dust the big bull terrier in front of the postoffice, who, heretofore, had been the terror of the town. The homeward trip was a triumphal progress for the dog, and all his old foes vied with each other in tail-wagging and other demonstrations designed to let Jerry know that they were proud to be his friends. But he paid little attention to them—he had developed into a canine philosopher. After that he led a happy life. He was not seeking fight, but no boy or dog seemed to seek fight with him. He had cast out Fearthought. He feared nothing that walked on legs. HE HAD MET BEAR.
Now, some of my critics will call the attention of their readers to the fact that I am advising fight. Not so, good friends. I am using this dog story as an illustration, and am trying to show you how the Law will sometimes force a man into tight quarters in order to bring out his courage and self-confidence. It knows the man "has it in him," and it proceeds to use vigorous methods to bring it out into action providing, always, that the man has not developed it before. When a man has been placed in a position where he faces the worst, and is compelled to grapple with the bear, he finds that he has reserve force within him of which he never dreamt before, and he puts forth all his energy to save himself. He finds that when he boldly faces the difficulty the difficulty seems as much afraid of him as he had been of it. He gains more confidence, until at last he beats off the foe, and rests secure in his own strength. He finds that to the man who has abolished Fear and who can smilingly face any situation, Fate is very respectful and obliging, although to the man who fears it is a tormentor. In proportion to a man's fear will be his troubles. When he reaches the position when he can laugh in the face of Fortune, he will find her ceasing her coquetries and falling desperately in love with him.
And after the man has met the great difficulty—fought the mighty fight—he finds that he has ceased to fear the little troubles and trials of life—he feels his strength—he knows his source of power. He holds his head erect and breathes in the pure air of heaven, and feels the warm blood tingling through his veins. He has found himself. HE HAS MET BEAR.