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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
of active life or passionate war. The Glorias of Mozart and Pergolesi,
and Handel's Hallelujah Chorus speak—even though the words are
unheard—of the joy of the world at the Savior's birth, and the
Requiems of Verdi, Bach, and Gounod of the sadness of soul felt at
His cruel death.
Every picture radiates the spirit of its artist at the period of creation,
and every piece of music the influences that overpower the soul of
the composer; and even every piece of furniture radiates to some
extent the spirit of the age in which it was created, or the animating
spirit of its creator.
It should not be overlooked that, although these radiant properties
are possessed for all persons alike, they are not discerned by all
alike. All people are not equally receptive, equally sensitive, equally
apperceptive. Human beings are like soil—some is stony ground and
the seed takes no root, other is thorny, and the seeds, springing up,
are choked, other still is good ground and bears fruit, some thirty,
some sixty, some an hundred fold. In other words the state of our
own responsiveness determines the effect upon us of the radiancy of
the objects with which we come in contact.
The quartz picked up from a ledge may be full of valuable mineral,
but to the ignorant it is "a piece of rock and nothing more."
The ordinary traveler on the desert sees a large black beetle.
Knowing nothing of beetles, it is to him "only a bug." But the
scientific entomologist, seeing the same beetle, is carried away with
delight, for he recognizes the rare Dinapate Wrightii, one of the least
seen and most rare of American beetles.
Most travelers seeing the cactuses of the desert note but a few
varieties, but the trained observer revels in hundreds of differences
in mammillaria, opuntias, echinocactuses, and agave.
Some see no beauty in them, some delight in their many and diverse
charms; to some their thorns are hideous and repulsive, to others
both interesting and beautiful in their arrangement and design.
According to our receptivity do these objects of Nature affect us—
some in one way, some another. The more sensitive our minds and
souls are to what they perceive, the more we receive, absorb, gain,
and, therefore, the more we in turn radiate to others, but we must
remember that the character and quality of that which we receive
will be reflected, therefore it is necessary to be constantly in that
attitude of mind which is receptive to good only.
 CHAPTER II
THE RADIANT AURA
Swedenborg, who was one of the most eminent of scientists and
engineers, as well as the founder of the religious system that bears
his name, asserted that various "aura" surrounded all living beings,
and that the mental or spiritual state radiates, just as light and heat
radiate from the sun, and cold from the snow. When one was angry,
he said, he gave out the aura of anger which enveloped him as a
cloud. Hatred had its aura, as well as love, sympathy, purity,
impurity, kindliness, charity, jealousy, courage, justice, and the like.
He also asserted that, to those who were simple, natural, and
unspoiled by false reasoning—those who were spiritually inclined—
these varied aura were clearly perceptible, and were as certainly felt
or seen as were heat, cold, whiteness, blackness by the senses.
Rudyard Kipling bases his story, "They," which appeared some years
ago in Scribner's Magazine, upon this statement of Swedenborg's,
and in this light it becomes an extra fascinating story to read.
A great modern French scientist has made many exhaustive studies
of these aura, and claims to have photographed them.
In the Panama-Pacific Exposition, one of the exhibits contained a
series of interesting pictures, or diagrams, which purported to be
exact representations of the various aura of people under different
mental conditions. In an article on this subject, written by a well-
known authority, we are told that:
It is not around the human body alone that an aura is to
be seen; a similar cloud of light surrounds or emanates
from animals, trees, and even minerals, though in all
 these cases it is less extended and less complex than that
of man.
The occultists assert that the aura is extremely complex in its
character, in other words, that there are several aura superposed
one upon the other. The first appearance is of a luminous cloud,
extending some eighteen inches or two feet from the body,
assuming a somewhat oval shape. Careful study, however, reveals
that this first appearance is resolvable into several component parts,
or separate aura, of different degrees of tenuity, and, apparently,
superposed. Five of these have been defined. The first, or most
material, is that pertaining to the physical body. In a state of health
this is composed of separate, orderly, and nearly parallel lines, which
radiate from the body in every direction.
When one suffers from disease the lines in the neighborhood of the
part affected become erratic, and radiate less actively but in the
wildest confusion, or, if the whole body be affected, all the lines are
consequently erratic.
For a long time it was not known what kept these lines straight and
approximately parallel in the case of the healthy person, until a
second radiating aura was discovered. This comes from a healthy
body in pulsating waves, with such vigor as to compel the rigidity of
the health lines. These waves may be compared to the pulsations of
the heated air which rise from the ground on a very hot day. Baron
Reichenbach made experiments with certain sensitives who declared
they could see these radiations, and he called them "the magnetic
flame."
When these "waves" come from a sickly or weakly body they not
only lose power, but seem to give a confused direction to the health
lines.
Many observations also have led to the conclusion that when the
lines are kept straight by the force of the pulsating waves from a
healthy and vigorous body, "it seems to be almost entirely protected
from the attack of evil physical influences, such as germs of disease
—such germs being repelled and carried away by the outrush of the
life-force: but when from any cause—through weakness, through
wound or injury, through over-fatigue, through extreme depression
of spirits, or through the excesses of an irregular life—an unusually
large amount of vitality is required to repair damage or waste, within
the body, and there is consequently a serious diminution in the
quantity radiated, this system of defense becomes dangerously
weak, and it is comparatively easy for the deadly germs to effect an
entrance."
The third aura is that which expresses one's desires—a kind of
mirror in which every feeling, every desire, every thought almost, of
the personality is reflected. This changes constantly, in some people,
accordingly as they are swayed by their impulses. Its colors,
brilliancy, rate of pulsations, alter from moment to moment, or
minute to minute. "An outburst of anger will charge the whole aura
with deep-red flashes on a black ground; a sudden fright in a
moment will change everything to a mass of ghastly livid gray."
Connected with this, and yet, seemingly, of a separate character, are
the radiations of the aura that express the progress of the
personality into higher and better appreciation of the things of mind
and spirit. The more intellectual and spiritual one becomes the more
steady and beautiful are the colors and radiations of this aura, and
the variations and distressing manifestations of the evil desires of
the third aura become less apparent and distinct.
The fifth aura is the highest at present discernible. It manifests the
spiritual development of the individual and is of almost inconceivable
delicacy and beauty. It seems to be a cloud of living light—the word
cloud being used for want of a better term.
In the concrete examples of aura that were presented at the
Exposition, that which radiated from a wise mother showing her
protective love for her infant, was in the form of outspread wings of
a beautiful rosy tint, the wings held together at the articulations by a
sheaf-like mass of golden yellow.
Selfish ambition, sudden fear, explosive anger, selfishness, grasping
animal affection, greed, jealousy, jealousy mixed with anger, gloom,
murderous hatred, were all displayed in peculiar, hideous, and
repulsive forms and colors.
Pure, radiating affection, on the other hand, was represented in the
form and color of a round body exhaling rays as from a rosy sun.
Strange to say, though I had never read anything explicit upon this
subject before, I had always conceived of pure affection as giving
forth radiations of this exact appearance.
Whether this "occult" explanation of the radiation of aura be a true
one or not, it serves to give one a beautiful conception, viz., that
every soul may strive so to live within that he sheds upon his fellows
glorious rays of light, serenity, warmth, comfort, blessing, joy,
happiness that help them to the attainment of like felicities.
In the earlier part of this chapter Swedenborg's assertion will be
recalled that those who were unspoiled, real children of Nature,
could actually perceive these aura, and that their acts were guided
or influenced by them just as ours are by the perceptions of our five
senses.
When I began to visit the Hopi Indians in Northern Arizona, who
celebrate that wonderfully thrilling religious ceremony known as the
Snake Dance, I found that their lives conformed exactly to this aura
assumption. They handle deadly rattlesnakes with fearlessness,
putting small ones into their mouths so that nothing but their heads
protrude, and larger ones, up to five feet in length, in their teeth,
head on one side of the mouth, the writhing, wriggling body on the
other. Young boys, from three to six and ten years of age—
neophytes of the Antelope Clan, which, with the Snake Clan, has
charge of this ceremonial prayer for rain—hold these snakes during a
part of the ceremony with an indifferent carelessness that is
appalling to most onlookers. On the other hand those who are alive
to the dangers attending the handling of snakes assert positively
that the reptiles must have their fangs removed, as otherwise they
would bite, and either cause death or dangerous sicknesses.
Yet both classes of observers are in error. The snakes are not
handled carelessly, nor are their fangs removed. Apparent
carelessness is often the result of years of training, the ease and
readiness that come with much experience. Fearlessness is another
result of experience and knowledge. But, once in a while, a member
of the Snake Clan is afraid, and at such times he is not allowed to
dance. In this exclusion is a strong suggestion that the Hopis fully
believe that not only do the aura of our mental and spiritual states
surround us, but that even to the lower animals they are as
perceptible as light, heat, and cold. It may be true that the truly
occult, or clairvoyant, by pure and simple living, return to the clarity
of spiritual perception of the child and the lower animals, and they
likewise see and understand. In the case of the snakes, the Hopis
believe that if a dancer is afraid it makes the snake afraid. In other
words, the reptile sees or discerns the "fear aura," and, at once, its
own fear is awakened. When afraid it assumes the defensive, for
that is its only mode of protection. It coils ready to strike, and rattles
in warning: Beware!
On the other hand, when the dancer is unafraid and handles the
reptile in the true Hopi spirit, viz., as his Elder Brother—for,
according to Hopi mythology, the Snake Clan originates with the
Snake Mother, and therefore all members of it are younger brothers
to all snakes—the aura of friendliness and brotherly kindliness
surrounds him, which, being perceived by the snake, it is at once
soothed and allows itself to be handled with restfulness and
assurance of safety. And in the thirteen times that I have witnessed
the Snake Dance (and several times been privileged to see and take
part in the secret ceremonials of the underground chambers where
the snakes are handled and washed), only twice have I known any
one to be bitten.[A]
 CHAPTER III
A FEW WORDS IN PASSING
Perhaps the majority of human beings do not really live: they merely
exist for a time in the flesh and for the flesh. And as all are
constantly reminded that such existence is temporary and fleeting it
is a very common belief that only in youth can one "have a good
time." Old age is dreaded because we have been taught to expect a
greater or lesser degree of decrepitude, pain, and physical disability
when we shall pass the so-called "Bible-limit" of three-score years
and ten, and, therefore, we anticipate losing our powers of
enjoyment. Fathers and mothers encourage their children to "make
the most of their youth," and to "get all out of life they can while
they have the opportunity," thus fostering and cultivating a high
state of nervous tension in young people that is demoralizing in
every way.
I believe this attitude is wrong, and yet I believe fully in "having a
good time." I believe God intended that all living beings should be
happy, and that it is possible to order our lives—our habits, actions,
thoughts, desires, and ambitions—so that every conscious hour of
every day will be full of real joy. I believe in the buoyancy, the
happiness, the radiancy, the perfection of life. Browning expresses
my thought in Rabbi Ben Ezra, and in Saul. In the latter he says:

Oh, our manhood's prime vigor! No spirit feels waste,

Not a muscle is stopped in its playing nor sinew unbraced,
Oh, the wild joys of living!...
How good is man's life, the mere living, how fit to employ
All the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy!
And in Rabbi Ben Ezra he says:

Grow old along with me!

The best [of life] is yet to be.

And why should not old age be the best part of life? Does experience
count for nothing? Can we not learn as the years roll along? Do we
grow more foolish as we grow old? If so it might be advisable to let
the facetious suggestion of the celebrated Dr. Osier be carried out in
order that all men might be chloroformed at the age of fifty. If,
however, history and experience teach us that the intellectual
faculties and reasoning powers of a man in normal health do not
decrease with age, let us protest vigorously against the false and
injurious statement that youth is the best part of life, and let us
advocate that we should all possess greater mental and spiritual
ability at ninety than at thirty, with physical powers of endurance
ample for every need.
It is recorded in the Bible that many of the ancients lived to be
several hundred years old, and some of them were vigorously active
at great age. We are told that Cornaro lived many years more than a
century, and I have personally known Indians of great physical
power and keen mentality who were over one hundred years old.
Doubtless all are familiar with instances of great mental and physical
ability at an advanced age, and this is an encouragement for us to
believe that health and happiness and usefulness are not confined to
the early decades of human life. My words, therefore, are not
addressed merely to the young, but to those of all ages, for it is
never too late to gain more of that mental health which strengthens
body, mind, and soul—the real life which is manifested in love, joy,
and all goodness, and constantly radiates life-giving qualities.
Radiancy is a condition of all life, as I use the term in these pages.
No person can rightly live and retain within himself that which he
possesses in abundance. We must give out in order to live. Christ
never spake a truer word than when He declared: "He that loveth his
life shall lose it." Those who are so careful to keep all of their lives
for themselves, who never give of themselves to others, who know
nothing of the joy of self-sacrifice, of service, of helpfulness—these
people defeat the very object of their selfishness by losing that
which they are so determined to retain. On the other hand, "he that
hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal." Or, as
Joaquin Miller exquisitely and forcefully puts it in his unequaled
couplet:

For all you can hold in your dead, cold hand,

Is what you have given away.

So, then, radiation of the good of ourselves becomes an essential

condition in itself of real life. This law of radiation is apparent
everywhere in life. For, consciously or unconsciously, willingly or
unwillingly, each man and woman radiates what is within. The
moment you come into the presence of some men you feel their
uprightness, their integrity, their truth. Other men impress you in a
moment as untruthful, dishonorable, and unreliable. Some radiate
confidence, so that the weak and uncertain rely upon them; others
the hesitancy and fear of incertitude. Others are radiant centers of
conceit and overweening self-esteem, which is an entirely different
radiancy from that of self-confidence and true self-reliance combined
with good sense and modesty. Some people radiate gluttony, others
drunkenness, others impurity, others dishonesty. You have not been
in the presence of some persons five minutes before you feel that
they radiate "Every man has his price." It is a great temptation when
I come into the presence of such people to ask, "What is your
price?" and then myself to give the answer: "Thirty cents, and it is
twenty-nine cents too dear."
During a recent little outing trip I could not help witnessing the
varying radiancies of a friend and the thirty students that he invited
to accompany us. One young man was full of physical energy, good
nature, and helpfulness. With keen eye he was prompt to notice any
failure to keep up in the less strong of the girls, and, with jollity and
jest, but with real consideration and helpfulness, he aided the
weaklings whenever and wherever possible. One of the girls radiated
an abundance of joyous healthfulness that made it a pleasure to
watch her. Another was a thoughtless go-ahead young miss, who led
a large part of the group a mile or two out of the way. Two of the
girls were fault-finders, three were radiators of efficient initiative
when time came for preparing lunch, and half a dozen were "ready
to help," but had no idea how to go to work until directed by some
one else. One was able to determine somewhat the real character of
the persons by that which they radiated. Of course, that is not
always a sure guide, for one may pretend, or affect the possession
of qualities that are not inherent. Yet if we lived the true life and
never dulled the keenness of our sense perceptions, we should be
like the animals and able to rely absolutely upon what we felt of the
radiancies of others. Who has not seen the keen readiness of a
horse to "sense" the mental condition of the man who was driving
him? Suppose two men sit in the buggy. One holds the lines, but is
unused to driving and especially nervous in a city. He radiates
nervousness and fear, uncertainty and hesitancy. The horse feels
these radiancies and himself is nervous, fretful, fearful, hesitant, and
uncertain. Seeing this, his friend takes the lines. Almost instantly,
though the horse has "blinders" on and cannot possibly know by any
ordinary sense perception that a change has taken place in his
driver, he calms and quiets down, and goes ahead without further
fear, hesitancy, or nervousness.
With dogs, every one knows that to be afraid of a barking, yelping,
aggressive cur is to invite him to bite you. But if you advance upon
him boldly and without any fear he will retreat in snarling dismay,
and if you make a bold dash at him he turns tail like the veriest
coward and runs. In my many visits to Indian villages and camps I
have tested this again and again. I have had a dozen dogs run out
as if they would tear me to pieces. Had I turned and run there is no
doubt that, unless their owners had interfered, I should have been
bitten. But, knowing the nature of the ill-bred curs of the Indians, I
advanced boldly upon them, kicking to left and right, if the animals
were more than usually persistent, and invariably following into his
own place of refuge the animal that seemed to be the leader, and
there giving him one or two sharp blows or decisive kicks. The result
was always the same. So long as I stayed in that camp I was never
bothered again. They readily and quickly understood the radiancy of
boldness and that of kindness when they ceased their fierce
aggressiveness, and never pestered me again.
This same radiant power of others is often recognized by lawless
men and by criminals. A fearless woman can go into places of great
danger with absolute safety, and a fearless and honest officer can
arrest the most desperate and dangerous men far more easily than
can a dozen fearful and dishonest ones.
Thus it will be apparent that:
Every person, animal, and thing, consciously or unconsciously,
willingly or unwillingly, radiates good or evil.
As human beings we radiate that which we possess, or that which
possesses us, and we influence those with whom we come in
contact by our radiancies.
The questions, then, that every true-hearted man and woman must,
and will, ask are: "Am I radiating good or evil? If evil, why? If good,
am I radiating as much as I might and should?"
For myself I want every man and woman I meet or shake hands
with, to feel that I am physically strong, healthy, and vigorous; that I
have vigor and health of mind; that I think for myself, rather than
accept the opinions of others, and that in character, in spirit, in soul,
I am healthy, vigorous, sincere, pure, true; that my emotions, my
aspirations, my ambitions are noble and upward. I want to radiate
spiritual health. Do you?
 CHAPTER IV
VARIED RADIANCIES
Man is a part of Nature, but he is more than that which we mean by
the words, "mere Nature." He is Nature plus. There is given to him
more than is possessed by sun or flower. He has within him that
spirit which renders him nearer the divine than sun or flower. Mind
and soul make him a superior being. Hence it is the divine plan that
he should radiate in his enlarged sphere as the sun and flower do in
theirs.
Unfortunately, while we are in the body, our imperfect and evil
qualities are radiated as well as our good. This is our misfortune,
and should be our distress. For certainly every true man and woman
would desire to radiate only truth, purity, sincerity, courage, good
judgment, self-control, stamina, or perseverance in good endeavor,
energy, love of knowledge, mental capacity, justice, tact, ability,
executive power, regard for the rights of others, kindliness,
individuality, self-reliance, readiness to avail one's self of the wisdom
of others, self-dependence, attractiveness of person, companionable
qualities, good manners, good taste in dress, attractiveness of mind
and soul (this as differentiated from mere attractiveness of person),
cheerfulness, optimism, and altruism, readiness to see and have
faith in the good of others, and good humor.[B]
Who could ever resist the radiating influences of a Mark Tapley, such
as Dickens so vividly pictures? Such radiancies penetrate so deeply
that nothing can obliterate them. The greater the cause for
wretchedness and misery, the greater the opportunity to "come out
strong" and show that his spirit of cheerfulness was greater than any
untoward circumstance. Happy is that man or woman who gives out
such radiancies, and blessed are those who come in contact with
them.
Certain men and women radiate gloom and the abnormal recognition
of their physical ills. You greet them with a cheery "Good morning"
and they respond with an explicitly detailed wail of their ailments.
Their rheumatism is "so bad," and their liver is out of order. Their
backache is worse, and their headache is "simply frightful."
Brooding over their pains and aches has magnified them so that they
overshadow all things else in the universe. An earthquake and fire
that destroy a great city are of less importance to them than the
recital of their own woes.
How different the cheery radiancies of the happy man—like Dickens's
Cheeryble Brothers—who gives out breezy healthfulness on every
hand. The clasp of the hand radiates physical vigor that in itself is a
tonic to the body; their bright and cheerful words brace up the
mind; and their God-like optimism and altruism lift up the soul so
that—above the mists and fogs of mortal error—we see God and
enjoy His smile.
Some persons radiate selfishness. I was riding in the train the other
day. A woman had two whole seats, that is, her suit case took up
one and she sat on the other. The car was filled with people; every
other seat occupied. At the next station eight or ten people came
aboard, and all found places by the side of some one else, except
one woman. Walking down to where the whole seat was occupied by
the suit case she asked the owner if she might have the seat. "I
suppose if there's no other you can have it!" she replied in a surly
and gruff tone. God save us from radiating selfishness like this!
It is an almost daily occurrence to see a tired man or woman get
upon a street car and no one makes a move to give a seat, when
that is all it needs—just a little sitting nearer. This may be
thoughtlessness, but all the same it is selfishness; a forgetfulness of
the sweet privilege of helping others, no matter who.
The wife of Sir Bartle Frere once sent a servant to meet her
husband, who was just returning from Africa, an illness preventing
her from going. The man did not know Sir Bartle, and he asked for a
description. "The only description you will need," said his wife, "is
this: Look out for a fine-looking man who is helping some poor
woman carry a baby, or a basket, or a load." And, sure enough,
when the train arrived he found the distinguished diplomat, the
great statesman, helping a poor laundry woman carry her large
basket of soiled linen. Ah, Sir Bartle, I greet you a nobleman indeed,
for you have radiated unselfishness, thoughtful helpfulness, to me,
and through me, to others, and thus out and on forever.
Some persons radiate cynical distrust of their fellows. "There are no
honest men!" "I wouldn't believe in the integrity of that man under
oath." "Believe every man dishonest until he has proven himself
honest, and even then, watch out. He'll be liable to catch you if you
nap." "Do others as they would do you, but do it first," said David
Harum. "A profession of religion is but a cloak for evil." "If your bank
cashier is a Sunday-school Superintendent, watch him!" "Look out
for the man who has no open vices."
These are the catchwords of this class of persons. How pernicious
and evil are their radiancies.
Commend the fearless bravery of a Roosevelt, the unpopular
decisions of an upright judge, the single-heartedness of a labor
leader, the integrity of a railroad official, and you are met with the
sneer of the lip, the cynical glance of the eye and the scornful
words: "He's only waiting for his price."
Far rather would I meet the converse of this cynic in the optimist
who believes that every man is as good as he professes to be. For
such an abounding faith in mankind, freely radiated, has the effect
of calling forth faithfulness, and thus creating what it expects.
I know a woman who, though abundant in good works and very
kindly in some ways, who seeks opportunities for helping the
helpless and distressed, yet, when others fail to measure up to her
own standard, is harsh, censorious, bitter, and fault-finding to a
degree that many find it impossible to listen to her without distress.
Thus her kindly deeds are overlooked and ignored and she radiates
to a large degree discomfort, unrest, and irritation.
At our house we were once privileged to know a woman, recently
widowed, who had a crippled and almost helpless son of about a
dozen years of age. When her husband was alive she was the
president of the leading woman's club in her State and also the
president of the State Federation of Women's Clubs—a woman of
executive ability and strong mentality, though shy and unassuming.
Her husband was a well-known Governmental specialist in plants,
trees, etc., and she had aided him, in some of his investigations, to
such a degree that she was almost as expert as he. Unfortunately
she was afflicted with deafness. When her husband died she was left
with only a few hundred dollars. Her deafness prevented her taking
any of the positions her mental qualifications so eminently fitted her
to fill. Her crippled son must be cared for. Bravely and fearlessly, yet
cautiously and studiously, she determined to make the living for
herself and son. She bought a small ranch, planted it out in
vegetables and small fruit, and, as the crops matured, personally
drove to town and marketed them. Yet with all this arduous work
and care she found time and strength to read to her boy (whose
eyesight was poor), to help him in his studies and sympathize with
him in his boyish endeavors to accomplish something as an
electrician. There was no complaining, no weeping at her hard fate—
simply a brave recognition of her position and a cheerful facing of
the responsibilities thrust upon her. The sorrow and pain she felt
keenly, yet one saw no sign of suffering. One day she came to our
home and would have said nothing of her difficulties had we not
pressed her to tell us about her affairs. She made no claim for
sympathy because of the way Fate had tried her, but when we
offered it, in our simple and unpretentious fashion, she accepted it in
as simple and unaffected a way. Her uncomplaining courage, her
fearless grappling with the hard problems of life, radiated inspiration
to all who came in close enough contact to know her. We were all
benefited and blessed by her presence and the helpful radiancies
she shed upon us.
Here is another case. We are honored and blessed with the
friendship of the widow of an Episcopal clergyman. For over twenty-
five years she and her husband lived in marital oneness, and seven
boys and girls crowned their happiness. She awoke one morning to
find him dead by her side. The shock was crushing and few would
have blamed her had she been incapacitated for a while by its
sudden awfulness. But in an instant she leaped to meet her burdens
and responsibilities. Religion was real to her. Her husband was with
God. He was safe. It was her duty now to be both father and mother
to her children. A struggle then began which is as pathetic as it is
heroic. I have watched every battle and known the courage, the
patience, the fidelity, the failures, the successes. A house, partially
built with funds contributed by friends, was eventually lost to the
mortgagees. The oldest daughter, after years of brave and cheerful
struggle with poverty and ill-health, passed away. A few years later,
within a week of each other, two of the noble sons, one about
twenty-seven years of age, the other nineteen, the former the most
Christ-like youth I have ever known, also died. Then the third
daughter, happily married, died after giving birth to her third child,
and, in a short time, owing to some strange perversion which it is
hard to understand, the son-in-law took it into his head to refuse the
grandmother the privilege of seeing the children. The one remaining
son, who had studied with honors at the California State University,
went East to complete his special studies at Yale, suddenly collapsed
mentally, and was cared for for a long time in an Eastern hospital.
Think of the tragedies and sorrows thus crowded into one life in the
short space of twenty years! Yet during the whole of this time,
though I have been as close to the family as though I were an uncle
or older brother; though all their affairs have been regularly and fully
unfolded to me, there have been absolutely no wailings, no
repinings, no complaints, and only the few tears that it is a relief to
let flow when loving hearts sympathize. Instead, this brave woman,
her heart fortified by an abiding faith in and love for God, has been
"abundant in good works." She is the "right hand support of her
clergyman," and every poor and needy person in the parish has
experienced her practical interest, help, and loving sympathy.
Though unable personally to contribute of material things, she has
interested those who could, and has thus made her sympathy
practical and genuine. Her home for many years was the rallying
ground for homeless young men—mainly, of course, belonging to
her own church—who have been immeasurably blessed by her
motherly sympathy, loving counsel, and helpful advice.
There radiates from her and her family a living belief in the
goodness of God, an assurance that "all things work together for
good to them that love God," and that faith in God produces a living
courage, and daily strength, a power to overcome affliction that is
nigh to the marvelous. To some it might appear almost like
indifference; yet those who know, as I do, can testify to the
keenness of the inner feeling, the longing for the companion whose
dear presence was so awfully and suddenly removed, the heart-
crushing losses of children, the terrible burden of the mental
disturbance of the brilliant-minded and noble-hearted son. To be
brave, cheerful, helpful to others, and strong to do under such
burdens is to prove one's self possessed of the power of the living
God. It is the radiation of the truths of religion more potent than all
the arguments of all the theologians of all the ages.
Still another case comes to mind while I write. It is of a woman who
braved disinheritance by a stern father in order that she might marry
the man she loved. She came to the United States with him, and on
a vineyard in California they struggled happily together, with a
poverty that was almost sordid in its piteousness. After two children
were born the husband died, leaving the wife with these little ones,
together with another child whom she had practically adopted, and a
mortgage at heavy rates of interest upon the home place. The house
in which they had lived for several years was poor and altogether
devoid of comfort, but shortly before the husband's death it had
been made comfortable by the addition of several good rooms.
Without a word of complaint this delicately nurtured, refined woman,
who, in her English home, had been the organist and director of the
choir of a large church, took up the burden of running a California
fruit farm. Heavily in debt, interest imperatively demanded every
three months, knowing little of the practical working of such a place,
she personally took hold and learned. She milked cows night and
morning, took them back and forth to pasture, bred calves for the
butcher, made butter, raised chickens, drove weary miles summer
and winter giving music lessons, and yet kept home more
comfortable for her growing brood than does many a woman well
provided with funds and help. In time the mortgage was paid off,
and a windmill and water tank added to the equipment of the place.
The children helped as they grew up, and yet they were kept at
school.
When apricots and peaches were ripe I have seen her for days and
weeks at a time cutting and pitting them for drying, until a half score
or more of tons were lying in their drying trays on the alfalfa. For
hours at a time, in the hot sun, she sorted raisins and stacked them
up in the sweat-boxes, and did it happily, cheerfully,
uncomplainingly, in memory of the husband she so much loved.
Can one come in contact with such a life without feeling its blessed
radiancies of courage, energy, triumph over unpleasant
circumstances, cheerful doing of disagreeable work, and the power
of love to sweeten all things? To know this woman is to be helped,
strengthened, and blessed. The bravery of such heroines far
surpasses that of much lauded military and naval heroes, and a few
such women are worth more to the race, in my judgment, than all
the Napoleons, Pompeys, Cæsars, and Nelsons that ever lived.
Certain men impress you with their calm self-reliance. They are not
disturbed by precedents or adverse judgments. They do what they
deem to be right and refuse to be swerved from the path they have
laid out for themselves. Ruskin radiates this influence, so do Carlyle
and Browning. Every man who has dared to make innovations,
deviate from the "ways of the old," has had to be self-reliant. Every
reformer of every age and in every field has had no other staff to
lean upon than the assurance of his own soul. Galileo in his
astronomical deductions; Savonarola in his criticisms of the existing
political conditions; Luther in his fulminations against the evils of the
church; Cromwell in his stand against the doctrine of the "divine
right of kings"; Jefferson, Washington, and the whole of our fathers,
who, according to English law, were rebels and revolutionists, in the
Declaration of Independence; Lincoln in his war measures and
Emancipation Proclamation—all these and a thousand others
radiated such self-reliance upon the principles they enunciated and
advocated as to convince their followers.
Every political party based upon real principles (rather than upon a
desire for spoils), is organized as the result of the radiation of those
principles held in the self-reliant hearts of a few men. Every school
of thought, in philosophy, theology, medicine, law, ethics, or political
economy, is based upon the radiation of ideas from self-reliant men.
Yet there is a marked difference between this quality and that of
self-conceit. When Carlyle said of the grammarian who criticised his
grammar, "Why, mon, I'd have ye ken that I mak' language for such
men as ye to mak' their grammar books from," he stated a fact. He
was self-reliant, but not conceited. So with Ruskin, when, in
response to my question as to what literature I should read to
cultivate a pure style of English, after commenting on the worth of
several masters, concluded somewhat as follows: "And there are
those who say you should read what I have written, and I agree
with them, for I believe I have written more carefully than most
men." That was critical self-judgment, not self-conceit. Still we are
all more or less familiar with the conceit of ignorance, the
assumption of men and women who do not know the mere alphabet
of the subjects they profess to be experts on. Recently, on our
sleeping car, when a few people got together to sing, one of the
passengers, with a self-conceit that was as ludicrous as it was
ignorant, spoke of the baritone voice of one of the women and
discoursed learnedly upon the bass of the man who was singing
tenor.
We have a writer in California who knows so well that he knows,
that some of us think he knows "by the grace of God," without study
or effort. His whole radiancy is one of cocksure self-conceit.
Who has not felt the radiancy of the miserliness of some men and
women! Those who would "squeeze the eagle on a penny until the
poor bird screams."
In his Tom Brown at Rugby, Hughes shows that Arnold always
radiated his full appreciation of all the good in all the boys under his
care. Maud Ballington Booth is a wonderful illustration of training to
perceive the good radiancies in men and women in whom most
others can see and feel only evil.
Is not this a quality of soul to be highly desired? How beautiful, how
helpful, how comforting to others long used to feeling that only the
evil of them is radiated to others, to feel the sympathy of a large-
hearted, pure, beautiful soul which has responded to the weak
radiancies of the good that struggles for life within.
For, just as I have shown elsewhere that we must be alert to receive
the radiancies of animate and inanimate nature, so must we be
receptive to that which our fellow beings radiate. We should train
ourselves in receptiveness to that which is good. All prejudice,
narrowness, conceit, over self-confidence, cocksureness, tend to
ward off the good radiancies of others. There are odors so subtle
that the olfactory nerves of most people are incapable of recognizing
them. There are notes so refined that ordinary ears cannot hear
them, and we are all familiar with the fact that there are infinite
depths of space that the largest telescopes fail to penetrate. The
expert violinist cherishes his sense of touch that he may not vitiate
his playing, and the engraver, the watchmaker, and the workers in a
score and one other trades cultivate and preserve high sensitiveness
of touch in order that they may become more expert. The piano
tuner's ear recognizes variations in the vibrations of the strings he is
tuning that most of us fail to appreciate, and the ear of a Theodore
Thomas, Carl Muck, Charles Halle, or any other masterly conductor,
recognizes fine shades of expression, harmony, and tastefulness in
the playing of an orchestra that but few can appreciate. Browning in
Rabbi Ben Ezra speaks of things that God takes note of in measuring
the man's account that men ignore:

All instincts immature,

All purposes unsure;
Thoughts hardly to be packed
Into a narrow act.
All I could never be,
All men ignored in me,
This I was worth to God.

We may not be able to discern these "instincts immature," these

"facts that break through language and escape," but we can
assuredly discipline our minds and souls to see, hear, feel, and touch
many beautiful things in our fellows which we too often ignore.
Reader, what are you radiating? I cannot answer that question. Your
friends and your enemies may tell in part. You alone can tell all. Sit
down some day, many days, and study yourself. Weigh yourself. See
how much good you are doing, how much evil. Write out a balance
sheet. It will help you in your efforts to know what you most need to
seek to radiate in future, and what to avoid radiating.
You surely do not want to radiate evil.
You surely want to radiate only good.
Is it not better consciously to radiate that which you wish than
unconsciously (or thoughtlessly) to radiate that which you do not
wish?
As, consciously or unconsciously, we radiate that which is within us,
whether good or evil, should we not aim consciously to radiate the
best of which we are capable, and thus evidence that we are striving
to overcome all the evil that may be within us?
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