the auto never breaks down except when they have a chance to take a ride. There, they knew it, they always hoodoo everything. Nothing ever goes right that they are connected with. They lose every car, miss every train, are always "just too late" to get a Pullman lower, and, goodness knows, they never can climb into an upper. Their apples always are wormy, their potatoes and cabbage afflicted with blight or rot, and their corn never matures. The newspaper-boy always misses them on the days there are special news, or throws the paper into a pool of water. They are in a state of constant irritation; always in rebellion; full of murmurs and discontent. Sometimes it descends to whining and whimpering-thus they add despicableness to their disagreeableness. And where and what does this state of mind get them? Does it change things, improve them, alter them for the better? By no means! It makes the discomforts, the annoyances, the irritations, grow larger to dwell upon them. Feed these "tapeworms" of angry discontent and they will soon take possession and demand all you have. Then, too, how they destroy the beauty of the face, how they line, seam and furrow the forehead, how they put a perpetual pout upon lips that were designed for smiling and love. One can always tell the "kicker" from his face, and the moment you hear his, her, voice. For, unfortunately, there are more women, I verily believe, who get into this state than men. There seems to be a craving in some

female natures for self-pity, and these poor, abused, unfortunate, "hoodooed" ones luxuriate in the continuous state of sympathy with themselves.

When I meet people like this I feel inclined to shout to them: "Oh, for shame on your babyishness. Be men, women. Rise to the nobleness of real manhood, womanhood. Change these things that can be changed, and as for the rest be too proud to go through life like a whipped cur. If you can do nothing more rebel, but let it be real rebellion. Take your evil circumstances by the throat; throttle them; swear before all the gods there are that

I am the master of my fate,

I am the captain of my soul.

Your 'pride' as well as your patience, should come to your salvation from such a self-depreciatory condition. If everything is in the habit of going wrong with you, demand of the Fates that they give you a new deal in life. Refuse to accept. Better open rebellion, defiance, warfare, than to sink into the state of never-ending belief that you are wrongfully discriminated against."

But there is a better way, a supremely better way. Let me repeat:

I will be patient, and proud, and soberly acquiesce. If the things that you complain of are the common lot of man, the little things that cannot be helped, that everyone has to meet, set your patience at work. Develop that virtue, for you need it. You can never

be fully equipped until you have a full supply. Then, let your manhood, womanhood, assert itself. Be too proud to complain of such small things. If they are mosquitoes that bite and sting, don't complain and whimper. Go and pour coal-oil on the swamps where the pests breed and get rid of them. Cure what can be cured; patiently, proudly endure what must be endured, and soberly acquiesce in the discipline, knowing within your own heart that it is a proof of eternal goodness that you are being thus schooled. Browning, in another poem, enforces this lesson in another, but equally effective, way:

Then, welcome each rebuff

That turns earth's smoothness rough,

Each sting that bids not sit nor stand, but go! Or, in other words:

Machinery just meant

To give thy soul its bent,

Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed. Why should Fate, God, Life, have a spite against you? Why are you singled out for all these evil and petty annoyances? Don't you believe it any more. Refuse to permit yourself to accept any such lowering thought. You are a Son, a Daughter, of the Divine, and it is unthinkable that there is any Power in the Universe that can want to irritate you in such a fashion. This is the kind of pride to cultivate. Dwell upon the nobleness of your family— Son of God: Daughter of God. Think of the importance, greatness, majesty of your Father! Be

too proud, once and forever refuse to believe that you are a football-not even the, but only a-football of Fate.

Then quit, once and for all, your whining, whimpering, complaining, querulousness, fault-finding and begin to sing. Change your mood; alter the attitude of your mind. Sing! sing! and then sing, and you will soon be agreeably astonished, surprised out of all belief, that your petty woes have ceased and you have begun to attract the sweet, dear, beautiful, tender, joyous things of life. I know this is true. There is never a day that passes that my heart does not swell, almost to tears of joy, at the beautiful "little" things that come my way; sweet smiles, pleasant greetings, thankful letters, courteous acts, beautiful is the only word to use.

And, think of it! I used to be a querulous complainer. Thank God I have learned to "soberly acquiesce," and be happy in so doing, for "God has whispered me in the ear," and I know. Hence, I joyfully take up the thread-not the burden-of my daily work, for I have learned the delight of "Singing through Life with God."

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE SONGS OF THE HAPPY WORKERS

He was a true philosopher and practical thinker

who wrote: "Blessed is that man who has found his work." Work is the normal condition of mankind. I do not believe the general interpretation of the Old Testament statement that work is a curse visited upon man for his violation of God's Command in regard to eating of the fruit of the tree of knowledge. Work is a blessing, when men make it such, and no man can be truly happy, and sing in the Universal Symphony, until he has found his own work and is joyous in the doing of it. How happy the birds are in the building of their nests; with what zest the beavers cut down trees, and do the other work needful in the building of their dams; how energetic is the tiny ant in running to and fro gathering the things needed by his community; how tireless are the bees in gathering their store of honey; how persistent the spider in the creation of his lacelike and filmy web; how thorough the ant-lion in the formation of its trap; how rapid, scientific and accurate the trap-door spider in the building of its nest. Nature abounds with illustrations of the joy