Chapter III: Part 3

"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.

THE UNSEEN HAND.

The consciousness of the hand--When it first was felt--Always there--Now as the hand of a father--Now as that of a mother--A lover--A brother--Always guiding--Always leading--A mystery--Some day we will know the owner of the hand.

I have felt the Unseen Hand--have been guided by it--have felt the kind but steady urge in the direction which it knew to be best, though my Intellect failed to see the beauty of the road toward which the Hand was directing me. For a time I rebelled against the impertinent interference of that which seemed to be a thing apart from me--a meddler--an unasked for helper. I had emerged from the dependent state--the state in which I thought it necessary to lean upon others. I gloried in my independence--my freedom--my ability to stand alone. Finding that it was good to stand alone--reveling in the joy of my new found freedom--rejoicing in the fact that the I AM within me was a reality--feeling within me the ecstasy that comes from the recognition of the reality of Individuality--I resented any interference from outside. But the pressure of the hand was still here--it would take my unwilling fingers within its own and lead me on--and lead me on.

Finding that I could not get rid of this unseen helper--realizing that it was intent upon guiding me in spite of my repeated assertions that I was able to take care of myself--that I was big enough to walk alone--I began to study the Something that was so determined to take an active part in the affairs of my life--I started in to become acquainted with it.

I found that it had always been with me more or less, but that I had not before recognized its presence. So long as I felt that I was not able to stand erect upon my feet--so long as I feared--so long as I failed to recognize the I AM--I was scarcely aware of this invisible helper. But when I began to realize what I was--what was my place in the Universal order of things--what were my possibilities--my future--the presence of this unseen hand began to be manifest. When I at length threw off the last fetter that had bound me--when I threw back my shoulders and drew my first free breath--when I shouted aloud with joy at my freedom and strength--when I realized the power that was within me and at my command--when I started out to accomplish that which my awakened mind told me was possible of attainment--when I started to do these things _all by myself_--then I felt for the first time the firm clasp of the unseen hand.

Now gently guiding--now leading--now kindly restraining--now giving a gentle urge toward people, things and conditions--now drawing me back from the edge of a precipice--now directing toward a better path--now giving me a gentle, firm pressure to reassure me of its presence when I doubted--now allowing me to rest my weight upon it when I felt tired--always there.

At times this hand has placed before me conditions that seemed to me to be anything but good. At times it has brought me pain. But I have learned to trust it--have learned to trust it. The conditions that have seemed to me to be undesirable have brought me to desirable things. The pain that I have suffered has brought me pleasure. The experiences that have come to me I would not wish to part with--the more pain, the more experience; the more experience, the more knowledge.

I have learned to love this hand. And the owner of the hand seems to feel and return this love, and now and then, by a sympathetic little clasp, lets me know that I am understood. This hand sometimes seems to be that of a Father--strong and firm--leading on with a confident air. Again it seems to be that of a Mother--gentle and kind--leading me as does the mother lead her child. Again it seems as the hand of a woman who loves me--clinging and warm--neither leading nor being led--just moving on clasped in mine--no words--but with a perfect understanding. The owner of this hand seems to combine within itself the qualities of both sexes--seems to have within itself all the attributes of Father, Mother, Lover, Brother, Sister. It seems to respond to the human need, in every direction. It seems always the hand of Love--even while giving me pain.

I have never seen the face of the owner of this hand. I have never looked into its eyes. I have never seen its form, if form it has. But I have been conscious, at times, of being lifted up in its arms and being pressed close to its breast. I have felt the impulse of the child, at such times, and have felt for the breast of the mother, and have been conscious of the answering mother pressure as I was drawn up close to the body of the owner of the hand. And, at times, have I felt rebellious at the confining clasp, and have struggled and have even beat against the breast with my puny fists as I insisted that I be released from the clasping arms. But, mother-like, the owner of the hand only drew me closer to the breast until I could feel the very heart-throbs within the mother-body--could feel the vibrations emanating from its life--could feel the warm breath upon my cheek as the invisible face bent over me impelled by the mother love.

Again, it takes on the father-form, and I place my little hand within it, and feeling like the boy whose father is taking him on a journey, I say "Lead Thou me on," and go cheerfully and with faith into new lands--new surroundings--new fields. Why should I fear, have I not hold of my father's hand? And the hand at such times rests upon my shoulder, every once in a while, and I realize that the father feels a pride in his son, and sees him growing in strength and knowing--that the father looks forward to a time when he will be able to talk with the boy who will then have grown in knowledge, and will be able to understand some of the secrets of Life that the father will then unfold to him.

And, still again, the hand is that of the loving woman who is walking along the path of Life with the man she loves. It is a tender clasp--the fingers tingle with love--the arm presses close to mine. I hear no voice--no words are needed--soul talks to soul in the silence. We walk on and on and on. We understand.

And, still again, the hand seems that of a brother--a twin brother. Neither the protection of the father--the loving tenderness of the mother--the thrill of the lover's touch--is there. I feel not that the hand is that of a stronger being--I am conscious only of the brotherly clasp--the touch of comradeship--the presence of an equal. I feel by my side a helper--someone who will back me up in time of need. And I stroll along by his side and laugh with joy. The joy of the boy is again mine. The joy of companionship is again mine. And, lo the hand of the brother seems to grow--he and I are again men. And something in his hand-clasp seems to say to me, "Come, brother, let us go forth into the unknown future. Let us have Faith. There are lands awaiting our coming. Let us enjoy them. Let us explore them. Let us be filled with the spirit of adventure, and go forth. Let us see--let us feel--let us know." And I return the clasp, and say, "Aye, brother, let us go forth. Whither thou goest there will I go. Thy joys shall be my joy--thy pain my pain. Let us go forth--let us go forth to the Divine Adventure."

And, so, manifesting the attributes of all human relations, in turn, and at the proper time, the owner of this unseen hand is near me. I feel his presence--I am aware of his nearness. At times faith grows faint, and I think it all a delusion--a phantasm--a dream. All seems lost, and I weep. But, lo! in the midst of my despair, I feel the hand upon my head--I know that it is a reality and, through my tears, I smile.

Shall I ever know the owner of this hand? Shall I ever see its face? Shall I ever understand the mystery of its existence? I know not. But faith whispers in my ear, "Wait! All is well! When the pupil is ready the Master appears. When your eyes have a clear vision and can bear the sight, then shall you see the Face of the owner of the hand. You have entered the Path and there is no turning back. Go on--go on in Faith, Courage and Confidence. Why should you doubt--have you not felt the pressure of The Hand?"

Aye, why should I doubt or question? Have I not felt the pressure of the Unseen Hand? Open your hands, friends, that the Hand may clasp yours as it has mine. While your hand is clenched in Anger and Hate--while it clutches tight the gold it has snatched from the hand of another--while the fingers are drawn together with Fear--it cannot receive the Unseen Hand. Open it wide--reach it out--offer it in friendly clasp--and you will feel within it the touch of that which you seek.

The Unseen Hand is waiting to clasp yours. Give it welcome--give it welcome.

HOW SUCCESS COMES.

Seeking success through mental powers--Holding the thought alone not sufficient--How to get the real benefit of thought-force--Fall in with the workings of the Law--Stand on your own feet--One step at a time--"I Do" as well as "I Am."

Many of the men and women who have been seeking Prosperity by means of the powers of the mind, have done so by "holding the thought," and then folding their hands and calmly waiting for some "lucky" event to happen, or in other words, for the long sought for prize to drop down into the laps, from out of the Nowhere. Now, I have heard of a number of cases in which things apparently came about in this way, although I have always felt that a little investigation would have shown some good and natural cause behind it all, but as a rule the law does not work in this way--it does not leave the old beaten road of cause and effect. It is no Aladdin's lamp which has merely to be rubbed in order that glittering gems, and showers of gold, be poured out into the lap of the owner, as he lies back on his cushions, lazily rubbing the lamp with the tip of his little finger. The law expects from the man who would invoke its mighty aid, a little honest work on his part.

I think that the majority of those who have met with a greater share of Success by means of the wonderful power of Thought, have met with such Success not by having it fall from the skies, but by following out the ideas, impulses, yes, inspiration, if you will, that have come to them. The man who has turned his back upon the old negative Mental Attitude--who has turned his face toward the rising sun--who has allowed the voice of Faith again to be heard--who knows that the Law which rules the motions of the worlds and still takes note of the sparrow's fall, has his interest at heart and asks but for Faith--that man, I say, finds that from time to time ideas will come into his mind just when they are needed; will find that the Law takes cognizance of all human needs and has prepared a way to satisfy them. He finds that new ways are pointed out to him--avenues of escape from unbearable conditions--signboards pointing out the right road, but he must have FAITH in these little hints from the Infinite, and must follow them. The Law will open the door to you, but will not push you in. And when it finds that you refuse to see the open door, it softly closes it, and not until many weary years have passed do you recognize what you have missed. And the Law insists upon doing its work in its own good way--not in _your_ way. You may know what you want, but you may not know just the right way to get it, although you think you do. The Law will give you many a hint, and many a gentle push in the proper direction, but it always leaves you the liberty of choice--the right to refuse. It does not insist upon your love, your Faith; that is, it does not _make_ you love and have Faith, but until you _do_ love and have Faith you are not conscious of the promptings of the Spirit, or, at most, dismiss them as beneath your notice. Oh, ye of little Faith, when will ye learn.

The man who understands the workings of the Law, acts upon the tender impulses imparted to him, without resistance. He does not ask to see the end of the journey, but he sees the step just ahead of him very plainly, and he hesitates not about taking it. He does not expect the Law to bring RESULTS and place them in his hand. All he asks and desires is that the way be pointed out to him, and he is willing and ready to do the rest himself. The true man or woman does not wish to be fed with a spoon. All they ask is that they may have a fair chance to reach the source of supply, and they can manage to handle the spoon themselves. If any man think that the Law is an incubator of parasites--of leeches--of vampires--he is greatly mistaken. The lesson of the Law is to teach every man to stand upon his own feet--to lean not upon another--but at the same time to feel that he is guided by the great Law of which he himself is a part, which manifests within him as well as without him, and that, consequently, while placing his trust in the Law, he trusts in himself. Not paradoxical at all, when you have the key.

Yes, yes, the Law expects every man to do well the work that lies to his hand--and to do it well, whether it is irksome or distasteful or otherwise; and as soon as he ceases to rebel and beat his wings against the bars of the cage, the way is opened for the next step; and if he does not take that step, he must work away until he learns to take it. And so on, and on, the lesson of each task to be learned before the next is presented. Work? why certainly you must work. Everything in the Universe works unceasingly. When you learn to look upon work as a joy and not a curse, then you are beginning to see your way out of the grinding process. Then you are getting a glimpse of the Promised Land. Why bless your hearts, Work is the best friend you have, the only trouble is that you have treated it as an enemy and it has paid you back in your own coin. When you learn to treat it as a friend, it will be only too glad to make up, and you will get along like two old cronies.

Now, you people who have been sitting with folded hands and "calmly waiting," and complaining that your own has not come to you, listen: You are mistaken. Your own has come to you--that's just the trouble. Your own is the thing you attract, and you have been attracting just what has come to you. Start in to-day, determined to fall in with the workings of the Law, and pay attention to the "I DO" side of things as well as the "I AM," and you will receive new light. Great things are just ahead of you, but you must reach out for them--they're not going to drop into folded hands. This is the Law.

THE MAN WITH THE SOUTHERN EXPOSURE.

Southern exposure as good a thing in a man as in a room--The man who faces the sun--Lives one day at a time and does the best he knows how, and is kind--Finds Joy and carries it to others--Simple, loving, kind--Open yourself to the sun.

Did you ever go house hunting? Then you remember how the agent laid much stress on the fact that certain rooms had a "Southern Exposure." No matter how many other good qualities the house had, all was subordinated to the fact that the best rooms faced the South--had the longed for "Southern Exposure." The very words conveyed to your mind the sensation of balmy breezes--the freedom from the rude blasts of the North--the cheering rays of the Sun--plenty of light and healthful vibrations coming from old Sol. Ah, that "Southern Exposure"--how much the words convey.

Now, if this "Southern Exposure" is such a good thing in a room, why isn't it a good thing in a man? Did you ever meet the man with the "Southern Exposure"--the man who faces the Sun? Do you recall how he brought with him the inspiring Solar vibrations? Do you remember how the wrinkles and frowns disappeared from the faces of those in his presence? Do you remember how, long after he had departed, the memory of his presence cheered you--the thrill of his thought vibrations remained to stimulate? We all know this man with the "Southern Exposure," God bless him. We couldn't get along without him. There are a number of him, and he is scattered all over the globe. We call him by different names, but he is always the same man. After we have felt the cold Northern chill emanating from some of the cold, despondent, negative people with whom we have come in contact, what a relief it is to meet some one who carries with him the mellowing sunny, vibrations of the South wind--the man with the "Southern Exposure." As the vibrations of the Sun bring life, energy, and strength to all things having life, so this sunny man brings positive, bright, cheerful and happy thoughts to us, and stimulates, encourages and strengthens us. He actually radiates sunshine and cheer in all directions, and thaws out the natures that have become well nigh frozen from contact with people of the other type. Oh, it's a great thing, this "Southern Exposure" in a man or woman.

This man faces the Sun. He is an optimist. He looks on the bright side of things, and gets all there is in Life--he LIVES. He manages to extract "fun" out of the most unpromising conditions and things, and goes on his way with a smile, and a cheerful song, an abiding faith in the Absolute. He lives his life, one day at a time, loving all of God's creatures and letting the creatures know it--carrying a message of hope, and courage, and a helpful suggestion to all mankind. He is the salt of the earth, and Life would lose its flavor if he were taken from us. And how smooth the pathway of Life seems made for him. It matters not in what station he may be placed--what seemingly small degree of material prosperity may come to him--what may be his surroundings and environments--he makes the best of everything--he still catches the rays of the Sun, and rejoices--he has the "Southern Exposure."