Wanted, Round Wheels.
A certain street railroad in Massachusetts asked the Public Service Commission to approve of a fare increase from six to seven cents. The towns served by the road objected to the change, but said that they would not object if the company would fit up its cars with round wheels. They asserted that passengers were sometimes jolted clear of the cushions when the cars merely crossed the rail joints.
Generally speaking, Americans are willing to pay liberally for good service, but they are not willing to pay anything for bad service. "Keep up the quality" should be the motto, in hard times, of all who serve the public. If economy is necessary, do not let it interfere with service. If prices must be advanced, do not let quality go backward. Satisfaction is half the battle when goods—or labor—must be sold. Keep the wheels round.
Mr. Stead's Motto.
One of the most beautiful and significant of the Christmas cards I have received was from the famous British publicist and author, the editor of The Review of Reviews, Mr. William T. Stead, who went down in the Titanic.
It is printed most charmingly, in delicate pinks and greens and blues and yellows, and it represents two angels bearing a scroll on which are the words:
"The union of all who love
In the service of all who suffer."
That was Mr. Stead's motto. Throughout his life his great heart went out in sympathy with the poor, the wretched, the oppressed, of every land. Now it was the miserable waif in the London slums or the brazen, heart-slain outcast on the streets. Now it was the desolate Armenians. Now it was the Boers. Now it was the denizens of "Darkest Chicago." But whoever it might be that Mr. Stead pleaded for, or whatever hideous iniquity he attacked, the deed was always done because some were suffering, and because he loved them.
Nor was he content to do this work alone. He always sought a union of all who love, in this service of all who suffer. That was the meaning of his "rosary," his list of like-minded friends all over the world for whom he daily prayed, asking that they would daily pray for him. He knew too well, even by the hard experience of imprisonment, the awful power of evil in the world; and he knew that only the union of all who love, and their union with the Father, can suffice against it.
Here is a union that all can join. It is a labor union indeed. It has its rules, and they are strict ones. It has its assessments and its fines, and they are not light, and they must be paid promptly. But the head of the union is the great Lover of the universe, who has said that whatever we do for His suffering children on earth we are doing to His blessed Self.
No Figureheads Wanted.
No more figureheads on the warships of our navy! One more opportunity for stirring verse is lost to the poet, and one more chance for picturesqueness is lost to the artist. But our navy is properly anxious, not that it shall be picturesque, but that it shall be serviceable; and it has been found that figureheads shining in gold-leaf furnish brilliant objects for searchlights to pick out at night. When ornament thus gets in the way of safety, ornament has to go.
Many of the figureheads were presented by States and cities to the ships named for them. Now those figureheads have been returned by the Navy Department to the States and cities that gave them. They cannot be given back outright, but they are loaned, and they will probably never be asked for again.
Well, having gone thus far, let us abolish the figureheads in connection with our ship of state! Sometimes I think it carries a large number of figureheads, not only at the prow but all along the ship's sides. The fact that they are human figureheads makes it all the more dangerous, and all the more difficult is it to get rid of them. Every such figurehead, however, makes it harder for our nation to win in its great fight with the forces of corruption and misrule that are constantly attacking her.
Yes, and while we are knocking the figureheads off the ship of state, let us knock them off all our private ships, the millions of vessels that plow the sea of life. The figurehead is imposing to look at, but he is absolutely useless, and his uselessness easily degenerates into a positive peril. Gold paint and all, let us split them into kindling-wood, and make them do their first real service feeding the furnace fires down in the bottom of the boat.
The Two Locomotives.
A big passenger locomotive was bragging in the roundhouse, puffing out the words loudly enough for the whole yard to hear, "I pull the Twentieth Century Limited," he boasted. "My cars are the acme of luxury. The diner is like a hotel. The parlor-cars and sleepers are palatial. No one but nabobs can afford one. My last trip I carried Mark Moneygrub, head of the beef trust. Time before that, Senator Bullion, head of the sugar trust. J. P. Golden, the great banker, always goes with me. See how big I am! See how I shine! Hear the grand sounds I make! I am the emperor of the rail, the monarch of transportation!" Just then, as he stopped to get breath, a freight-engine, over in a dark corner of the roundhouse, spoke up in quick barks that all the yard could hear, and this is what he said: "Pooh! pooh! you are for show, but I am for service. You carry the head of the beef trust; I carry the beef. You have the head of the sugar trust lolling on your cushions; I have the sugar itself, ready to sweeten your apple-sauce. It is not necessary that your men and women should travel, but it is necessary that they should eat. Where would Golden and Bullion and Moneygrub be if I didn't bring them shoes and coats and eggs and butter and beefsteak? You may cut a shine, but the world could get along without you much more easily than without me." Thereupon there arose such a clamor of approving whistles and bells and exhaust-pipes that the reply of the first locomotive, if he made any, could not be heard.
The Best for the Worst.
In New York City John Washington, a friendless Negro, was brought before the courts charged with murder in the first degree. It became the duty of the court to find a lawyer for him. It has been the custom to assign such cases to young lawyers just starting out in life and with no engrossing set of clients.
The New York bench, however, was making a determined effort to uplift the criminal courts, so that the judge appointed to the case of this friendless Negro one of the great city's most prominent corporation lawyers, William B. Hornblower, who responded willingly to the call. Other big lawyers entered into the service in the same generous and public-spirited way.
This is what is needed all along the line in the domain of charity and Christian helpfulness. There is no child of God, however humble, however degraded, however undeserving, but is worthy of the ministry of God's highest and best. That one sentence, "Ye did it unto me," is sufficient to ennoble every service, by whomsoever rendered and to whatever person. That the ablest men and women of the world are hearing and heeding this call of Christ is the most encouraging indication of the coming Kingdom of heaven.
Show or Service?
A music league was organized in New York City for the purpose of encouraging and aiding worthy young musical geniuses. This league conducted an examination to discover what young men and young women were worthy of its assistance and backing. There were 196 candidates—singers, pianists, and violinists. Of these only sixteen were accepted. These sixteen will be brought before the public, through concerts in private houses and in other ways, till they are thoroughly "tried out."
But that leaves 180 unfortunates—what of them? Most of these, probably all of them, have spent hundreds of dollars upon their musical education, besides years of time. They have virtually spoiled their lives for work in which they might succeed, for they have wasted upon something quite different the time and money necessary for a more hopeful preparation. Most of them will struggle on with pathetic grit for years, making half a living or depending altogether upon their friends, till at last they give up the fight and settle down in some poorly paid position for which they are poorly fitted, and are sad, discontented, and ineffective the rest of their lives.
And the cause of it all? Misplaced ambition, the longing to do something big, to get into the limelight, to be admired, to make large sums of money and make them easily, to wear beautiful clothes and live in beautiful houses and ride in beautiful automobiles and have the world at their feet. Or, some of them may have a real devotion to "art," a genuine love for exquisite tones and harmonies, but quite forget that the love of a beautiful thing does not at all mean the power to create it.
Now music, poetry, drawing and painting, elocution, and all other forms of artistic expression make charming and profitable avocations. They are admirable for one's private enjoyment, or perhaps the enjoyment of one's friends, provided we do not, without genius, make them the main reliance of our lives. To do this—without genius—is tragedy; often it is tragic even with genius.
You can easily learn, if you have common sense, whether you belong with the sixteen or with the 180. Get yourself placed, before you make the fatal mistake which those 180 made.
And then, having found your place, accept it with sweetness and contentment. That is the way to live a happy and a useful life.
For "show" means sorrow, but "service" spells success.
Are You a Hodcarrier?
Frances E. Willard was once sitting in a business meeting. Looking across at the famous Woman's Temple, then reaching its thirteenth story, she saw a hodcarrier with his heavy load walking slowly along the outer wall. No one in the street was noticing him; nevertheless he was a vital factor in the erection of the great building. "That is the way with character," Miss Willard remarked. "We build it in littles, and without observation. That is all there is of character-building, or temple-building, or probably of planet-building, or of universe-building-just to keep right on putting in our time and effort to the best advantage possible at the moment."
We may think it a disgrace to be a hodcarrier; but that is what Shakespeare was, only he bore a superior sort of mortar. That is what Moses was, and Paul, and Luther, and Phillips Brooks. God is the Architect and the master Builder. It is enough for us to be, in any humble capacity, workers together with him.