A String of Amber Beads | Page 8

you think of one who came home with empty
baskets and an unappeased relish for ripe peaches? Would you not
think such a one a dullard, or, at least, stupidly blind to his
opportunities? And if you chanced to hear him crying over his empty
basket later on, would you not revile him for a lazy fellow? We all of
us, from day to day, miss chances of far greater value than the ripest
peach that ever mellowed in the sun. The opportunity to say a kind and
encouraging word swings low upon the bough of to-day. Why not
gather it in? The chance to help, to succor, to protect, the chance to lend
a helping hand, to share a burden, to soothe a sorrow, to plant a loving
thought, or twine a memory that shall blossom like a rose upon the
terrace of to-morrow, all are our own as we pass through the world on
our way to heaven. We may not come this way again. See to it, then,
that we carry full baskets on the homeward faring.

XIX.
A SUNSET CLOUD.
Not long ago there slowly ascended into the evening sky a pillar of
cloud so vast that all measurements sank into insignificance beside it.
Its color was of softest gray just touched with the flush that deepens the
inmost chamber of a shell, or blushes in the unfolded petals of a wind
flower. With majestic yet almost imperceptible motion this cloud
mounted the blue background of the sky. The spectre of a faded moon
hung motionless above it an instant only, and then was swiftly drawn
within its soft eclipse. Changing from moment to moment, the great
mass took on all semblances of vivid fancy, until the evening sky
seemed the arena of dreamland's cohorts. With indescribable grace and
with the delicate lightness of a fairy footfall the mighty visitant
advanced and took possession of the heavenly field. Suddenly the full
glory of the setting sun smote it from outer rim to base. In less time
than it takes to tell the story the cloud was dissipated in a spray of
feathery light. It drifted like a wreath before the wind and lost itself in
the illimitable spaces of the air, as dust in the splendor of a summer day.
It broke upon the hills in a shower of flame and dissolved above the
still waters of the lake in tremulous flakes of light. The sight was worth
going far to see, and yet I am willing to wager my to-morrow's dinner
that not one-fiftieth of the folks for whom I write, saw it, or would have
left their supper to watch the glorious spectacle.

XX.
ONE SECRET OF SUCCESS.
There is just one thing nowadays that never fails to bring success, and
that is assurance. If you are going to make yourself known, it is no
longer the thing to quietly hand out your card and a modest credential;
you must advance with a trumpet and blow a brazen blast to shake the
stars. The time has gone by when self-advancement can be gained by

modest and unassuming methods. To stand with lifted hat and solicit a
hearing savors of an all too humble spirit. The easily abashed may
starve in a garret, or go die on the highways. There is no chance for
them in the jostle of life. The gilded circus chariot, with a full brass
band and a plump goddess distributing posters, is what takes the
popular heart by storm. Your silent entry into town, depending upon
the merits of your wares to work up a trade, is chimerical and obsolete.
We no longer sit in the shadow and play flutes; we parade in a sawdust
ring and play on trombones, or take our place on a raised platform and
beat the bass drum, and in that way we draw a crowd and gather in the
coppers, and that is what we live for, isn't it?

XXI.
A NEW BEATITUDE.
There should be a new beatitude, and it should read, "Blessed is the
man who hath the courage of his convictions." It should apply to poor,
long-suffering women as well. We have plenty of the sort of courage
that will lead a man to step in front of a runaway horse, or dash into a
burning house, or throw himself off a dock to rescue a perishing wretch,
but there is a dearth of the kind of bravery that will enable either man
or woman to face a laugh in defense of a principle, or succor a losing
cause despite a sneer. How the best of us will retreat trailing our banner
in the dust, when the hot shot of ridicule confronts us from the enemy's
camp, or when some merry sentinel