we had political power, we would use it for the good of the nation; but
we have no political power; we have no talents entrusted to us of any sort
or kind. It is true, we have a little money, but the parable can't
possibly mean anything so vulgar as money; our money's our own.

3. I believe, if you think seriously of this matter, you will feel that
the first and most literal application is just as necessary a one as any
other--that the story does very specially mean what it says--plain money;
and that the reason we don't at once believe it does so, is a sort of
tacit idea that while thought, wit and intellect, and all power of birth
and position, are indeed given to us, and, therefore, to be laid out for
the Giver,--our wealth has not been given to us; but we have worked for
it, and have a right to spend it as we choose. I think you will find that
is the real substance of our understanding in this matter. Beauty, we say,
is given by God--it is a talent; strength is given by God--it is a talent;
but money is proper wages for our day's work--it is not a talent, it is a
due. We may justly spend it on ourselves, if we have worked for it.

4. And there would be some shadow of excuse for this, were it not that the
very power of making the money is itself only one of the applications of
that intellect or strength which we confess to be talents. Why is one man
richer than another? Because he is more industrious, more persevering, and
more sagacious. Well, who made him more persevering and more sagacious
than others? That power of endurance, that quickness of apprehension, that
calmness of judgment, which enable him to seize opportunities that others
lose, and persist in the lines of conduct in which others fail--are these
not talents?--are they not, in the present state of the world, among the
most distinguished and influential of mental gifts?

5. And is it not wonderful, that while we should be utterly ashamed to use
a superiority of body in order to thrust our weaker companions aside from
some place of advantage, we unhesitatingly use our superiorities of mind
to thrust them back from whatever good that strength of mind can attain?
You would be indignant if you saw a strong man walk into a theatre or
lecture-room, and, calmly choosing the best place, take his feeble
neighbor by the shoulder, and turn him out of it into the back seats or
the street. You would be equally indignant if you saw a stout fellow
thrust himself up to