re sliding uselessly round
on the car tracks that were wet and slippery from rain. All the urging
of the teamster and the straining of the horses were in vain,--until
the motorman quietly tossed a shovelful of sand on the track under the
heavy wheels, and then the truck lumbered on its way. "Friction is a
very good thing," remarked a passenger.

The philosopher Kant observed that a dove, inasmuch as the only
obstacle it has to overcome is the resistance of the air, might suppose
that if only the air were out of the way it could fly with greater
rapidity and ease. Yet if the air were withdrawn, and the bird should
try to fly in a vacuum, it would fall instantly to the ground, unable
to fly at all. The very element that offers the opposition to flying
is at the same time the condition of any flight whatever.

Emergencies make giant men. But for our Civil War the names of its
grand heroes would not be written among the greatest of our time.

The effort or struggle to climb to a higher place in life has strength
and dignity in it, and cannot fail to leave us stronger, even though we
may never reach the position we desire, or secure the prize we seek.

From an aimless, idle, and useless brain, emergencies often call out
powers and virtues before unknown and unsuspected. How often we see a
young man develop astounding ability and energy after the death of a
parent, or the loss of a fortune, or after some other calamity has
knocked the props and crutches from under him. The prison has roused
the slumbering fire in many a noble mind. "Robinson Crusoe" was
written in prison. The "Pilgrim's Progress" appeared in Bedford Jail,
Sir Walter Raleigh wrote "The History of the World" during his
imprisonment of thirteen years. Luther translated the Bible while
confined in the Castle of Wartburg. For twenty years Dante worked in
exile, and even under sentence of death.

Take two acorns from the same tree, as nearly alike as possible; plant
one on a hill by itself, and the other in the dense forest, and watch
them grow. The oak standing alone is exposed to every storm. Its
roots reach out in every direction, clutching the rocks and piercing
deep into the earth. Every rootlet lends itself to steady the growing
giant, as if in anticipation of fierce conflict with the elements.
Sometimes its upward growth seems checked for years, but all the while
it has been expending its energy in pushing a root across a large rock
to gai