eager pursuit of knowledge." And
to this youth who had climbed so high came the vision of something
fairer and better still.

Going on before, Christ lured him forward, even as of old the goddess
lured the Grecian boy forward by rolling rosy apples along the path.
But the interview ended with the "great refusal." And the youth went
away, not angry nor rebellious, but sad and deeply grieved at himself.
For now he knew how far his aspiration outran performance. Like
Hamlet, indecision palsied action. Contentment perished, for the
vision of perfection ever haunted him. At first Christ's words and
look of earnest affection filled his heart with a tumult of joy: but
having fallen back into the old sordid self, the very memory of his
master's face became a curse and torture. And so the vision blighted
that should have blessed.

Now, the lives of great men tell us that God has always used visions
for disturbing contentment, destroying ease, and securing progress.
Witness the life of that young patrician, Wendell Phillips. His
college mates love to describe him as they first saw him in the halls
of Cambridge. His elegant person, his accomplished manners, his
refined scholarship, made him the idol of the Harvard boys. Even in
his youthful days he excelled as an orator, and was the easy master of
the platform. But to him came the sirens singing of leisure, of
opulence, and ambition. Full oft he looked forward to the day when he
would be the champion of "elegant repose and cultivated conservatism"
of the patrician element in his patrician state. But suddenly the
Christ, in the person of one of his little ones, crossed the young
scholar's path. One golden October afternoon, while Wendell Phillips
was sitting in his office, he heard the noise of a strange disturbance
in the street. Looking out he saw the mob maltreating Garrison, as,
with blows and kicks, they dragged him toward the jail. All that night
young Phillips lay tossing on his couch, thinking ever of this man who
had been mobbed in the city where Otis had said "Liberty of speech is
inalienable."

All that night the vision of the slave, scarred and scorned and
forsaken, stood before his mind, while ever he heard a voice
whispering: "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of
these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." In that vision hour
perished forever all his dreams of opulence and ease. He decided to
turn his back upon all preferment and ambition, all com