unate that
man has an outlet through these manifold channels of expression.

"They are the best part of our lives so far as they go, but all art and
science and no nature, and what becomes of man? Have they made the world
happy, and is there any immediate prospect of their ever doing so? Did
the Greeks, who attained the supreme heights in art, find happiness in
their art? Their history is the record of one long struggle; and so it
was with the renaissance of the Middle Ages, and so it is with us; our
sciences and arts can never change the complicated conditions in which
we live. They have never developed the sympathy and brotherly love which
should exist between man and man; we are still barbarians.

"The most miserable wretches that ever lived were the very ones that
passed their lives creating and theorizing. They all forgot and are
still forgetting like the rest of the world to-day that, these things,
no matter how great, amuse and interest for a time only; that once they
are absorbed, their original charm and novelty are gone forever. They
become worn and threadbare like all of man's inventions, and humanity is
ever left searching for the great panacea of life.

"The God-inspired sing and talk of the great life, but they do not live
it themselves, and that is why they never really succeed in delivering
their messages. And they may continue to write books and compose music,
to paint pictures and build temples and hew statues so long as this
planet is habitable, but these things are merely an imitation of the
reality--a reflection of the ideal in man. The delivered man must stand
above his art and science. He must recognize that he himself is the
well-spring, the source of his inspiration and is greater than his
emotional expressions. The true message can never be delivered to the
world until the life for which these things stand is actually lived out,
becomes a part of man's daily life."

"And you intend to deliver that message, I suppose?" observed the
Colonel sarcastically, smiling compassionately and twirling the end of
his mustache.

"In my own humble way, yes, but I ask no man to follow me!" A chorus of
laughter, in which were mingled the voices of Blanch and Bessie who had
just joined the group, greeted this confession.

"Did you ever hear the like of the conceit?" exclaimed Mrs. Forest as
the laughter subsided.

"Excuse my frankness, Jack, but you're an ass," said the Colonel tartly.

"You set an exam