and what life repeats to us daily,
is that the injury done by one must be repaired by another. One tears
down, another builds up; one defaces, another restores; one stirs up
quarrels, another appeases them; one makes tears to flow, another wipes
them away; one lives for evil-doing, another dies for the right. And in
the workings of this grievous law lies salvation. This also is logic,
but a logic of facts which makes the logic of theories pale. The
conclusion of the matter is not doubtful; a single-hearted man draws it
thus: given the evil, the great thing is to make it good, and to set
about it on the spot; well indeed if Messrs. the Malefactors will
contribute to the reparation; but experience warns us not to count too
much on their aid.

* * * * *

But however simple duty may be, there is still need of strength to do
it. In what does this strength consist, or where is it found? One could
scarcely tire of asking. Duty is for man an enemy and an intruder, so
long as it appears as an appeal from without. When it comes in through
the door, he leaves by the window; when it blocks up the windows, he
escapes by the roof. The more plainly we see it coming, the more surely
we flee. It is like those police, representatives of public order and
official justice, whom an adroit thief succeeds in evading. Alas! the
officer, though he finally collar the thief, can only conduct him to the
station, not along the right road. Before man is able to accomplish his
duty, he must fall into the hands of another power than that which says,
"Do this, do that; shun this, shun that, or else beware!"

This is an interior power; it is love. When a man hates his work, or
goes about it with indifference, all the forces of earth cannot make
him follow it with enthusiasm. But he who loves his office moves of
himself; not only is it needless to compel him, but it would be
impossible to turn him aside. And this is true of everybody. The great
thing is to have felt the sanctity and immortal beauty in our obscure
destiny; to have been led by a series of experiences to love this life
for its griefs and its hopes, to love men for their weakness and their
greatness, and to belong to humanity through the heart, the intelligence
and the soul. Then an unknown power takes possession of us, as the wind
of the sails of a ship, and bears us toward pity and justice. And
yielding to its irresistible impulse, we say: _I cannot help it,
some