ng centers of light among
the poor. The opportunity that William the Silent found in the
starving millions of Holland; that Garrison found in the miserable
slaves of the South; that Livingstone found in Africa, the modern hero
is finding in the tenement-house district. Through sympathy a new hope
is entering into all classes of society.

The heart is also coloring industry. This year it is said that more
than a score of great industrial institutions in our country have, to
the factory, added gymnasium, recreation-hall, schoolroom, library,
free musicals and lectures. The intellect has failed to solve the
social problems by giving allopathic doses from Poor Richard's Almanac.
Impotent also those dreamers who have insisted that society must have
socialism--either God's or the devil's. Impotent those who, during the
past week, have proposed to cure economic ills by spitting the heads of
tyrants upon bayonets. But what force and law cannot do is slowly
being done by sympathy and good-will. The heart is taking the rigor
out of toil, the drudgery out of service, the cruelty out of laws,
harshness out of theology, injustice out of politics. Love has done
much. The social gains of the future are to be to the gradual progress
of sympathy and love.

Unto man who goes through life working, weeping, laughing, loving,
comes the heart believing unto immortality. For reason oft the
immortal hope burns low and the stars dim and disappear, but for the
heart, never! Scientists tell us matter is indestructible. And the
heart nourishes an immortal hope that no doubt can quench, no argument
destroy, no misfortune annihilate. Comforting, indeed, for reasons,
the arguments of Socrates that life survives death. After the death of
his beloved daughter Tullia, Cicero outlined arguments which have
consoled the mind of multitudes. But in the hour of darkness and
blackness, for a man to put out upon Death's dark sea, upon the
argument of Cicero, is like some Columbus committing himself to a
single plank in the hope of discovering an unseen continent.

In these dark hours the heart speaks. In the poet's vision, to blind
Homer, falling into the bog, torn by the thorns and thickets and lost
in the forest and the night, came the young goddess, the daughter of
Light and Beauty, to take the sightless poet by the hand and lead him
up the heavenly heights. Sometimes intellect seems sightless and
wanders lost in the maze. Then comes the