raised. It is
immensely impressed with its own importance, its value to society, its
keenness, wisdom or aptness, and wishes others to be so impressed also.
It is fond of a mirror, especially one made to magnify. It seeks
recognition. It presses forward, rudely or politely, according as its
habitat has been trained in rude or polite circles. It may put on the
garb of humility, and use the language of depreciation. But its ear is
none the less keenly alert to hear the agreeable things and to cherish
them.

Another characteristic, which really is simply the other side of this
first named one, is this: _it shrinks from criticism_. How it writhes
and twists at the least touch of unfavorable criticism! It is always on
the defensive. The cheek colors at the suggestion of its being wrong, or
having blundered, or of being peculiar.

How quickly it explains and defends and brings evidence of its being in
the right. It is extremely sensitive. "It is that _touchy_ thing in
you." It is chronically troubled with "the disease of _touchiness_." Its
feelings are readily hurt. It is easily slighted. It remembers
grievances. It has an interrogation point constantly on sentinel duty,
namely, What will _they_ think? What will _they_ say? It lives in
constant fear, under the lash of that huge, vague, awful _they_.

I remember knowing a Sunday school teacher who had a mission class of
rather rough boys from non-christian homes. I asked one day how she was
getting along with them. "Going to give them up," she replied. "Is that
so? They have all become christians?" No, none of them were christians,
and they liked her, and said they would not come if she gave them up,
but she felt discouraged, and anyway she had decided to give them up.
Lawyers and women do not always give their reasons, very wisely. I
ventured to suggest that before giving them up, she have the boys come
up to her home, one at a time, perhaps for tea; have a pleasant chatty
time at tea and afterwards, and then before the boy left have a quiet
friendly talk with him by himself about being a christian, and, a few
words of prayer with him. Wouldn't she try that before giving them up?
And I remember distinctly that her face blushed as red as a bright red
rose, as she replied, "Why, Mr. Gordon, _he'd laugh at me_!" And she
could not bear the possible chance of being laughed at for the other
more likely possibility of winning a soul--a man--a life. That was
"self" in her, shrinki