Look over your community. Note the handful of brave, faithful, unselfish souls who are carrying the community burdens and pushing upward. Note the mult.i.tude making little or no effort, and even getting in the way of the pushers.

Majorities do not rule. Majorities never have ruled. It is the brave minority of thinking, self-sacrificing people that decides the tomorrow of communities that go upward. Majorities are not willing to make the effort to rule themselves. They are content to drift and be amused and follow false G.o.ds that promise something for nothing. They must be led--sometimes driven--by minorities.

People are like sheep. The shepherd can lead them to heaven--or to h.e.l.l.

b.u.mping the Prodigals

Human life is the story of the Prodigal Son. We look over the fence of goodness into the mystery of the great unknown world beyond and in that unknown realm we fondly imagine is happiness.

Down the great white way of the world go the million prodigals, seeking happiness where n.o.body ever found happiness. Their days fill up with disappointment, their vision becomes dulled. They become anaemic feeding upon the husks.

They just must get their coffee-pot!

How they must be b.u.mped to think upon their ways. Every time we do wrong we get a Needless Knock. Every time! We may not always get b.u.mped on the outside, but we always get b.u.mped on the inside. A b.u.mp on the conscience is worse than a b.u.mp on the "noodle."

"I can do wrong and not get b.u.mped. I have no feelings upon the subject," somebody says, You can? You poor old sinner, you have b.u.mped your conscience numb. That is why you have no feelings on the subject.

You have pounded your soul into a jelly. You don't know how badly you are hurt.

How the old devil works day and night to keep people amused and doped so that they will not think upon their ways! How he keeps the music and the dazzle going so they will not see they are b.u.mping themselves!

Consider the Sticky Flypaper

Did you ever watch a fly get his Needless Knocks on the sticky flypaper?

The last thing Mamma Fly said as Johnny went off to the city was, "Remember, son, to stay away from the sticky flypaper. That is where your poor dear father was lost." And Johnny Fly remembers for several minutes. But when he sees all the smart young flies of his set go over to the flypaper, he goes over, too. He gazes down at his face in the stickiness. "Ah! how pretty I am! This sticky flypaper shows me up better than anything at home. What a fine place to skate. Just see how close I can fly over it and not get stuck a bit. Mother is such a silly old worryer. She means all right, of course, but she isn't up-to-date.

We young set of modern flies are naturally bright and have so many more advantages. You can't catch us. They were too strict with me back home."

You see Johnny fly back and forth and have the time of his naturally bright young life. Afterwhile, tho, he stubs his toe and lands in the stickiness. "Well, well, how nice this is on the feet, so soft and soothing!"

First he puts one foot down and pulls it out. That is a lot of fun. It shows he is not a prisoner. He is a strong-minded fly. He can quit it or play in it, just as he pleases. After while he puts two feet down in the stickiness. It is harder to pull them out. Then he puts three down and puts down a few more trying to pull them out.

"Really," says Johnny Fly bowing to his comrades also stuck around him, "really, boys, you'll have to excuse me now. Good-bye!" But he doesn't pull loose. He feels tired and he sits down in the sticky flypaper. It is a fine place to stick around. All his young set of flies are around him. He does like the company. They all feel the same way--they can play in the sticky flypaper or let it alone, just as they please, for they are strong-minded flies. They have another drink and sing, "We won't go home till morning."

Johnny may get home, but he will leave a wing or a leg. Most of them stay. They just settle down into the stickiness with sleeping sickness.

The tuition in The College of Needless Knocks is very high indeed!

"Removed" or "Knocked Out"?

The man who goes to jail ought to congratulate himself if he is guilty.

It is the man who does not get discovered who is to be pitied, for he must get some more knocks.

The world loves to write resolutions of respect. How often we write, "Whereas, it has pleased an all-wise Providence to remove," when we might reasonably ask whether the victim was "removed" or merely "knocked out."

There is a good deal of suicide charged up to Providence.

Chapter III

The College of Needful Knocks

The b.u.mps That b.u.mp Into Us

BUT occasionally all of us get b.u.mps that we do not b.u.mp into. They b.u.mp into us. They are the guideboard knocks that point us to the higher pathway.

You were b.u.mped yesterday or years ago. Maybe the wound has not yet healed. Maybe you think it never will heal. You wondered why you were b.u.mped. Some of you in this audience are just now wondering why.

You were doing right--doing just the best you knew how--and yet some blow came crushing upon you and gave you cruel pain.

It broke your heart. You have had your heart broken. I have had my heart broken more times than I care to talk about now. Your home was darkened, your plans were wrecked, you thought you had nothing more to live for.

I am like you. I have had more trouble than anybody else. I have never known anyone who had not had more trouble than anyone else.

But I am discovering that life only gets good after we have been killed a few times. Each death is a larger birth.

We all must learn, if we have not already learned, that these blows are lessons in The College of Needful Knocks. They point upward to a higher path than we have been traveling.

In other words, we are raw material. You know what raw material is--material that needs more Needful Knocks to make it more useful and valuable.

The clothing we wear, the food we eat, the house we live in, all have to have the Needful Knocks to become useful. And so does humanity need the same preparation for greater usefulness.

I should like to know every person in this audience. But the ones I should most appreciate knowing are the ones who have known the most of these knocks--who have faced the great crises of life and have been tried in the crucibles of affliction. For I am learning that these lives are the gold tried in the fire.

The Sorrows of the Piano

See the piano on this stage? Good evening, Mr. Piano. I am glad to see you. You are so shiny, beautiful, valuable and full of music, if properly treated.

Do you know how you got upon this stage, Mr. Piano? You were b.u.mped here. This is no reflection upon the janitor. You became a piano by the Needful Knocks.

I can see you back in your callow beginnings, when you were just a tree--a tall, green tree. You were green! Only green things grow. Did you get the meaning of that, children? I hope you are green.