THE HARDWOOD RECORD. 



15 



The M©ci\ About Town. 



THE GENTLE AKT OF MAKING A 

 LIVING. 



We have Ijccii prclly siri'iiiKiiis in Ihis 

 department of late, but it lias been neees- 

 sai-y. And it is a good tiling to be able 

 to be streuiioHS wlieu it is necessary. 



You see a crisis arose ivtucli made stroui; 

 and vigorous action necessary; but now. 

 ■n-itli Morgan and liis men on tlie run and 

 witli tlie dull .season pretty well through 

 without any lufak in hardwood lumber 

 prices, and with ilie dangers which iiave 

 threatened business fended off, or partly 

 paralyzed by loud and unpleasant hoot- 

 ings and roviliugs, we may, it seems to 

 me. safely take a tritle of relaxation. After 

 sounding the harsh, blood-chilling tocsin 

 of war. and defying the mighty of the 

 earth to mortal combat, it will be a relief 

 to "pick up the pipe of Pan and tootle away 

 of the gentle arts of peace. 



That is our favorite kind of music, any 

 how. We'd rather sit in the sylvan shade 

 with I'au, dabbling our toes in the pui'e 

 clear waters of the gently flowing brook, 

 keeping Wme to the sweet and gentle tunes 

 of Peace, than to be out on the brassy, 

 bloody plain with Mars heliJing to maintain 

 the mighty front of War, 



Still, it is through wAr we come to peace; 

 and where you see a lot of happy children, 

 youths and maidens and men and women 

 reposing in • the shade listening to the 

 tunes of Pan, you may rest assured that 

 out on the frontier the mighty Mars is 

 striding to and fro in all the harsh panoiily 

 of war holding the enemy in check. 



For there is always an enemy — always. 

 And the men of the world who would have 

 'their women and children ga.v in the green- 

 wood must serve most of the time on the 

 frontier with Mars. 



What I mean is this: Suppose you and 

 I had been beguiled, because we can play 

 such pretty tunes, into tootling away in 

 the greenwood and hail let this country 

 drift right onto a panic'.' And. instead of 

 stopping the enemy at the frontier, we had 

 let him get into the greenwood? We'd 

 have been a nice bunch, wouldn't we? 



But no; we were vigilant and turned 

 him back before he had fairly got started — 

 bundled him back upon himself and jiiled 

 the debris of his misbegotten plans mion 

 him. 



And now let him dig Ills way out while 

 we discourse of the gentle arts of peace. 



For it is for jieace that we go to war. 

 War is not an end. It is only a moans to 

 an enil and the end is peace. 



Take, for instance, the genilc .-ut <if mak- 

 ing a living. Some might think that the 

 art of making a living is more an art of 

 war Ihan of peace, and that we will not 



BY C. D. STR.ODE. 



tind ii a restful or tuneful topic, but that 

 dei)ciuls upon the point of view. 



The art of making a living, when taken 

 alone and not complicated with other mat- 

 ters, is a gentle art, which may be pursued 

 in peace and gentleness. It is when you 

 endeavor not merely to make a living, but 

 to levy .an assessment upon the living 

 which others make, that you begin to get 

 into trouble, and tread on people's toes, 

 and get black looks and hard knocks, and 

 have such a dickens of a time generally 

 that the art of making a living becomes 

 anythiu.g but a gentle art to you. 



Some people live merely to make a liv- 

 ing. Of this class some are content with 

 a fair share of the good things of life, and 

 put forth only so much effort as is neces- 

 sary to supply their modest requirements, 

 and spend the balance of the time kicking 

 up their heels and frisking in tlie meadows. 

 Others of this class, being afflicted with 

 the microbe of greed — their eyes being 

 larger than their stomachs — iiile up a lot 

 of stuff for which tliey have no earthly 

 need. 



There is another class wliicVi has more 

 serious work in the world thau mere exist- 

 ence, and takes up the art of making a 

 living merely because it is necessary as 

 an accessory to their real work in life. 



It is very important — this matter of 

 making a living. A man must make a liv- 

 ing before ho can do anything else. It is 

 an art which is not so diflicult to master 

 but which must be mastered very early 

 in life. It is, in fact, the most necessary 

 thing in the education of a young man 

 that he shall know how to make a living. 



Man is like an army, that Napoleon said 

 "travels ou its belly." I think he might 

 have said "stomach." but be that as it 

 ma.v, many a great poet, statesman or re- 

 former has fallen proue in the dust with 

 a -lot of glorious schemes because ht> had 

 neglected the minor detail of learning to 

 make a living, lie h.nl liciped to be able to 

 sbar among the clouds without wasting 

 time learning to run iibmit upon the earth. 

 The most diflicult art the general of an 

 army must master is the art of the com- 

 missary department. Many a groat army, 

 burning to do desperate and glorious 

 things, has failed because of weakness in 

 the commissary department. Jfany a sol- 

 dier, burning with high resolve, really to 

 do and die, maybe, for his country, has 

 been forced to give up and tiu'ii tail and 

 go back because his haversack was empty. 

 That the highest things in life, the fate of 

 the loftiest ambitious and endeavors should 

 depend so absolutely on a regular and suf- 

 ficityit supply of canned beef, may seem 

 incongruous and more or less gross and 

 coarse, but it is so, nevertheless. 



I cannot too strongly emphasize how- 



necessary it is lliat an army shall eat regu- 

 larly, and of a sufficiency. P.ut that isn't 

 what the army is for. 



You see the point, don't you? An army 

 isn't created merely to feed itself three 

 times a day; and a man isn't put into the 

 world merely to make a living. .Vn jirmy 

 is fed and clothed and armed and drilleil 

 that when the proper times comes it may 

 be able to do a certain work in the best 

 possible nianiiei-. 



It is the same with a man. It is neces- 

 sary that he shall eat and drink and wear 

 clothes, but, however necessary, these 

 things are only incidental. They are only 

 a means to an end, not an end. 



I believe a good deal of confusion exists 

 ou this point. So many jjeople seem to 

 think that the eating, the drinking and the 

 wearing of clothes are the end. 



Others have a better conception of the 

 real object of living, but have such ea,ger- 

 ness to pursue the work which they see 

 on all sides to do that they devote too lit- 

 tle time and thought to the homely but 

 necessary art of making a living — of keep- 

 ing the commissary department well or- 

 ganized and well supiilied. 



Occasionally you see a man well lial- 

 anced, who sees things in their just propor- 

 tions, and while he .gives careful and 

 thoughtful attention to the commissary de- 

 partment, understands that it is only a 

 means to an end. 



n: * * 



There are so luan.v different kinds of 

 men; and they an? nearly all good men and 

 not accountalile for their limitations or 

 peculiarities. 



One man. is like a great spring overflow- 

 ing on the surface and sending a refresh- 

 in,g stream through the dusty meadows. 



.Vnother is like a deep and quiet well, 

 full of sweet and healthful waters to a 

 certain hei.ght. from which the world may 

 draw without ever emptying. 



-Vnother is like a water jar which has no 

 supply of its own and only gives forth 

 that which has been put into it. ■ 



Still another is like a cracked and leaky 

 cistern which not only has no supply of 

 its own. but wastes that which is put into 

 it. 



1 see that science has about abandoned . 

 the theory that you can get nothing with- 

 out giving an equivalent. I am glad of 

 that, for I never believed it, and I don't 

 like to be at outs with science. Such a 

 theory means that all men are water jars 

 and can only give forth .hat which has 

 been put into them. 



For many years science has taught that 

 the energy which drives the locomotive 

 across the plain is really the energy eon- 

 t.iined in the sunshine, which, thousands 

 oi years ago, was imprisoned in what con- 



