FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 8l 



peaks o ertopping lesser hills. Mankind 

 will not forget them. Theirs are 



the few, the immortal names, 

 That were not born to die. 



But, as Walt Whitman says, &quot;I sing&quot; 

 the great unknown, the unnumbered com 

 monplace, who go about their daily tasks 

 with only the ordinary hopes and fears, 

 joys and aspirations, wants and woes, vir 

 tues and faults, which are the common lot 

 of the human race. Perhaps even some of 

 these take themselves quite seriously, and 

 are fully aware that the machine would go 

 to pieces if their peg should not be in its 

 place. But there are numberless others 

 who believe themselves of no account, and 

 untold multitudes who think that if only 

 things were somewhat different, then would 

 they be able to give this great world the 

 boost that it needs to send it spinning free 

 adown the ages, or at least might be able to 

 give that little aid of which they now feel 

 incapable. 



Courage, good friend ! Perhaps &quot; this is 

 the very place God meant for thee,&quot; and out 

 of it thou wouldst be lost, and it also. Till 

 thine own acre. A good people is only 

 made out of good individuals, and the strong 



