204 What We Lose 



which to-day appears to hide the paucity of 

 ideas among us has broken into the news- 

 papers. The exaggeration of trifles is one of 

 the diseases of the age. The instructions given 

 to our reporters seem to be to question the 

 boot-black who blacks their shoes, the washer- 

 woman who brings home their shirts, and the 

 President of the United States, if they are 

 lucky enough to meet him, printing all that 

 the washerwoman, the boot-black, and the 

 President may have to say about their respec- 

 tive businesses. The stuff is ground over and 

 over again. Nothing interesting can come 

 from people who have no ideas, and ideas do 

 not come by dint of gabble. Silence is golden. 

 In my orchard there is silence. I have always 

 admired Webster's reply to a barber, who asked 

 him how he wished to be shaved. "In silence, ' ' 

 replied the great man. I suppose that I am 

 told a dozen times a day by different persons 

 that it is a fine day, or a wet day, or that it 

 was cold yesterday, or will rain to-morrow. 

 The boy who opens the door for me as I leave 

 my house gives me his opinion as to the 

 weather, the man who runs the elevator down- 



