fact of one’s striving for effect of itself indicates that there is not enough in him to make him really great; while he who really is so needs never concern himself about it, nor does he ever.  I can think of no better way for one to attain to humility and simplicity than for him to have his mind off of self in the service of others.  Vanity, that most dangerous quality, and especially for young people, is the outcome of one’s always regarding self.

Mrs. Henry Ward Beecher once said that, when they lived in the part of Brooklyn known as the Heights, they could always tell when Mr. Beecher was coming in the evening from the voices and the joyous laughter of the children.  All the street urchins, as well as the more well-to-do children in the vicinity, knew him, and would often wait for his coming.  When they saw him in the distance, they would run and gather around him, get hold of his hands, into those large overcoat pockets for the nuts and the good things he so often filled them with before starting for home, knowing as he did full well what was coming, tug at him to keep him with them as long as they could, he all the time laughing or running as if to get away, never too great—­ay, rather let us say, great enough—­to join with them in their sports.

That mysterious dignity of a man less great, therefore with less of humility and simplicity, with mind always intent upon self and his own standing, would have told him that possibly this might not be just the “proper thing” to do.  But even the children, street urchins as well as those well-to-do, found in this great loving soul a friend.  Recall similar incidents in the almost daily life of Lincoln and in the lives of all truly great men.  All have that beautiful and ever-powerful characteristic, that simple, childlike nature.

Another most beautiful and valuable feature of this life is its effect upon one’s own growth and development.  There is a law which says that one can’t do a kind act or a loving service for another without its bringing rich returns to his own life and growth.  This is an invariable law.  Can I then, do a kind act or a loving service for a brother or a sister,—­and all indeed are such because children of the same Father,—­why, I should be glad—­ay, doubly glad of the opportunity.  If I do it thus out of love, forgetful of self, for aught I know it may do me more good than the one I do it for, in its influence upon the growing of that rich, beautiful, and happy life it is mine to grow; though the joy and satisfaction resulting from it, the highest, the sweetest, the keenest this life can know, are of themselves abundant rewards.

In addition to all this it scarcely ever fails that those who are thus aided by some loving service may be in a position somehow, some-when, somewhere, either directly or indirectly, and at a time when it may be most needed or most highly appreciated, to do in turn a kind service for him who, with never a thought of any possible return, has dealt kindly with them.  So