world is to sit on the sidewalk and lacerate the public ear with those dreadful discords.  And yet, if death were to step up to that beggar’s side and offer him release, instant and sure, in the form of a falling brick or a horse running amuck on the crowded sidewalk, he would cling to the miserable shred he calls life as eagerly as though he were the crown prince himself, with the heritage of his kingdom yet unwon.

XXXIII.

Oh!  To rid the world of shams.

If you go to a florist and ask for a sweet pink root, you may get fooled on the label, but when blooming time comes round there will be no difficulty in deciding whether the flower you took on trust was pink or onion.  Plant a seed in the horticultural kingdom by any name you please, there will be no mistake possible when June comes.  A carrot is bound to yield carrots, and a rose will repeat the bright wonder of its beauty throughout the dreamy summer days, in spite of any other name the florist may have blundered upon in the labeling.  Not so with humanity.  There are souls that pass through life with the label of lily, balm or heart’s-ease tagged to them, when they are nothing better than wild onion at heart.  There are lives sown in out of the way places, and carelessly passed by as weeds, whose blossom angels might stoop to wear in the whiteness of their own pure breasts.  Oh, to rid the world of its shams!  To sweep away the “Chadbands” with a feather duster, as the new girl removes dust; to open the windows and shoo away the traitors as one drives flies, to hoe out society plats as one hoes garden beds, and thin out the flaunting weeds so that the lilies may find room to grow; to turn the strong light of discerning truth upon hypocrites until, as the microscope changes a globule of dew into the abode of 10,000 wriggling abominations, so the deceitful heart shall stand revealed for what it actually is, rather than for what it seems to be.

XXXIV.

DRESS PARADE OF THE GREAT ALIKE

I am tired of the endless dress parade of the “Great Alike.”  I am weary of walking in line, like convicts in stripes.  I glory in cranks who serve their own individuality and are in bondage to nobody.  The onward sweep of progress in this age has opened up the way for non-conformists.  It is not a matter of heresy, nowadays, to think for yourself, dress for yourself, and be yourself.  I confess that I have no heart pinings for such nonconformists as Dr. Mary Walker or any other individual who believes that eccentricity, serving no purpose but to make one conspicuous, is interesting.  There are certain general rules of conduct that must be observed or the world would go to wreck like a wild freight train.  It would be embarrassing to all concerned were I to decline to conform to the conventional custom of