of breaking, unless you are idiots, acknowledge that you said to yourselves:  “I am in the right.  Here, and here alone, lies man’s part.  I am entering on a path, beaten and worn, but straight; I shall cross the weary downs, but each step will bring me nearer the village spire.  I am not wandering through life, I am marching on, I stir with my feet the dust in which my father has planted his.  My child, on the same road, will find the traces of my footsteps, and, perhaps, on seeing that I have not faltered, will say:  ’Let me act like my old father and not lose myself in the ploughed land.’”

If the word holy has still a meaning, despite the uses it has been put to, I do not see that a better use can be made of it than by placing it beside the word family.

They speak of progress, justice, general well-being, infallible policies, patriotism, devotion.  I am for all these good things, but this bright horizon is summed up in these three words:  “Love your neighbor,” and this is precisely, in my opinion, the thing they forget to teach.

To love your neighbor is as simple as possible, but the mischief is that you do not meet with this very natural feeling.  There are people who will show you the seed in the hollow of their hand, but even those who deal in this precious grain are the last to show you it in leaf.

Well, my dear reader, this little plant which should spring up like the poppies in the wheat, this plant which has never been seen growing higher than watercress, but which should overtop the oaks, this undiscoverable plant, I know where it grows.

It grows beside the domestic hearth, between the shovel and tongs; it is there that it perpetuates itself, and if it still exists, it is to the family that we owe it.  I love pretty nearly all the philanthropists and saviours of mankind; but I only believe in those who have learned to love others by embracing their own children.

Mankind can not be remodelled to satisfy the wants of humanitarian theories; man is egotistical, and he loves, above all, those who are about him.  This is the natural human sentiment, and it is this which must be enlarged, extended and cultivated.  In a word, it is in family love that is comprised love of country and consequently of humanity.  It is from fathers that citizens are made.

Man has not twenty prime movers, but only one in his heart; do not argue but profit by it.

Affection is catching.  Love between three—­father, mother, and child—­when it is strong, soon requires space; it pushes back the walls of the house, and by degrees invites the neighbors.  The important thing, then, is to give birth to this love between three; for it is madness, I am afraid, to thrust the whole human species all at once on a man’s heart.  Such large mouthfuls are not to be swallowed at a gulp, nor without preparation.

This is why I have always thought that with the numerous sous given for the redemption of the little Chinese, we might in France cause the fire to sparkle on hearths where it sparkles no longer, make many eyes grow brighter round a tureen of smoking soup, warm chilled mothers, bring smiles to the pinched faces of children, and give pleasure and happiness to poor discouraged ones on their return home.