hand of vice and it will leave no stain. From the height of your own
purity do not look with scorn upon some less fortunate mortal, do not
turn away in disgust, but examine closely, and underlying the outer
crust of wickedness and sin, you will be astonished at the amount of
good you can find, even in the most depraved. The human heart is a
strange compound, made up of love and hate, of joy and sorrow, hope and
despair, and who is able to read it? Who is able to understand the
sorrows, struggles and temptations of others, and who is competent to
take upon himself the task of judging?

Every beat of the heart gives us a glimpse, either of heaven inspired
love, or hell-born hate, of the sun-lit river of joy, or the gloom of
sorrow, the golden gleam of hope or the stagnant pool of despair. Is it
not strange that in all the workings of nature there is complete
harmony; the whispering trees, the murmuring winds, the lowing herds,
all speak a language of their own, while man is the only animal which
makes war with his kind? The love of riches, the desire of gain, the
pride of ambition takes possession of his mind to the exclusion of all
else. In battle, soldiers walk over the dead bodies of friends and foes
alike, unmoved, the only thought, the only desire is to win; the groans
of the dying are drowned in the exultant shouts of the living as they
find themselves victorious. In the battle of life there are many who, in
their desire to win at all hazards, walk over the bodies of fallen
enemies, and heed not the groans of even their friends. In all this
worry and strife, all the weariness of body and brain, how few stop to
enquire of themselves the means they are taking to attain their aim.
Some have taken a step higher by walking over the body of a brother who
has fallen by the wayside, wearied and heart sore, and if he succeeds in
reaching the top-most rung of the ladder, envious tongues and slanderous
epithets will reach him there, while if he falls he will carry with him