consciousness. For does not the whole world, seen and unseen

go to the making up of every human being? The commonest personal
history has its value when it is looked at as a part of the One
Infinite Life. Our life--which is the very best thing we have--is
ours only that we may share it with Our Father's family, at their
need. If we have anything, within us worth giving away, to
withhold it is ungenerous; and we cannot look honestly into
ourselves without acknowledging with humility our debt to the
lives around us for whatever of power or beauty has been poured
into ours.

None of us can think of ourselves as entirely separate beings.
Even an autobiographer has to say "we" much oftener than "I."
Indeed, there may be more egotism in withdrawing mysteriously
into one's self, than in frankly unfolding one's life--story, for
better or worse. There may be more vanity in covering, one's face
with a veil, to be wondered at and guessed about, than in draw-
ing it aside, and saying by that act, "There! you see that I am
nothing remarkable."

However, I do not know that I altogether approve of autobiography
myself, when the subject is a person of so little importance as
in the present instance. Still, it may have a reason for being,
even in a case like this.

Every one whose name is before the public at all must be aware of
a common annoyance in the frequent requests which are made for
personal facts, data for biographical paragraphs, and the like.
To answer such requests and furnish the material asked for, were