very consequence of their stupidity, conceited, who can deny? The worst of
it is, that no man who is conceited can be convinced of the fact."

"Don't say that, Harry. That is to deny conversion."

"You are right, Ethelwyn. The moment a man is convinced of his folly, he
ceases to be a fool. The moment a man is convinced of his conceit, he
ceases to be conceited. But there _must_ be a final judgment, and the true
man will welcome it, even if he is to appear a convicted fool. A man's
business is to see first that he is not acting the part of a fool, and
next, to help any honest people who care about the matter to take heed
likewise that they be not offering to pull the mote out of their brother's
eye. But there are even societies established and supported by good
people for the express purpose of pulling out motes.--'The Mote-Pulling
Society!'--That ought to take with a certain part of the public."

"Come, come, Harry. You are absurd. Such people don't come near you."

"They can't touch me. No. But they come near good people whom I know,
brandishing the long pins with which they pull the motes out, and
threatening them with judgment before their time. They are but pins, to be
sure--not daggers."

"But you have wandered, Harry, into the narrowest underground, musty ways,
and have forgotten all about 'the cubicalness of nature.'"

"You are right, my love, as you generally are," I answered, laughing. "Look
at that great antlered elk, or moose--fit quarry for Diana of the silver
bow. Look how it glides solemnly away into the unpastured depths of the
aerial deserts. Look again at that reclining giant, half raised upon his