your boyish hands. He cannot help himself. What will
you leave for him? Will it be a brain unspoiled by lust or
dissipation, a mind trained to think and act, a nervous system
true as a dial in its response to the truth about you? Will you,
boy of the Twentieth Century, let him come as a man among men
in his time, or will you throw away his inheritance before
he has had the chance to touch it? Will you let him come,
taking your place, gaining through your experiences,
hallowed through your joys, building on them his
own, or will you fling his hope away,
decreeing, wanton-like, that the man
you might have been shall never
be?_






The new century has come upon us with a rush of energy that no century has
shown before. Let us stand aside for a moment that we may see what kind of
a century it is to be, what is the work it has to do, and what manner of
men it will demand to do it.

In most regards one century is like another. Just as men are men, so times
are times. In the Twentieth Century there will be the same joys, the same
sorrows, the same marrying and giving in marriage, the same round of work
and play, of wisdom and duty, of folly and distress which other centuries
have seen. Just as each individual man has the same organs, the same
passions, the same functions as all others, so it is with all the