, alias Tripp. What's
the use?"

Barring the W. C. T. U., I'd like to know if anybody disapproves of
my having produced promptly from my pocket Tripp's whiskey dollar and
unhesitatingly laying it in his hand.

THE HIGHER PRAGMATISM

I

Where to go for wisdom has become a question of serious import.
The ancients are discredited; Plato is boiler-plate; Aristotle is
tottering; Marcus Aurelius is reeling; Aesop has been copyrighted by
Indiana; Solomon is too solemn; you couldn't get anything out of
Epictetus with a pick.

The ant, which for many years served as a model of intelligence and
industry in the school-readers, has been proven to be a doddering
idiot and a waster of time and effort. The owl to-day is hooted at.
Chautauqua conventions have abandoned culture and adopted diabolo.
Graybeards give glowing testimonials to the venders of patent
hair-restorers. There are typographical errors in the almanacs
published by the daily newspapers. College professors have become--

But there shall be no personalities.

To sit in classes, to delve into the encyclopedia or the
past-performances page, will not make us wise. As the poet says,
"Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers." Wisdom is dew, which, while
we know it not, soaks into us, refreshes us, and makes us grow.
Knowledge is a strong stream of water turned on us through a hose.
It disturbs our roots.

Then, let us rather gather wisdom. But how to do so requires
knowledge. If we know a thing, we know it; but very often we are not
wise to it that we are wise, and--

But let's go on with the story.

II

Once upon a time I found a ten-cent magazine lying on a bench in a
little city park. Anyhow, that was the amount he asked me for when
I sat on the bench next to him. He was a musty, dingy, and tattered
magazine, with some queer stories bound in him, I was sure. He turned
out to be a scrap-book.

"I am a newspaper reporter," I said to him, to try him. "I have been
detailed to write up some of the experiences of the unfortunate ones
who spend their evenings in this park. May I ask you to what you
attribute your downfall in--"

I was interrupted by a laugh from my purchase--a laugh so rusty and
unpractised that I was sure it had been his first for many a day.

"Oh, no, no," said he. "You ain't a reporter. Reporters don't talk
that way. They pretend to be one of us, and say they've just got in
on the blind baggage from St. Louis. I can tell a repor