d'etre_ beyond the fact of their being our enemies--what is it? They are
neither beautiful nor clever, wise nor good, famous nor, indeed,
passably distinguished. Were they any of these, they would not have
taken to so humble a means of getting their living. Instead of being our
enemies, they could then have afforded to employ enemies on their own
account.

Who, indeed, are our enemies? Broadly speaking, they are all those
people who lack what we possess.

If you are rich, every poor man is necessarily your enemy. If you are
beautiful, the great democracy of the plain and ugly will mock you in
the streets. It will be the same with everything you possess. The
brainless will never forgive you for possessing brains, the weak will
hate you for your strength, and the evil for your good heart. If you can
write, all the bad writers are at once your foes. If you can paint, the
bad painters will talk you down. But more than any talent or charm you
may possess, the pearl of price for which you will be most bitterly
hated will be your success. You can be the most wonderful person that
ever existed, so long as you don't succeed, and nobody will mind. 'It is
the sunshine,' says some one, 'that brings out the adder.' So powerful,
indeed, is success that it has been known to turn a friend into a foe.
Those, then, who wish to engage a few trusty enemies out of place need
only advertise among the unsuccessful.

_P.S._--For one service we should be particularly thankful to our
enemies--they save us so much in stimulants. Their unbelief so helps our
belief, their negatives make us so positive.

THE DRAMATIC ART OF LIFE

It is a curious truth that, whereas in every other art deliberate choice
of method and careful calculation of effect are expected from the
artist, in the greatest and most difficult art of all, the art of life,
this is not so. In literature, painting, or sculpture you first evolve
your conception, and then, after long study of it, as it glows and
shimmers in your imagination, you set about the reverent selection of
that form which shall be its most truthful incarnation, in words, in
paint, in marble. Now life, as has been said many times, is an art too.
Sententious morality from time past has told us that we are each given a
part to play, evidently implying, with involuntary cynicism, that the
art of life is--the art of acting.

As with the actor, we are each given a certain dramatic conception for
the expres