st bring a spirit as grand and sublime as that by which the thing
itself exists.

We all live on far lower levels than we need to do. We linger in the
misty and oppressive valleys, when we might be climbing the sunlit
hills. God puts into our hands the Book of Life, bright on every page
with open secrets, and we suffer it to drop out of our hands unread.
Emerson says, "We have come into a world which is a living poem.
Everything is as I am." Nature provides for us a perpetual festival;
she is bright to the bright, comforting to those who will accept
comfort. We cannot conceive how a universe could possibly be created
which could devise more efficient methods or greater opportunities for
the delight, the happiness, and the real wealth of human beings than
the one we live in.

The human body is packed full of marvelous devices, of wonderful
contrivances, of infinite possibilities for the happiness and riches of
the individual. No physiologist nor scientist has ever yet been able
to point out a single improvement, even in the minutest detail, in the
structure of the human body. No inventor has ever yet been able to
suggest an improvement in this human mechanism. No chemist has ever
been able to suggest a superior combination in any one of the elements
which make up the human structure. One of the first things to do in
life is to learn the natural wealth of our surroundings, instead of
bemoaning our lot, for, no matter where we are placed, there is
infinitely more about us than we can ever understand, than we can ever
exhaust the meaning of.

"Thank Heaven there are still some Matthew Arnolds who prefer the
heavenly sweetness of light to the Eden of riches." Arnold left only a
few thousand dollars, but yet was he not one of the richest of men?
What the world wants is young men who will amass golden thoughts,
golden wisdom, golden deeds, not mere golden dollars; young men who
prefer to have thought-capital, character-capital, to cash-capital. He
who estimates his money the highest values himself the least. "I
revere the person," says Emerson, "who is riches; so that I cannot
think of him as alone, or poor, or exiled, or unhappy."

Raphael was rich without money. All doors opened to him, and he was
more than welcome everywhere. His sweet spirit radiated sunshine
wherever he went.

Henry Wilson was rich without money. So scrupulous had he been not to
make his exalted position a means of worldly gain, that w