der words than are to be found here? By this
I advise every young preacher to form his style!'

'He who aspires to be a great poet--as sublime as Milton--must first
become a little child!' declares the greatest of all litterateurs.

'Whosoever shall humble himself as this little child, the same is
greatest in the kingdom of heaven!' says the Master Himself, taking a
little child and setting him in the midst of them.

'_Pity my simplicity!_' pleads this little thing with its soft arms
round my neck.

'_Give me that simplicity!_' say I.

V

TUNING FROM THE BASS

I am about to say a good word for Fear. Fear is a fine thing, a very
fine thing; and the world would be a poor place without it. Fear was
one of our firmest but gentlest nurses. Terror was one of our sternest
but kindest teachers. A very wise man once said that the fear of the
Lord is the beginning of wisdom. He might have left out the august and
holy Name, and still have stated a tremendous fact; for fear is always
the beginning of wisdom.

'No fears, no grace!' said James, in the second part of the _Pilgrim's
Progress_, and Mr. Greatheart seemed of pretty much the same opinion.
They were discussing poor Mr. Fearing.

'Mr. Fearing,' said Greatheart, 'was one that played upon the bass.
Some say that the bass is the ground of music. The first string that
the musician touches is the bass, when he intends to put all in tune.
God also plays upon this string first, when He sets the soul in tune
for Himself. Only here was the imperfection of Mr. Fearing: he could
play upon no other music but this, till towards his latter end.'

Here, then, we have the principle stated as well as it is possible to
state it. You must tune from the bass, for the bass is the basis of
music. But you must rise from the bass, as a building must rise from
its foundations, or the music will be a moan and a monotone. The fear
of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom; but the wisdom that gets no
farther is like music that rumbles and reverberates in one everlasting
bass.

But the finest exposition of the inestimable value of fear is not by
John Bunyan. It is by Jack London. _White Fang_ is the greatest story
of the inner life of an animal that has ever been contributed to our
literature. And Jack London, who seems to have got into the very soul
of a wolf, shows us how the wonderful character of White Fang was
moulded and fashioned by fear. First there was the mere