ortal renown through self-renunciation.

This law of self-sacrifice is imbedded in nature. Minot, the
embryologist, and Drummond, the scientist, tells us that only by losing
its life does the cell save it. The new science exhibits the body as a
temple, constructed out of cells, as a building is made of bricks.
Just as some St. Peter represents strange marble from Athens, beauteous
woods from Cyprus, granite from Italy, porphyry from Egypt, all brought
together in a single cathedral, so the human body is a glorious temple
built by those architects called living cells. When the scientist
searches out the beginning of bird or bud or acorn he comes to a single
cell. Under the microscope that cell is seen to be absorbing nutrition
through its outer covering. But when the cell has attained a certain
size its life is suddenly threatened. The center of the cell is seen
to be so far from the surface that it can no longer draw in the
nutrition from without. The bulk has outrun the absorbing surface.
"The alternative is very sharp," says the scientist, "the cell must
divide or die." Only by losing its life and becoming two cells can it
save its life.

Later on, when each of the two cells has grown again to the size of the
original one, the same peril threatens them and they too must divide or
die. And when through this law of saving life by losing it nature has
made sure the basis for bud and bird, for beast and man, then the
principle of sacrifice goes on to secure beauty of the individual plant
or animal and perpetuity for the species. In the center of each grain
of wheat there is a golden spot that gives a yellow cast to the fine
flour. That spot is called the germ. When the germ sprouts and begins
to increase, the white flour taken up as food begins to decrease. As
the plant waxes, the surrounding kernel wanes. The life of the higher
means the death of the lower. In the orchard also the flower must fall
that the fruit may swell. If the young apple grows large, it must
begin by pushing off the blossom. But by losing the lower bud, the
tree saves the higher fruit.

Centuries ago Herodotus, the Grecian traveler, noted a remarkable
custom in Egypt. Each springtime, when the palms flowered, the
Egyptians went into the desert, cut off branches from the wild palms
and, bringing them back to their gardens, waved them over the flowers
of the date trees. What was meant by this ceremony Herodotus did not
know. The