to the Yosemite
Valley with John Muir on an avalanche of snow.

But even in that enlightened age the master received all the credit
for every achievement, and his creative appreciator none at all. And
so it has been ever since that particular amoeba which was destined
for manhood had a purse made up for him and was helped upon the train
of evolution by his less fortunate and more self-effacing friends who
were destined to remain amoebae; because the master by proxy is such
a retiring, unspectacular sort of person that he has never caught the
popular imagination or found any one to sing his praises. But if he
should ever resent this neglect and go on strike, we should realize
that without him progress is impossible. For the real lords of
creation are not always the apparent lords. We should bear in mind
that the most important part of many a throne is not the red velvet
seat, the back of cloth of gold, or the onyx arms that so sumptuously
accommodate the awe and majesty of acknowledged kings. Neither is it
the seed-pearl canopy that intercepts a too searching light from
majesty's complexion. It is a certain little filigreed hole in the
throne-back which falls conveniently close to the sovereign's ear when
he leans back between the periods of the wise, beauteous, and
thrilling address to his subjects.

For doubled up in a dark, close box behind the chair of state is a
humble, drab individual who, from time to time, applies his mouth to
the wrong side of the filigreed hole and whispers things. If he were
visible at all, he would look like the absurd prompter under the hood
at the opera. He is not a famous person. Most people are so ignorant
of his very existence that he might be pardoned for being an agnostic
about it himself. The few others know little and care less. Only two
or three of the royal family are aware of his name and real function.
They refer to him as M. Power-Behind-the-Throne, Master-by-Proxy of
State.

There is one sign by which masters by proxy may be detected wherever
met. They are people whose presence is instantly invigorating. Before
you can make out the color of their eyes you begin to feel that you
are greater than you know. It is as if they wore diffused about them
auras so extensive and powerful that entering these auras was
equivalent to giving your soul electric massage. You do not have to
touch the hem of their garments nor even see them. The auras penetrate
a brick wall as a razor penetra