It will never be known how many master-pieces have been lost to the
world because at the critical moment a friend has not been at hand
with the stimulant of sympathy and encouragement needed by an
overworked, straining artist who was beginning to lose confidence
in himself; to soothe his irritated nerves with the balm of praise,
and take his poor aching head on a friendly shoulder and let him
sob out there all his doubt and discouragement.
So let us not be niggardly or ungenerous in meting out to
struggling fellow-beings their share, and perchance a little more
than their share of approbation and applause, poor enough return,
after all, for the pleasure their labors have procured us. What
adequate compensation can we mete out to an author for the hours of
delight and self-forgetfulness his talent has brought to us in
moments of loneliness, illness, or grief? What can pay our debt to
a painter who has fixed on canvas the face we love?
The little return that it is in our power to make for all the joy
these gifted fellow-beings bring into our lives is (closing our
eyes to minor imperfections) to warmly applaud them as they move
upward, along their stony path.
CHAPTER 8 - Slouch
I SHOULD like to see, in every school-room of our growing country,
in every business office, at the railway stations, and on street
corners, large placards placed with "Do not slouch" printed thereon
in distinct and imposing characters.
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