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THE CONGRESS OF WOMEN.
is merely guessed at. The elements which led to and constituted his superiority are supposed to be so many touches of the fairy’s wand, and we are left to the belief that there could be but one Caesar, one Alexander, one Napoleon; whereas, the world is full of heroes and heroines today, but the occasion which places them on a pedestal is wanting, that is all.
The same misguiding influence pervades ail classic literature. It matters not what myth or what poem we read, we still find that the heroes and heroines are represented as being allied to the gods who watch over them and direct their actions; and so we are led to think that a modern hero must have a peculiar and particular genius for his god-mother. But is heroism anything more than doing the best under existing circumstances? Does it require any rare gift to stand firmly by a task until it is finished? to see our duty and adopt the best means of doing it? Heroes are common mortals, subject to the laws of environment. What more can they be? Common fishermen became the disciples of Christ. Joseph was a carpenter. Grant was a tanner. Lincoln was a wood-chopper. The Pilgrim Fathers were only simple peasants who counted freedom of conscience more than life, and who, by adhering to this principle, made the American Revolution possible. Winkelried’s patriotism made Switzerland free. And now, after the lapse of four hundred years, the world has placed an immortal crown upon the brow of a Genoese navigator, simply because he persistently kept the prows of his caravels turned westward. Has not each year of our lives brought to our notice examples of as high courage and as determined perseverance as Columbus displayed? Point to all the great men of history and then show us, if possible, a greater hero than the little Dutch boy who stood all night long with his tiny hand pressed against a hole in the dyke, that he might thereby keep out the sea and thus save the village. It is only an occasional hero who becomes historic, but there are brave, noble hearts all about us, and our own hearts beat to the rhyme of their courage and sense of right. A few we immortalize, but the memory of the masses we allow to die. Much depends upon the genial biographer.
It is interesting to note how we cherish every bit of narrative concerning Grace Darling, Florence Nightingale, or the Maid of Orleans. Single acts of daring made them illustrious. What of the thousands unsung and unknown, who have braved greater dangers and greater trials than the foaming sea and the bloody field? What will we say of the mother who, unaided, rears her children with the labor of her hands, provides them food and home and schooling? Who guides their steps aright so that to the working force of the world she adds brave, intelligent sons and daughters? When we want a great theme for true heroism, commend us to the mothers who, battling against adverse circumstances, nourish, educate, and discipline the youth of the nation. Do we recognize these brave spirits as we meet them? Are we not in daily contact with them and yet pass them unnoticed?
The rhythm of a beautiful soul may not, and need not, always be crystallized into forms of speech in order to be recognized and appreciated. This soul-radiance creates happiness within its sphere and, though no words are embodied in type, the sphere widens and widens nevertheless. The poetry of the human soul, which finds expression in deeds not words, is the leaven which lightens and makes buoyant all humanity.
That the world is giving more attention to conduct as the expression of thought and feeling is shown by the novel of today as compared with the novel of a century ago. Novels are now the records of real life, and as such we study them.
Do we not observe that the desire to do some great thing often prevents the doing of those little things which, rightly considered, indicate true greatness? It was perhaps a little thing for Sir Philip Sidney to withdraw the cooling cup from his own parched lips and give it to another dying soldier. But, little in itself, it was the act of a true knight, and it touched a chord in the heart of humanity which will go on vibrating forever. That simple act rendered the name of Sidney immortal.
There may be people toward whom nature is not prodigal of brain. At least some seem to find it impossible to be both agreeable and learned. All scholars are