I have lived a busy life. I entered the newspaper grind early, and I have never been out of the old mill. Whether I abode at home or went on long journeys, around the town or around the world, I carried my work with me. My vacations were merely “assignments.” The nearest postoffice was a copyhook. People and things were “stories.” It is a good world. Five times in the story of Creation the historian pauses to say as new things were made, “and God saw that it was good.” And the seventh day--the day of completion and rest, He made holy forever, “blessing and sanctifying it.” So the cornerstone of creation is goodness, the finial holiness. How could a better world be made? It isn’t enough to be good nor to do good. It is quite essential to do good in the right way. A prayer for many of our Best Sinners would be--“Dear Christ of the Leper, Savior of the Publican, Lover of the Unlovely and Friend of the Hateful, forgive me in that I have done good spitefully, that I have given alms scornfully, that I have done a kindness savagely, and that I have loved a friend grudgingly.” Whenever I have done right, it has always seemed to me that somebody or something helped me. But when I have gone wrong, I have sinned through no one’s fault but my own. No man ever made me do wrong. The man who has the headache next morning is the fellow who transgressed the night before. The sinner can no more shift his responsibility than he can wish his headache off on the other fellow. Well, I have always loved to work. It has been pleasant in the old mill, with its rafters bronzing by the years, its shadowy corners, its far views from the dormers up in the loft, the mysterious gurglings and murmurings of hidden waters down deep among the foundations, the quiet pond and the earnest rush of the race, and the merry laughter of the “tail race.” For I ground my finest flour from the grist the people brought me. The best of my work might have been done much better; the worst of it had better been left undone; all of it has been mediocre. But I ground the grist that was brought me, and took only fair toll. And some day, in a better mill, with improved machinery, with finer material, with choicer grist, a steadier power and a better light I will do better work.