One day I met a father who was some twelve inches shorter than his accompanying son. The difference was the more conspicuous in that they were close companions. Some one referred to it, and the father replied that he considered it was as it should be—each generation a little taller than the preceding one. I knew what he meant. He had seen where lies the road uphill. In 1714, in a little English tavern, a boy was born who was destined to affect the history of religion. George Whitefield was brought up cleaning floors and selling drink to the rough frequenters of his father’s tavern. He worked his way through Oxford since his parents were little concerned with such matters. He lived to make hearts tremble with his prophetic voice and to plant undying works of Christian service and benevolence. He pushed a little ahead of what his parents were. That is the road uphill. During the presidency of General Grant, an old sailor went to the White House to object that the naval department had promoted his son to a place of authority above him, saying that it would not look right to be taking orders from his own son. The President replied that he had just appointed his father, Jesse Grant, postmaster in a little town in a distant state, and that he did not seem to mind taking orders from his own son. Jesse Grant had seen the road uphill. One day in a Nazarene synagogue, Mary’s Son stood up and read from the Book of Isaiah His own commission to proclaim the kingdom of God. His human heritage was a long line of choice ancestors, but He had surpassed all those behind Him in the line. He was traveling and leading His race along the road uphill. Some Stories About Beethoven (1915) The world of art remembers two figures which are especially pathetic, and for similar reasons. One is that of Homer, the bard, living in a world the beauties of which he loved but could not see. The other is that of Beethoven, the musician, living in the midst of harmonies which he loved but which were denied to his unhearing ears. A great soul may be better able than others to fortify itself against the terrors of misfortune, but it is at the same time more keenly sensitive to them. Blindness is more of a tragedy to one who would more especially love and appreciate beauty, could he see it. Deafness is more of a tragedy to one whose ears feel a special hunger for the harmonies of sound. Ludwig van Beethoven was not only the greatest master of the classical school in music. He was also one of the strong and unique personalities of his day. He was not a puppet who fell a slave to usage and custom. The outlines of his nature were clear and bold. He acted with no uncertain meaning and spoke with no uncertain sound. That he was wholly original and self-reliant is shown in many incidents, the record of which has been preserved from among his busy and eventful years.