_I know a writer._ He is one of the most brilliant men of his State. His knowledge is profound. He devotes more time, unselfishly, to the good of his adopted city and State than any other man I know. His work is untiring in its fervid zeal for the preservation of historic landmarks that without his efforts would possibly have disappeared; and also for a museum for the accumulation of evidences of past civilization. Yet he radiates a vindictive jealousy and fierce hatred of those whom he does not like that makes even his friends afraid of him and fearful lest they incur his anger. Shelley, Byron, Poe, Bret Harte, Leigh Hunt, Landor--and thousands of others, including the Psalmist David, the Hebrew king whom God loved--radiated grand, sublime, divine truths, yet they also radiated weakness and moral wrong. What should be our mental attitude toward those who give such conflicting radiancies? Shall we ignore the evil and see only the good? How _can_ we? How _dare_ we? Shall we ignore the good and see only the evil? Again I ask, How can we? How dare we? There are good people, I know, who do both of these, to me, impossible things. I want to do neither. I will do neither if I can possibly help it. I will not stultify _my own_ sense of right and wrong by ignoring what I deem to be wrong in another. I will reprobate it, for myself, and earnestly strive to be kept free from it, but, at the same time, I will see the good in all its beauty and power and will glorify it and accept it, and thank God that so much good does exist. The whole question thus resolves itself to me: Shall I refuse to accept the good of certain men because they do many evil things? Shall I refuse to accept good except from those who are perfect? If so, from whom shall I gain good? From you, reader? Are you perfect? If you take that position you had better drop this book, here and now, for you cannot receive good from me, for too sadly do I know that neither the book nor its writer is perfect. Joaquin Miller perfectly expresses this thought in the introductory lines to his poem on Byron: In men whom men condemn as ill, I find so much of goodness still, In men whom men account divine, I find so much of sin and blot, I hesitate to draw the line between the two, Where God has not!