I do not wonder that men demand cheerfulness in others. It seems somewhat heartless to put up a notice in your office, as I have seen in many offices, "I have troubles enough of my own. Tell yours to the janitor," or as another version has it, "Don't tell your troubles to me, I have enough of my own," yet it speaks of a fact that is all too universal, namely, that each person does have his own large share of burdens which sometimes seem as if they would swamp him. As Dr. Gulick once wrote: There is probably not one person in the world but has tragedy enough and pain enough straight along to warrant--yes, absolutely to warrant--pretty complete discouragement. And I imagine that there is no person who is so perfectly adjusted by nature, so entirely balanced in health, that there are not times when it is necessary to hold himself by deliberate will power--to forget how he has been hurt, to turn aside from some ugly thing in a friend's character, to turn aside from the bad in his own character, for every one of us has that which is bad in his character. Our characters are ugly enough in part so that, if we were to dwell constantly on that part, the prospect would seem pretty disheartening and justifiably so. All this has to be remembered in our association with men and women. And when we remember, why should we not wish, instead of adding to their burdens, to lighten or help remove them? That cheerfulness is possible in this world of woe and trial, there can be no question, because every now and again, each of us has met with some person who radiated this quality at all times. And we know that in our own experience, when we have willed to be cheerful and to radiate cheerfulness to others, we have accomplished far more in that line than we otherwise should have done. Only the other day I picked up a trade journal and in it was a short letter from one business man about another business man who had recently passed away. Let me quote a part of it: Away back in the '80's I met him under the following circumstances. I was then in Chicago and although an invalid was well enough to assist my brother a little in his office work. One day a stranger came in who received an especially cordial greeting from both my brother and his partner. It proved to be Harry W. Sommers. He was, for a short time, a daily visitor and when he came in there seemed to come with him a glow of sunshine. It made the same impression upon me as it does sometimes, after a long period of rain and cloudiness, when the sun, in all its brightness, suddenly bursts forth. One day he came to bid my brother good-by, and although it is twenty-one years ago, the wave of his hand, the cheery smile and the hearty good-by, as he looked toward me, still linger in my memory.