The other day I saw the act of an optimist. He and a friend were seated in a street car. It was Saturday night, the car was crowded, and by and by two well-dressed men got in, one of them with an unmistakable look of refinement, the other somewhat coarse looking. Both had evidently been drinking heavily. The more refined and elder of the two could barely stand upright, as the car whirled around the curves. The optimist looked up, saw the state of affairs, and in the sweetest, gentlest manner arose and extended his hand and bade the elderly gentleman take his seat. There was no look of reproach or disgust, and yet I know that he was a rigid abstainer and strong temperance worker and one who hated every form of indulgence in alcoholic liquors. The companion of the man who had taken the seat, began to talk in the ordinary mumbling, rambling, effusive style of the drunkard, and the other without either impatience or any sign of disapproval, quietly entered into the conversation, and I speak only the fact when I state that without any preaching or fault-finding, his few earnest, sincere, optimistic words so won the heart of that large, coarse-looking, drunken man that he seemed absolutely sobered and responded to the higher call of the soul. This is what optimism and cheerfulness do for mankind, hence I want to radiate it more and more. Mark Twain was full of this spirit of radiating cheerfulness. In one of his darkest hours in San Francisco, before he had gained name or fame, things had gone wrong and a lady friend passing along a street saw him standing beside a lamp-post with a cigar-box under his arm. "Cigars?" she asked. "Where are you going in such a hurry?" "I'm m-o-o-v-i-n-g," drawled Mark, at the same time displaying the contents of the box which consisted of a pair of socks, a pipe, and two paper collars. Even in his darkest hours he was able to look out upon the bright side, and out from those hours of gloom came some of the brightest pieces of wit and cheerful philosophy to irradiate and bless the entire world. If I were an employer of labor and could get the right men and women to do the work, I would employ a half dozen for my factory or workshop to teach my employees to be cheerful, to laugh and sing at their work. It would be a good paying investment. I would get a great deal more work out of my employees and of a great deal better quality. A hearty laugh is better than a bottle of medicine; a volume of Mark Twain or Marshall Wilder, better than a library of pessimistic philosophy of high sounding phrases. Cheerfulness takes the jolts out of the rutty road of life. It is an extra pair of springs to the wagon. It is an automobile shock-absorber. It resists the encroachments of the grouch and bids the blue devils avaunt!