Myself, I have always thought that the happy waking after dreamless sleep; the exultation in the new day and its appointed task; the sense of vigor and ability to do whatever opportunity offered; the feeling that one could “run and not be weary, could walk and not faint”—that these were the most precious things that the gods could vouchsafe to mankind,—and yet!—What of the latent powers that wake into life when we look into “the bright face of danger”? Our bodies are not commonly the temples that God intended them to be, and yet often an unquenchable fire burns within; an inner flame that incites to effort and achievement, turns the timid slave into the happy warrior. What if the strength born of overcoming should rescue dormant powers equal to those that exist where there is no effort save that engendered by abounding vitality? After all life is an obstacle race to most of us. Who knows whether the horse could make a spectacular jump had he not often been confronted by bar, gate, hurdle and hedge? I wonder how many great things have been carved, painted, written, conceived, invented, where the creative human being has never suffered, but has been sheltered, lapped in ease, the burden lifted from his shoulders? I wonder if the eye that is seldom wet with tears is ever truly capable of the highest vision? I think that my own unregenerate watchword would be: “All for health and the world well lost!” so I am by no means a special pleader, even yet, for the “privilege of pain”; but Mrs. Everett’s enthusiasm and the ardor of her conviction compels a new and more sympathetic understanding of her thesis. I have more often seen spiritual than intellectual exaltation follow pain, but both were present in one woman, half-poet, half-saint, whose verses were written in intense suffering, as indeed were most of W. E. Henley’s. With closed eyes and pale lips she once quoted to me: “Angel of Pain! I think thy face Will be in all the Heavenly Place The earliest face that I shall see And swiftest face to smile on me!” “How is it possible for you to say it?” I asked brokenly. “Because,” she answered, “all dreams and all visions have come to me, as well as all that I know of earth and heaven, through pain. It opens windows in what would otherwise be blank walls!” The blind, deaf, dumb, maimed, crippled (if so be it the soul is strong) seem to develop a splendid fighting spirit unknown to those who, apparently, have complete command of all their powers. Take one sense away and the others spring, full-armored, into more active service. Rob them of a right hand and the underrated left becomes doubly skilful. These are soldiers in the “army with banners,” and should be led and followed by acclaiming hosts.