“Hath man no second life?--_Pitch this one high!_ Sits there no judge in Heaven our sins to see?-- _More strictly, then, the inward judge obey!_ Was Christ a man like us? _Ah, let us try If we, then, too, can be such men as he!_” Somewhere there is a poem that relates the experience of a certain humble priest, who climbed the steeple of his church to commune more nearly with God. And, as he prayed, he heard the Voice answering, and asked, “Where art thou, Lord?” and the Lord replied, “Down here, among my people!” The Tired Business Man The Tired Business Man I SMITH flashed upon me unexpectedly in Berlin. It was nearly a year ago, just before the summer invasion of tourists, and I was reading the letters of a belated mail over my coffee, when I was aroused by an unmistakable American voice demanding water. I turned and beheld, in a sunny alcove at the end of the restaurant, my old friend Smith who had dropped his newspaper for the purpose of arraigning a frightened and obtuse waiter for his inability to grasp the idea that persons in ordinary health, and reasonably sane, do, at times, use water as a beverage. It was not merely the alarmed waiter and all his tribe that Smith execrated: he swept Prussia and the German Empire into the limbo of lost nations. Mrs. Smith begged him to be calm, offering the plausible suggestion that the waiter couldn’t understand a word of English. She appealed to a third member of the breakfast party, a young lady, whose identity had puzzled me for a moment. It seemed incredible that this could be the Smiths’ Fanny, whom I had dandled on my knee in old times,--and yet a second glance convinced me that the young person was no unlikely realization of the promise of the Fanny who had ranged our old neighborhood at “home” and appalled us, even at five, by her direct and pointed utterances. If the child may be mother to the woman, this was that identical Fanny. I should have known it from the cool fashion in which she dominated the situation, addressing the relieved waiter in his own tongue, with the result that he fled precipitately in search of water--and ice, if any, indeed, were obtainable--for the refreshment of these eccentric Americans.